#tempest toss (five) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lily-bisque · 7 days ago

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ＷＡＹＯＵＴＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume four — eternal life

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: listened to a ton of jeff buckley and novo amor writing this. hope you guys enjoy <3. again, check out the playlist for the curated mood and for a forehead kiss.

✦ ── word count: 4.6k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous volume - volume five

art by outdmilk on twt

“Didn’t ask for a maid, still don’t need one. Not gonna get on my knees and thank you neither.”

In the bathroom, your knee bobbed up and down, a fiery rage still swirling a tempest storm within you. You had to bite your lip to cease your incessant huffs that began to bubble over like a whistling kettle, nearly tasting copper from the pressure, eyes watering at your embarrassment.

You flexed your fingers open and closed, trying desperately to slow your breathing, but to no avail.

Besides your snarky personality, you’d been nothing but kind to Sukuna—save for the incident in the woods, but that was when you were in intense pain. He couldn’t blame you for that.

You’d made him breakfast and cleaned up his place, and though you weren’t expecting a ‘thanks,’ you would appreciate him at least treating you like a person. You even groomed his dog for God’s sake.

You didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted you here—so he could cut the act of you being some pesky girl hovering around him like a mosquito and sucking him of his livelihood.

How much longer would you have to endure such an easily riled man no matter what you did?

The cruel familiarity of his words were no comfort either—only cracking open a wound you’d scabbed over long ago.

But what managed to piss you off the most was that the sole reason you’d come to the woods was now somehow tainted with everything you’d been trying to escape.

The bathroom door creaked, a shadow shuffling below the crack. You could hear the huffs of Sukuna’s breath, quiet and steady, though you could tell he was deep in thought. Or at least you hoped he was after whatever the hell that was outside.

He settled to the ground, back against the bathroom door, eyes dialed in on his bedroom before him. His eyes studied the medullary rays across the wooden frame, small pathways branching out and clawing the across to the end.

You didn’t jaw a peep. If anything, you were steadily holding your breath, Sukuna having you cooling your heels.

He called your name out, gruff and irritated.

You kept your mouth shut.

He sighed, knocking his head back against the wood and squinting his eyes, trying to decipher the emotions coursing through him. “You gonna live in there forever?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “If it means I don’t have to deal with you.”

He doesn’t understand why hearing your voice felt like the smallest bit of consolation. “I’m afraid that’s not gonna work.”

“You’re an asshole,” you blurted, worrying your lip between your teeth, peeling the skin and feeling your skin flare in heat.

“I know.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, the hum of the bathroom fan coming to a quiet drone in the back of your mind. “You know?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitated this time. “You’re a dick, too.”

He grunted, tossing his arms over his knees. “Shut up and come out. I, uh. I wanna show you something.”

You scowled, cracking your knuckles as you heard the wooden planks shift below Sukuna’s weight as he came to a stand.

His shadow remained still in that little sliver, and you could feel your mood sharply sour when you’d realized he’d stomped inside with his boots still on.

You came to a stand, flinging the door open and already releasing a slew of curses. “You’re fucking unbelievable, I just mopped the—.”

Your voice was immediately muffled as he stuffed… fabric (?) into your face.

Pawing him off of you, you pulled whatever he’d shoved at you into your hands just to see he’d handed you those ugly jorts from earlier and a graphic t-shirt.

He just stood there, eyeing you casually, though you couldn’t ignore the way his eyes searched yours charily.

Clenching your teeth, you dropped your hands to your sides. “This is what you wanted to show me?”

He pushed air from his nose before walking away. “Nah. Get changed and c’mere.”

𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

You’d put the outfit on—not without huffing and cursing under your breath in his bathroom—after peeling Sukuna’s massive attire off, forgetting how it felt to wear clothes that actually decently fit you.

The top he’d handed you was clearly from some grunge store, thick lettering across the front with flames and guns and skulls, and the words METALLICA in bold.

Hopping your way out of the bathroom, you peered around the kitchen and living room to find it empty, but just past the open drapes you could see Sukuna tossing a bone, Uraume wagging their tail and chasing after it.

“What do you want?” You shot with venom on your tongue, waddling down the steps you’d come to know, spots where your weight would cause squeaks and to avoid protruding nails.

Sukuna folded his arms over his chest, watching you nearly snag your bandaged foot just to see the wrap come loose. He grunted, brushing past you and into his house in a mere few strides.

Your eyes dialed in on the ground before you, eyes narrowed in a focused reverie to avoid tripping and embarrassing yourself further.

Within seconds, Sukuna came back out with the first aid box and his hat, and wrapped a beefy arm around your midsection.

Your eyes flew wide, the world flipped upside down as your maw hung agape. Your vision met his back, effectively tossed over his shoulder in one fell swoop to have your stomach heaving.

You brought a hand down to smack his back, legs flailing as you desperately tried to pry yourself free. “Put me down, you oaf!” You shrieked, writhing in his grasp.

“Pipe down,” he growled, one bulging arm wrapped around the backs of your knees and the other carrying the first aid kit, effectively dwarfed in his meaty hand.

“No! I said put me—” You felt yourself begin to fall backwards, Sukuna’s hand cradling the back of your head as he laid you down on a patch of grass.

Blood drained from your face as you actualized the proximity.

One large arm was still cradled along your waist, his face mere inches from yours as his hand pressed into your scalp, draining any sense of rationality from your short-circuiting brain through his finger tips.

He then slid his hand from your head and allowed himself to steady upright by placing it beside your face in the greenery.

He smelled like Marlboro Reds.

Time felt still for a moment, eyes following the flow of the sooty work permanently decorating his face. You foolishly wondered if it hurt for him to get them—if he’d huff and grunt and blink back the tears while the artist endured whatever curses he spewed at them.

And in a rash and senseless motion, your finger reached up and skimmed the edge of his cheek, following the inky trail in nothing but mesmerization and keenness. His skin was unexpectedly soft.

You could feel Sukuna stiffen, his muscles tensing as an annoyed growl left his lips.

And then you couldn’t feel him anymore.

He sat up, mumbling something about how you needed to be placed into an insane asylum while he shuffled through the box in his grasp to pull out bandaids.

All you could do was stare up at the sky, wondering why your finger tip was cold.

His hands were cradling your calf, eyeing your wound suspiciously after he’d stripped it of the dressing. “You said you changed it.”

“I did.”

“So not only are you irritating, but you’re a liar, too,” he scoffed.

You couldn’t help the giggle you let out at that, not able to defend yourself as you’d kept forgetting to check the bandage.

His hands worked to clean your wound, not without you wincing and twitching in his hold, but he held firmly. The ointment was cool and sharp like ice, your hands digging into the dirt behind you as you watched him work.

Venerated, your eyes followed the trails of the wide ink markings across his arm that matched his face, curiously tilting your head as your mind worked. Reasons unbeknownst to you, wonder was stitched into every seam of your making.

Every here and there, he’d find your stare and cast you with a look that sent piercing daggers, to which you’d bite your cheek and peer away.

Still, you weren’t sure if you had much of a place to ask.

You’d fix your wide orbs on spots around you—watching as summer slipped into solstice arms, the world cast in a golden charm, a sweet and gentle surrender.

“It should only take a few more days before you can properly walk on it,” he stated, placing your leg on the grass once he’d finished. He averted his gaze from you, mindlessly staring at his front door, voice now lower. “You’re welcome to stay until then.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in return, eyes dancing across his stern side profile before your lip tugged upwards curiously. “Is this your way of apologizing to me?”

He scoffed, casting his cheek to you before laying on the ground beside you, a hand over his midsection as he pulled his hat over his face. “You talk too much.”

Wiggling your foot, you squinted your eyes as you eyed his careful patchwork. “You don’t talk enough.”

The next few minutes were silent, not stifling but easy. Like midsummer air.

You leaned back on your elbows, mere feet from Sukuna who’s breaths were slow and heavy. He must’ve fallen asleep.

It’d make sense. He’d had quite the day—you could only assume as a guy who chopped wood in his free time.

The skyline past the pine trees was spun orange hues melting into an auburn red, and you think that right between them could’ve matched Sukuna’s stark hair. It seemed well-kept, which was surprising for a man living on his own in the forest.

The brush tickled your arm, and most people would’ve found it uncomfortable to be splayed out on itchy grass but you found an odd warmth in it. It smelled of honeysuckle and damp moss.

You couldn’t see the sun past his house, but you assumed it was falling and kissing the skies farewell for now. Praying to see another day as the stars would soon glitter the horizon.

You dropped your head, a few twigs prodding your scalp, but you didn’t move.

You didn’t know how badly you’d needed quiet all this time.

Back home, you’d fall asleep to the bustling of late traffic and night owls, and awake to the early birds starting their day before they’d have their coffee and honk at each other like territorial mockingjays.

But now, all you could hear were the quiet chirps of canaries, the ticking of cicadas, and the steady breaths of the oaf beside you.

You glanced over, his hat covering his enter face, arms folded over his chest that lifted up and down rhythmically.

He was the kind of guy who’d have no issue falling asleep outside.

Uraume seemed to have given up on playing catch, calling it a night and pawing over to their dogshed.

It felt like you were the only person alive right now.

In your own little bubble, you were the only one to watch time patter on, not a single other pair of orbs to witness it.

Sun marked your bare calves, a soft burn that had every hair standing on edge as your brain dazed into a summer night's musing.

Your hand lifted over to the edge of his hat, carefully lifting it to take a peak.

Curling your fingertips against it, your slow deliberation worked in your advantage, earning a glance at Sukuna’s resting profile.

Those deeply marked creases that had been carved into him over time seemed to have come to rest, smoothing out his complexion into something gentler.

His jaw didn’t look clenched like it did whenever he was around you.

You wonder what he must be dreaming about. If he was dreaming.

However, your curious train of thought was quickly broken as you felt a pair of fingers wrap firmly around your wrist.

You let out a stifled yelp, flinching as your gaze followed Sukuna’s incredibly quick hand.

“What are you doing?” He grunted, expression hardening though he had yet to open his eyes.

“I- Uh—,” your heart thrummed in your chest, netted in the act of prodding once again to a man who forbade it so fervently. You needed to think quick. “You said you were going to show me something,” you whispered, voice mousy as you emphasized each word, confidence unraveling like caught thread.

He opened his eyes, casting his gaze over you. His arrant crimson irises flickered with something akin to fostered suspicion, before he loosened his firm grip and tugged his hat off. “Uh, yeah.”

You shivered, dropping your hand.

You ignored the scars you saw littering his knuckles.

Thankfully, his grip wasn’t tight or anything, just unmoving enough to make you jittery.

Rule of thumb: Don’t touch Sukuna. Got it.

You dropped your head back onto the grass, your heart thumping along with the calls of the crickets as your trepidation came to a slow halt.

“You said you’re from the city, right?” He dragged a hand across his face, then tossed it behind his head to rest against.

“Oh, yeah. Lived in Yokohama all my life.”

He was quiet for a few moments, sight fixed on the sky blankly, before he spoke up. “You ever sky gazed before?”

You rested your hands against your stomach, peering over at him with a curious and pure gleam coloring you like a child had just been introduced to dinosaurs. “I’ve never had the chance to. Light pollution and all…” you trailed off, looking back at the sky with wonder. “Can you see stars from here?”

He hummed. “But not until the sun is down.”

And so the two of you waited.

You’re not sure how long you did, lost in a quiet spell like you'd been placed in a doorway between reality and a tender dream.

All warm light drained, day sky devoured and replaced by a mix of blue and purple auroras to color the black canvas. Twinkling stars kissed midnight in white gleams.

Your lashes felt heavy, but your eyes were still full of intrigue and thrill.

For the first time since you could remember, you didn’t feel like the world was caving in on you. Like the world was just waiting for you to finally give in and be swallowed whole.

“I was invited to a wedding,” you blurted out, all sense of silence tucked beneath your tongue.

You couldn’t tell if Sukuna reacted, your eyes fixed on the flicker of a star.

Nevertheless, he stayed quiet.

“The invitation I received… it was from my ex-husband.” You breathed out, feeling your rigid shoulders droop.

A sinner perched in a confessional, misplaced and bitter and bruised. The only cold comfort was the moon tethered to the skies.

”Ex-husband, huh?” He queried, voice a distant whisper.

“Yeah. Divorced last year.”

And this time, Sukuna stirred—turning his head in his palm to fix you with an incredulous stare you couldn’t see but feel burning you. “Yer kidding.”

You chuckled, though it was nothing short of dry and pitiful. “Seems he found himself a proper wife. Weddings’ not too long from now.”

Sukuna eyes bore into you, heavy and thick with judgement. “Okay, then. So what?”

Your eyes met his, shoulders caging up once more. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

He broke your stare, lazily shrugging his shoulders as he looked back up, eyes registering nothing between him as the cogs in his mind spun. “Why’s it matter what he does?”

You opened your mouth, defenses already loading themselves, before you paused.

Why does it matter?

You found yourself staring at his side profile, fixed in nothing but displeasure despite his incredibly softening words.

You shouldn’t care—you could barely tolerate your ex-husband. And he clearly couldn’t tolerate you either.

Sukuna didn’t push. He didn’t need to know your story before stumbling upon you in the forest. He only sees what he has to deal with before you’re healed and out the door.

It was true, it shouldn’t matter. But you couldn’t shake that off as easily. You lived it.

Regrettably, the life of a wife was still engraved into every fiber you were composed of, bleeding into each sorry part and staining it for everyone to witness.

Or at least you thought. You wondered if everyone could see the chipped and cracked edges of you.

The grief had been so heavy, you had nowhere to place it—clung to you like a thick coat you couldn’t shed.

The years spent in a disgustingly loveless marriage to a sleazebag that looked at you like property, accused you and your womb of things no woman should hear.

The proud look on your parents faces when they saw that you were finally settling down, done with the prancing around as an unmarried woman of your age.

And to a man with such status, they couldn’t believe it to be true.

Neither could you. Not until you’d bore witness to his dull, true colors previously brightened with rose-tinted lenses.

You’d rushed into it—a rich, and dashingly charming man with dyed blonde hair. You’d been attracted to his arrogance, assuming it’d be tall enough to build the both of you up.

You were woefully wrong.

“So what’s your story?” You found yourself inquiring, worrying your lip between your teeth.

He scowled, nose scrunching as if he’d just smelled something putrid. “Not everyone’s got a sob story.”

You giggled, leaning on your palm as you watched him reject your entire being in real time. “You saying that is making me think you’ve got one,” you pushed with a grin, leaning closer.

His molars grinded against each other, wishing he could head inside and feed you to the wolves but it seemed the jagged edges of his common logic were frayed. “I ain’t got nothing to tell,” he growled, placing a hand against your looming face and shoving you away.

You gasped, but then began to paw off his claws with giggles, knowing you’d gotten under his skin. “How long have you lived here?” You started. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than you if anything, so it couldn’t have been too long.

“Long as I can remember,” he curtly replied.

Wow. “Alright, don’t have to go and tell me your whole life story,” you dryly and sarcastically taunted, itching your scalp in an attempt to ward off your irritation.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

You rolled your eyes, but still you were desperate for some conversation. “You get into a lot of fights?”

“Huh?”

You pointed at his knuckles, not even caring about your bluntness, to which he moved away as if you’d somehow burned him. “Your scars.”

He waited a beat before replying. “Something like that.”

You shrugged off his deflection with a ‘whatever,’ gaze lingering back towards the sky.

And like a magnet drawn to another, Sukuna felt oddly compelled to begin speaking. Yet, you beat him to the bush.

“I don’t think anyone noticed I got lost in the woods,” you whispered, hoping your quiet admission would disappear with the night.

Sukuna huffed indignantly, but you didn’t know what to make of it.

You brought a limp forearm to your face and casted it over your eyes lazily. “I wonder how long it’ll take for them to notice.”

Your tone was dry, but anyone could make out how defeated you sounded.

Sukuna’s mouth went dry, eyes dancing across the black canvas desperately. “Open your eyes.”

You groaned, tugging your arm off and glancing over at him.

He lifted an arm, pointing at the sky. “Over there.”

You followed his direction, pointer finger directed at a cluster of stars hung gracefully. “What am I looking at?”

He huffed. “You're not the smartest cookie in the jar. It’s a constellation.”

You beamed at the information, brushing over how he’d just insulted you. “Wait, wait! Where?” You sat up on your elbows, eyes fixed on the spot he pointed out.

“Follow my finger,” he mumbled, fingertip drawing out the constellation before your eyes.

And you did, eyes dragging with his, a childlike wonder twinkling in your irises.

“That constellation is-“

“Lupus.” You interrupted in awe, mouth hanging open slightly as you cocked your head, able to make out the creature's shape.

Sukuna’s eyebrow arched, surprised at your knowledge.

You gazed down at his sudden silence, moonlight casting an ethereal glow on your features, a soft simper on your lips. “Not the smartest but definitely close.”

Sukuna’s brows furrowed, irked at your sarcasm despite every nerve in his body betraying him. “Not that close.”

You shrugged, facing the sky again and hugging your knees.

Sukuna stared at your back, pulling his cigarette box from his pockets. He placed it between deft fingers, pulling it to his mouth before fumbling for his lighter and sliding his thumb against the spark wheel.

Within moments, the scent of smoke you easily could associate with Sukuna or the back alleys of Yokohama at night, wafted into your nostrils, making you scrunch your nose instinctively.

He hummed, the smoke billowing from his pursed lips.

“Give me one.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows raised. “City girl wants a smoker?”

You pushed air from your nose, unimpressed. “I just said that.”

He hesitated. “Have you ever smoked before?”

You remained quiet, shuffling uncomfortably.

Sukuna chuckled, low, enough to send goosebumps dancing across your bare skin that had nothing to do with a soft night chill. “Here.”

He sat up, shoving a hand into his pockets to dig out the box and handed you a cigarette. You held it awkwardly between your thumb and forefinger, eyeing it suspiciously and suddenly regretting your burst of confidence.

“It’s not gonna eat’cha,” he gruffed, jutting his chin at you.

You frowned, placing it between your lips.

“Cup your hands.”

You obeyed, curling them around the cigarette to avoid the breeze snuffing out the blaze.

He held the lit lighter against the butt, just for a few seconds. Enough for it to burn, sending smoke into your mouth and down your lungs.

You jerked away, coughing up a fit as it seared your insides, clinging to the lining of your esophagus and singeing the hairs in your nostrils.

Sukuna found an odd sense of humor in your distress. He took the cigarette from you and crushed it before tossing it somewhere, placing an arm behind your back on the grass and laughing to himself as his head lolled. “Not so bad, right?”

“The hell do you mean ‘not so bad?’” You retorted with a hoarse voice, wanting to dip yourself into a lake and clean yourself from the prints of smoking. “I feel like I just inhaled fumes.”

Sukuna cocked his head in thought, an uncharacteristic grin on his sharp features. “You technically kinda did.”

You glared up at him, the barely-there buzz from one hit tickling the edges of your psyche.

Sukuna peered down at you, the distance between you suddenly shortened.

He hollowed out his cheeks, his cigarette hanging between his middle and forefinger, before he inhaled it sharply through his mouth and out of his nose.

His expression was unreadable, as if wheels were turning in his mind, possibly trying to understand you.

Your eyes swam with skepticism, just 24 hours with this man and you couldn’t understand him. “Why’d you let me stay with you?”

He didn’t falter, just blinked at you for a moment, before looking away. “Dunno.”

You frowned at his reticence, but nonetheless bit your lip. Most people would’ve just given you directions and sent you off with thoughts and prayers, not bothering to take you in the way he did.

If you hadn’t run into Sukuna, who’s to tell you wouldn’t be dinner to a pack of wolves for the next few days, a forgotten corpse turned into nothing but a bag of bones.

You couldn’t help but question what kind of person he was.

“Gets quiet out here,” he started up again, pulling his knees up just to toss his arms over them. “Just me and that mutt.”

You stared wide-eyed at his large form beside you, an odd ache in your chest at his admission.

Who knows the last time he’d had a proper conversation with someone that wasn’t small talk at the work?

He peered over at you, his scowl flinching before he flicked his cigarette to the ground. “Fuck you makin’ that face for,” he grumbled.

You hadn’t even noticed the watery orbs you’d been giving him, shaking your head and wiping the backs of your hands on your eyes. “Shut up. I’m an empath.”

He snorted at that, wanting to shove your face again when he heard you sniffling. “You hungry?”

You nodded quickly, to which he rolled his eyes at.

He stood up, rising to his feet and dusting off his jeans. He grabbed his hat and jacket and strode back inside, you on his tail.

Shutting and locking the door behind you, you watched Sukuna’s form pace around the kitchen. Wandering over to the kitchen table, you plopped down and watched him work.

He’d grabbed his toaster from a cabinet, popping in a couple of chocolate chip Eggos from the freezer and searching for the pan you had used earlier that morning.

Your eyes felt heavy, the quiet clinking and clattering of Sukuna nearly lulling you to sleep, chin bobbing against your chest.

“Oi. Keep those eyes open, I’m not eating two servings,” he grunted, cracking a couple of eggs into the pan.

You adjusted in your seat, rubbing your eyes and yawning. When did it get so late?

Standing up, you wobbled over to the couch and laid down, nearly resigned to your exhaustion from cleaning all day.

Sukuna peered over at you skeptically, not even realizing he had been quickening his movements as your eyes threatened to shut.

But it was inevitable, your lashes fluttering and your breath steadying.

Sukuna grumbled something, placing both full plates on the coffee table minutes later and looming over you with a chagrined expression.

Within moments, he was snapping his meaty fingers in front of your face, breaking you from your slumber.

You flinched, sitting up and feeling your head spinning. Grumbling, you rubbed your eyes and leaned your head against the back of the couch.

Sukuna plopped down beside you, shoving a plate of waffles and eggs into your hands as if the two of you hadn’t eaten pancakes that same morning.

You were too tired to complain.

With low lids, you brought the fork to your lips and began eating in slow and heavy movements, like your limbs were caught in black tar.

Sukuna eyed you warily, afraid that you’d fall asleep into your plate and you’d somehow stab your eye.

“Aye. City girl. Finish your food.” He cracked open a beer with one hand, tossing it back in just a few gulps. You studied the way his Adam’s apple bobbed while he guzzled it down.

Shuddering, you tossed him a sleepy scowl. “I’m full.”

He passed you a glass of water, grabbing your plate with his and heading towards the kitchen to set it down. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

You let out a small burp after a sip, quickly covering your mouth and tossing him an awkward glance before shuffling in your seat. “I’m going to need a refresher.”

You didn’t actually need one.

Sukuna inhaled sharply at your feigned ignorance, hands placed beside the sink as he stared down, before pushing off and running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll let you help out. Don’t need to wire me nothin’ when you get back.”

You chuckled, grabbing a shopping bag to pull out some pajamas he’d bought for you. A grey satin set that probably cost far too much but you didn’t complain, it’d definitely keep you warm. “Okay. Thanks for this, Sukuna.”

“Whatever.”

584 notes · View notes

merakiui · 1 year ago

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タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea.

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.”

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: breeding #tw: oviposition

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inheartofwinter · 1 year ago

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Drarry Fic Rec List: Us Vs The World

The list I want to show you to day is one I especially adore: fics with strong vibe of "us against the world". They could be good, they could be bad, they could save the world, they could destroy it, they could simply go on with their lives. No matter what, they will always have each other.

- Hell & Other Places (M; 2,5k) by @tepre

OR: 9 times Draco said ‘I love you’ and 1 time he didn’t.

Draco & Harry are sent to investigate a haunted Bed & Breakfast.

- Vis-à-Vis-à-Vis (E; 49999) by @vukovich

Harry's assignment was simple. Close out Draco Malfoy's missing persons case so he can be declared dead.

But who's making withdrawals from Malfoy's vaults? How is a death omen-turned-Unspeakable involved? Is an organization known as the Moirai to blame?

Harry brushes it off until he can't. Until The Prophet is flooded with sightings of dead people. Until Robards throws himself on his sword. Until Ron turns on his own family. Until Harry scarcely trusts his own reflection in the mirror and trusts the stranger in his bed even less.

Until all that stands between war and peace is Harry, a name plate, a stadium of murderers, and Draco Malfoy.

God save the Ministry.

- Basement Level 9 (M; 2k) by @fw00shy

Draco was behind the bomb that blew up Level 10, though they didn't talk about it.

- Stay with Me 'Til Morning (R; 8,4k) by Lucilla Darkate

In a once upon a time world, white magic would triumph over black, good would carry the day, evil would be vanquished, the valiant would stand and be true, and always, always, true love would end with a happily ever after.

- Purple Words (E; 67k) by FangirlWolfie

“High five me.”

James immediately put Harry down and gave him a high five.

Huh?

Oh.

- In Grey Worsted (M; 2,8k) by literaryspell

Harry's only chance at happiness is slipping away, one piece at a time. He isn’t about to give up, though.

- Ever Fixed Mark (T; 1,1k) by @shealwaysreads

In which Harry decides to burn the world, and Draco watches on with adoration.

Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken

Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

- Dead Ends (E; 18,8k) by @toxik-angel & @melcarrianna

Head Auror Harry Potter is the best at his job. Head Auror Harry Potter always saves the day.

But someone has been picking off ex-Death Eaters one by one. Someone has been abducting Harry's friends right out of their homes. Someone is fucking the Minister for Magic.

The Minister for Magic and Head Auror are both very concerned about it.

- Because Potter Is Allergic to Poppies (M; 41,1k) by Lomonaaeren

Auror Harry Potter is in hospital being treated for a curse when someone tries to kill him. Obviously it is up to bored, trapped Apprentice Healer Draco, who was only admitted to the Healer Program in the first place to do the menial work, to find out who did it. Because then they will promote him. No, it’s for no other reason, thanks.

- Toujours pur (T; 21k) by Veralynn

"Malfoy would never confess truth to an enemy, and we’re enemies to him. That’s way I made a plan.”

“A rat,” Harry said.

“Exactly. Someone I can trust one hundred per cent about You-Know-Who. Someone who knows well Malfoy and his past. That makes you the perfect candidate.”

- REVOLVEVLOVER (E; 46,3k) by @firethesound & zeitgeistic

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for.

It’s just that he’s never deciphered a kill sheet and seen Draco Malfoy’s name on it.

Career Choices: Harry: Hit Wizard; Draco: Anti-Government Extremist

- Who we are in the shadows (E; 99,7k) by @quicksilvermaid

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise?

Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself.

What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

- Draco Malfoy and the Heart of Slytherin (T; 34,9k) by sabershadowkat

At the heart of every Slytherin.

- The Boy and the Sleeping Prince (E; 26,7k) by @phoenix-acid & @writcraft

Harry is miserable and tired of being an Auror, coasting through life until he’s forced to make some changes. Spurred on by his passion for drawing and working with best-selling author Draco Malfoy, Harry develops a charm which gives children a magical, interactive reading experience. But when it’s time to test the spell, the two men find themselves trapped in a nightmarish fairy tale world. Can they escape unscathed, or is Draco right in his assertions that there is no such thing as a happily ever after?

Career Choices: Harry: Illustrator; Draco: Writer

- When Death Comes Calling (T; 2,6k) by @mystickitten42

It’s All Hallows’ Eve and as Harry investigates a string of seemingly related deaths, there’s one he hopes to prevent.

He looks over Harry’s shoulder and Harry turns too. They both see it, the dark translucent figure making its way to shore.

~ Or ~

Getting together in the face of Death. Literally.

- Servile (E; 68,5k) by calrissian18

“I would love anything you gifted me, My Lord, but this,” silver eyes, the same shade as the dragon that marked Harry's arm, glinted in his direction under the Death Eater’s hood, “is exquisite.”

- The Corruption Sequence series (E; 94,2k) by beren

Harry Potter is captured by Voldemort and the Dark Lord has plans for him that involve the essence of many different dark creatures. What Voldemort cannot know is that the presence of Draco Malfoy will affect the outcome of his plots and change everything.

- More Powerful Then Experience (M; 89,7k) by flightinflame

Harry's life changes when he is three, when his parents are murdered and the Dark Lord takes him to raise as his own.

Draco's life changes when he is six, when he finds himself given to a strange green-eyed boy who speaks Parseltongue and casts impossible magic.

Remus's life changes three years later, when a chance meeting proves to him that somehow James and Lily's son is still alive.

- The Gryffindor Prince (G; 6,3k) by @mfingenius

“Do not come near us again, evil Slytherins!” he exclaims, pointing his wand towards them again. Pansy and Blaise look more amused than anything, really, but they hold up their hands in surrender.

“Alright,” Pansy says, agreeably enough, a smirk on her face. “But Potter, Draco’s a Slytherin, like us. He’ll have to come back eventually.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, and, a moment later, he is throwing Draco over his shoulder, arm tight across the back of his thighs so he won’t fall, and Draco yelps.

Have fun reading!

#drarry #drarry fics #drarry fic rec #drarry rec list #my rec list #us vs the world vibe #hpdm #hpdm fanfic #harry potter x draco malfoy

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serpentsurgency · 2 years ago

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Gon' have t' pass on th' offer, don't really got space f'r that. Send it t' some children's hospital or somethin' instead, they'll probably like it more th'n I would.

- D.W.

Hi Mr. Dogwood! Would you like a plushie made? I'm making something for Two right now.

--Five

#tempest toss (five)#don’t call me a heretic for what i believe in

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upper-admin-scp · 1 year ago

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(@tempest-toss)

A pathway opened, and out stepped the first of Tempest's overseers. Bearing a roman numeral one on her lapel, it seems she was the first overseer, the Archivist. She seemed to be dressed in average garb for an overseer.

Right behind her stepped a tall man with violet hair and fox ears, wearing a beautiful silk kimono with a roman numeral two stitched on it. The others are probably arriving in sequential fashion. Two gives a respectful bow, allowing all nine tails to unfurl themselves.

Next came Three, who looked to be a bit of a modern hipster, wearing glasses and a scarf and giving a chipper wave. His hands were covered by a set of victorian gloves, ones that barely withheld the Wondertainment tattoo on his wrists.

With a loud stomp, a herculean build ducked through the portal. Standing at 14 feet was the large werewolf deity, Four. His heavy antlers nearly scratching the ceiling, some petals from his antlers falling as they made contact.

In a complete contrast, out came a small child, the one and only Five. With a polite bow and spin she skips her way out of the way of the portal.

Two individuals come out next, Six and Seven. Six comes through in his human form, the only marker of his true nature being some scales along his neck. Seven is dressed in a full business suit, taking the casual out of business casual. Her outfit hides methods to kill, lest the assassin needs it.

Eight comes out next, who like Three, bears a more modern outfit. They smile before signing a thankful message of being invited here. Nine stumbles out right after them, hunched over and looking a bit miserable. The skittish alchemist is wearing a half-mask, trying to cover up something wrong with his face.

Ten arrives and is dressed in almost completely modern attire. He still looks professional, taking his job serious, but it seems he's having a bit of fun with it.

Eleven and Twelve arrives next. Eleven is dressed in an expensive Italian suit, while Twelve is dressed in more shabby clothing to hide his wings. Eleven makes a joking read about Twelve, earning a hiss from the insectoid, who reveals his mandibles in anger.

The last three arrive and shut the portal behind them. Thirteen gives a salute, stowing away her titular sniper rifle on her back. She holds up a laptop displaying 13-ii. The screen flickers, showing a familiar duo-chrome face briefly.

"Greetings Alternate Council."

He speaks in a familiar robotic fashion. Three Fourteens, dressed like Ten, begin to chatter among themselves before the center one claps and the Fourteens merge into a single one. Then he gives a polite wave

[Zero meets the group at the enterance to Site-01, which appears as a large mansion. The building's front door visiblly grows in size to accomodate the newcommers.]

ᎶᏒᏋᏋᏖᎥᏁᎶᏕ! ᎥᏖ'Ꮥ Ꮧ ᎮᏝᏋᏗᏕᏬᏒᏋ ᏖᎧ ᎷᏋᏋᏖ ᏗᏝᏝ ᎧᎦ ᎩᎧᏬ ᎥᏁ ᎮᏋᏒᏕᎧᏁ! Ꭵ ᏗᎷ ፚᏋᏒᎧ, ᏖᏂᏋ ᏗᎴᎷᎥᏁᎥᏕᏖᏒᏗᏖᎧᏒ ᎧᎦ ᏖᏂᎥᏕ ᏇᎧᏒᏝᎴ'Ꮥ ᎦᎧᏬᏁᎴᏗᏖᎥᎧᏁ. ᎮᏝᏋᏗᏕᏋ, ፈᎧᎷᏋ ᎥᏁᏕᎥᎴᏋ.

(Greetings! It's a pleasure to meet all of you in person! I am Zero, the Administrator of this world's Foundation. Please, come inside.)

#AD-00

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b-does-the-write-thing · 10 months ago

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general incivility, chapter six

- a brienne x jaime pride & prejudice retelling -

chapter one l chapter two l chapter three l chapter four l chapter five l chapter six l now on AO3

At the end of their first month in the Stormlands, a letter appeared from King’s Landing. Bronn, no doubt curious, brought it to the breakfast table, where he might be able to linger and ascertain its contents. A savvy move that Tyrion could applaud if it were not for the fact Cersei and Jaime could not help but notice the royal seal.

At its appearance, Cersei fell uncharacteristically silent. Though at the rate she was straining her neck, she’d be out of commission for the upcoming week’s assemblies. His dear brother pretended he had gone blind, deaf, and dumb, but Jaime was not leaving either, showcasing his interest in the missive. Tyrion would have preferred to retire to read it in peace; he already guessed at its contents, but there was nothing to be done other than to face the music. Cracking the seal, Tyrion’s suspicions were confirmed within the first few words, and the following ones compounded his headache.

Outside, the evening clouds had not departed, and the trees were whispering to each other in the breeze. A storm was imminent, not one of the gentle spring rains that had come and gone in their few weeks here, but a proper tempest, the true namesake of the region. Judging the entire thing to be more trouble than it was worth, Tyrion tossed the letter away. It landed on top of the porridge and, under the weight of the royal seal, began to sink. Cersei shot her cousin a filthy look before ordering one of the footmen to fish it out for her. Receiving it with the utmost care, Cersei devoured the soggy paper’s contents. A smile bloomed across her face until her smile was the only bright spot in the breakfast parlor.

When Cersei finally deigned to lower the letter, a footman rushed forward to offer her a serviette. “But this is wonderful,” Cersei said, seemingly unaware she was daintily wiping her hands on the footman’s jacket and not the offered napkin. To think, the king—here of all places!”

Jaime stirred to life. “What fortuitous reason do we have to thank for such an honor?”

Tyrion rubbed his forehead, running his stubby fingers across the odd ridges of his skull, letting the familiar sensation soothe his threatening headache. “He claims to visit Lord Stannis, but no doubt he has heard father’s succeeded in running me off finally.”

Jaime did not argue. Everyone knew there was little love lost between King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, and Tywin Lannister. The vaults of King’s Landing were rumored to have long since run dry, but perhaps with a son of Casterly Rock at his side…

Cersei stood, pressing her skirt down, her eyes staring past both her cousins, fixated on something far in the distance that only she could see. “I’ll have to send word home at once. I barely brought anything suitable for court-”

“Were you not still planning to depart within the next fortnight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Cersei snapped, this time directing her glare at Jaime. “The King is coming to Storm’s End, and he will, of course, call here.” Her eyes darted to Tyrion. “You’ll need a lady to lead the house, plan the ball-”

“Ball?”

“Host His Highness, and well he mentions his Kingsguard will be attending. No mention of any courtiers, but of course, the usual toadies will be in attendance- “

“Cersei, if you would like to play lady of the hall, by all means, my home is at your disposal, but do me the very great courtesy of not looking like the cat who caught the canary. It’s very disconcerting.”

“Only you would have the king send him a personal letter and look as if the world was coming to an end.” Tyrion did not think his brother looked any happier about this development, but Cersei seemed determined to ignore Jaime. “If you will excuse me-” and with that, she swanned out of the breakfast parlor, looking all the world as if she already had a crown upon her brow.

“She’ll be insufferable,” Tyrion lamented. “Robert’s no tactician, but he’s not going to ignore a lioness laying down on her back for him-”

“Tyrion,” Jaime hissed. “Have a care for how you talk about our cousin.”

“You should be glad she’s not eyeing your neck for the noose at the moment,” Tyrion continued, tearing into the pastry to find it still warm and steaming. The manor might be considerably smaller than the Rock, but he quite enjoyed the new proximity to his kitchens, even if his belt protested. “Perhaps Robert's visit will allow you more time to pursue your interests without hindrance?”

Jaime’s eyes darkened in displeasure. “There is nothing of interest in this desolate corner of Westeros. I am only here because of you.”

“Interesting,” Tyrion continued, “I, for one, have thought you rather intrigued by our resident beauty.”

Tyrion had not seen it at first. He had been so taken with the odd Miss Tarth, finding her to be one of the truly most unfortunate people he had ever seen besides himself, that he had almost missed the way his brother’s eyes tracked her around the room, how Jaime moved after her when she passed by as if caught in her wake and drawn after her despite himself. He was not sure if his brother was even aware of his interest, if not for the odd way his lips quirked whenever Miss Tarth was mentioned.

“You are referring to which renowned Stormland beauty, Tyrion? Miss Tarth or Miss Baratheon?”

Tyrion chuckled. “Cersei has had your ear again, I fear. Miss Baratheon is not yet eight and ten. Her brush with death has added to her character, but I am not one for unaged wine.”

Jaime considered him across the table. ”And Miss Tarth?”

Tyrion grinned. “You know I am a great lover of beauty.”

His brother’s lips thinned, face darkening into a pensive glower until he looked just like their father. “Surely you of all people would think to look past appearances-”

“Have you?”

Jaime’s eyes shuttered, and he looked pointedly away to the storm gathering outside. “I have barely spoken a word to the party in question.”

“On the contrary, I believe you’ve spoken more to her than anyone else in the Stormlands.”

“If I happen to stand by the only other person who has less desire to speak than myself-”

“Happen? Jaime, you followed her around the length of the ballroom last week.”

Jaime shot up from his seat. “I should make haste if I want to get a ride in before the storm-”

“Jaime-” But his brother was already gone, leaving him alone with the great feast. Tyrion looked over at the footman nearest to the table, his cravat still smeared with oatmeal. “Do we have any blackberry jam?”

#b does the write thing #jaime x brienne #braime #got fanfiction #regency au

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cabernet-and-calculations · 1 year ago

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Flavor notes tend to change between regions, bottling processes, and various other factors but I have found that cabernet has a much more grand and savory flavor whereas pinot tastes like the devil's asshole, to put it politely.

This is not the topic at all, but more people should familiarize themselves with wine knowledge. A pinot is not the same thing as a cabernet and the fact that I continue to be served one while being told it is the other is astounding.

#tempest toss [five]

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rohanrider3 · 1 year ago

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FREE CUSTOM BG3 TAV ART + ROMANCED CHARACTER OFFER!!

Hope you’re keeping well, friends!

Bad news—some truly hefty medical bills have come due, but GREAT NEWS—I’d love to offer some original CUSTOM TAV ART to any fellow adventurer who can toss a coin or few my way!

Keep reading to see how YOU CAN GET A FREE, CUSTOM TAV + BG3 BAE piece of art and help a girl out at the same time!

1) Follow this link to fill out your information

www.sumday.com/gift/washington-able/47Opuc3WZ0GYXl3weDK2bQ

2) !!Under the “Occasion” section, in the “From” section, FILL OUT YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS HERE. (This is the ONLY WAY I can see where to send your thank you gift!)

3) On the next secure page, fill out your donation information. (This second page will require your email address again, but I DO NOT SEE any of this information. This means I cannot send your gift to you UNLESS you fill in your email address in the “From” section).

4) Choose which “Thank You!” Gift you’d like! (All gifts are HD files and will be sent to the one email address provided.)

TY Gift for $15 Donation: FIVE Camp Companions (Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Karlach)

TY Gift for $25: TEN Camp Companions (Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Shadowheart, Karlach, Lae’zel, Minthara, Halsin, Jaheira, Minsc (and Boo!)

TY GIFTS for $35 or above: BOTH the TEN Camp Companions AND a FREE, HAND-DRAWN CUSTOM TAV + BG3 BAE piece! Each custom art piece will be worked on in the order in which the donation was received. When your turn comes up, I will email you for references at the email address you provided. Please have 1) a picture of your TAV ready, and 2) one BG3 companion character to pair your Tav with.

Since this process takes a little time, I will try to send out all thank you gifts within 7-14 days of receiving your donation. Depending on demand, it might take a few days longer than that. Thank you so much for your help!! <3 <3, Rohanrider3

Sample Custom TAV + BG3 Bae Piece: My Resist Durge Tempest with her unexpected bestie, Gale <3

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 1 year ago

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Semper Eadem (V, ao3)

Chapter five: As the pageant nears its end, there are fireworks all around as Nesta and Cassian find themselves on the same page at last.

(The final chapter of Elizabethan!Nessian is here and posted for @nestaarcheronweek free day, which is incredibly fitting as chapter one was posted for Nesta Week last year 🥹 thank you to all of you who have put up with my ridiculous Elizabethan ramblings over the past year, and rest assured this will absolutely not be my last historical AU ❤️)

(Chapter one // chapter two // chapter three // chapter four)

The sea was a cruel mistress indeed, Cassian thought as he dragged his fingers, idle, through his bath water— but not half so cruel as Nesta Archeron.

After the trumpets and the fanfares of the Queen’s hunt had subsided, she had left him at the castle gates with naught but a parting smile tossed over her shoulder— one that had cut clean through his heart like a silver-tipped arrow. Cassian was no stranger to feeling at sea, to feeling the waves tip the world beneath his feet, but nothing could have prepared him for this; for the way his bones seemed hollow whenever she was near. Indeed, there was no storm or tempest that the seas could boast that could have had the breath in his chest failing quite like it had as she rode away. No sea sickness compared to this— to the way that just one look from her had him so consumed that the rest of the world simply ceased to be.

And just as each ship’s captain must ultimately yield to the almighty power of the sea, so too would Cassian surrender everything he was to her— ready and willing to lay himself bare afore a force too great for any mortal man to withstand.

Love.

A wry smile tugged at his lips as he watched the water shift around him, because yes— he loved her.

It was no false declaration, no game of affection, that had him feeling this way. In his bones he knew that Nesta Archeron was the only woman in the world for him, and as he watched each current and small wave lick against the wooden sides of the bathtub that had been hauled to his chamber and set before the hearth, he recalled the words that had set his world on fire.

I suppose, then, that you can be forgiven for ignoring my letters.

He hadn’t realised how desperate he had been to hear her say them until they had left her mouth. Until he was left on his knees, mouth agape, watching her as she rode away. And now the flickering flames housed in the stone hearth reflected and danced in the depths of the small tub, and as the glow glanced off the warm and fragrant water, Cassian watched as the dust and dried mud were lifted from his skin, marvelling at how much had changed over the course of a few hours— and how much every inch of that freshly cleansed skin now yearned for her touch more than ever before.

That’s not how I imagined you asking me to undress, he had drawled, but the bravado had been so false that his chest had felt tight. Not that Nesta had seemed to notice, but God— he didn’t think it was dramatic of him to admit that he’d been thinking of her divesting him of his clothes for months now, and though his fingers had been steady on the laces when Nesta had demanded he remove his shirt, his heartbeat had trembled, quivering like the plucked string of a musicians lute.

And he hadn’t missed how those tempest-blue eyes of hers had widened, dragging over his chest and dipping lower. A blush had stolen across her cheeks, beautiful beneath the dappled sunlight, and he had known - known - that whatever it was she had begun to contemplate, it was a thought far from befitting one of the Queen’s ladies.

The thought brought an easy grin to his face, a lightness to his chest.

Deep in the woods, Nesta Archeron had been almost as undone as he.

He might have lost the race with Eris, but he had won something far greater, and he allowed the thought to bolster him as he reclined in the water, allowing the heat and memory both to soothe his aches as best they could. At his back, a linen sheet lined the tub and prevented the wooden surface from giving him splinters, and as the warmth bade his sore muscles relax, he thanked the Lord for small comforts. One of the maids had even scattered lavender in the bathwater, giving the whole chamber a delicate fragrance that reminded him of the heather that grew by the northern borders; the lands he might have once called home.

Not that he hadn’t grown accustomed to discomfort. Months on a ship had calloused his palms and blistered his knuckles, and he was all too used to the feel of coarse rope winding around his hands, burning as it slipped through his fingers.

It all felt rather inconsequential, now.

Lifting his hands from the water, he watched the rivulets trace a path across hands scarred and marked by months at sea, and he thought suddenly that he didn’t want those hands to feel only the hilt of a sword or the bite of a rope anymore.

He wanted to feel her.

Wanted nothing but her skin beneath his palms for the rest of his life.

Her fingers had trailed lightly across his ribs, and in that moment Cassian had known that he would do anything to feel that touch again. He could have sworn he had died and ascended straight to Heaven, and if that made him heathen then so be it. The only altar he wanted to worship at was hers, anyway.

I forgive you.

Her words drifted back to him once more, just as precious to him as every jewel in the Queen’s crown, and just as glittering, too. Cassian had done nothing but stare after her as she had left, trying to find even a scrap composure, and once he’d risen from the mud and followed her - because he’d follow her anywhere - they had rejoined the royal party, where Nesta slipped away back to the Queen’s side, like nothing had happened between them at all.

But still Cassian felt the ghost of her touch lingering on his chest, her fingers skimming his ribs.

And when they returned to the castle, Nesta had reached the gates and turned back, searching for him in the line of courtiers trailing behind the Queen. When she found him in the crowd, she had smiled.

He always stopped breathing when she smiled.

The memory of it was the only thing that stopped him sinking back down into his bath and letting the heat seep into his bruised bones. He couldn’t linger— Nesta would be waiting, and the prospect of being on the receiving end of one of her smiles - or, indeed, one of her scowls - had Cassian rising swiftly from his bath, leaving ribbons of lavender-scented water behind as he reached for a towel.

There was to be a grand banquet this evening. Fireworks, too. And if Cassian played his cards just right…

He smirked to himself as he eyed the doublet already laid out on his bed for the occasion. Crafted of a deep red velvet with blackwork embroidery at the edges, it was the most expensive thing he owned, the most courtly attire he could boast, and since he fully intended to get down on his knees for Nesta Archeron, he figured he ought to dress for the occasion.

He added a small ruff around his neck as he dressed, one that peeked only barely from the edge of his collar. The starched lace brushed lightly against the skin of his neck, and as he ran his fingers through his hair to tame it, he pulled gently at the pearl hanging from his earlobe. Even dressed in so much finery, Cassian rolled the pearl between his thumb and forefinger and couldn’t help but feel that something was missing.

His eyes landed on the ribbon lying on a table before the window, where he had left it before taking his bath.

Is that— my ribbon?

Nesta’s voice came back to him, and Cassian snorted at the memory before taking up the sky-blue ribbon and tying it around his wrist. It sat so smoothly against his skin, the blue satin shining against the dark skin marked by scars, proof of a life spent with a sword in hand. Softly, he brushed his finger along the length of that ribbon, and felt his heart swell behind his ribs.

It had never been just a ribbon.

Not to him.

His eyes shifted back to the table, catching on the box he’d set out beside Nesta’s ribbon. It was a small thing, wooden and lined with velvet to nestle the treasure inside. He didn’t need to open it to know— he’d already done so a thousand times, ever since he’d walked out of a jewellers in Portsmouth bearing it in his hands. What lay inside that box had cost him a small fortune, but it didn’t matter. Every gold mark that had ever crossed his palm was worthless to him now anyway. Months spent plundering the seas might have filled his coffers, but it wasn’t stolen coin that had made him rich.

He reached for the box now, dragging a thumb along the seam.

Flicking the lid open revealed a pendant of solid gold cushioned in the velvet, polished and shining like a beacon against the darkness of its wrappings. Crafted in the shape of a heart and studded with garnets that winked up at him as he traced a finger over the intricate pattern carved into its surface, the necklace was a thing of unparalleled beauty.

Well, Cassian thought as he paused to imagine the neck he planned to hang such a necklace around— the woman the jewel had belonged to ever since he’d bought it, even if he’d yet to gift it her. Almost unparalleled.

Suspended on a golden chain crafted of delicate links, a Tudor rose bloomed across the precious pendant, carved in fine lines and inlaid with crimson stone. An elegant scroll had been engraved at the bottom, surrounded by vines and golden leaves, and even though the inscription was in French - and Cassian had never been all that fluent in the language - even he had been able to decipher it.

Always yours.

Wasn’t that the fucking truth.

He had walked into that jewellers with nothing but a purse full of gold and bucketful of hope, not knowing what he was looking for. But he had seen that golden heart-shaped pendant and known.

Just like every last piece of him, it had seemed like it had been made for Nesta.

And as the sun beyond the window began to dim, Cassian dragged his thumb along the edge one more time, allowing himself to wonder how warm the gold might feel once pressed against Nesta’s skin. The thought was damn near enough to make his knees tremble, but before he could wax poetic about the beauty of the thing, a knock at the door had him snapping his head to the other side of his chamber.

A fist pounded, insistent and unimpressed, at the other side of the wooden door.

“Are you ready yet, Cass?”

Rhys’ voice was muffled by the thick oak of the door, but drifted through nonetheless. His brother sighed so loudly that even the solid inch of wood separating them did little to mask it.

“We’re already late, and the Queen will have me sent to the chopping block if we tarry any longer.”

With a grin, Cassian plucked the pendant from the box, wrapped it in velvet, and tucked it inside his doublet before closing the lid with a snap. He snorted as he crossed to the door, patting his chest to make sure the pendant was safely stowed before he pulled open the door and shouldered Rhys out of the way.

His brother’s fist had been raised to knock again, a look of abject irritation on his face, but it did little to smother the grin still plastered across Cassian’s mouth. They had agreed to meet in Rhys’ chambers and go down to the banquet together, but his brothers had, it seemed, grown tired of waiting. Cassian offered no apology as he stepped lithely into the stone hallway, but catching Rhys’ grimace, he gave the Queen’s councillor three irreverent pats on the cheek.

“And what a pretty sight it would be indeed,” he said brightly, “if your head were to end up on a spike. Decapitation would really bring out your eyes, don’t you agree?”

Rhys batted Cassian’s hand away with a muttered curse and a roll of those eyes, and leaning against the wall, Azriel snorted.

The Queen’s spy stood with one booted foot crossed over the other, his arms folded over his chest, with a dark half-cape slung over one shoulder. Where Cassian wore a pearl earring, Azriel sported a simple hoop of hammered silver, and there was a wry smile on his face as he pushed away from the wall.

“You took almost as long as Rhys to dress,” he drawled, “and that’s saying something.”

The councillor cut them both a dark look, brows dropped low over eyes so blue they were almost violet. Rhys said nothing, but he straightened his cuffs and smoothed a hand over his doublet as he walked away. Like Azriel, Rhys wore black— the colour so deep it was tantamount to his near-inexhaustible wealth. His golden collar of state was draped across his shoulders too, the only thing breaking up the black, and Cassian eyed it as Rhys led the way to the great hall, the gold glinting beneath the candles lighting the way.

He threw a grin to Azriel. “Well, I know who I’m trying to impress,” he said slyly, raking his gaze over Rhys’ immaculate state of dress. “What of you, brother?”

Azriel snorted once more before looking pointedly to Cassian and raising a brow. Mischief glimmered in his hazel eyes as he said, “Lady Nesta’s sister has arrived for the banquet.”

“Oh?”

“Her youngest sister.”

Cassian wanted to throw back his head and laugh. “Has she now?”

The very girl who Rhysand’s father - bastard that he was - had an eye on for his son. Rhys scowled over his shoulder, undeterred by the chuckle Azriel let out under his breath, and pulling away from the elbow Cassian aimed at Rhys’ ribs.

“Are you trying to win an Archeron of your own, brother?”

Rhys blinked flatly, flicking his gaze to the ceiling in sufferance as they walked. “Hardly winning, if it’s arranged.”

Cassian shrugged, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Think of it— we’ll be brothers by marriage.”

Rhys ducked beneath Cassian’s arm and brushed a hand over his shoulder, as if to remove invisible dust.

“Lord forgive me, if she’s anything like her sister,” he muttered, lips twisting into a grimace, “then I’ll be on the next ship to Calais.”

Azriel took a step that brought him into line with his brothers, clapping Rhys firmly on the shoulder. Cassian grinned, and one hand drifted absently to his chest, where the jewel he had bought remained safe beneath his doublet. His fingers felt it beneath the velvet, and his heart seemed to soar. He shot Rhys a wink.

“Calais wouldn’t have you, you insufferable bastard. Besides, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Rhys sighed heavily, pinching his brow as though he had suddenly developed a fierce headache. “And what have I done to earn such teasing? I did as you asked, did I not? I distracted the queen at the hunt.”

Cassian sobered a little, a soft smile crossing his face. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Azriel dipped his head in acknowledgement of his gratitude, but Rhys only rolled his eyes.

“I beg you be careful, Cass. Elizabeth doesn’t look kindly on illicit affairs amongst her ladies.”

“Worry not,” Cassian answered breezily, waving a hand as his boots echoed on the flagged stone floor. Ahead, the doors of the great hall loomed, and the sounds of celebration already filtered out and echoed along the hall. Every step brought him closer to Nesta - to his Nesta - and there was no warning in the world Rhys could give that would dampen the joy taking root within his heart. He felt an easy smile spread across his lips as he inclined his head to his brother and said, “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

***

Nesta could have sworn the hall fell silent when he entered.

It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Distantly, she knew the musicians kept playing. Knew that a hundred different voices still continued to speak, drifting up towards the rafters. But there had been some kind of pull she didn’t understand when Cassian had entered, and she had simply stopped hearing all the rest. The world had faded, like nothing mattered more than the privateer who strolled towards the queen on her dais, Lords Rhysand and Azriel by his side.

Suddenly, the simple act of breathing felt like a labour.

“Is that him?” Feyre whispered beside her. “The one you spoke of?”

Nesta did not turn to look at her sister. From her place standing four paces away from the Queen, she kept her attention fixed on the hall ahead, and the three men who had entered as one.

“I don’t remember that I spoke of anybody, sister.”

Feyre rolled her eyes.

Her youngest sister had been waiting when the royal party returned from the hunt, in a chamber with their father. After bowing deeply to the Queen and hearing Lord Archeron beg the queen’s forgiveness for arriving so lately to the pageant, Nesta had departed to her chambers with Feyre in tow, leaving their father to skulk away into the shadows, already seeking, no doubt, a round of lords to share in a game of cards.

But if Nesta had hoped that she might pass off the hunt as entirely menial, she had been a fool. Her sister never seemed to miss anything, her eye too sharp not to notice the way Nesta seemed… distracted following the day’s sport.

There were whispers, you know, Feyre had said idly, toying with the ends of her loose hair. They reached us even in Kent. I heard that there was a sailor a few months back that caught your eye.

Nesta had looked at her sister without so much as a furrow in her brow. You know how the court gossips. Such rumours all turn out to be baseless in the end, do they not?

And yet you haven’t denied it, Feyre pointed out with a smile curving her lips. Nesta had shook her head, and set to deciding on which dress she would wear for the banquet.

And what of you, little sister? Nesta had asked instead. I thought you would be wed to Tamlin by now. Or did Father find him wanting?

Feyre had snorted, the sound so startlingly unbecoming for a noblewoman that Nesta raised a brow. But then— Feyre had spent her youth in the country, raised so far from London. She had spent so little time at court that Nesta often forgot how different their worlds were, how much more freedom Feyre had been afforded, especially with their mother gone. She had been set to marry an earl from the Devonshire coast, and for a time she had seemed happy, his lands so full of greenery and bucolic beauty that it had seemed a perfect match. Nesta wondered what had changed.

Both Father and I found him wanting, Feyre shrugged. She settled herself on Nesta’s bed, leaning back against her hands. When Father decided you would best matched with the Duke of Northumberland, he realised that there would be a… space available at Lord Rhysand’s side.

Nesta really did scowl, then. I can imagine nothing worse than having to suffer such a man as my brother-in-law.

Feyre’s head tilted. Is he truly so terrible?

Before Nesta had been able to answer, they had been interrupted by a sharp knock on the door— one that called Nesta to the Queen’s side and reminded her of her duties in readying Elizabeth for the night’s banquet. Nesta had shaken her head and departed, leaving Feyre with the promise to speak to her later, and now her sister stood by her side, watching as Cassian entered the great hall, Azriel and Rhysand with him.

“Even so,” Feyre whispered. “Is that him?”

“I should think you would keep your attention on the man you may end up marrying,” Nesta hissed.

Feyre hummed a little, straightening her shoulders. “Yours looks like a rogue.”

“He is not mine,” she retorted, her words slipping through lips pressed tight together to mask the movement. Yet even as she spoke, she recognised the words for what they were. Falsehoods, bald-faced falsehoods uttered with all the skill of a courtier and yet still ringing hollow.

Feyre remained unconvinced. Nesta felt her sister’s sidelong gaze, and heard the whisper of a chuckle that left her lips. “So it is him.”

“You and I both know Father has his eye on Northumberland for me.”

“And you and I both know, too, sister, that if you had a mind to reject the match, you could do so far more easily than any other woman I know.” Her eyes darted to Elizabeth. “After all, one word to the Queen and she would close down all discussion of the union.”

Nesta pursed her lips, but her retort was banished as the trio of men approached the dais at last, all eyes fixed upon the Queen. The whispers ceased, and Nesta pretended not to notice how Cassian’s eyes strayed to her, taking her in from top to bottom, smirking with all the grace of a man who knew intimately the shape and feel of every one of his desires. It made her dress feel tight, and as she dragged her eyes away from the privateer, she pretended, too, not to take obvious note of the way Rhysand’s eyes flicked once to Feyre, widening with something that seemed to be surprise as Feyre met his gaze and stared him right back, studying him the way he studied her. Her sister’s eyes sparked beneath the candlelight, and Nesta felt herself groan inward as she realised that the look on Rhysand’s face had been pleasant surprise.

Elizabeth clapped her hands, snapping them all back to the present as Rhysand and his companions each sank to one knee, dipping into the lowest of bows.

“Your Majesty,” Rhysand said smoothly, his voice dancing across the candle-warmed stone. The Queen hummed brightly, and though Nesta tried to focus - honestly tried, futile as it was - she could not now force her eyes away from Cassian, with his head bowed and his hair hanging in loose curls to his shoulders, grazing the edge of his fine doublet.

At her side, Feyre tried and failed to mask the clearing of her throat. A sidelong glance revealed Feyre standing in her navy gown, five years out of fashion, tracking the path of the golden state collar across Rhysand’s shoulders. It had been a surprise to say the least to hear that their father had abandoned the betrothal to Tamlin and instead had an eye on Rhysand for his youngest daughter, and Nesta wasn’t entirely certain that the match was one she approved of. But the councillor, she noticed, glanced once more at Feyre, in a gesture so subtle she almost missed it. Though he remained steadfast beneath Elizabeth’s attention, those cold eyes that had so often glared at her from across the Queen’s chamber had somehow warmed a fraction in the presence of her sister.

“Good of you to join us, Rhysand,” Elizabeth drawled. The lord cringed. “The rest of my council arrived almost an hour ago.”

“Apologies, your majesty.” Rhysand cut a glare to his right, to where Cassian remained with his head bent. “I was delayed by my brothers.”

At his left, Azriel cleared his throat in protest.

Nesta fought a smile, and even the Queen seemed somewhat placated, her own lips curving in good humour as she reclined in her seat, arms braced on either side of her. Her diamonds glittered, her eyes sharp and piercing.

“And tell me,” she asked airily, dropping her eyes to Cassian, still on a knee. Indulgently, she tsked. “How fares my wayward bat? One hopes that it was not a longing for the sea that slowed you this evening.”

The privateer lifted his head at last, golden skin gleaming in the warm light. His eyes danced, as beautiful as a forest lake beneath an autumn sun. “Not at all, your majesty,” he said cheerfully, his voice reverberating, echoing in Nesta’s chest. “Your court has made me a happier man than I have been in a long time. I find I do not miss the seas at all.”

Elizabeth tittered, brushing a hand over her voluminous skirts. The praise had a smile crossing her thin lips. “I am glad to hear it,” she hummed. “Perhaps, then, you will tarry a while before next setting sail. After all, it would not do to rob us of so charming smile again so soon.”

Cassian grinned wider, giving the monarch a small nod. “As the Queen commands,” he said grandly, fisting a hand over his heart.

His eyes flicked to the side, landed on Nesta. He bowed his head once more, leaving her to wonder whether the queen he had spoken of was their blessed and anointed sovereign or… well, her. Indeed, from beneath his eyelashes, he looked up at her and tightened that fist pressed against his chest, as if he were swearing fealty to her from his place on his knees.

Elizabeth seemed not to notice Cassian’s distraction as he prostrated himself before her, merely clicking her tongue against her teeth in a sound of approval. Lifting her sharp eyes to the hall behind them, she waved a hand in dismissal. Others waited for the Queen’s ear, more courtiers gathering in droves as the hall began to fill.

“Go, sirs,” Elizabeth said airily, flicking her fingers towards the trestle tables lining the walls. “Enjoy the festivities.”

Nesta watched as her privateer rose smoothly to his feet. She watched as he backed away, watched as he took a seat at one of the long tables, slipping in amongst the nobility gathered beneath the hammer-beam roof. Watched, as he lifted his chin and sought her gaze.

She swore the air between them went taut, like a line stretched between them.

The air smelled like sugar, the sweetness like a fine cloak over the entire hall. The tables were laden with sweet dishes, candied fruit and gingerbread with sweetened cream. Sculptures made of sugar spoke to staggering wealth, and a grand version of Kenilworth itself had been constructed and wrought of sweets. But Nesta did not wish to taste any of it on her tongue— had no interest in the cakes drizzled with honey or the silver platters of fine desserts. The hippocras was sweet on her tongue when she sipped from her cup, but it wasn’t what she wanted to taste tonight.

She wanted so much more— wanted all the things she knew she could never ask for.

She wanted to taste his lips, wanted to feel the heat of his hand in hers. It was a touch that would have her condemned, a thought that would see her dismissed from the Queen’s service and left to bear the scandal, and yet still...

Nesta wanted.

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, and as their eyes connected across the room, the tightness in her chest grew, constricting until she found it hard to breathe. Edged by candlelight, his skin was golden and his hazel eyes were like embers, dragging heat along her skin as they roamed. She swore her heart lurched, and though she had never been one for sentiment, something in her chest had turned molten, and she allowed herself now - at long last - to admit that, God, she had been wanting him all along.

She dropped her eyes, thinking back to how she had been so incensed when he strolled in that first night of the pageant— how she had been so angry that he had sailed with the tide and left her behind— cast her off and made a fool of her.

She knew better now.

Lifting her eyes back to his, Nesta watched as Cassian took a drink that Azriel offered. Without even blinking, Cassian looked to her and winked, lifting his goblet in something caught halfway between a toast and a salute.

Beside her, Feyre murmured slyly, “I like him.”

***

The night was dark, and in the heavens above colours burst into life amongst the stars, flaming red and green and white.

Tudor colours for a Tudor queen; a livery in fireworks.

The cost must have been astronomical, but Nesta rather thought that nobody at all cared much how much the fireworks had cost the Earl of Leicester to import from the far east. All they cared was that the wine was flowing, the musicians continued to play, and as the night turned balmy, sparks ignited in the dark and bloomed against the light of the moon.

The entire court had been ushered out into the grounds after the banquet, left to gather before Kenilworth’s red-brick walls. Courtiers lounged now on the rolling lawns stretching before the castle walls, or stood by the lakeside, grouped on the banks. The Queen had commanded a spot on the bridge Leicester had constructed over the said lake— a grand thing, six-hundred feet long with carven pillars along the length, and beneath her in the water the fireworks were reflected, seeming to come from the depths themselves, as if Poisedon had commanded them. As above, so below they ignited.

Elizabeth stood a mere half step from Nesta, her face angled up to the sky. The colours flaring to life against the stars were reflected in the queen’s diamonds, the stones around her neck suddenly aflame with red sparks as they lit up the night above. Nesta was fascinated— entranced.

Fireworks.

A marvel from so far away, brought to light up the heavens.

Another firework exploded above them, and suddenly Nesta could think only of all the wonders the world might hold, wonders she would never see. Wonders Cassian had seen. The privateer was standing behind her, next to Lord Rhysand, and when she looked briefly over her shoulder, she saw his eyes drop from the skies and fix instead on her, like she was a wonder to him far greater than the artistry of the night sky.

He winked at her, and Nesta could only hope that the darkness masked her blush as she faced forwards once more.

The very air itself seemed alive with joy— with an excitement that seemed to shiver. She felt the promise of the night in her veins, and wondered where exactly it would take her before the sun rose at its end.

Her thoughts were broken by the brush of a hand against her wrist, warm and soft and hidden by the dark. Her eyes flicked to the side, even though she knew who she would find filling the space beside her. Cassian had crept upon her silently, finding the gap in the Queen’s ladies and slipping between them. His fingers had glided along the bare skin of her wrist, and Nesta had known his touch as innately as if it were her own.

Silently, she raised a brow.

Cassian inclined his head to the side. As the fireworks continued to bloom above, Elizabeth’s court began slowly to disperse through the grounds, disseminating into the darkness. It was easy to slip away under cover of night, easy to be overlooked when eyes were turned skyward, and as the Queen’s party on the bridge began to thin and musicians struck up from somewhere by the lakeside, Nesta turned her wrist, letting Cassian’s thumb brush against the base of her hand. A soft smile curved her lips as she stepped into him, her back brushing the hard lines of his chest.

“Walk with me,” he whispered, just like he had a few nights ago after his return.

This time, Nesta did not hesitate before saying yes.

***

There was something in the air, that night.

Nesta had walked the paths of Kenilworth’s gardens before, but something seemed different, now. Something had shifted, like the earth beneath her feet had righted itself after years of being an inch off-centre, and perhaps it was all in her head— perhaps the only thing that had changed was her, now that the thing she had been running from was no longer buried so deep within her chest. But as the skies were illuminated above, she didn’t think so. The world was more marvellous, more beautiful now, when she saw it with Cassian at her side.

The privateer meandered along the gravel paths with her, hands clasped behind his back, and every line of him was at ease, comfortable and content. When he walked, he was so close that his arm brushed against hers; a whisper of velvet that made her foolish heart skip.

She wanted more of him— didn’t think she would ever stop wanting more of him.

“Tell me,” she said as she looped her arm through his, drawing closer to his side. Even through the thick velvet of her dress sleeves, she could feel his warmth. “Tell me what it is like at sea.”

She was still thinking of the fireworks; of the wonders the world could boast.

Cassian threw his head back, inhaling the night air. Nesta watched, entranced, as the moonlight glanced off his jaw and coasted down the column of his throat. The pearl in his ear gleamed a white so bright it seemed to shine, the opalescent sheen seeming to glow against the darkness of his curling hair. He glanced down at her, eyes bright. For a long time he was silent, seemingly content to look at her the way she looked at him— as if he were committing every plane of her face to memory.

“Freedom,” he said at last.

When their eyes connected this time, Nesta swore there were fireworks of their own in the air between them. She could feel something bursting, sparks in her chest. Her lips parted when he smiled, her breath stolen by the sheer beauty of his grin, the lovely way his eyes lit up.

“It’s freedom.” He pulled her forward, and with one hand pointed at the sky, at the horizon that was too dark to see. “When the sun breaks over the waves, when dawn stains the sky pink and purple…” He breathed again, eyes distant, as though he could see it. He shook his head and turned to face her, dropping the arm that was looped through hers and taking up her hand instead. For a moment he was silent, studying her face. “It’s beautiful.”

One hand held her own, his callouses sliding against her skin. And then slowly, his other hand lifted to brush against her jaw, his fingertips moving to map the curve of her face.

“But there are other things of beauty in this world,” he murmured, his gaze dipping to her mouth. Nesta canted her head to the side, letting his fingers wander still across her cheek, her jaw, grazing her neck as the tip of his thumb brushed the corner of her lips. Beneath her stays, her heart pounded.

“It is true that I love the sea,” he continued when Nesta did not speak, rendered silent by the brush of his fingers across her fevered skin. His voice dipped, a quiet purr intended for her ears alone. “But coming home has its pleasures, too.”

“Greater pleasures, I hope?” Nesta dared ask, the movement of her lips almost letting her mouth kiss his fingers.

A smirk pulled at his mouth, his hazel eyes darkening in the moonlight. He lowered his chin, leaned closer.

“Far greater.”

His hand fell to her neck, his palm splayed across her pulse. The heel of his palm rested on her collarbone, and beneath his touch her blood pulsed and pounded with reckless abandon. If he noted how it fluttered, how her heart raced, he said nothing. Instead his thumb swept across the column of her neck in a broad, languorous stroke. Despite the wine she had taken her fill of, Nesta’s mouth suddenly felt dry. Cassian leaned closer, the press of his hips shifting her skirts, and Nesta felt herself pitching towards him, like she were the ship and he were her anchor, the only solid thing for a thousand miles.

He smelled like leather and sea salt, with just the barest hint of something soft— like lavender. Nesta breathed it in, let it wash over her as she felt one of his hands move to her waist.

God, he was as intoxicating as the queen’s strongest wine.

All too soon, laughter echoed from somewhere far away. With a start Nesta jolted back, pulling from his easy grip and setting a distance between them that made something inside her splinter. Her eyes fell to the gravel beneath their feet, silvered by the moon.

“My father still wants me to marry Northumberland,” she said, if only because somebody had to.

Cassian shrugged, irreverently. “Oh, come now,” he said with a wave of his hand. “You’d hate it so far north.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “And yet you are from the north— your father’s lands are on the Scottish marches, are they not?”

“They are,” he shrugged, not allowing his air of irreverence to falter, even as his eyes hardened a little at the mention of the man who had fathered him. “That’s exactly how I know you’d hate it.”

Nesta shook her head, but found that somehow the space between them had vanished once more, like the both of them had been drawn to the other. He was close enough now that he when he dropped his head, his brow almost brushed hers. Nesta swallowed, daring to reach out and trace the laces of his doublet with the tip of her finger. She could have sworn he shivered.

“Nesta,” he breathed, his voice as rough as the gravel they stood upon. He seemed to steel himself, eyes dropping once more to her lips. Above them, more fireworks bloomed in the sky but this time, Nesta could not drag her eyes away from the man before her. Once again his fingers sought her skin, both palms rising until he held her face cradled in his hands.

“Marry me instead.”

Nesta Archeron blinked.

The emerald-green and ruby-red of the fireworks were reflected in Cassian’s hazel eyes, sparking as she blinked once more, more fervently this time. She pulled her head back an inch, just enough for his hands to drop. Her head began to spin, and Cassian did not retract his touch but left it lingering at her jaw, his fingers curling beneath her chin. Smoothly he urged her face up, brought her eyes to his.

“Have you lost your wits?” she asked, half afraid she wouldn’t hear his answer over the pounding of her own heart. But her voice didn’t come out as sharp as she intended, nor as incredulous.

Cassian only shrugged. “I have money enough,” he said. “Lots of it.”

Stunned, Nesta searched for something to say and came up empty. Cassian brushed his thumb along her jaw once more, as if to remind himself that he could, that she hadn’t drawn away.

“I’m sure I can get the Queen to give me an earldom, at least.”

At that, Nesta laughed. “No, you really have lost your wits.”

“One of my oldest friends is a member of her privy council,” he countered easily, as if they were discussing the weather. “Another is part of her extensive intelligence network. I rather think they can pull some strings.”

“Then you don’t know our queen at all, if you think the words of some men could sway her,” Nesta scoffed, taking a step back, outside his reach. “Lord Rhysand has been trying to settle a match between her and the Duke of Alençon for months and she isn’t prepared to listen. What makes you so different?”

“Ah,” Cassian grinned, stepping back into her space until the distance between them was nothing once again. “Because if I am the one to marry you, she gets to keep you too.”

Nesta frowned.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it sweetheart?” he said, his voice a fevered whisper accompanied by glinting eyes and a self-assured smirk. “If you marry Eris… well, you’d have to move to Northumberland wouldn’t you, and that’s so frightfully far away. I don’t think our darling queen would be happy at having to lose you.”

She could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart, the way it fluttered in her chest like a sparrow’s wings.

“My father might have lands in the north,” Cassian continued when Nesta said nothing, too bewildered to speak, “but it isn’t as though I will be the one to inherit them, bastard as I am.” He shrugged, like his illegitimacy was nothing to him anymore. “I have enough set aside to buy a house in London. I hear the queen favours Greenwich— I am certain we can find a nice little manor to make our own near there. You need not leave her service.”

“It’s true enough that she doesn’t take well to losing her ladies when they wed,” Nesta said slowly, a breathless kind of feeling blooming within her, one that felt dizzying in its exuberance. And then, pointedly, she added, “She stabbed one through the hand once, when she married without permission.”

“We wouldn’t do it without permission though, would we?” Cassian took her hand, lifted it to his lips. “Think on it, at least. This whole event is put on in honour of the queen— she’s in a good mood. I think Leicester half hopes she’s going to propose to him by the end.”

Nesta hardly dared breathe.

It was madness.

Madness.

Her father would be furious, and every man the length of England would hear of the scandal. But it wasn’t enough to stop her longing to accept, to let Cassian sweep her into his arms and take her to the church right now to make her his.

Before she could speak, Cassian lifted a hand to his doublet. From inside, he pulled out a small parcel wrapped in black velvet. With the moon high in the sky overhead, and the stars joined by the fireworks bathing Kenilworth in red and green, Cassian held out the parcel with a steady hand. Only when Nesta took it, only when he lifted his fingers to tuck back behind his ear a strand of hair that had escaped his tie, did she think she see him tremble.

Unfolding the velvet revealed a heart of solid gold. It shone burnished even in the low light, and the pendant was heavy in her palm. Inlaid with garnets, there was a flowering rose studded with gems and beneath, carved in an elegant scroll, the inscription read, in French, ‘always yours’.

Nesta swallowed, tracing a thumb over the smooth surface of the shining garnet. “The Queen will have your head,” she whispered.

Cassian scoffed. “You heard her. She likes my smile too much.” When Nesta raised an eyebrow, the privateer’s smile turned lupine. “Oh, she might throw me in the Tower for a month or too, but nothing too serious.”

Nesta shook her head, but as she watched Cassian’s smile turned soft, his eyes growing earnest as he took her hand, closing her fingers over the pendant he’d given her.

“I bought it from a goldsmith as soon as we reached land,” he said, his voice sober. “My French was never as good as Rhys’, but I know enough to translate. I saw that pendant and felt the truth of those words in my bones, because I have been so many things in my life, sweetheart - bastard, nobleman, pirate, privateer - but above all else I have been yours from the moment I met you. I signed my heart over to you that very first day, and I don’t want it back.”

His fingers squeezed hers, tight around the golden heart.

“Marry me,” he said again, his tone carrying a shade of desperation. “Marry me, because I have and always will be entirely yours. There shall never be another for me, sweetheart. It has always been you, and you alone.”

Somehow Nesta found the strength to glance up, into the face that was lined with honesty. His eyes bored into hers, his lips parted with his confession. God, she couldn’t say no to him. Didn’t want to say no to him.

“The Queen…” she began again, but her protest was weak now, and Cassian waved it away with a hand.

“She likes me much more than she likes Eris,” he said. “And I’m sure that if I get down on my knees and beg her to see how desperately I love you, she’ll understand.”

Nesta’s hand fluttered to her chest, where she could feel her heart beating. She knew her limits as well as any woman, and already felt her knees beginning to tremble. She was seconds from falling into his arms, mere moments from demanding that he tell her again exactly how much he loved her.

But she didn’t get chance. Before she could open her mouth, Cassian extended his arm and pushed back the sleeve of his doublet. There, tied against his skin, was her ribbon. The one she had given Eris at the joust. With deft fingers Cassian untied it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and lifting it between them until it was level with Nesta’s eyes.

“I want to be the one wearing your favour for the rest of my life,” he said, in a voice that was solid and steady. “Every joust, every tourney, every dance.”

“I still can’t believe you found it,” she muttered.

Cassian raised a brow as he tucked the ribbon inside his doublet. “Well, I wasn’t going to let Eris leave something so precious lying on the tiltyard floor now, was I?”

“Precious?” Nesta asked flatly. “It’s a ribbon.”

“Your ribbon,” he countered. “Precious.”

“To who, exactly?”

“To me,” he answered simply.

More fireworks burst into beautiful colour above, but for once Nesta did not turn her face to the sky. She felt the ghost of Cassian’s touch lingering on her skin, and as his hands drifted to her hips, his face was brought so close to hers that it would take only the barest movements for their lips to touch. And oh, Nesta wanted their lips to touch. She had never craved a kiss as much as this, had never wanted to feel the warmth and heat of another as much as she did now. Cassian dipped his head, his nose grazing her cheek.

“Nesta,” he whispered, like her name was a prayer to him.

Her hands travelled along his doublet, smoothing over the hard muscle of his chest. She curled her fingers over his shoulders, rising to her tiptoes to bring them closer. He groaned against her, his hands falling to her waist. It burned— his touch burned.

“If I said yes,” she murmured, her eyes falling to his lips, “would you kiss me, sir?”

“If you said yes,” he answered, a hitch in his voice, “I would kiss you until the stars dropped to the earth.”

His hands tightened on her waist, his grip one that Nesta didn’t ever wish to be free of.

“And then?”

Cassian let out a rough laugh, even as his head fell to hers, his lips grazing the corner of her mouth when he spoke.

“Then I would go to the Queen this very night, fall to my knees and beg her to let me have you. I would move Heaven and Earth and not rest until she gave her assent.”

Nesta fought a smile, winding her arms around his neck. Against her cheek, his own lips curved into a smile that he didn’t fight at all.

“And then I would kiss you again— and again, and again, until there is no breath left in me.”

Heat bloomed deep inside her, the blush on her cheeks flaming.

“What a pretty picture it is that you paint,” she breathed.

“A pretty reality, sweetheart.” Cassian straightened, looking down into her eyes with an intensity that almost made Nesta weak. “Say yes to me, and I will lay the entire world at your feet.”

“And if I don’t want the world?”

“Then what else would you have of me?”

Nesta shrugged. “I would have you— just you.”

His smile was wolfish, hungry. Suddenly his arms were around her fully, sweeping her to his chest. He lowered his face to hers once more, his lips hovering maddeningly above her own. So close— so close. When he spoke, his breath drifted across her lips.

“I already told you, love,” he murmured. “You have me. Wholeheartedly, you have me.”

Gently, Nesta lifted a hand and pressed it against his cheek. The privateer closed his eyes, like her touch was the only thing that could undo him. Her heart swelled, and on her tongue she felt the words begging to be spoken— and one word that mattered more than all the rest.

“Then how could my answer be anything but yes?”

He stilled. “Truly?”

Silent, she nodded.

And before she could blink, his lips were on hers. Slowly at first, gentle and explorative, like he wished to trace every inch of her and familiarise himself with it. And then it turned fevered, his hands grasping at her waist as her fingers curled against his neck. With a palm flat against her spine Cassian drew her closer.

Nesta knew, distantly, that if they were discovered everything she had would be ruined. If she were caught kissing a privateer in the gardens, whatever reputation she had would be so utterly destroyed there would be no coming back. And yet as Cassian’s lips danced with hers, she no longer cared.

Let them find her.

Let them see.

Let them know that the only man she wanted to meet at the altar was this one, the only ring she wanted to bear on her finger his.

Her lips parted, a gasp leaving her as his hands travelled south. Her skirts felt heavy, the fabric between them too much, and she was cognisant of nothing but his lips as he backed her against a nearby tree, bracing his hands on the bark as one leg slipped between hers. Nesta felt herself unravel. Her bodice felt too tight, the air too thin. Her hands travelled across the broad stretch of Cassian’s shoulders, clinging to him as the skies above them continued to burst with colour.

“How shall you have me, wife?” Cassian asked, nipping at her lips as Nesta shivered in his arms. “On my knees?”

Her heart stuttered.

Wife.

Still, she forced herself to arch a brow, even as his hand moved to her thigh, palming the fabric of her dress.

“Is there any other place a husband should desire to be, when before his wife?”

Cassian grinned at her. He leaned close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as his hips pressed against hers. “No,” he breathed, grazing his teeth along her jaw. “No, there isn’t.”

She tipped her head back, watching the fireworks illuminate the sky. Cassian’s hands travelled along her thigh, above the fabric of her dress. He had called her wife, and she had called him husband, and even though there had been no vows exchanged or no priest to bless the union, she knew that the match was all but sealed. If he went any further, if his hands strayed beneath her dress…

Shaking her head, Nesta placed a hand on top of Cassian’s own, stopping his touch from roaming any further.

“Perhaps some things should be saved for our wedding night,” she whispered.

He blinked, squeezing her thigh once. Desire clouded his eyes, hunger written all over his face. As Nesta watched, he reined it in. With effort, he took back his hand, pressing a single chaste kiss to her cheek before drawing back.

“Then let me away to the Queen immediately,” he said, his voice glimmering with laughter. “I’ll beg her to let me marry you tomorrow.”

She batted at his shoulder. “Rogue.”

He grinned, catching her fingers and bringing them to his lips. “A rogue you have agreed to bind yourself to forever, sweetheart.”

He pulled away, but extended a hand to bring her with him. Nesta took it, feeling her fingers slip between his as the warmth in her chest settled. The heat did not vanish, but rather turned into something else, something far more tender, that warmed her bones. Cassian led her back through the gardens, towards the celebrations.

“Come,” he said, bringing her to his side and winding his arm through hers. “I must tell the Queen how you stole my heart like an expert thief.”

“If anyone is the thief, sir, I rather think it would be you,” Nesta countered tartly.

He laughed, and the sound had her already anticipating the moment he slipped a ring on her finger. He paused, turning and pulling her to his chest, his head dipping for one more kiss.

“Then deem me guilty,” he murmured, smiling as he lowered his mouth. “And condemn me to a life at your side, for you will find no happier convict.”

Nesta hummed and did not answer, winding her arms around his neck.

And as the fireworks overhead continued to set fire to the night, Cassian kissed her again, tender and soft and filled with a lifetime of promise. The privateer murmured her name against her lips, whispered his love against her as he held her to his chest, and Nesta felt herself secure in his arms, more cherished than she had ever been before.

“You’re certain?” he whispered, dragging his lips to her cheek.

Nesta smiled softly, delving her fingers into his hair. His hands held her steady, fingers splayed at the small of her back, and as she looked into his eyes she knew with unfailing certainty that there would never have been another for her— no man to compare to this one, with all his rakish charm and rugged beauty.

“I’m certain,” she whispered. “Marry me, sir.”

Cassian grinned, his eyes sparking as he lowered his lips to her jaw. His voice was a rasp against her skin when he spoke, a heated whisper. His hands fisted the fabric of her dress as he kissed his way to the corner of her mouth, still smiling against her as he said, with no hint of irony or care for consequence…

“As my queen commands.”

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#nessian #as per there is a very lengthy historical note on ao3 so if historical detail is your thing then do check that out #this one includes tidbits on the real entertainments at the pageant and the food served at the banquet #and also the inspiration behind the pendant #which is *real* and gorgeous and you should absolutely check the authors note where there is a link to an article with pictures of it #nestaweek2024

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