#[;drabble]

[covenofthearticulate]

“ what did you want to tell me? ”  and maybe something with Louis and Daniel? 🥹

Sentence Starters

There are plenty of things Daniel wants to tell Louis— has dreamed about telling Louis ever since he woke up on that goddamned rotten hardwood flooring in dingy apartment back in the city. Monologues and questions all cycling through his head, mumbled under his breath, rehearsed over and over again like a one-man show until he was so certain of his argument, so convinced of his own agenda, and the only thing he ever needed was that set of viper-green eyes.

But the monologues had eventually died on his tongue, hadn't they? Faded away with that first taste of blood and fistful of auburn hair. The questions had melted into pathetic pleas, dribbling out until the words were slurred together under the promise of twin pricks at his pulse point. Even the arguments, the passionate and thorough reasoning behind his desire for the Dark Gift had shifted each night until the figure in his mind, the imaginary debate partner, had a different voice altogether, and stared back at him with brown eyes, not green.

There were new things he wanted to say, too, the next time had the pleasure of seeing Monsieur de Pointe du Lac at that table. As the world fell around them and his whole reality had exploded into a kaleidoscope, all he wanted was to keep one hand on Armand, and one hand on Louis.

I understand now.

I understand.

I'm here. I made it. Let me in.

It's pretty fucking hysterical, actually. When Louis has the audacity to ask such a thing of him now, he can't think of a damn thing to say. It's hard to think of anything to say when he's standing in Louis' house, Louis' turf, Louis' grand coven, the haven of Trinity Gate. Bastard.

But that has always been Louis' way, hasn't it? Just like Armand. A gentleman and a scholar. He asks the question like he doesn't already know the answer, like he's been listening this whole time.

Why did you pick me? Why did you leave me? How long are we going to keep pretending that you didn't fuck up my entire life?

He wants to jam the questions into Louis' head with the silent gift, right between his eyes. He knows Louis hates that, revolts against any intrusion of the sort.

But instead, he shrugs his shoulders, purses his lips.

"Your shoe's untied."

He points to the ratty, beat up laces at Louis' feet and, the second Louis glances down, Daniel finds himself cracking a smile.

"Made you look."

[asktowa]

Towa has never had a great relationship with food. He didn’t hate it, he just…didn’t need it. Even so, he still knew the basics of cooking – it’s a skill everyone should have, after all. Except, it wasn’t a skill, not for him anyway. Normally Towa wouldn’t think twice about this kind of thing, but after last night, he started to wonder if he should worry about his abilities (or lack thereof) in the kitchen. 

You see, that night it was his turn to cook (something new that they were trying out in the Jabberwock dorm), and he decided to make the one thing he really knew how to cook: Porridge. No it wasn’t a filling meal for dinner, but again, Towa doesn’t need food. Plus, he figured if the other two were really hungry, they’d just suck it up and eat it. So when Ren outright refused to touch his meal, and Haru pretended to like it even though he’d spit it out into a napkin when he thought Towa wasn’t looking, he knew he had to make a change. He hardly ever felt shame, but last night was particularly humbling for Towa. 

And so that’s how he ended up in his current spot – sitting on the kitchen counters of the Mystery Diner and kicking his feet idly as he watched the chef anomaly attempt to make something that vaguely resembled food. Personally, Towa thought he was doing a great job, but again, what does he know about food or cooking? He only ever ate plants and flowers for God’s sake. The poor anomaly looked absolutely terrified though, constantly looking over its shoulder as if it were waiting for Towa to strike at any moment. He just had that effect on most anomalies, it seemed. But the chef would have to put up with Towa’s antics, because he wasn’t going to leave until he learned how to properly cook a meal.

[quccninchains]

guilty as sin | drabble

{☾} Leaning against the stone balcony, Alicent watched as her sworn sword moved. Everything about his body alerted to danger—a honed weapon that Ser Criston continued to whet against stone. Grunts and clinks echoed up from the training yard—a symphony of warfare. 

She had no taste for battle, but she understood the unfortunate necessity for it. And of course, if the crown expected to have capable soldiers—they must constantly train and better themselves. Even her sworn sword. It wouldn’t do to have the man who vowed to protect her life, and that of her children, to his last, to be anything but prepared and trained. 

Alicent watches the cut of his body as he swings his sword—he’d divulged himself of his armor half an hour prior and trained alone in only his breeches, boots, and linen shirt. It wasn’t proper, nor appropriate, the way her eyes focused on his muscles. And yet…she couldn’t tear them away. As he turned and swung, his sword connecting with the wooden practice dummy, she could see the tension in his form. Deadly. He’s been her dearest friend for nearly fifteen years and she’s always known he has a potential to be dangerous. 

Who better than she—who saw his display of raw power and strength at Rhaenyra’s wedding. Another thing her former friend had stolen—Ser Criston’s sense of peace. Alicent worries that he’ll never recover from the heartbreak. His name is constantly on her lips in the Great Sept, praying for his absolution—for his healing. She doesn’t quite know the word for her feeling towards him. Rather—she does, but she ignores the glaringly obvious. 

Gratitude. He has assumed fatherly devotion for her children where her husband failed. Respect. He did his job diligently and effectively. Her safety has always been at the forefront of his mind. Appreciation. He’s been at her side since that fateful day in the throne room. Comforted her every time she has to attend on the king in his bed. Had been the only one who cared for her when she was pregnant. Had held her while she wept—watching them take her stillborn daughter away. Had held her again while they pulled Daeron from her skirts, screaming and begging for his mama as they loaded him into a carriage.

The word came to mind in an unwanted torrent, plaguing her with guilt. Love. She was married—and not to him, despite the early wishes of her girlhood. She loved him and had done so for fifteen years. He was her best friend, her confidant. 

It wasn’t their fault that it could never be. 

Their eyes meet across the training yard and they share a moment of unspoken understanding. Slender fingers reach up and touch her pendant, steadying herself as she studies him. A masterclass in coveting. His chest is heaving and she can see the glisten of sweat upon his brow and neck—can see a trickle slip down through the unlaced top of his blouse. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, subtly—she doesn’t think he can see it from his spot below. She notes curly, dark hair dipping below his neckline and she wonders what it must be like to run her fingers through it. 

It’s a sinful thought—it sends a blush to her cheeks and a warmth between her thighs. But the knowledge of her adulterous thought isn’t enough to keep her from wishing his lips would touch hers, from praying his fingers touch her body, from wondering what it would be like to feel him on top of her. 

Alicent dips her head in a soft, cursory acknowledgement. She barely registers his bow in return and turns on her heel, green gown swirling between her legs as she takes long, purposeful strides away. Distance. Distance would absolve her of those thoughts. Perhaps a visit to the Sept. Anything to keep her from fantasizing. Another guard sweeps in behind her, keeping a watchful gaze on the queen as she gracefully flees. 

Dinner comes and goes and Alicent barely speaks a word that isn’t required of her. As always, she is the picture of queenly perfection and poise. Always catering to her husband, her children—lavishing kind smiles on those who compliment her. She waits in her chamber for the request that never comes. Blessedly forgotten by her husband. She expects he’s working on that model once more—despite her simmering bitterness towards Viserys, she loved him. And his model of Old Valyria was beautiful. It was one of the few things they shared a love of—the histories. 

And she’ll never complain at having to avoid paying the marital tax. Laying beneath him while he does his business, never once asking her mind. His grunts haunt her, the thrashing above her as she feigns pleasure near the same time as him. He’s called her Aemma more times than she can count—despite the near comical difference in appearance. 

She has no intimate attachment to her husband, but she still burns in shame as he thinks of his late wife while thrusting into her. 

Her maids had left her for the evening, leaving her standing in the flickering torchlight. She had requested they leave the few above her bed on—a book was a careful distraction until the inevitable came down. After all, she was still fertile and her husband was (arguably) still virile. Though she’d given him four living children, there was still the potential for more—though that thought filled her with dread. Alicent glanced down, alone with her thoughts for the first time all day. 

She’d chosen her nightgown in anticipation of being requested—white, clingy satin that dripped down to her ankles, save the slit to her upper thighs. Embroidered by her own hand on the nightgown were flowers, foxes and other fauna. Her arms were bare, thin straps holding the gown to her body, giving an ample view of white, porcelain cleavage. Her robe, a gossamer slip, had been thrown over the chair near her writing desk. 

Alicent glanced at the fading light of the torches and decided that her attentions wouldn’t be needed. She could climb into bed and fall into her usual restless sleep. Pulling the sheets back, she slips under with a grateful sigh. There’s still a dim glow in the room but she makes no move to douse them. She turns on her back and rests her arms over her abdomen. Her eyes flutter close as she nuzzles in a little closer to her pillows. 

At once, her mind is assailed with images of Ser Criston training. She can see in vivid detail the way his shirt clings to his back with sweat. The opening of his shirt bagging forward, giving her glimpses of dark chest hair and tanned skin. 

It's not the images that cast open her eyes--but the pleasant throb she feels between her thighs. She lurches up, a soft breath slipping from her lips. The feeling is new to her but she recognizes it as arousal--something that had evaded her for years. Guilt surges behind it. She was a married woman and it was images of another man, her dearest FRIEND, that had cast the feeling upon her.

He's right outside her door. Standing watch. Ready to lay down his life to protect hers. Unworthiness floods her veins as she lays back against her pillows. A shameful moment has her wondering if she could crack the door open and pull him in for that KISS she's fantasized about.

But she doesn't move her legs. She wouldn't ask him to defile his CLOAK, his oath. There was no guarantee he felt the same way about her--even though there was a tingling feeling in her mind that was more certain.

She cared about him too much to ask him to dishonor himself and her vows.

Instead, she slips a hand down, her nightgown riding up her thighs. She's surprised to feel a dampness between her thighs but she knew it wasn't her courses. Tentatively, Alicent strokes the inside of her thigh, closing her eyes. Her knuckle brushes against the sensitive arch between her legs and a little moan is stifled into her free hand. Her mind returns to Ser Criston--imagining him removing his blouse, his breeches. She can see him climbing into the bed with her, his calloused hands sliding up her ankles, her calves...

She hooks a finger, slipping it between her intimate folds--lightly moving it. Heat flares against her skin and she sighs, biting her lower lip to quiet herself. A second finger slips in as she imagines his lips, brushing against her knees and thighs, kissing his way up her body. His hands are strong and sturdy, holding her in place as she squirmed beneath his touch.

Her fingers pump carefully, her body slowly riding against them as she sees his lips on hers.

A breathless sigh is the reward for his hands in her hair, curling auburn locks around his fingers. Her hands slip down his shoulders to his chest, her own fingers lightly grabbing at his chest hair--feeling warm, hard muscles against her lithe, soft body.

She gives a little cry, her fingers picking up the pace--stroking and loving herself as she imagines Ser Criston, kissing her neck and shoulders, guiding himself into her. Her knight buries himself in her, buries his face in the crook of her neck as he moves, slowly--almost lazily thrusting into her as her legs curled around his waist.

In her bed, her legs arch as her fingers move, curling and pumping against her most sensitive places. He's LOVING her, kissing her--worshiping her with his mouth, his hands, his body. He was right outside her door and had no idea. She stops herself from crying out his name, begging him for more. Breaths are coming from her lips in rapid succession, quiet moans in the dying torchlight.

The GUILT would come later.

It's only when he whispers three words, three CRAVED words, that she breaks--convulsing around her fingers as a cry of relief slips out of her mouth. 'I LOVE you.' Stars shattered behind her eyelids, her body writhing through the wave of pleasure. It kept coming, this intense feeling--like she was flying and bursting into flames. He made her into a PHOENIX and he didn't even know.

Alicent lay there, panting slightly as her fingers withdrew. Her chest heaved as she sucked down breath after precious breath, body still trembling. Her heart restart its rhythm and halted again at a gentle knock at her door.

'Your grace? Is everything alright?'

Her cheeks blossomed with mortification. Had he heard? Did he know? She could only PRAY that he hadn't. Another thing she must pray for in the morning. She clears her throat, resting her hand against her throat.

"I am well, Ser Criston. It was..." Disappointment mingles with guilt and the ebbing pleasure of her climax. Back to the cold, cruel reality that she lived in. "...it was a dream. Nothing more."

[lultimagoccia]

Peppino had been so surprised by the name on Caller ID, he'd nearly dropped his phone. He fumbled it between hands, saving it from near destruction against the tiled pizzeria floor in just the nick of time before lifting the device to his ear. Almost didn't want to speak. He was afraid she may not answer.

“ H - hello, angioletto. Are you okay? ”

There was a pause – please don't have hung up, please, he just wanted to hear –

“ Heyyyy, Papa. I'm okay! I just … wanted t' check in. And wish ya a happy Father's Day .”

Relief, utter relief and absolute joy at hearing his daughter’s voice responding. His own shook as he spoke again, emotions boiling within his chest, filling his lungs with air that wanted out all at once. But he had to keep his calm, control his feelings. Too many mistakes had been made in moments he failed to do so.

“ Father's Day, today? Really?? My God … I really been losing track of the days. Thank you, Calamaretti. I … I am so happy to hear you. I miss you so much. ”

“...I miss ya too, Papa, ” she replied sadly. “ 'm sorry, for not callin' more … ”

“ No, no! ” Pepp was quick to reassure her, before forcing himself to regain his calm, even tone. “ No … it is okay. I understand. You got your own life, your own things to take care of. I am always here when you need me. Always. ”

A measured breath, like she was trying to contain a swell of emotion. He hoped he had not made her more sad. He never knew what to say, to not make things worse. So he let her take the lead, talk about what she wanted to.

“ … I, uh ... heard about Bisnonno … ” she began again, hesitantly. “ I really wanna fly out, but I got finals coming up and I just couldn’t afford th' tickets right now. But I was worryin' about you, that it was hard for ya to handle all of that, alone … ”

“ It has been hard. Very hard. But I am not alone. Please, focus on your studies and do not worry for me. I am doing well now. ”

“ Thank God, that makes me feel so much better about it ... who's helpin' you? Gustavo? Nonna Margherita? ”

“ ...my, eh. My. She's. Hmmh. ”

He wasn't ashamed of Creecher – quite the opposite, he adored his wife - to - be and was very proud to admit so. But it was always a little nerve wracking, introducing a new partner to his daughter. He worried what she might feel about it. While his life continued on, he never wanted her to feel she was left behind. That he had moved on, without her. She was always in his heart, and so much tenderness and understanding had come from being her father.

“ She? Is … are ya seein' somebody new, Papa? ”

“... yes. Her name is Creecher. I … got no idea how to explain alla that quickly … “

“ Well. I got time. Why don’tcha tell me all of it, slowly. Always did love your stories, right? ”

Peppino chuckled, the sound rolling all the way through him. This was good. A door opening again. A hand extended, offering him the chance to come in again to her life. He just had to be a good houseguest, while he was there.

“ I will do my best, heh! Let me think … her name is Creech, like I say. She is … incredible. Older than me, than anybody. Than the town, even! She come from the forest, and she protect it all that time. ”

Alone. Life moving around her, just within reach but never within her grasp. They had both been so alone before meeting, existing within a world that changed them, but never seemed to make a space for them within it. What a wonderful turn of fate that they found each other, and carved out that space for themselves instead. 

“ We meet by chance, many months ago now ... ” felt like a lifetime, at this point. Like her place in his life had been sitting vacant until she was ready to occupy it. He opted not to mention she was living in his garbage can, that part felt much less whimsical and romantic than was proper for a love story like this one. “ She is not like anybody I met. She is clever, and wise, she got a wicked sense of humor and she understands me. I … I am very happy, angel. ”

“ …she sounds really incredible, Papa. I’m really happy for you. All I've ever wanted for you and Mama was for you two to be okay. ”

“ Ah … it is not your job to worry about our happiness, angioletto. You got to take care of you. ”

“ ... I'm trying to, Papa. But it's been so hard, lately. ”

“ Hard? ” his brow furrowed, phone clutched in both hands. If only he could hold her hands in his own, take the pain and burden from her. He knew the world could be merciless, no matter how strong you were. He knew that sometimes, you got tired of being strong. “ Talk to me, angel. What is so hard? I will listen. I am here. ”

There was silence from the other end, such that he feared she would pull back again. She wanted to prove she could handle herself, he knew that. She wanted to show she was brave and did not need Papa fighting all her fights for her, dragging her by the hand everywhere and getting in the way all the time –

“ ... the girl I was seeing. She, uh. It didn't work out. ”

“ Ohh…I am sorry. What happen? ” he asked sympathetically, permitting himself a little protective fatherly anger at the thought that girl she was seeing, ol' What's - Her - Who - Now had missed out on the chance of a lifetime. Her loss! His angel was too good for her, anyway.

“ It’s a lot. I mean, it’s Father’s Day, I’m sure you don’t wanna hear about all my lame college relationship drama … ”

“ ... well. I love your stories. And I got time. Tell it slowly. ”

She laughed, genuinely giggled the way she used to at his jokes, when she was small. And Peppino felt a great warmth settle within his chest, the slightly painful but necessary repair of an old wound finally sealing itself back together. And so they spoke at length, of life, of food, of all that they had missed in the time since last they had talked.

It was the happiest Father’s Day Peppino could ever recall.

[bloodylariat]

Reverence (Drabble)

Tw: blood, knives

The quiet chapel heavily smelled of insence and burning candles. From what little Cadence could see around her in the dim candlelight, there was, she assumed, a decently sized crowd seated before her, all staring. Keeping her head tilted slightly down towards the stone floor was all she could do to avoid their gazes.

Unease crawled up her spine, but despite it, she knew better than to run away. She had to stand here, silently, her hands clasped in front of her while Atticus continued with his sermon.

"It is for that reason our beloved Lilith's darkness is a gift we must embrace."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cadence watched as Atticus grabbed something from the altar and began to walk closer to her.

"And there is truly no greater gift than the young maiden who stands before us now."

Cadence knew his entire spiel by heart now, having been a spectacle for numerous past masses. As if on instinct, she held out both her hands in front of her, her palms facing upwards.

She must've acted too slowly for his liking this time, as Atticus went out of his way to grab her right wrist in a tight grip. The young acolyte would've made a sound of distress, or tried to pull away, but the preacher's icy glare made her freeze. Her expression remained blank, unchanging, even when she could see the glint of an elegant knife in his other hand.

"May her blood strengthen us."

Whatever Atticus muttered next, Cadence tried and failed to focus on it as the blade sliced open her palm. She couldn't scream, couldn't show any sign that it hurt. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ambrose in the crowd, watching as he closed his eyes and looked away with a grimace. His brothers, on the other hand, watched with rapt attention.

The blade then sliced open her other palm, and again, Cadence made no sound. She could only stand there, letting two altar servants arrive and collect drops of her blood in small chalices filled with wine.

She remembered how she cried the first time she'd done this. The tears that silently streamed down her face as she struggled to not make any sound. Atticus had berated her for such things. She'd gotten better at hiding it by now.

The chalices were soon passed around to all in attendance.

'It'll be over soon...' she told herself. 'It'll be over after this...'

The rest of the mass continued as usual. Only once the entire crowd finally left the room did Cadence finally sigh in relief, letting herself drop to the floor. Her hands still stung, and were shaking as she tried to fight back tears that were welling up.

She heard footsteps approaching, noticing a familiar pair of shoes stop in front of her. The young acolyte lifted her head.

"A-Ambrose..."

"It's alright. It's over now." He knelt down, immediately administering bandages to her palms.

Cadence could see the prominent frown on his face, though she knew it wasn't directed towards her. "I-I-"

"He shouldn't treat you like this..." Ambrose muttered under his breath. "You're more than the blood running through your veins." He gritted his teeth, his mismatched eyes narrowing slightly. "The fact that so many can't see that-"

"Ambrose."

The two tensed, realizing that Atticus had returned. Ambrose quickly helped Cadence to her feet, giving her a reassuring glance before steeling himself when faced with the Malwood patriarch.

"Father."

"Come with me. There is still much work to be done." Atticus then shifted his gaze to Cadence, offering a smile that gave her no comfort. "Thank you again for your offering, dear Cadence. You truly show what a devoted child of Specter you are. You are free to leave for the time being. But I expect you to return in time for tomorrow's sermon."

Cadence could only bow, as was expected of her.

"...Of course, Atticus. Lady Lilith's will be done."

She hardly believed her own words at this point. She only ever said what she needed, be present when needed.

Offer up her blood when asked.

Never asking questions.

Never fighting.

[wickedpeachie]

@prince1ing asked....(You know what quote it is)

If you squint you'll see some plot. this is a shameless fluffy s.m.ut drabble and if ur reading it, its okay to be horny on dash. (highly reccomend this rainy asmr to get the vibe )

the marble floor was growing wet, the sheer white curtains too. the late summer storm had taken the whole palace by surprise, keeping servants out and some in. the day sat thick with dark gray clouds and heavy air, only tolerated with the gentle breeze through the open balcony doors. the rain was a symphony, the rhythmic cascade of droplets acting as background noise. the heaviness sat in the air as a reminder of the summer season, the humidity making many lazy in the expiring afternoon.

the rain had sequestered them, although neither would complain. a convenient excuse to hide away within their chambers. what better use of their time and strange dynamic than to fill it like this? exploring one another, learning each and every breathy sound they could make. by all accounts this was for duty not pleasure.

but oh, there was so much pleasure.

dorian's hands crinkled the white cotton sheets around her hips, enough that elain knew he was the one guiding her movements. the back and forth, the slight holding her back. he was teasing her closer to the edge but not enough to overcome it. her labored breathing and breathy 'please's' purposefully ignored. the elaborate braid in her hair had fallen out, the curls wild and full from the weather. wet stockings, corsets, trousers and boots scattered throughout her room. taken off as if they could not wait to feel one another and a little bit from what they had done on the balcony. duty. she reminded herself. this was for the benefit of all, wasn't it? the carnality of their actions just a simply after thought.

is this how friends passed their time?

the end of her hair tickled along her lower back, brushing the skin as her head tilted. her hips rocked forward, pressing his length back into her. soft, pouty lips parted, swollen from all the kisses he had stolen. dorian's lips faired no better than hers, parted as he inhaled a ragged breath. her mewl uttered between them, softened by the weather covering their sounds.

perspiration clung to her skin, cream colored thighs parted over his bare frame. sweat clung to his body, dark hair matted down against his forehead. her palms pressed into his abs, leveraging herself for more. her back arched, deepening the pressure. he obliged, hips rising up to meet hers before a louder groan vibrated in his throat. elain could feel it in her entire frame, the neediness in his thrusts, the desperation in his touch. breasts heaved, bouncing with each movement. her torso had lingering marks, placed where only she would see them undressing. reminders of where his mouth had been, of what it could do. small little hints of scarlet scattered over her breasts, a few cheeky ones on her neck, and the ones on her inner thighs. all forget-me-nots of dorian. not that she'd ever be able to get the imagine of him soaking wet between her thighs out of her head.

they looked more like lovers in the throws of passion.

a blush bloomed on her features, all the way to the tips of her pointed ears. the sound he pulled from her throat a mixture of delight and need. his fingers would leave bruises, his grip commanding her hips. her body trembled, his gaze enough to send that sensation straight into her core. dorian's arm shifted around her, anchoring her to him as he rose. her world turned upside down, a gentle outcry as her back found the mattress and he hovered over her. his arm slipped from beneath her, braced on either side of her head. chocolate-hues widened, out of sorts in her breathing. don't stop. she wanted to scream. if he stopped she'd lose herself, she didn't know how to handle if he stopped now. he couldn't, he wouldn't. hardened peaks brushed his chest, and nails dug into his back to join the forget-me-nots she had left. a needy sob choked her, watching his lips widen down at her. his fingers traced her jaw, and elain was left breathless as he whispered between the sounds of rain. "You have rare beauty, the like I have never seen elain" lips found the shell of her elongated ear, grazing until he nipped at the tip. she all but lost it there, ready to break beneath him, "but you will be more beautiful heavy with my seed."

elain stumbled to breathe, hearing a breathy chuckle from above her. dorian had discovered a secret she hadn't known herself. she more than liked when he spoke to her like this. more than liked the action he spoke of. and he took great pleasure in using it whenever he could. he had taken to mentioning similar words at the most inappropriate times, just to see her squirm from arousal that she denied the existence of. he could be wicked, but oh so could she. in retaliation, elain had taken other measures to draw his attention. from innocent accidental brushes against his member, to dainty nightwear he only would get a glimpse of, to begging for that very thing in his ear before disappearing. she chalked it all up to playfulness, and not her growing feelings towards him.

hands found her hips again, the sheets dropped from her body. her hands draped to beside her head, dreamily watching his expression. he'd seen every inch of her, and still took his time to drag his gaze down the length of her. his head dips, and elain arches her back. she offers up her pert nipples like a reward, and dorian swirls his tongue around the pink bud. has he memorized them? the other trapped between thumb and knuckle, encouraging the peppering of breathy moans. elain had tried to cover the sounds, and often found her hands pinned away from her mouth. he played with her breasts agonizingly slow, switching between mound and nipple at his leisure. he'd suckle at them until she was whimpering, he'd switch and begin again. when she thought she could handle no more, a palm settled on her pubic bone, and she whimpered at the contact. "dorian" spoken like a prayer, hands grasping at the bedsheets behind her. "don't you agree?" his thumb lazily circled her clit, and her eyes strained to stay focused on him. "yes" her body felt hot from the inside out, and she wanted nothing more than to writhe beneath him. sapphire-colored eyes crinkled, "about what, elain?" her body sank further into the mattress, his palm keeping her pussy from grinding into him. she was learning how to speak freely, learning to take control over her own sexuality. dorian was always encouraging, even when she felt like she was going to burst. "i'll look more beautiful" her cheeks were hot, eyes heavy. she wanted to do this for herself as much as him. wanted to know how impropriety could taste so sweet. "when i'm heavy with your seed"

she could see the flicker in his eyes, the excitement that she had repeated his words. elain wet her lips, his gaze tracking the movement of her tongue. her thighs widened, his fingers tensing against her. her thighs were soaking, and dorian had kept himself pressed deep within her throughout the duration of their words. the term slipped her mind, but she'd gladly let him remain buried there if he so pleased. elain inhaled, the action expanding to brush sensitive nipples against him. "dorian, please, fill me" the words tighten the coil of anticipation in her stomach, and she can feel his body tense with restraint. he wanted it as much as she did. her gaze is half-lidded, a cry of protest as he slips further out. elain isn't prepared for the emptiness, but her hands remained tightened on the fabric behind her. the phantom touch keeping her from pulling him back to her.

the sound, the very force, of his thrust, couldn't even be drowned out from the rain. it elicited a surprised moan, her back arching to raise her hips. his cock stretched her again, filling her until no space remained between them. she didn't think he'd allow any to exist. she couldn't. dorian's hand slipped from a pressure to hold, aligning her hips for more depth. elain is lost in the sensation as it washes over her. the echoing of sharp sounds as the back of her thighs collided with his. his touch firm, grounding, his attention solely hers. its moments like this that muddle her thoughts. sometimes, she swore that this might feel like love. the thought is shoved from her brain, but it never went away. it lingered in the space between, chaining her heart deeper to his.

when the phantom touch dissipated, elain is far too eager to pull his face to hers. near feral in her action. dorian meets her, a clash of tongue and teeth. as if they had gone far too long without that meeting of lips, needing it as much as they needed air. His arm circles around her back, hips hitched upon on his own he drove into her. elain meets the thrusts with a fury, her hips rocking in tune with dorians. their lips parted for air, and soon repeated the motion of near sloppy kisses as they continued in a frenzy. breathing labored, skin beginning to stick against skin. elain had never known a hunger so strong, never knew she could want someone as much as him. did it ever end? the wanting of him.

her head grew dizzy, his grip the only thing keeping her upright. her walls clenched around his cock, and her orgasm flooded her system. she knew he felt it, knew it the moment his lips pressed to swallow her sounds. they belonged to him. his thrusts rough, and as if it was possible feeling as if they reached deeper. she could feel his heart, the way it fluttered in his chest. could feel the way fingers dug into her flesh harder, needier. the moment of his own release is blinding, and again there are white spots flickering her vision. dorian's body seizes over her, the muscles tightening beneath his flesh. his body jerked a bit recklessly, spilling himself until his body shook. her body warmed again as he leaned over her, hips softer as they rocked together; the last few drops of his seed greedily taken. her lower stomach swollen, filled by him.

elain shivered in his touch, the breeze cooling heated flesh. dorian's breathing labored, and her head dropped to his shoulder. he collapsed them backwards, his back meeting the mattress and her his chest. his member still half-aroused within her, and neither seemed to have the energy to do anything about it. her head nuzzled into his chest, an affectionate gesture she hadn't foreseen."stay with me" she breathed. her gaze found the open doors, the floor soaked and the curtains drenched.

she didn't mind those late summer storms all that much anymore.

[deathinfeathers]

Collision

She still remembers how big his hand felt clutched about the back of her neck like a vice, dark fingers applying just enough pressure to her carotid arteries to make her head feel light and flimsy. But she was still alert and keenly aware of the mess she'd made. The trouble she was in. The looming threat of oblivion creeping in out of the corners of her vision, an abrubt and unceremonious end to a short and miserable story. Only appropriate, Eluthéria supposed—that she would find her end in the clutches of the man she was born to live and die for.

Commander Adam hoisted her Petite frame off of the shiftless cadaver upon which the dimunative soldier had perched like a peckish kerstrel. She heard him click his tongue through the thumping heartbeat in her ears, but she couldn't see him. He made sure to angle her head far away from his person, tapered talons digging deep trenches into the base of her skull. She struggled to find her footing. Skinny arms rose to cross themselves over her naked chest—the motion exacerbated the cat-o-nine-tail's latest object of vicious art stretching astride her pale back. A fresh, abstract portrait in the museum of suffering that is her frangible body.

"Drop it."

She'd only ever heard his voice booming from the Carmine pride skies on the eve of new years, the thunder which heralds the great annual slaughter of the wicked and damned. It didn't sound half as imposing inside this cramped stone chamber, but she would not make him tell her twice. Wouldn't dare—not inclined to make her suicide any more torturous than it needed to be. Spindly fingers uncurled from about the circumference of the spear-head she'd illicitly nabbed from the arms depot. Blessed. Deadly.

It clattered to the ground at her feet. The pool of ichor dampening the sound of metal meeting with stone but she flinched anyway. That made him laugh. It's was soft but pointedly derisive sound.

"Woof! Feisty little thing. A bit on the scrawny side. Are they skimping on your rations? For shame. C'mere. Let me look at you."

With that, his big hand slid Up along the meager curve of her neck, his fingers, thick and coarse, bunched her ratty bird's nest up into the hollow of his palm, which promptly balled into a tight fist, flush against her scalp. Adam turned her head on the axis of her spine so that she would face him, vis-á-vis, his gilded lightning against her ruby flames.

She remembers thinking that he had beautiful eyes. An odd thought to dedicate to somebody so vicious, maybe, but she always had a way with finding beauty in the macabre.

Those eyes roved her tremulous form, clad only in a threadbare pair of boxer type shorts.

She'd never felt so naked. Not because his gaze was overtly lascivious in nature but because it pierced and bored through her, like he was looking right into the core of her being. For a moment she wondered if he might be able to read her mind, but she banished the notion quickly. If he could see the playback of the events which had transpired inside this chamber, now tomb, he would not be so soft. This was his subordinate, after all, a trusted comerade in arms, and she had not been kind in her ministrations. She made him suffer, the same way he had made her suffer.

And she enjoyed every second of it.

If the commander had not barged in, she would've liked to spend more time with his body, looking at his insides, picking them apart, watching as every sign that this thing had ever been alive slowly evaporates, and chiseling it all into the deepest niches of her mind so that these precious moments might continue to bring her joy for the rest of her life—however short it might be.

But when does she ever get the things that she wants?

"You know, ordinarily, this type'a stunt might have left me a touch, hmmm, irked. But hell, i gotta tip my proverbial hat to you, pretty bird. Impressive work! Really! The cards weren't exactly stacked in your favor—I mean, obviously...look at you! Shrimpy little cherub looking ass! Hah! And yet here you are, alive and kicking. I dare say we might be looking at an act of divine intervention. What a world!Allelujah, amen and all that good shit!"

Swaying on her feet, Eluthéria looked up at this man, who was easily twice her size, with all the bewilderment of a toddler hearing a foreign language spoken at her for the first time in her life. She saw his lips move, heard the sounds but she couldn't by any means process what exactly he was trying to tell her. Adrenaline. Exhaustion. Fear. It all bore down on her like a big stack of cinderblocks, threatened to crush her frangible faculties under it's enormous heft.

Tears. First one. Then two. She blinked, and all at oncethe floodgates ruptured. This took him off guard.

"Oho, no,  no! None of this sniffling nonsense! You don't perform a top grade kill like that and then cry about it! Come on, girl, suck it up."

Adam swiped a calloused hand somewhat brutishly across her porcelain countenance, whisking away the brunt of the tears and the blood and the sweat. She didn't object. she wanted to, make no mistake. The touch of his skin against hers felt like needles in her brain, an absolutely vile sensation, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it, but she hadn't the verve to make a fuss.

He shrugged his intricately embroidery cloak off his shoulders and draped it around hers.

Warm.

"Alright, come on, let's see if you've got any more fancy tricks up your sleeve, eh?"

His grip on her stark white locks slackened, and he ushered her towards the steel doors.

She remembers thinking that this was the day she was going to die.

In many ways, she supposes that wasn't an entirely inaccurate assumption.

[thevoidknights]

Ghost, for once, was having a good evening. The higher being in their mind was mercifully quieter tonight and thus could they focus on other things... like spending quality time with their siblings. At the moment the trio were amusing themselves by trying to draw the silliest thing they could think of. It wasn't Syltyr's strong point but the knight didn't particularly care since they were far too relieved that Ghost was feeling better tonight. Plus it was nice that they weren't the one to solely entertain their smallest sibling for once. Syltyr was just listening as Ghost regales them both with tales of some of the creatures that they'd encountered upon during their time in the kingdom, sketching out little doodles of each one to show Clover. This had the small vessel completely enraptured, their own drawing supplies being steadily forgotten.

Yes... it was a good night indeed.

[wiildhearrted]

Reunion

Another week of restless sleep, but that’s not anything she isn’t used to these days.  She’s been spooked.  Eight days have passed since she caught his scent.  Thought she caught his scent.  Work had lead her on a three hour road trip to answer a call about some wildlife that needed picked up.  It was so brief, but she’d never forget that familiar scent of honey and earth.  His scent has always been woodsy, warm to match the softness that radiated from him even when they were kids.  Her head had whipped around, desperate to find the source of the scent even if she wasn’t so sure she wanted to get her hopes up.

Dark blue eyes had met with honeyed brown, fallen upon his shaggy blond locks and a well trimmed beard that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him.  It’s not as though she had forgotten what he’d looked like.  Not as though she ever could, but she’d started to become accustomed to her new life.  How long had it been since she’d actually let her thoughts wander to her past and stay there?

The literal ghosts of her past are haunting her, it seems.  She’d loaded the critters into her truck and sped as safely as she could back to the sanctuary, but over these past eight days, she keeps catching his scent.  Keeps seeing him in the corners of her vision.  So Nikki does what she does best.

Runs.

Her wolves alerting her draws her from her stupor – growling and barking and raising hell at whatever stranger dare come so far into the woods to knock upon her front door.  Except he isn’t a stranger.  Or is he?  It’s been nearly a decade at this point.  She’s not the same person as she was then.  She’s much much worse, and –

Fuck, there’s no point in just sitting there.  If he’s scent tracked her all the way to her home, if he’s knocking on her door, she can’t very well run anymore, can she?  Well, she could.  She could pack up right now and hop states just like she used to.  Damn, she really had started to like the little life she was building here.  

Or maybe all the grief, alcohol, and sleep deprivation has finally gotten to her and she’s lost her mind.

As soon as she stands, gives her wolves a small ruff of a command, they quiet.  Her hands trembling, resting on the doorknob.  Forehead rests against the door, and she takes a deep steadying breath before she moves back to open the door.

“You done runnin’, Little Foot?”  The voice is deeper than she remembers, but it holds the same twang as her own, gentle as it’s always been.  His jawline is a bit more square, and his hair is longer than he used to wear it.  It’s the same dark blond, though.  Lashes surrounding amber eyes just as thick as they always were.  Nikki takes a moment to take it all in.  The differences.  The similarities.  His ears have been pierced a few times now.  He’s filled out more than when they were teens.  But there’s no mistaking who he is.  

What she doesn’t understand is how.

“You’re dead, Brother Bear.”  There’s a hint of fear in her voice, but it isn’t him she’s afraid of, not really.  Him being alive means she has to face what she’s done.  What he surely blames her for as much as she blames herself.  No, no, no.  She can’t.  She can’t.  Her breaths come rapidly as she takes a step back, leaning forward to brace hands upon denim covered knees.  Duke and Ryker are by her side in an instant.  Duke standing between her and the man he doesn’t recognize.  Ryker gently nudging her into a sitting position.  Her heart feels as though it’s about to burst from her ribs.  Hands cover her face for a brief moment before raking upwards and through her hair.  “I watched your house burn.  I ran in, ‘nd I found your brothers ‘nd your dad, but I couldn’t find you.”

“Nik, I’m fine – “ he tries to step forward, but the low rumble emanating from Duke’s chest makes him think twice.  “Call off the wolves, Little Foot.”

His words fall on deaf ears as she stares up at him.  Dark blue eyes are clouded over, welling with tears. Nikki isn’t in the present.  Lost in the flames that destroyed her past.  “I couldn’t save them.”

“Nik, please,” he tries to step forward again, face contorting and tears welling in his own eyes when he can’t reach her.  Her wolves won’t budge, and he won’t hurt anything that she holds dear.  Won’t hurt anything willing to protect her so fiercely.

“I couldn’t save you,” her voice finally breaks along with the thin line of tension holding back her tears.  “You died.  I killed you.”

“Nikki, stop,” he’s firm in his command, regardless of how much it isn’t like him.  He grits his teeth, stepping forward and pushing past Duke despite the way the wolf sinks fangs into his forearm.  

Almost as if on cue, the scent of his blood snaps Nikki back to reality.  “Release,” but her voice is too shaky the first time around.  “Duke, release.”  The wolf obeys, making enough room so that their guest can take a seat next to Nikki.  “We need t’ get that patched up.”  Their kind heals quickly, but that doesn’t make the threat of blood loss any less real.  “Ryker, rag.”  

The blond man eyes her, lifting a brow with a tilt of his head.  Should he ask why her wolves know a command to retrieve rags?   If she’s anything like she used to be, he has a pretty good idea why.  Even still, Ryker returns shortly, the smallest tip of the rag in his mouth to reduce the amount of saliva on it as he carries it to Nikki.  

“Give it here.”  This time the command is at the man, grabbing his wrist gently with her left hand to extend his arm.  Deftly she wraps his forearm in the rag, ties it off tightly enough to staunch the bleeding until his enhanced healing kicks in.  The light grip on his injured arm only lifts so that she can grab his uninjured one.  She scooches back so that she can extend his arms between them, compare them side to side.  The marred skin on his arms isn’t quite identical, but the pattern of his burn scars is similar to each other.  She holds his arms like that, almost like a barrier between them, and she can’t meet his gaze.

The events of that night are replaying over and over in her head.  Getting her sister out of their burning house, urging Dani to run to safety while Nikki ran back into town to try and rescue the others.  Running to Caleb’s house as it’s on verge of collapse.  Finding the bodies of his father and younger brothers.  The support beam striking her back and nearly crushing her as the house continued to collapse.  She’d barely made it out alive, but she never did find his body.  Finally, she lifts her head to look at his face.  He’s older, but it’s his face.  Her voice breaks again, as if saying his name would break the spell and he’d vanish again.  “...Caleb?”

Tears spill down his cheeks, but he gives her a fanged grin.  “I can’t believe you’re alive.  I ran t’ your house but it was already collapsed.  I couldn’t find  you or Dani –”

The force of her hug knocks the wind from his lungs.  Nikki’s death grip around his midsection is returned.  One arm wraps around her middle, squeezing her tightly as his other hand rests on the back of her head.  He can feel her tears dampening his shirt, as she buries her face in his shoulder and sobs.  His own silent sobs join her loud ones, shushing away her repeated “I’m sorry’”s until she finally quiets.  

Nikki doesn’t fully pull away, only just enough so that she can look at him as she speaks.  “Dani made it, too.  I made sure ‘fore I went back t’ look for you.”  She trails off, not wanting to admit that her younger sister doesn’t want anything to do with her.  To admit that Dani blames Nikki for what happened just as much as Nikki blames herself.  Just as much as Caleb probably does.  “Fuck, Caleb.  I can’t believe you’re – after all this —.” Her thoughts are jumbling together as she rambles.  “It’s been years.  Fuck.”  The sound that escapes her is a mixture of a laugh and sob as she wipes the final remnants of tears from her cheeks.  

Caleb’s own tears have finally stopped, and he gently takes her head in his hands to press their foreheads together.  Rest there a moment, take in a familiar scent of home in an effort to ground them both.  “‘S’okay.  I’m safe.  We’re safe.”  The feeling of a wet snout nudging against his cheek pulls his attention away from his dearest friend.  Eyes are met with Duke’s, the wolf’s tail wagging low and slow and he whines.  A tentative lick is given to Caleb’s cheek, as if the wolf is apologizing for biting him now that he knows Caleb is a pack member.  He laughs, ruffling Duke between the ears.  “All’s good, buddy.  Thanks for protectin’ her.”

His attention turns back to Nikki.  “Now, when’s the last time you freakin’ slept, dummy?  You look like absolute shit.” 

[thecommanderzoe]

Hanji sat cross-legged on the floor of her small, cluttered room, surrounded by stacks of papers, books, and half-finished experiments. It was her birthday today, but she hadn't reminded anyone. The Scouts had enough on their plate without worrying about a birthday celebration.

The candle in front of her flickered slightly, casting a warm glow over the room. It wasn’t part of a cake but stuck in a small metal holder, meant more for ambiance than tradition. Hanji looked at it for a long moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She found comfort, sat in her room and marking the day in her own way, alone with her thoughts.

She’d gathered a few of her favorite things around her—a well-worn notebook filled with sketches and hypotheses, a strange stone she’d found on a mission, and her favorite mug of tea. The room hummed with quiet, the only sound being the occasional scratch of her pen on paper or the faint clink of glassware from her experiments. It was peaceful, in its own way.

Taking a sip of tea, Hanji sighed contentedly, leaning back against a pile of pillows. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the cup seep into her hands and the stillness of the evening wash over her. There was a freedom in celebrating like this, on her own terms—no expectations, no fanfare. Just a quiet moment to reflect on how far she’d come and the work still to be done.

The candle flame danced, casting shadows across the walls. Hanji watched it, lost in thought. This year had been harder than most, but it had also been filled with moments of discovery, breakthroughs she’d only dreamed of before. Even now, her mind buzzed with ideas, new questions forming as she replayed experiments in her head. But tonight, she let herself breathe, just for a moment.

“Happy birthday, Hanji,” she whispered softly to herself, raising her mug in a small, private toast. The candle flickered again, her hand reached for the matches, swapping the mug for the box before she closed her eyes. Just one wish. Hanji stilled her breaths, focusing on her wish before leaning forward to blow out the candle, a smile tugged on her lips as she sat in the darkness for a moment.

[teamlarl]

Drabble - The Hero of Argus

----------

"Oh that?"

"It was a day unlike any other. The year? 57 PW. The Faunus Rights Revolution had been over for a decade by that point. The scars were healing all across Remnant. It was a time of peace. A time of prosperity. No one could have anticipated what would come for the city of Argus, located on Mistral's northern coast.

Now, Argus has always occupied a strange diplomatic gray area between Mistral and Atlas. Nominally, it's Mistrali territory. But it holds an Atlesian military base and culturally speaking, one could make the argument that it's closer to Atlas than Mistral. Which is something Atlas likes to take advantage of.

Rumor has it that Atlas was testing out some special, particularly destructive weaponry off the coast of Argus. With Atlas gone, I suppose we'll never really know the details but... they woke something. Out from beneath the waves it rose slowly. Methodically. Dangerously.

A great reptilian beast, larger than most skyscrapers. Black as night and covered in bone-like armor, as most Grimm are. Like a great, lumbering bear, but conforming itself like some grandiose, ancient lizard of old.

The Leviathan.

The beast had been angered by the weapon testing, either injured by it or incensed that its habitat had been disturbed. And, like all Grimm, it was beckoned towards the nearest human settlement. To exact its vengeance upon those that had a soul.

It turned towards the city of Argus, and began to march.

No one was prepared.

It rose out of the waves like some great herald of doom. As it entered the coastal waters of Mistral's Second City, it tore through the great bridge that made the city famous. See, Argus has walls surrounding it - but at the time, they only had it on land. The city was wholly unequipped for an aquatic attack. And this was no mere Sea Feilong, dangerous as those are! This was a beast out of the nightmares of the most seasoned huntsman!

And it began to attack.

Entire swathes of the city were destroyed within the hour. Neighborhoods that had stood since the founding half a century earlier? Erased from existence. Crushed beneath the Leviathan's sheer mass, like it was stepping on an anthill.

The Atlesian military did its best to repel the beast. But they were still using mid-century weaponry. Nothing like the railguns or dust-powered laser cannons they have now. Well, had. Still! Soldiers were crushed. Planes swatted aside. Artillery and missiles brushed off like they meant nothing!

Fun fact - the current Atlesian base in Argus was built in 58 PW. That's because the old one got destroyed in its entirety during this attack.

And then, like it had gotten BORED, the Leviathan retreated and slunk back beneath the waves.

Argus was left to recover, to pick up the pieces. But no one believed this was the end. No one knew WHY the great beast fell back, but everyone knew that it would be back. Grimm did not just RETREAT on the verge of victory. Except, perhaps, to further savor their meal. To play with their food.

So began the great defense of Argus. Communications were down all across the city, destroyed in the beast's rampage. There would be no help coming. Not from Atlas, not from Mistral. It would be up to Argus and Argus alone to defend itself. As if it could. Now, it’s true, Argus was home to Sanctum Academy, Mistral’s preparatory school for huntsmen and huntresses before applying for one of the Big 4 academies. But these were children. Less than even huntsmen-in-training. They would be no help.

And yet, in a roundabout way, Sanctum Academy would prove to be Argus’ salvation. Because, the morning after the initial attack, a team of freshly graduated huntsmen showed up at the gates of Argus. This team were intending to visit Sanctum and the job board located there, intending to pick their next mission.

And on this team was one Willow Schnee.

White of hair and pale as freshly fallen snow, garbed in the telltale colors of her illustrious house, no one would have blamed the young heiress for choosing a life of luxury. Of ease and comfort. And make no mistake, the woman has a taste for it, I can promise you that. But! She chose to become a huntress anyway. To work hard for her place in the world at that young age, like her father before her. So, at 21 years old, having just graduated from Atlas Academy a scant few months beforehand, Willow Schnee entered the city of Argus for the first time.

She was horrified by the destruction, as anyone would be. To think that a single Grimm had done all of this! But the ice princess, the once and future hero and matriarch, knew that she had a duty to the survivors, to the city. So she stayed. She and her team introduced themselves to the remaining forces of the Atlesian military, who knew that this was the only help they would be getting. Four, freshly graduated huntsmen. It would have to be enough.

Night fell. A storm rolled in from the sea. The city was dark, for most of the power had been taken out during the first attack. Even fires and candlelight were put out, for fear of drawing the beast’s attention. A wise precaution. For, before the clock struck midnight, a deafening roar like a demon from hell came from over the horizon.

The Leviathan had returned.

The only light in the entire city came from the port docks. A shimmering, ethereal Boarbatusk – white, instead of black – shone like a beacon to the entire city, and even to the Leviathan itself. And there, saddled on it like the ghostly Grimm was some great beast of war, sat Willow Schnee – saber in hand.

Slowly, the massive form of the Leviathan peeked over the horizon – trudging along the bottom of the ocean, splitting the waves like a knife. Even with half of it buried beneath the dark waters of the bay, each step was like an earthquake. But its challenger did not back down, did not move an inch. Eventually, the Leviathan reached the docks. It towered over all, its head reaching into the heavens, and it leered down at the bright, shining light offending eyes that were used to the deep depths of the sea.

The Leviathan opened its maw, large enough to eat countless people in a single bite, and roared in defiance – no doubt bursting the ear drums of anyone unlucky enough to not be wearing protection. Willow Schnee responded simply. She lifted her sword and shot out a shard of ice from its chambers of dust. The ice, the size of a boulder yet as sharp as the sword she carried, struck true. It embedded itself in the roof of the Leviathan’s still open maw.

No doubt, to the Leviathan it was the equivalent of a splinter, but as anyone can attest a splinter is deceptively painful despite its size. The beast roared in pain, and the battle began.

Willow CHARGED at the Leviathan, the summoned Boarbatusk she’d summoned running along the waves as if it were on land! In reality, Willow was using her semblance to conjure footholds of ice with every step that her steed took. Then, as one, the remaining functioning artillery of Argus fired – striking the beast while it was distracted with the ant that offended it so! The Leviathan once more roared in pain, and this did everything to boost the morale of the defenders. The beast could feel pain! The beast could be hurt! And if it could be hurt, it could die!

The sky LIT UP, both due to the flashes of lightning the storm conjured and the pounding of artillery fire upon the Leviathan! But in the end, these were just distractions. It had already been proven that the beast couldn’t be felled by the firepower available to the military. But the sheer force of the barrage forced the Leviathan to defend itself.

In a show of power unforeseen by the defenders, the Leviathan revealed its trump card. A low hum filled the air, even as the future Hero of Argus was slashing at the beast’s heels in an attempt to bring it low. It built, and built, and soon the beast itself was becoming yet another light in the stormy night. Some prescient commander ordered his troops to get down for cover, but it would do them no good.

FIRE shot from the Leviathan’s fanged mouth. With the intensity of a blowtorch, and all the power of the bombs that had been dropped on it that caused this entire disaster. A blinding flash of light filled the sky, blinding those who made the foolish mistake of staring directly at the blast. It was like the sun had risen, hours and hours too soon. In an instant, the entire Atlesian military base was VAPORIZED, all hands taken with it. There were no survivors.

A deafening silence filled the city as the Leviathan’s firebreath ceased – the only sounds coming from the pounding waves and the din of the rain. For a long moment, not even thunder rumbled across the sky. Then the beast leaned back and let out a bellowing roar of victory.

An utterly hubristic gesture that shows the folly of the Grimm. One must be careful to not declare their win before all of the combatants are down.

For the sting of a Lancer immediately took out one of the beast’s eyes.

All the while the Leviathan had been preparing its decisive blow, Willow Schnee had been herself preparing. Without dismissing her Boarbatusk, and directing it to continue harrying the Leviathan’s calves, she had summoned yet another vanquished beast – this time, a Lancer Queen. She’d hopped onto the back of the great wasp Grimm and launched into the sky. Willow had been smart to avoid the Leviathan’s attention while it charged its destructive blast. But now that the beast was finished and reveling in the death it caused, only then did Willow strike. And strike she did! The Leviathan did not even realize what was coming until the stinger of the Lancer pierced its eye!

The Leviathan roared in pain! But the damage was done. The beast was now blinded in one eye! And others were soon to follow, for Willow conjured up more great shards of ice to pierce the other two eyes on that side of the Leviathan! Utterly unable to see an entire side, such was the nature of its vision and the placement of the eyeholes in its skull.

The webbed paws of the beast, larger than some apartment buildings, began to swing wildly! Trying to knock the pesky insect that wounded it so out of the sky! The chase was on. On her Lancer, Willow Schnee dodged and weaved, doing everything in her power to avoid getting knocked off her flying steed. It was much like trying to swat an annoying fly out of your personal space, and much like that, it only takes one lucky hit to do so.

Eventually, the great beast did indeed get lucky. Those massive, clawed paws clipped the very edges of the Lancer Queen – and that was it. The summon disintegrated on contact, sending Willow Schnee tumbling out of the air and into the sea. The summoned Boarbatusk did its best to reach and catch its master, and it just barely managed the feat before Willow’s body collided with it – breaking her fall some but also breaking her hold on the creature, and it vanished as Willow Schnee herself vanished beneath the waves.

It had been the first and only blow Willow had taken during the fight. But when dealing with a monster like the Leviathan, it was enough.

For a long moment, it seemed like the last champion of Argus had fallen to their doom. That the Schnee heiress had perished before her life had truly begun. Then a shock of white peeked out from beneath the waves. There floated Willow Schnee. Battered. Damaged. But still holding on, albeit, struggling against the stormy sea. Distant observers noted the telltale flicker of white light – her aura. A single blow, a mere glancing blow at that, was enough to take it from full to nearly broken. She would not survive another.

And unfortunately for her, she had fallen on the Leviathan’s good side. It quickly noticed that its foe had survived her fall. The great beast then decided that, well, there’s no kill quite like overkill.

A telltale hum, one that haunts the nightmares of survivors, filled the frigid air once more. The spines on the beast’s back lit up one by one as the Leviathan charged its ultimate attack. And there floated Willow Schnee, utterly defenseless against the great God of the Sea.

The fire at the back of the Leviathan’s throat grew and grew until, finally, it was let loose upon its single human opponent. It was not prepared for what happened next. For a potent beam of lightning shot, not from the sky, but from beneath the waves! This blast met the Leviathan’s firebreath and held it at bay! Then, out of the waves, rose Willow Schnee! And beneath her heels was the horned, regal head of a summoned Sea Feilong!

The God and the Dragon battled for supremacy, their beams clashing in a light show that we will never see its like again!

But Willow Schnee was wise. The Sea Feilong held its own, but it would not do so forever. The Leviathan’s firebreath was just too strong. But that was fine. The Sea Feilong’s lightning breath was just a delaying action! Without so much as pausing its defense, the dragon unfurled its wings and leapt into the sky with Willow gripping its sleek, wet horns for dear life! Not once did its lighting cease battle the Leviathan’s fire, instead causing the great beast to turn and follow the dragon, directing the clashing beams out to sea rather than towards the city.

Just as planned.

Suddenly, the Sea Feilong shut its mouth and DOVE out of the way, the Leviathan’s fire breath shooting out into the night sky and parting the very storm clouds themselves! Once more, another sun momentarily filled the night sky and the storm itself dissipated, the clouds ceasing to exist. Such was the power of the Leviathan’s firebreath and the resulting shockwave.

The Leviathan lumbered. Clearly, using its ultimate attack so many times in a row, and for so long at that, took a bit out of it. And in that moment of weakness, Willow Schnee struck.

The Sea Feilong dove towards the Leviathan and wrapped its long, serpentine length around the great beast’s gilled neck! Like a python, it began choking the very life out of the great beast, bringing a God itself to heel! The Leviathan clawed and scratched at the dragon, but its massive clawed paws were more for swimming than grabbing. Making matters worse, the way the Sea Feilong had wrapped itself around its victim was deliberate. All at the behest of its master, the dragon had wrapped around the Leviathan such that the dragon’s head would line right up with the Leviathan’s pierced and bleeding eyeholes.

The Sea Feilong charged its lighting once more. And Willow Schnee raised her saber just as she had in the beginning of the battle.

The dragon’s lightning breath PIERCED right through the Leviathan’s skull like a knife through butter. After but a moment’s hesitation as it burrowed through the beast, the blast of lighting came out the other side and struck the waves at an angle, turning the sea utterly deadly until the attack stopped. The Leviathan twitched and shuddered, lightning pouring down its insides, and its maw remained opened in a muted scream.

Then the lightning stopped.

There was a beat. A pause that lasted but a moment but must have felt like an eternity. And then the great beast, the God of the Sea, the Leviathan… began to disintegrate. Like all Grimm do upon death.

The ghostly Sea Feilong, summon of Willow Schnee, began to flicker as well. Its master’s aura had run out. The vanquishing dragon flew towards the ports of Argus with all haste. But fate was smiling upon the hero of the hour. For the dragon only dissipated as it laid its head down on the closest dock.

And there laid Willow Schnee.

Battered. Most certainly broken in places. Utterly exhausted. But victorious.

And she laid there for a while, not having the energy to move. The ice princess stuck laying on the wet, dirty dock that smelled of fish – which had begun to float to the surface of the bay, boiled by firebreath and electrocuted by lightningbreath – until the survivors began to peek out of the rubble. Slowly they crept towards Willow, the one that saved them all. Many of them doubted if she was even still alive. But as they approached her it became clear that she was.

Willow Schnee was alive, and she had saved Argus.

Willow looked at the survivors and choked out a single sentence.

“I could really use a glass of wine right about now.”

A resounding cheer rose up from all of Argus! The people hoisted the battered, soaked form of Willow Schnee up on their arms and gleefully chanted one thing:

“The Hero of Argus! The Hero of Argus!”

Willow Schnee would only serve as a huntress for one year, effectively retiring once she married and gave birth to her first child. But it was a year etched in legend. To this day, there is a statue of Willow at the Argus docks. And, in the main hall of Sanctum Academy, there is a large mural of the battle. Depicting Willow atop her Boarbatusk, raising her saber and pointing it at the Leviathan that almost laid that great city low.

I walked past that mural every day while I was at Sanctum.”

@schneebriated

[asktowa]

The first time Towa met Alan, it was by pure chance. They had both gotten lost in one of the many forests surrounding Darkwick, and what should have been a short one hour hike back to the school turned into a three day camping trip. Despite their circumstances, it was actually some of the best days of Towa’s academic life. Alan seemed to really know his way around camping and toughing it out in the wilderness, and Towa helped him identify all kinds of different plants, even the anomalous ones! They rarely spoke over the course of their impromptu trip, but somehow they always seemed to be on the same page. 

When they eventually managed to find their way back to Darkwick, Towa was sad to part ways with Alan. They had been through so much together over those last three days, and he felt like they had a deeper understanding of each other. So when they had left the Chancellor’s office (they had to explain why they had basically gone missing for three whole days) and Towa turned to head back to Jabberwock, he was surprised to feel a heavy hand come down on his shoulder. 

“Otonashi,” Alan began once Towa gave him his full attention. “Let’s do this again sometime.” Towa smiled so bright he could light up an entire stadium. He nodded his head excitedly, and when Alan said his goodbyes, he waved at him with both hands. Towa waved and waved and waved until he couldn’t see Alan’s form anymore, before finally letting his hands drop back down to his sides. He’d be counting down the days until his next camping trip with Alan.

[fxckingmoran]

Last Moments;

Sebastian looks over at Charlie, lips splitting into a faint smile at the whispered remark. Those fucking eyes get him every single time. “You owe me dinner after this, Abbot.” He nudges him gently, careful not to show too much affection, not wanting to draw any attention to themselves. They’re crouched down behind a building, waiting for the signal. Sebastian’s squad are to go up on the roof, Charlie’s down the main street. It’s routine, they’ve run drills, mapped it out, run it through a hundred times. It should be fine. However, there’s a tightness in Sebastian’s chest that he can’t understand. A tension in the air that feels suffocating - Like something’s about to happen. He shakes his head, clearing all thoughts from it. He’s being ridiculous. Overthinking it and creating a scenario that hasn’t even happened yet.

He adjusts his rifle as they get ready, pushing to their feet. He’s reluctant to leave, wanting nothing more than to pull Charlie into a hug. ’You can hug him later - It’ll all be fine’ - Gentle reassurance to himself as he looks over. His fingers lift to scratch the side of his eye (I), then it moves to pat over his heart (love) before he nods in Charlie’s direction (you). Their silent proclamation of love, just between the two of them. It’s in that moment, as they split ways that Sebastian makes the decision to buy him a ring, as soon as he can. They mightn’t be able to marry but it’ll be a commitment between the two of them. A sign that he’s in it for life.

….

Ten minutes later Charlie’s scream splits through the air, Sebastian’s life fracturing into pieces, taking all hope for the future with it.

[quccninchains]

Her labors began early in the morning, before the sun had even broken the horizon. Twice before she had done this--and both Aegon and Helaena had come quickly and without much pain. But this, this was a hell too cruel, too real. The entire pregnancy had been a nightmare. Constantly drained, constantly sick--bloody noses that would interrupt rare peaceful moments with her husband or with her two young children.

For the first time in her short life, she felt death's watchful gaze on her life, her thread.

With her husband, with her father, she couldn't complain about her illnesses. She was expected to grin and bear it--after all, it was an honor to bear not just one or two of the King's children, but a third. And in such quick succession. Her children, her sweet little joys, were kept blissfully in the dark about her misery. They were too young, too sweet, too PRECIOUS to bog down with her worries. For Aegon and Helaena, she didn't mind putting on a smile, getting down on her knees and playing with them despite the aches and pains.

The only one she could confide in was Ser Criston, since he was so often at her side. He had invited her confidence, had made her feel comfortable expressing her fears, her anxieties. He was, in truth, her BEST friend. The only one who could coax a genuine smile on her face.

She felt awful when she begged him to kill her swiftly if her labors went awry. 'Quick and clean. My throat, Ser Criston. I do not want to suffer as Queen Aemma did.' The maesters, the King, her father would choose the babe over her.

Queens were easily replaceable. Mothers were easily replaceable. Heirs to the throne, on the other hand...

She had written a note, signed it and gave it to her sworn sword to carry with him. Should her labors prove fatal, he was to kill her before the maesters cut her belly open. She would pray to the Gods for forgiveness as she bled out.

When her waters broke, she had been pacing her rooms, unable to shake the overwhelming blanket of doom that settled on her shoulders. Her ladies swarmed into the room while Talya went to alert the Grand Maester, the King.

Her pained screams echoed down the hallway, scaring even her most faithful maid. Guttural cries ripped from her throat as the pains crashed into her wave after wave. Alicent laid in her bed, gripping the ropes tied to the bedposts like a drowning woman. Tears and sweat drenched her pillows, her hair. It felt as though the Silent Sisters had already begun preserving her--yanking her organs out through her womb with malicious intent.

The Gods punish me. They punish me for my indifference. Please--please spare me. Please spare my children.

Her ladies brought her milk of the poppy and it lulled her into a deep sleep late in the afternoon. All she could focus on was the pain abating her, floating around her like a specter, a WRAITH. Waiting to claim her soul in the end. By late evening, she could smell dinner from the feast below wafting into her room, sending her into a spiral.

Clambering from her bed like a newborn foal, she stumbled to her chamber pot, vomiting until her throat burned.

Viserys hadn't come to check on her once. Her father had stuck his head in, watched her attempt to labor on her hands and knees and left with a muttered prayer on his lips. She suspected he would miss her more for the fact that his mouthpiece would be gone. The moon had come and gone, sinking low below the coast.

She had ordered the children to stay away--far away from her chambers. The last thing she wanted was for them to see her dying, screaming, writhing in pain.

As the sun returned, Alicent believed she had descended into hell. Hadn't it just been yesterday when her waters broke? Aegon had been born in a matter of hours, Helaena in even less. And yet, she continued to wail and scream, the pain ripping her in half.

Another dosage of milk of the poppy relaxed her, though she couldn't sleep. She knew that if the child did not come soon, decisions would be made. Viserys would choose the babe and she would bleed out, like a slaughtered sheep. Through the haze of her drug induced daze, she overheard the maester mention the baby's precarious position. He lived, but the situation was dire. He would try to turn the babe, ease him out of her body as best he could.

But if that failed...

Alicent's panic peaked when she saw a gleam of KNIFE on the maester's table. Her voice was hoarse, like she'd swallowed glass and she shook her head. "No, you will not...I will not..." The milk of the poppy still clouded her mind, but her anxieties would not fully give her over. The Gods were cruel.

She tried to scream again, call out for Ser Criston but it sounded as if she were screaming down an empty corridor. She was utterly alone. She would die here, surrounded by maids and maesters. Her father would see her buried in the crypt here in King's Landing, instead of at home in Oldtown, beside her mother. Her children would grow up without her, perhaps given a new mother. Viserys would neglect her children, his favorite always his firstborn. Rhaenyra would never know how sorry she was for her coldness, her resentment. Criston would never know her true feelings. She was going to die here, alone--with no one.

Cool hands held her down as she watched the maester duck between her legs. She didn't even have a chance to feel shame as his hand pressed against her womb and her belly, shoving and manipulating the baby in her belly. Another scream, weak and pained, bubbled out of her lips but the pain in her belly subsided some.

It was still hellish, but it seemed as though Death had backed away for a moment.

"Your Grace, we can proceed now--please, try and push now!"

She doesn't know how it happens, doesn't know how her body realizes that it can finish this. Her mind is still so clouded by fear and poppy, she barely registers being sat up. Tears continue to slide down her cheeks, as relief and a new fear wash over her. She could do this. She would do this.

She didn't have to die. Not today, anyway.

When the babe slithered from her womb, she was terrified at the silence. "Why is it--" Her whispered question was interuppted by a powerful little cry, her babe held up before her with triumph.

"Another strong, healthy son, Your Grace."

Alicent laid back against the pillows, blood and fluid still spilling from her womb as the ladies moved to clean her up. "Give him to me," she orders hoarsely, holding her weary arms up. They felt like sold gold. The child was beautiful, covered in her fluids, but beneath it she could see a soft down of silver hair. His cry was healthy, and his grip strong. She knew he would live and she was grateful for it.

Looking down at the child in her arms, she smiled with exhausted pride. "You...will be my troublemaker, I should think," she whispered, leaning forward to press a shaky kiss to his forehead. He laid on her chest, continuing to squall, and Alicent let the maesters and ladies do their work.

Until they tried to take him from her. "No. No. The King, the Council..." She swallowed her exhaustion. "They can come here to me. He will not leave my side," Alicent commanded, arching a dark brow. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, holding her son to her chest. "If they wish to greet him, they may come of their own accord."

Twice before, she'd made the long trek from the birthing chamber to the small council chamber.

She would not bow this time. But she would go to the Great Sept when she recovered and spend the day on her knees--thanking the Mother for her safe passage.

They bow and adjust her blankets, her sheets. The babe is cleaned and returned to her, draped in the embroidered blanket Alicent had worked on for nine long months. She still felt delirious, her body still trembled, and her womb continued to ache with increasing dullness. And yet, she knew the Gods had spared her.

Pale, exhausted, trembling in pain, Alicent was laid in her bed like a doll. Hair curled around her shoulders, some wine given to put color back in her cheeks. They curtsy and bow, file out of the room. She stops Talya and smiles wanly. "Please let Ser Criston know he can come in. I should like him to meet Aemond."

[wastheheart]

4) slow sex while one or both are injured (bonus points if it’s after a battle or after they’ve patched up each other’s wounds)

(Carlisle)

Thank you, nonnie!

Esme could only recall meeting newborns a handful of times after her own transformation. Even then, they were newborns that ultimately joined her coven. The ones they had met that afternoon both terrified and upset her; children made weapons for revenge. Esme tried to save one of them, watched fear flash in red eyes and, despite Esme's efforts, she watched as the young girl succumbed to the Volturi guard.

Esme hadn't come away unscathed. Once the adrenaline had worn off Esme was made aware of the burning across the back of her left shoulder.

Carlisle had coaxed her jacket away from her skin, a hiss pushed through teeth as fibres peeled away from the open wound. It was a bite mark, of course, but not without deep scratches around it. Esme couldn't even recall who made it, nor when she got it, but Carlisle insisted he clean her up.

She sat patiently, biting her tongue as she tried not to tell him to stop worrying. He would only stop once he had made sure she was okay and her wound was clean and patched. Not that she really needed it; vampiric healing had already started knitting flesh back together, but Carlisle was a doctor first and foremost.

She watched him dress her upper arm before turning her attention to his face which was lined with concentration. His face was caked with dirt and she couldn't help the way she licked the pad of her thumb, rubbing the marks away. It would do for now, but he'd need a shower, too.

He captured her hand on her third attempt, kissing her knuckles while smiling against her fingers.

His other hand came to tuck loose tendrils behind his wife's ear. His palm lingered against her cheek as he pulled away, only inviting Esme to turn her head so she could press a kiss against his palm.

Before he could pull away completely, Esme grabbed the front of his shirt, momentarily resting their foreheads against one another before tentatively kissing him. His hands instinctively ran across her shoulders and down her arms which encited a sharp exhale from Esme and a mumbled apology from Carlisle.

The interruption was brief, discarded medical supplies being knocked over and hitting the floor as she beckoned him back in for a deeper, longer kiss.

As much as the bite hurt, the reminder that her coven—her husband—survived, was a balm in itself.

And so she kissed him like she had before the battle, except this time with the passion of celebration instead of impending doom. Every encounter they survived was a reminder of what they could lose and what they had built together as a coven.

At some point, she stood only so she could turn them around and sit Carlisle against the desk. The briefest moment spent pressed against each other allowed her to feel his desire. It was her turn to smile into her kiss.

She pulled away, only to peel away his shirt and expose his chiseled like physique beneath flimsy fabric. In the soft wash of his study lights, he looked nothing short of angelic.

His fingers worked the buttons of her jeans as she removed her own top, not bothering with her bra as she turned her attention to his belt and fly. His hips lifted to allow her to pull them around his mid thighs (along with his boxers), but they were too lazy to remove them completely.

Her own jeans fell around her feet, but in eagerness to feel him completely, Esme only moved her panties aside as she rested her knees either side of him and sank down his length.

She couldn't stop the moan that formed at the back of her throat. Their arms encircled one another, but Esme's pace remained slow— bordering on sloppy.

They hadn't appreciated the moment since Alice's vision and preparing for the newborns, so right now she would allow herself to indulge every sensation.

Her hips rolled, gleefully aiding her to take more and more of him until he was fully sheathed inside of her. Every now and then she would pull back to his very tip, pausing only to hear him beg for her as he alternated between sucking her nipples and kneading her breasts with his fingers.

She could feel her wetness running down the inside of her thigh, the stickiness no doubt soiling the table face too, but at this particular moment, Esme didn't care.

She continued to take him, her head tipped back in silent ecstasy as she worked them towards their climaxes, her walls clenching around him as her pace quickened and yet still remained equally as lazy. She could feel every inch of him, the way his cock was throbbing inside of her. In amongst whispered sweet nothings, Carlisle's hand came between them to circle her sensitive bundle of nerves.

His fingers finally caused her to come undone around him and she shook as she came, her orgasm nearly pushing him out of her. He drove his hips into her, meeting her uneven, shaky thrusts with his own before spilling himself inside of her with a deep, long moan.

For a while after, that's how they remained. Esme rested her forehead against his shoulder as Carlisle's hands rested against her ass, squeezing the flesh there every now and then.

He picked her up and turned them around, gently coaxing her to fold across the table. His fingers make quick work of ripping her pants off her, tossing the fabric away without another thought. His fingers played against her entrance, using her wetness to coat his member before he pushed into her, louder moans emitting from the both of them but not allowing a pause.

His hips started an unrelenting pace; Esme's fingers gripped around the edge of the tabletop. Her knees were weak, only able to concentrate on the pleasure coursing through her.

One of Carlisle's arms hooked underneath her stomach as he folded across her, holding her to him while never ceasing the way he pumped into her.

His lips peppered kisses against her neck; in between them, he told her to cum around him. The desperation and hunger in his voice was enough to have him clenching around him as her orgasm hit. If her knees were weak before, they were weaker now. Carlisle's hold on her tightened as his own orgasm rolled through him, Esme feeling his release pouring into her.

He pulled out, erecting Esme with him as he straightened. His cum dripped down the inside of her thighs, causing a shiver as she breathed through her post orgasm haze.

A kiss was pressed against her shoulder as Carlisle brushed fingers across stretch marks that served as a reminder of her human life. She whispered a breathy "I love you" before Carlisle released her, his footsteps filling the silence only for him to return with their nightgowns.

The rest of the evening was spent in front of a burning fire, snuggled into each others sides. Morning would come soon enough, but for now this was all they needed.

[xcoatlicuex]

Coatli hummed as she ran the comb through Coyol’s hair. It was the only time that her daughter remained still, it brought a smile to her face. Across from them, sitting on a blanket a little aways from them, Lady Donna kept Huitzi entertained by making a toy horse fly around his head, sending him into laughter.

There was no need for Lady Donna to indulge her son but she always did. Without fail, when Huitzi wanted to see her, the redhead would drop everything and provide her full attention to him.

“Perhaps we can steal Lady Donna away in the night,” Coyol joked, her eyes closed as she let the sound of her brother’s laughter wash over her. The feeling of her mother’s comb was a relaxing motion, added the nice heat of the sun, Coyol was ready to nap like a cat in the sun.

“She would make a perfect good-daughter,” Coatli added with a laugh, glancing over at the pair before focusing back on her daughter’s hair, “maybe I’ll ask for her hand on behalf of Huitzi,” she added, the thought so ludicrous but amusing nonetheless. Coyol giggled, a laughter so carefree and honest, it made Coatli want to take her daughter into her arms and never let go.

Something told her to look up, the sight of a Lord stopping to talk to Donna had her immediately annoyed. Although the redhead did not look uncomfortable, Coatli couldn’t help feeling a bit protective. Coatli placed the comb down and pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Coyol’s head, who took it as a sign that her mother was done.

In one fluid movement, Coatli was on her feet and walking over to see who this stranger was and what exactly he wanted. As she neared she could hear him asking Donna about hounds, if Coatli understood correctly.

“Am I interrupting?” She smoothly cut in, pleased when the man glanced at her, a glint of nervousness in his eyes.

“Not at all, Lady Coatli, this is Lord Stuart of House Woodwright.”

The man bowed but Coatli only continued to look upon him unimpressed.

“I was merely inquiring about possibly buying hounds from Lord Tyrell,” the man explained, hands almost coming up in a placating manner, but he quickly forced his hands to remind by his side.

“I will speak with my cousin and inquire if there are any hounds available for sale,” Lady Donna offered, making the man give a small nod. He looked at Donna then, an improper amount of time that confirmed Coatli’s thoughts that there was more to this conversation than dogs. There always was when it came to men.

“I also wanted to let you know, there is a rumor that you will be marrying Lord Reginald.”

All the fun and lighthearted-ness that had permeated the area was oh so quickly vanished by the mere mention of that man’s name. Stuart looked like this was the last thing he wanted to do it, but Donna understood now. A warning that a rumor about her was making its rounds.

“Thank you Lord Stuart,” Donna a hand on his arm, her tone filled with the utmost sincerity.

He took Donna’ hand and placed a kiss on the back of her hand, before bowing to Coatli, “Lady Coatli, a pleasure to meet you.”

Coatli watched this Stuart walk off, waiting until he was out of ear shot before turning to look at Donna, “are you rethinking keeping Reginald alive?”

Donna could not even laugh at the question.