#Beauty Secrets of Antiquity's Women

[naelys-the-aster]

Jorrāelagon Zālagon Chapter Two

Niece to Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, and cousin to Lady Alicent Hightower, you become ensnared in the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen. After hearing of a sensitive marriage arrangement, you learn the prince is running out of time... and options.

A/N: I love that everyone is enjoying this fiction, please keep ask the asks coming! Also Rhae = Rhaenyra, Not Rhea Royce.

Word Count: 6,381K

You and Daemon left the garden of the gods wood, trailing slightly behind the prince through the vast hallways and corridors of the keep. The hairs on your neck stood up as you felt the eyes of the Maesters, maids, and servants on you.

It felt like an oblivion, an endless journey, but you finally reached the large doors of your chambers and thanked the Rogue Prince for his escort with a smile. He gave a quick smile back and nodded, “Try to keep your eyes dry my lady, I will take your words into consideration.” And with that he turned on his heel, letting his footfalls echo through the corridor as he made his exit.

The chamber door creaked open loudly as you stepped into the room, “There you are!” Alicent exclaimed throwing her arms around you. You smiled and gladly returned her embrace.

“I lost you in the masses.” She said pulling away from you.

“Yes, I was one of the last ones to exit the throne room, I- uh- got caught up with the maidens of the court, I’m sorry cousin.” Alicent breathed a sigh of relief as she motioned you to sit down with her.

Your room was decadent, golden fixtures and satin silks draped the large room, antiques from all corners of the seven kingdoms neatly placed and dusted littered the room in an organized manor, that of which you would clean in times of great stress. The chairs that resided in front of your bed were made from the finest laces and linens, carved by the finest of craftsmen, and a small class table rested in between the two chairs. Alicent had a maiden bring in a fresh pot of tea, which sat on the table with two intricately decorated cups.

“Come cousin, sit with me.” Alicent patted the chair next to hers as she sat and you gladly followed suit.

“I have news” she whispers pouring you and herself a streaming hot class of black tea.

“Oh, do go on.” You quietly exclaimed picking the hot cup from the glass table, bringing it to your lips.

“This cannot leave this room Y/N,” you nodded in understanding, of anyone to keep a secret it would be you.

Alicent sipped her tea before continuing, “my father has spoken with the king and he has informed me that Daemon is to be wed”

You feigned shock, “Was that what the king spoke of after we exited the throne room?” your shock must’ve been believable because your cousin carried on with this juicy gossip.

“As punishment for his action in slums apparently” she sipped her tea once more.

“Does the king have a lady in mind?” Though you already knew the answer to this.

“The lady Rhea Royce heir to Runestone will be betrothed to him if Daemon does not choose a worthy maiden himself.” You nodded at this, at this point its hard to react..as you already found this out through an accidental bout of curiosity.

“The lady Rhea Royce is a fair and beautiful maiden.” you said plainly.

“Yes, indeed, do you think that their will be any contenders for the prince’s hand?” Alicent swirled her cup around in small circles as she gazed out of the large decorative windows of your room.

“I believe most women of the court find the prince to be rather…” what was the word you were looking for?

“to be rather coarse.” you finished setting down your cup. Alicent hummed in response and as if on cue the loud screeching of a dragon could be heard in the distance, Rhaenyra had finally returned home from her journey to Dragonstone. Cousin leapt up excitedly and grabbing your hand rushing you from your seat, “come! let us see Rhaenyra!”

The scent of dragon was a notable one, it could be described as a strong sulfuric scent with a musky tinge to the smell itself. Though Rhaenyra didn’t mind Syrax’s scent as she nuzzled her familiar.

“Rhaenrya!” Alicent called out waving her hands at her best friend. You followed suit and begave to wave and shout your greetings.

The three of you walked the halls to Rhaenrya’s quarters spilling the gossip about Daemon’s latest actions and the consequences to follow.

Rhae snorted as she laughed,“I highly doubt my uncle will find anyone to wed in such a short length of time.”

Ancient nodded in agreement and continued giggling as Rhaenyra pushed the heavy door of her bedroom open. “Do you believe my uncle started those fires?” although before you could respond while Rhae pushed on her chamber doors…

Which opened to reveal a shocking sight.

Daemon.

He sat on the edge of Rhaenrya’s bed, and his eyes connected with yours in shock. He didn’t expect you to be here. He must have not expected Rhaenrya to have any company in her presence upon her swift arrival.

Alicent and you froze in your place. This was strange, it still was before sunrise, why would he be nested in her quarters at such an hour?

Rhae tilted her hear and furrowed her brow in confusion, “Uncle, this is a surprise, what can I do for you?” she asked pulling off her riding gloves and tossing them on to her bed.

He did not respond, not with words, he simply shifted his gaze from you to Rhae, his brow raised and Rhaenrya responded instantaneously, “My friends, may I have a moment alone with my uncle?”

This was confusing, why would Daemon be waiting for Rhaenrya? But before you could give any indication of protest Alicent was dragging you down the hallway. She paused, stopping abruptly as if she couldn’t hold her words inside any longer.

“Alicent, stop, you’re hurting me!” you whispered harshly.

She turned to you in a dead locking her eyes with yours. “I fear for his intent on Rhaenyra”

“W-what?” Your brow was firmly knitted in confusion, did she know something that you had not?

“I do not trust him with Rhaenyra.” her voice rang firmly this time.

‘No.. she can't mean she thinks.. they are-’

You cut your thoughts off “No, Daemon is reckless.. but you do not think he would-“

“He has been given free reign to chose whomever he wishes to wed, why not Rhaenrya?” Alicent’s tone was sharp, and you inwardly cringed at the very suggestion.

She continued ranting about as the two of you reached the gardens.

“Why would the Prince be in wait for Rhaenrya if not for a salacious reason?”

You could only shake your head, “I do not know.” These matters are none of your concern, it was none of your business who prince Daemon carried on with. Though imagining it being Rhaenrya…

There was something about the though that made your stomach twist, your heart drop into the pit of your stomach, and adrenaline being to coarse through your heart. Alicent grabbed your hands causing you to look into her eyes, “We have to protect Rhaenrya”

Her eyes burned with determination and her grip on your hands became tight again.

“We cannot allow him to corrupt her innocence.” She repeated sternly, with this all you could do is nod in response.

Dinner was served at a vastly large table for only 7 people. Those of which were Queen Aemma, King Viserys, Prince Daemon, Princess Rhaenrya, Uncle Otto, Alicent, and yourself. Every dinner was resembling a feast, glazed roast sat as the center piece of the meal tonight, with side dishes of goat, beef, and crab being passed around casually.

Your eyes were drawn to the white haired prince eating silently as Aemma spoke about the origin of the meal. Something inside you yearned for just one glance from him, just to be noticed in this instant.

But you were no the one to catch his eyes, it was you best friend Rhaenrya. Daemon had not taken his eyes off of her for a majority of the meal, leaving you wondering if you would even stumble upon his company afterwards. You poked at your food, but your appetite had faded with your interest of even staying at the table.

‘Daemon would not sully a maiden like Rhaenrya, he couldn’t’

‘I’m overthinking this, he was waiting to greet her’

‘Alicent is- is trying to put ideas in my head is all’

But Daemon and Rhaenyra were enthralled in their conversation of dragon riding and the various trips on dragon back had taken, it seemed as if everyone else was flourishing in the conversation at the table, Otto and Viserys were speaking fondly with Alicent and Aemma, everyone but you, until Rhaenyra cheered.

“Y/N! Im sure you would love to come with us!”

You lifted your eyes from your plate, “Uh, I’ve never.. ridden before” you mumbled feeling heat flood your cheeks.

“Then you shall on the morrow, we fly for Dragonstone.” Daemon chimed bringing his cup to his lips.

 Viserys smiled and laughed a loud commenting of how his first ride on Balerion was unforgettable. Otto’s eyes drifted to you, a for a second you caught him giving a stare of suspicion which had passed in a glimpse as he chimed in ushering a tale of the dragons from Valyria being the fastest as strongest of their kind. And Daemon had not given you any time, other than that one acknowledgement.

“You will do well cousin.” Alicent sang holding your hand as you walked to the dragon pit. She could tell you were nervous and respectfully so, “I could not find myself to mount such a monster.” She claimed kissing your hand.

The screeches and howls of the dragons were unmistakable as you approached the front of the large colosseum . The dragon keepers held their spears tightly in hand and shouted to each other in high Valyrian.

Syrax emerged from the shadows of the entrance letting out a high pitched screeched of anticipation. You stood with your cousin still in hand some feet away, your breath taken away by the size of the dragon and her surrounding golden aura. You could never understand why your cousin (and secretively your father) despised the so called “monsters”.

Rhaenrya mounted Syrax effortlessly and waved over to you and Lady Alicent, “Y/N! You’ll have to ride with Daemon!” she yelled as Syrax began to walk forward, her lrge foot falls reverberating the ground, lurching her saddle back and forth.

“Wait- what?”

‘No, no, no not that one!’

Alicent gave you a questioning look to match your own confusion.

“Just please be safe N/Y” Alicent said as she kissed your hands once more, your mind was spinning, you thought you would be riding on Syrax, a kind dragon used to having multiple riders- NOT CARAXES.

“A-Alicent I do not wish to ride-“

The ear shattering screech is what solidified your fear. From the entrance on the pit Caraxes snaked his long neck to observe the scene before him, before letting out powerful and deafening  roar. Dragon keepers held their spears at the ready and began yelling at the beast in their ancient dialect.

Caraxes was a wolf headed dragon, one of the most aggressive and seemingly volatile from the stories that you had heard. It was as if your body had turned to stone realizing that you would be on the back of a prehistoric killing machine… with Daemon.

As if on cue, the young prince made his appearance by your side, giving a small laugh of amusement of your bewilderment.

“He’s not that bad, I have a two-person saddle that befits Caraxes, it’s not as horrific as you think.” He gave a slight half smile before stepping towards the dragon reciting high Valyrian. Daemon caressed the dragons jaw earning a playful nudge from Caraxes and well as a deep groan.

Alicent had shrunk back from you and fell into the background as Daemon motioned for you to come over. You were frozen in your place until Alicent touched your back pushing you forward, you looked back at her a look of terror and fear scorned across your face. Your cousin mouthed you a goodbye and you turned back around, a stumbling ball of nerves.

This reptile was massive in compared to your petite stature, in just a second he could swallow you whole and you would never been seen again. Daemon obviously caught sight of your fear, bringing you out of your own thoughts he grabbed your hand.

Not a forcefully yank of your hand like you expected, but a soft motion in which intertwined your fingers with his as he brought your palm to the scaley calloused cheek of Caraxes. The texture of his scaled were that of hard leather plates, reminiscent of amor.

The beast let out a low guttural sound, “Worried he’ll eat you?” Daemon joked a smug grin making it’s way across his face, or at least.

You pulled your hand away from Caraxes, still overwhelmed, “I- I have never..come face to face with one.” His smile only grew wider.

“Let us go then”

Before you could ask how to get on the prince had thrown you over his shoulder, earning a surprised gasp from you as he hiked up the dragons fore wing placing you in the proper position on the saddle.

You straddled the thick and rigid leather saddle, Daemon seated himself in front of you, gripping the reigns and positioning himself towards you, “You may want to hold on, the take off is a little rough.”

“Hold on?”

You acted on impulse and wrapped your arms around the prince’s waist, unknowingly earning a smile of satisfaction from him as you pulled your body close to his. Daemon tightened the reins and yelled out to the dragon,

“Soves, Caraxes!”

The saddle began to rock vigorously with each enormous step forward the dragon took. You tightened your grip around Daemon’s waist burying your head into his back as Caraxes began to pick up speed.

With a whoosh he caught the air under his wings and the dragons body moved rhythmically from side to side. Rocking you back and forth vigorously, you almost felt like your body would fall backwards if you hadn’t been gripping Daemon for your life.

With a loud roar Caraxes broke through the barriers of the clouds, his body leveling out.

“Look now dear!” Daemon yelled over the rushing air. You pulled your face from his back and were struck with the golden beauty of the morning sun glistening over the clouds. Daemon took note of your speechlessness with pride.

“It’s- It’s Amazing!” you managed to get out, your eyes were sucking in the soft looking golden features of the sky, it was like being in the heavens! The rays of morning sun cast light spectrums of color to faintly peak though the mist of the clouds and the dragons wings parted any clouds obstructing the view around.

In you state of blissful awe , you hadn’t noticed your grip on the prince’s waist had loosened, and Caraxes began to nose dive.

You felt your body lift from the saddle, Daemon noticed the shift in weight and quickly grabbed your arm , wrapping it around his waist once more, gripping your arm close to his core. It could have been the adrenaline, could have been the fact you were falling at extraordinary speeds, or was it that Daemon actually wanted to keep you safe?

“Pālegon!!” He yelled.

Caraxes began to corkscrew into a nosedive and the excitement pent up inside your tiny form had been unleashed. You screamed and hollered with joy and excitement as the dragon plummeted through the clouds. Daemon was focused, telling Caraxes to pull up before the shimmering blue ocean could come into contact.

Caraxes screeched and seemingly whisked over the sapphire waters that currently bedazzled your eyes. The mist and salt of the waves below cooled your face and you found your chin resting on the princes shoulder, a smile that was to wide and full of joy plastered on your face. Daemon relaxed finally letting his stone face crack into a a smug half smile. He couldn’t even care if you were screaming in his ear, your elated screeches made him feel like he was riding a dragon for the first time once more. It was refreshing to him, not that he would ever show it completely.

The red giants leather wings echoed as they beat hard against the breeze while approaching the rocky and mountainous shores of Dragonstone. Caraxes wailed as he came to his landing as if he wanted to go farther.

You heart was still pounding in your chest as Caraxes' wings fanned the air, whipping up clouds of sand as the dragon screeched making its heavily footed landing. Caraxes shook his head, shaking the saddle, though this did not stop Daemon from praising the dragon.

"Lykiri, Syz" the prince purred.

His hand ran up and down Caraxes neck to what length was reachable. And this made you laugh aloud at the touching sight.

You managed to speak through your enlightened laughter "I love how you praise him."

Daemon hummed in response and stood upright on the saddle peering up at the large castle towering over you. In the distance the songs of Syrax could be heard, meaning Rhaenyra must've arrive short before you.

"Seems as if we've been beaten." Daemon mumbles looking towards the direction of the dragon's song.

"Let us be welcomed, my dear" Daemon said once again manhandled you down from the Saddle, fore wing, and finally setting you down on the dark sand beach of Dragon Stone. Daemon had started up the beach, to the stone stairwells that aligned with the entrances of the massive keep.

You knew Daemon wished to be welcomed and to ask (Interrogate?) Rhaenyra about how she arrived before the blood worm Caraxes himself. Something he found unbelievable and had to involve a sort of foul play.

But you couldn't help but fall to your knees, you couldn't help but dig you fingers into the dark glittery sands, you couldn't help but be taken away. The scenery, the high ridges of the cliffs and mountains peaking through the clouds, the sounds of the seas birds and the waves crashing to the shore, the smell of salt and the tinge of sea life. What was this? This was a fantasy- a fairy tale told by the nans and midwives.

Until he spoke up talking his stride behind you.

"You're a hermit."

You deadpanned the smug white haired prince.

" is he making a joke of me?" You blinked and looked up at him, then back at the beach.

"It's just a lot to take in, I haven't been outside of kings landing in so long." you droned lifting yourself off of the dunes dusting the sand off of your garments.

He hummed, “Yes, Otto likes to keep his ward in sight at all times.” Daemon muttered stripping his hands of his riding gloves.

 Your smile didn’t faulter at his comment, it was true, Uncle Otto had told you what happened to fair maidens that had left the safety of the wall of the keep. They were kidnapped, raped, sold into brothels, sometimes killed, and left in the streets.

He convinced you that the outside world was utterly terrifying, but this was not terrifying- not at all, this was exhilarating!

“My uncle always said that If I were to leave the safety of the castle I would surely be ravaged by the eyes and hands of men” you said softly, almost to yourself.

Daemon scoffed loudly and stifled a laugh, “It just takes the right one” he claimed smugly making his way up the sandy dunes of the beach. You felt a rush of heat burn at your cheeks and ears, Daemon glanced back at you and smirked, noting you had probably understood his insinuation.

“He’s such a.. a.. ugh!” your mind screamed. You shook your head and followed the young man up the shore to the stone steps leading from the mountainous beach to the castle.

“Oh Uncle, is it so hard to believe that Syrax can out fly Caraxes?” Rhaenrya laughed aloud falling into the couch of the eloquent living quarters. 

Daemon stood leaning against the frame of fireplace in front of the young girl, “Yes, because she can’t, witch craft I say.” He joked crossing his arms.

You giggled at their conversation as you sat next to you best friend, resting you head in her lap as she carefully braided your hair.

“Come now Uncle, don’t be such a sore sport!” Rhaenrya chuckled as Daemon exasperated rolled his eyes to the ceilings and shook his head.

“If you two wish to carry on your…” The prince motioned his hand in circles trying to find the right words “...hair braiding, I’m going to inquire how the kitchen tends to handle tonight’s feast.”

You turned you head towards the prince and smiled, “Thankyou my-“

Daemon’s brow raised causing you to quickly catch yourself, “Daemon.”

A smirk flashed on his features before he exited the room, causing a warmth to bloom from your chest, it was his smile, one that not many people see that made you feel content. Rhaenrya seemed to have been oblivious to the interaction and continued to braid your hair into intricate designs, much like the ones she and her mother wear with pride.

“Sit up, Y/N and turn around, I’m going to do the back now” Rhaenrya continued swirling and folding one piece of hair over the other, tugging lightly at the strands and asking if she was pulling too tight at times. You propped yourself upwards with you back facing your friend.

“Rhae, may I confide in you?” you mused narrowing your curious gaze back at her.

“Should I ask… why Daemon was waiting for her?”

“Of course, Y/N I will always be here to listen” she replied sweetly…innocently.

“No.. I treasure our friendship too much..it would be to obvious of an insinuation”

“I fear for the persons responsible for burning down the building in Flea Bottom… but I cannot help but question..” you paused, thinking about how to word the question with no offense offered.

You took a deep breath and continued on, “Daemon has been accused, I can’t help but think of those 300 civilans, burning alive with no escape, do you think Daemon would actually harm the people of Kings landing?” you looked down and began to pick a your finger nails, a nasty habit you picked up in your time spent with your Uncle and dear Cousin.

Rhaenrya stopped the fluid motions of her hands and let out a laugh. This surprised you... but in a way eased your nerves, if had been clear Daemon was involved, she would have a much more serious affect.

“My father did not put him to death, so that must mean he is not responsible, if he was, I’m sure my Uncle would be deep in the crypts of the Keep by now.” she resumed brushing and braiding your hair. But something did not sit right, and Daemon’s point in the throne room held validity. If he wanted to kill as many people as he wanted…why not with dragon fire?

But what if he didn’t want to be caught either? A giant dragon flying over the city was quite noticeable easy to pick out who the rider is by the color and size of the dragon.

“Does this trouble you?” Rhaenyra chirped.

“it’s just.. if Daemon was not responsible, that means someone out there is.”

Rhaenrya frowned and placed her hands on your back, “Let us forget the squabbles and rumors of Kings Landing, we’re here at Dragonstone! Tis’ the time to be happy, tomorrow you and I will venture the seaside on horseback.”

She reminded you of her father in that moment, putting all stressors aside to enjoy quality time, even offering up adventures to assuage the mind of her distressed friend.

She drew closer you your ear as she leaned from behind you and whispered “Maybe well find buried treasure along the shores”

You burst out in a fit of laughter, “Yes! Us to be pirates!” you managed to say between your giddiness. Rhaenrya smiled chuckling to herself as you trailed on about how you and her would find a chest full of gold, enough to purchase a ship larger than Corlys Velaryon’s, and would sail the world collecting trinkets and various fruits.

“We could steal a lemon tree from the streets of Pentos, and nobody will know it was two girls!” Rhaenrya cheered. If only that could be, but your friends actions uplifted your mood, and soon enough she told you to stand up and look in the mirror that sit in the corner of the room.

“It’s beautiful, thankyou so much Rhae!” you threw you arms around her embracing her in a tight hug. Her gorgeous white smile gave a comfort to your worries, maybe it was just a Targaryen thing, maybe they just had a way with making those close to them feel accepted and happy. A knock on the door cause you both to separate and calm your hysterics.

“Come” she called out.

“Hello my Lady, Hello Lady Hightower,” you cringed in your mind at that address, you secretly wish you had no surname at, all hells Snow would feel more comfortable, just the name Hightower..made you feel different than the company you occupied, left out, it made you miss your father and mother, the name reminded you of your callous Uncle.

But you nodded in reply as she continued, “Supper is to be served within the hour, the prince requests you ready yourselves.” And with that she bowed her head and exited the room. You glanced at your reflection once more.

Your hair had been braided in an up position, braids cascading along side your head and into one large mass of woven threads, the beauty could not be replicated by Queen Aemma’s maiden hand herself.

You bid your short goodbye to Rhaenrya until supper and were escorted by a kind knight to your temporary quarters to quickly ready yourself. Your luggage had flown with Syrax… maybe that was the reason you had to ride with Daemon and his hyperactive dragon.

Green, Green, Green.

“what the fuck? Why are all my garments of the same color?! Gods!”

“Fuckin’ hells” you gasped and clamped your hands over your mouth in shock. No, did you just? No, well, yes but no. A lady should never engage in such language... it’s- it’s unbefitting!

“There you go, black as night” you gleamed at your dress, that of which was black with grey embroidery. It fit your form excellently as well as the complimenting jewelry and earrings.

A knock at your door pulled you away from vanity and you called out in response, “come!”

The same servant from earlier bowed and offered to escort you to the grand dining hall.

The halls of Dragonstone where different than Kings landing, the architecture is more rough around the edges, and the halls were dark the color of the mountains, and the floors were semi contrasting to the walls. You past Busts of former house holders and dragons, many of wall hangings that have withstood the time to past, it felt scholarly, educated, of a different time.

Two gentlemen threw open the dark large iron doors to the grand dinning room for you to be immediately greeted by Rhaenrya.

“Y/N! Come sit they’re about to present us with our meal.” she patted the chair next you her and you happily plopped down next to Rhaenrya, but there was one less person at the table, Daemon was absent. Yet wasn’t he the one organizing this dinner?

As if on cue the large doors opened once more, and the prince strolled coolly down the aisle , taking his seat next to you, at the head of the table. Servants scattered across the room with plates and saucers filled to the brim with lobster, crab, pork, lamb, chicken, and assorted custards, breads, vegetable and condiments. All steaming as the plates clanked to the stone table before you. Mouthwatering, in a literal sense, you quickly swiped a napkin on the table and dabbed the corner of you lips. You could’ve sworn you heard Daemon stifle a low chuckled making you blush.

“I know, it looks so good, give the kitchen our praise, please” Rhaenyra chimed picking up her cutlery. The servants nodded in an odd unison and left the three of you to eat in peace,

You place your elbows on the table, close your eyes, and clasp your hands together about do your duty and to pray to the Seven until-

 A hand found its way a top of your own, it was Daemon, “There’s no need for that.”

Your heart jumped for a second at his touch. His hands where larger than your own, they were warm and you could feel the callouses that ran along the top of his palm.

 “I’m sorry” you mumble unclasping your hands, resting them on the table, but his hand…was still atop of yours, his eyes smiling at you and you smiling back.

“Don’t be sorry, Targaryen’s don’t worship the seven is all.” Rhaenrya muffled a loud.

“Must you speak with you mouth full of loaf?” Daemon teased followed by a fake exasperated sigh. You laughed, pulling your hand from under Daemon’s and flicking a piece of bread at Rhaenerya, “yes princess mind your manners!”

Rhae proceeded to shovel food in her mouth in protest “Neber!!” the hysterical laughter came from you two as Daemon held his head in his hands, shaking playfully at the foolishness shown to him in this moment.

Dinner was eventful, you drank the finest wine for the first time in a long time. Everyone engaged in harmless talks of gossip floating around the kingdom, war plans Daemon knew of, and even a little trash talk of the lords Westeros (especially that of a certain Jason Lannister) was joyfully thrown around. This is what a family dinner should be, laughing, storytelling, talking about the news. This was a major difference from the quiet dinners around the table with you, Alicent, and Otto. Dinners in which Alicent received praise and you were undermined for your lower position in the family.

This is what you wanted, sarcastic remarks from your best friend and a charming replies to them from Daemon, this felt right and for a moment...you felt like you were apart of the Targaryen family. That’s all you ever felt like you wanted, to be part of a family that cared for one another.

You were three glasses into your wine, becoming somewhat tipsy by the end of the dinner festivities. The servants came to collect the plates, sauces, and silverware and everyone was dismissed from the table. Rhaenrya blissfully said she was headed to her chambers to nap off the heavy meal and you found yourself humming to yourself while hopelessly navigating the hallways of the unfamiliar castle.

Blissfully buzzed, you spun on your tiptoes and perched yourself by a large window that looked over the darkening skies and sea.

Though, suddenly Alicent’s words rang in your ear. “Why would the Prince be in wait for Rhaenrya if not for a salacious reason?”

You shook your head, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came.

"I'm please you enjoyed the preparations made"

You jumped at the voice and turned around to see him, "Gods, you scared me" you say holding your chest, this man had a strange ability to be heard when he wanted and dead silent when he wished.

He slowly strut passed you, tilting his head in the direction of the threshold of the castle, gesturing for you to follow. Yes, a walk along the beach side at night both of you tipsy from the endless supplies of whine. You walked through the large entrance trailing behind him in silence.

"the stars are so bright here" you mused looking at the twinkling accents in the black night above.

"Much better view than in Kings Landing" Daemon replied looking up as well.

You let out a sad sigh, "I almost dont want to go back..." you looked to Daemon and back at the night sky, it was littered with more stars than you've ever seen from any tower in King's Landing. He noticed the shift in your mood among mentioning King’s Landing.

Daemon felt a lot about your Uncle, but most of all he secretly despised how Otto Hightower, was practically keeping you hostage. Daemon knew little of how you actually came to King’s Landing, he did not know what end your paternal parents met, but he was sure that you were not treated as you should be.

His quiet voice, that of which was just above a whisper, broke your sadness “You should stay in Dragonstone, stay here.” He held out a hand to you helping you on to the sand dunes down from the stones steps of the winding stair way.

You took his hand and once more your face began to heat up, “I-I could not, My uncle would be so furious” you say as you stepped down. You didn’t let go of his hand, the truth was you did not want to. There was something about his touch that eased all the worries and anxieties that ailed you. And the young prince did not oppose as he kept your hand in his.

The two of you walked the shore line in the moon light, you could not tell if it was the uneven sand of the beach of the wine that made your body sway slightly with each step.

Probably the wine.

Daemon swayed every now and then himself, though you were sure this man could drink you under the table, so maybe it was the formation on the beach itself- for him atleast.

Your eyes glanced down to your hands, intertwined with one another still, the heat from between your palms contrasting the cold ocean air that fanned the two of you.

Daemon crossed your path and groaned as he sat down, not paying mind to dirtying his clothes in the sand. You stood over him, still intertwined.

 “Sit Y/N”

The sound of the waves crashing to the shore could not possibly match the sound of the blood rushing to your head. Had you heard him correctly?

Before you could lower yourself next to him, he pulled you down, and you fell between his legs. You froze for a moment, questioning if this was real, is this a result of a drunken dream, a stupor of sorts?

Daemon pulled you to him, you sat between his legs, feeling the warth that emanated from his body. You noticed you hadn’t released the breathe of air from you lungs and did so while leaning into his chest. He noticed you were tense, Daemon  rested his chin atop of your head and turned his eyes up to the constellations above.

You mind rushed with your blood as he placed two arms around you. Finally, you closed your eyes sinking into this feeling of warmth that of which you’ve never experience with another person in your life.

You could only imagine what was going through his head, what his intentions were from this trip, the dragon ride, the feast, and now… a moon lit walk on the shores of his birthplace. Why?

“Why does that prick keep you locked away in the keep?”

Though the insult to your uncle was clear, Daemon was calm, evening tightening his hold around you.

“My Uncle just.. has an unfavorable view of the world, he believes a woman should perform her duties without being deterred” He couldn’t handle the sadness that sung with your words. You felt him drawn in a large breath and a shallow exhale that followed.

“That’s the long way to say cunt, I suppose” he muttered.

You pulled away to look back at his face, “I know you don’t favor my uncle, sometimes I feel as if he doesn’t have my best interest in-“

Daemon snorted, “Then hes a cunt, that’s what he is! Just admit it!”

You let out a light chuckle, “No! using that language is just inapporiate for a lady” you playfully smacked his shoulder. He rolled his with a toothy grin.

“yes, is that what your Uncle told you?” He placed his hands on your shoulders letting his lips fall by the side of you cheek, the heat of his breath warming the cold shell of your ear.

“Say it” he whispered smoothly, “say what he is, my dear”

The giddiness and excitement was beging you boil inside.

“A cunt” you squeaked softly, this made Daemon chuckled as he squeezed your shoulders.

“Louder.”

“A Cunt” you spoke up, though he was not satified.

“Cmon say it louder!” he called out, you began to feel something wash over you. A warm feeling mixed with this newfound energy.

“A CUNT!”

Daemon stood up bringing you along with his as he raised his voice and began to yell at the stars.

“WHAT IS OTTO HIGHTOWER?!” you've never heard him like this, not with this type of enthusiasm.

“OTTO HIGHTOWER IS A FUCKING CUNT!!!” you screamed to the sea.

Daemond shook you by your shoulders as he yelled to the gods this time, “TOGETHER!”

And that is precisely what you did, in unison, with all the air you both could muster you both screamed.

“OTTO HIGHTOWER IS A FUCKING CUNT!!!!”

You broke out into hysterical laughter, this felt so relieving, being able to curse for the first time and not be reprimanded or punished. Daemon laughed as he fell back on to the sand and you collapsed once again between his legs, letting your head rest on his chest.

The laughter between the two of you subsided into breathless heaving as you and Daemon attempted to catch your breathes. Until silence fell to the waves of the ocean.

“Thankyou Daemon”

He looked down at you with a look of confusion, “For?”

You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his torso, “You saved me from falling off Caraxes, thankyou.”

Daemon let out a soft sigh placing his hand gently on your head, carressing your hair, “I could never let you fall, my dear.”

Tag List: @moonmaiden1996 @loveandlewis @loveandlewis-reads @queenofshinigamis @omgsuperstarg @ttae-yong @shelbyteller

Give your thoughts and opinions below! Thankyou all so much so your support in this work!

Much Love To You All,

Naelys of House Aster x

[tantive404]

Leia Organa as the Gothic Heroine

“Through a dream landscape, . . . a girl flees in terror and alone amid crumbling castles, antique dungeons, and ghosts who are never really ghosts.

She nearly escapes her terrible persecutors, who seek her out of lust and greed, but is caught; escapes again and is caught; escapes once more and is caught . . . [and] finally breaks free altogether, and is married to the virtuous lover who has all along worked (and suffered equally with her) to save her."

-Leslie A. Fledler, Love and Death in the American Novel

The gothic novel is a genre of literature that has grown increasingly compelling to me. Defined by its mixture of romanticism and horror— or “wonder and terror”, with a “loose literary aesthetic of fear and haunting”— these stories are known for their forbidden castles, ghostly mysteries, and, most centrally, their heroines, fleeing terrified into the night in a flowing white gown…

Over the years the gothic has become a genre dominated by the feminine and by women writers. And even though the first example of gothic literature, Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, was written by a man, the story is largely focused on its heroines. The central plot thread sees a corrupt tyrant prince pursuing a much younger princess for the sake of marriage and her desperate attempts to escape him, as she flees through his castle, through twisted corridors, trap doors, and all manner of danger.

I began to think of the relation between the archetype of gothic heroine and Star Wars’s female lead, Princess Leia Organa. After all, she is typically clad all in white and on the run from a dastardly Imperial villain of some sort. And it would not be so difficult for the Death Star to serve as an old manor, filled with secrets and danger… trap doors (garbage chutes), gaping chasms, masked phantoms (Sith Lords) and terrible, power-hungry old men.

The gothic heroine is a young woman often characterized by her virtue, innocence and beauty. She may be born into a position of high social status, with a wealthy or aristocratic family, or even be full-fledged royalty. Some time early in the story, however, she loses her privilege and power… orphaned, imprisoned, or otherwise inconvenienced. In Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho, for instance, our protagonist Emily St. Aubert lives an idyllic life with her well-to-do parents, only for both to die and her fortune to be lost in the first act, where she is then given into the power of her aunt and eventually her villainous uncle-by-marriage, Montoni. Leia, too, was a happy and beloved child as the Crown Princess of Alderaan, even with the shadow of the Empire looming overhead… but is captured on a fateful mission for the Rebellion and sees her planet destroyed for her troubles.

And while a gothic heroine may be physically frail she has the mental fortitude and agency to be the one who drives the plot forward. Leia, too, subverts being placed the box of “damsel in distress” with her strong will and her active fierce participation in the rebel cause.

The consistent pattern of “escaping and being caught” is another that Leia follows quite clearly throughout the original trilogy… when we first meet her, she is fleeing from her Imperial pursuers, only to be overpowered and captured. She’s taken aboard the Death Star, endures torture, and gets rescued… only for the next movie to involve yet another game of pursuit between her and Vader where she’s eventually caught yet again at Bespin. After another escape, she opens the subsequent film with an attempt to rescue her (not-so) “virtuous lover” from his prison… and she is made a slave. She escapes with her own ingenuity to rejoin the Rebellion, is nearly defeated in the perilous final battle at Endor, but with the help of her allies, wins the day and all is made right. A typical fairy tale ending.

And then there are her villainous persecutors, of which there are primarily three— Vader, Tarkin, and Jabba.

The gothic heroine is often menaced by a powerful man,?usually bearing misogynistic or patronizing sentiments. He is dark and threatening, yet can also be alluring… and the heroine strives to escape his oppressive power. So too with Leia, as representative of the Rebellion, seeking to destroy the oppression of the Empire.

In short, Star Wars is a very melodramatic, archetypal tale, and Leia’s journey both illuminates and subverts that.

[flowerandblood]

My Best Friend (23)

[modern! club owner • Aemond x fem!reader]    

[warnings: kissing, fluff, none?]

[description: Aemond has his own club and often does business at the home of one of his business associates. There he often meets his younger sister, with whom he develops a deeper relationship through shared secrets. This is slow burn love story.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond and Y/N ate sandwiches in silence, watching the history program that was on TV. It concerned new discoveries in ancient Egypt, specialists commented on burial chambers in pyramids previously unknown. It turned out that both he and she were interested in such things. 

Aemond admitted to her that most of the books he had in his apartment were about historical and philosophical topics from different periods. As it turned out, reading these types of books was his hobby, often consuming them on lonely evenings.

Aemond was pleased to see that Y/N was as engrossed in the subject as he was. She listened to the lectures of the Cairo professors with such interest as she devoured her sandwich that he felt as if she had forgotten him. He smiled to himself at that thought.

He liked her for not cornering him. When he needed it, she showed him her unlimited interest, tenderness and attention. But when they just sat together, she was able to find other things to do, allowing him some time to himself as well.

They spent the morning pleasantly and peacefully. They didn't rush anything. The thought of spending a few days together made them both feel calmer - they felt that they would have enough time to themselves. Y/N was secretly surprised at how suddenly he opened up to her. 

Even though she knew how he had distanced himself from women so far, she was happy that he really got involved in their relationship. It's as if he's come to terms with the fact that he can be with someone and not feel like a prisoner at the same time.

As promised, Aemond drove her to class. They talked about antiquity on the way. Y/N told him about the uniqueness of Greek sculptures, their perfection, and how, over the centuries, artists returned to their achievements and drew from them during the Renaissance and Enlightenment. Although he knew this theoretically, he was pleased to find that her knowledge impressed him and extended his own in some areas.

Y/N looked at him as she unbuckled her seatbelts.

"Do you want to come in with me?" She asked suddenly. He looked at her in surprise, wondering if he had misheard.

"Where?" He asked, not really understanding what she was proposing.

“Now I have practical classes in the workshop. I'm going to print my linocuts. The workshop is open practically all day, even though we have assigned hours, everyone comes there as they want. Often students bring friends from other faculties who just sit with us and watch us work. It doesn't look like a normal lecture hall." She said calmly, smiling smugly at her own idea. She wanted him to see her at work.

Aemond blinked at her proposal. He was silent for a moment, thinking deeply. It was still early, he wasn't due to arrive at the club for several hours, and there was no one there anyway. He was supposed to pick her up too, so he'd have to come back here anyway. Her proposal was very tempting for him, on the other hand, he was afraid of other people's reaction to him.

"I don't want other students to gossip about you." He said uncertainly. He knew what he looked like, he always drew attention to himself - although he hated it. Y/N blinked and laughed.

“What is there to gossip about if everything is clear?” She asked, shrugging. “Believe me, in these classes you will see people who look much more interesting than you. From rainbow hair to tattooed faces to exquisite outfits. To be honest, I and some of the other students look like sad hens among beautiful roosters.” She laughed happily.

Aemond felt defeated. Her words somehow convinced him.

"Fine."

 ***

The workshop that Y/N was talking about consisted of several rooms, from one to the other. The first, the most crowded, consisted of many tables around which students walked and sat. The walls were lined with large, pull-out cabinets for large-format sheets of paper. Students sat at tables, poking their chisels in their wooden and linocut stencils.

He was pleased to say that after saying hello, practically no one paid attention to him anymore. He relaxed and let her show him around, intrigued. Y/N explained to Aemond that they were cutting out what was supposed to be white on the print, and what they left would be black.

Y/N opened a locker with her name on it. She took out a black apron that hung around her neck and tied at the back above her hips, so that it covered the entire front of her clothes. She tied her hair with a rubber band in a tight bun, so that her hair wouldn't get in the way. She took out her stencil from another cupboard. It was definitely smaller than the big ones other students were working on.

"I make miniatures." She explained, walking over to him and showing him what she was going to deflect. The stencil showed a scene called the "Dance Macabre", or in other words, dance of death. Devils, witches, kings, simpletons and skeletons danced together in a circle. "It's a mirror image. In the print, everything will look the other way around. I deal with projects referring to old woodcuts, I create a whole series of such works. Come."

She said, and Aemond dutifully followed her into the next room. There were several printing presses, smaller and larger, some of which were already being worked by other students. In the center was a large table where students were rolling paint onto their stencils. Most smiled at her and greeted her. 

Aemond was surprised that it seemed like most people here liked, knew, and respected her. Y/N moved around the room with complete confidence, as if she were at home. Once in a while she exchanged a few words with someone else or helped someone who was clearly a year below.

It was nice to see her in her natural habitat. Aemond felt as if he had stepped into Leonardo da Vinci's painting workshop. Everything he saw fascinated him. Y/N usually showed him her poster designs and illustrations, but he didn't know that as part of her studies, she was working on more classic techniques that he had read about in his books.

After Y/N applied paint to her stencil and pressed it on the press, she brought it to him.

"Peel off the paper and see how it turned out. You have clean hands." She said encouragingly. He nodded his head and hesitantly, gently began to peel the sheet from the stencil. He turned it over and was surprised to see that, indeed, the image was a mirror image of the matrix. It really looked like old woodcuts. Aemond watched the work curiously, but Y/N sighed.

“I put too much paint on the stencil and it spilled too much. Nevermind.” She muttered, she wipe her hands on the apron, taking the stencil, and repeated the whole process. Aemond didn't quite understand what that meant, but as she made more prints, he saw that indeed, the next ones were clearer and more detailed.

"Do you want some coffee?" She asked him suddenly. "We have an express here. You can sit at the table, you don't have to stand." She said calmly, smiling. An hour ago he would have refused, but he was surprised to find that he liked it there. He watched with interest as the other students worked as well. 

A few even approached them with their work, asking everyone in the room what they thought. He was surprised at how relaxed the atmosphere was, even though everyone was working all the time. So he sat on one of the stools, and after a while Y/N brought tea for herself and coffee for him.

From time to time professors appeared in the room. They proofread and voiced their thoughts on their work, had a little laugh, and then went back to their tiny rooms, where they sat in seclusion. It ended up with Y/N taking off her apron, washing her hands, and looking at him with a smile.

"Its enough for today. We can go now." He looked at her surprised. He didn't even feel how fast time flew by. He finished his coffee and they washed their cups. He helped her clean up her work station. Y/N said goodbye to everyone and they left the room.

"Did you like it? I'm sorry, you didn't have to stay until the end." She said in a slightly apologetic tone, looking at him uncertainly. He looked at her calmly.

"It was fun there. You do very interesting things." He admitted. Y/N smiled happily at his words, delighted that he got to know a significant part of her life.

***

Aemond and Y/N went to her house to get some of her things. Klaus wasn't happy to hear that he was staying with Aemond for a few days, but he waved them off, stating that he had plenty of work to do in the coming days anyway. 

On the way back, Aemond said he needed to stop by the club for a while, sign some papers and run some errands with the manager. He suggested that she wait for him inside and have a drink, then they go out to eat together. She smiled gratefully at the offer.

Aemond followed his manager to his office while Y/N sat at the bar. Aemond said she could take whatever she wanted to drink at his expense. She looked through the menu curiously, wondering what to choose. She felt someone sit down next to her, but she didn't pay any attention to it, lost in thought.

"Take vodka with lemon juice and sprite. Very refreshing.” She heard a female voice, she glanced to the side. The woman she was looking at was about 10 years older than she was, but she looked very good. Her make-up and tight dress well emphasized her qualities and great figure. Y/N smiled warmly at her.

"You say? Indeed, I haven't tried this drink yet." She said calmly, resting her chin on her hand on the bar counter.

"Twice vodka with lemon juice and sprite." The woman said to the bartender, and the bartender nodded, looking at her with a frown. Y/N noticed the look and swung around in her seat. 

"Nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about you." She said with a warm looking smile. Y/N felt hot. She looked at her surprised. "Alys." The woman held out her hand in greeting. Y/N felt her throat go dry. 

She hesitated for a moment, but reached out her hand to her and took her hand with a firm grip, not allowing herself to show any weakness or fear.

"Y/N."

She fell silent, looking at her, trying to keep her face calm even though her heart was pounding like crazy. She decided not to say anything more. She wasn't going to admit that Aemond had told her about her. Alys took a sip of her drink, not bothered by the silence.

“That Albert is quite a bastard. It was fun with him at first, but when I heard he pressed you against that restroom, I didn't like it anymore." She said as she took a sip of her drink, looking her up and down. "He's crazy about you, huh?" She asked, smiling from the corner of her mouth.

"Albert?" Y/N asked uncertainly and raised her eyebrows.

"Aemond."

Y/N pursed her lips as she looked into her eyes. What was she supposed to say? If she answered yes, it would only show that she hoped Aemond was crazy about her, that he was desperate - which he wasn't - even though she wanted him to love her and want her. If she answered no, it would appear that she was trying to diminish his feelings for herself by equating them with those he felt for other women—and she didn't believe that either.

"I don't know if crazy is the right word." She finally said, looking away. She could end the conversation at any time, get up and just go to Aemond, let him do the job. She had seen him talk to Kate and believed he would do the same this time, setting clear boundaries. But she felt that she didn’t want to show her any weakness. Her last days with him had given her courage and confidence.

"What else do you call sex on a park bench?" She asked amused, and Y/N turned to her quickly, her eyes filled with terror, her cheeks turning scarlet. Alys laughed.

"Don't worry. You have a good friend. Marcus, right? His men gave the photographer a good whack before he could get in the car. They destroyed his equipment. Albert was furious. The opportunity passed him by." She murmured, taking a sip of her drink, looking at her with satisfaction that she had managed to get any reaction out of her.

Y/N swallowed silently, despite her relief, still feeling the enormous tension caused by the whole situation, the fact that Albert had them followed, and that she knew about it. She thought they both owed Marcus a debt of gratitude. She lowered her hands to her knees, trying to control their tremors and pulled herself together.

"Why are you interested in me?" She finally asked, her voice more confident than before. Alys was silent for a moment, looking at her intently.

"Actually, you don't interest me. I'm just trying to figure out the situation." She smiled slightly. Y/N laughed. She was surprised by her own confidence. She decided that no one could be blackmailed or intimidated her.

"Better find out quickly, because if Aemond sees you talking to me, he won't be pleased." She said, raising her eyebrows. Alys looked at her, her words surprised her. "You know very well that he doesn't like to share what's his."

_____

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[quellmythirst]

Billy's Books

Summary: A colegue sends you on search to find a secret bookstore in a back alley and you find something a bit more interesting than your next read.

Pairing: BookStoreOwner!BillyRusso x Bookworm!Reader

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, fingering, flirting, PIV, kissing, teasing, swearing, bookshop AU!, Readers name is Holly but is only mentioned once.

AN: This may be the most self indulgent thing I have ever written. I recommend all the books mentioned and hope you enjoy.

The sun is pelting down on you today. You didn't know it could even get this warm in New York, somewhat surprised at the trickles of sweat beading down your back. The dark green sundress which had very light material is doing fuck all to help you cool down as you pace the streets looking for the bookstore one of your coworker has recommended. Karli said that it was the cutest little thing tucked into the side of a building in Hell's Kitchen. 

     You're almost around the corner that Karli marked on the map she gave you when a man passes you. His shoulder accidentally knocking with yours as he passes, throwing your bookbag to the ground, "Hey! Watch where you're going," you shout after him, picking up each one and dusting them off. The man doesn’t stop, his shoulders shrug while he continues to walk quickly away.

      You lose sight of him while focusing on getting the sidewalk grit off your precious books and figure he probably lives around here. Not surprising as this store seemed to be in a residential area.

       Walking for a few more minutes you find the shop you were looking for and Karli was right. The outside is adorned in plants, someone's bike nestled right at the door and an adorable display of classic horror novels in the window. The books are surrounded by antiques meant to compliment the source material. You try to rein in your laughter as you see someone has placed Mary Shelley's classic on top of a grave stone. “This is my kind of place,” you think to yourself.

      The doorbell chimes as you enter, the smell of dust, coffee and old books permeating the room. Taking a big ol whiff you bask in the scent, before a loud cough catches your attention and your eyes dart towards the counter. You feel heat creep up your spine and the urge to burrow into yourself. Someone just caught you doing another fucking weird thing in public, this is “why we don't leave the house,” you think, but outwardly you plaster a smile on, ignoring whoever they were and head towards the stacks.

       "Can I help you?" a deep baritone comes from your left as your peering through the very tame looking romance novels. 

       "No, all good, I know what I'm-" you stare up at the man, all sharp lines and hard features except for the smart smile on his lips. Your face must say something you don't want it to because he just stares, before chuckling to himself.

      "I wanted to apologise, I was in a hurry when I bumped you earlier,"

    "Thanks, but it's fine. Happens a lot,"

"What people bump into you?"

       "Yeah, some days I think I might as well be the Invisible Woman,"

"Now that can't be true," his eyes glance over you, catching on the large bag of books on your arm, "Woman as beautiful as you,"

     "Whatever you say," you roll your eyes. Was he hitting on you? Unlikely. That never happened, you weren't lying when you said you felt invisible. Who could blame people though, with your nose always in a book it was hard for people to see your face and you liked it that way. 

      "Let me get you a coffee," the man says, tilting his head back towards the small sitting area near the back.

      "It's really fine, I just need to find my book and I'll be on my way,"

"What if I look for your book while you take a seat?"

     "Oh," shit, you think. Well, maybe, if you don't die from embarrassment at him possibly knowing what it is. He won't. You had only ever met one man who didn't think romances were 'porn for women' and he was long gone. "Ok, sure. It's called The Never King by Nikki St Clare. You probably don't have it, I've been looking for a physical copy for ages and am yet to find one,"

     "I'll take a look. Go and take a seat, I'll bring you out a coffee and I'll be in the back,"

"Thanks," you smile as he slides your coffee across the table. He gives you a small nod and when you peer up from taking a sip he's gone. 

     The coffee is delicious, even though it's a million degrees outside the air conditioning is cooling your skin. Sticking your hand into your bag you pull out 'The Dragon Bride,' and start to read. You're just getting to the good part when you feel a set of eyes on you.

     " Adventurous reader aren't you," the man smirks, his eyes flicking to the cover and you immediately put the book cover down. "Can't say we get a lot of those in here, mostly just old folk who want some Dickens. Though I guess you want the same," he winks.  

      "Oh, my God." You plant your head on the table, feeling heat take over your skin, "kill me now," you mumble, unable to ever look this guy in the face again. No-one had ever even noticed what you were reading before, content with just ignoring you. Fuck, you figured this would be the same.

     "I found your book," he says, holding it up like a child who won an award at school, "it does come with a condition though,"

      "What?" You ask, rolling your head to the side so you can peek at him over your arm.

 "I want to know what it's about and I'd like you to tell me over lunch,"

      "Just let me die," you roll your head back into the safety of your arms, hoping that maybe he'll just leave the book and leave you alone to perish.

     "Where's the fun in that?" This guy, you didn't even know his name and he was the first person who wanted to know about your stories. Maybe lunch wasn't such a bad idea? You've been itching to rant to someone about The Never King for ages and now- he wouldn't like you after that. Your ex had described your rants as 'annoying, boring and painful.'

"Please just one lunch, then I'll give your book and you can go," 

     "I don't eat with strangers," you mumble into your arms.

"That's an easy fix. Billy Russo," he extends his hand towards your crossed arms.

     "Holly," you say, taking his hand and sitting up. Surprisingly you don't detect any judgment on his face, instead he's just smiling waiting for you to say something else. "What's for lunch?"

    "There's a sushi place down the road, just give me your order and I'll call them,"

"They deliver?"

"Only here. We made a deal a few years back. It's why I bumped you actually, I was late with their coffees." 

After ordering Billy takes a seat opposite you, his long fingers flicking through the book and raising a brow at the things you knew he would be reading. "So tell me what you like about it," 

"Are you comfortable?' You ask, knowing how long your lectures can go for.

   " Yeah, so go!"

"Well, it's a Peter Pan retelling. But different. So way back when Pan's shadow was stolen and to try and find it and gain back his power on Never land he kidnaps all of the Darling women on their 18th birthday. Because you see he thinks he can find answers in their memories………" You go on and on about it, gushing about the romance between the lost boys and the fierceness of Pan. How Winnie is the kind of woman you wished you had been at 18. It seems like forever and all the while Billy watches you. Smiling and asking questions. Real questions about how things work and why they were happening. Honestly you'd never had such a great conversation about it until now. He seems to genuinely enjoy listening to you. 

  "Should I read it?" He asks, stuffing sushi into his mouth. You hadn't even realised it was here, too busy talking and explaining the narrative.

   "I guess? What kind of books do you normally like?"

"Dark horror, usually where the main character makes some kind of error for selfish reasons and ends up becoming something horrific."

     "I mean maybe? Pan seems to be alot like that. Can I have my book now?"

"Oh yeah sure," he slides it into your bag, "no charge,"

    "You can't- this is no way to run a business," you shake your head, "first coffee, then lunch and now this? How can you even afford to run a store if you're just giving things away all the time?"

   "It's not all the time and only for smart little bookworms,"

"Does this work a lot?"

   "Does what work?"

" You know, the whole, charming the pants off women with books and sushi,"

     "Is it working now?"

"Not what I asked,"

     "Truth be told, you're the first person my age to come in here in a long time. It was just nice to talk to someone about something they love,"

"Oh," so he wasn't flirting. Just lonely, you know what that's like and it was nice to chat to someone who wanted to listen for once. "Can I come back tomorrow?" You ask, sliding the book into your bag.

   "One condition," he pulls a book from his pocket, "read this and tell me what you think,"

"Ok sure. 'Lore Olympus'' you read aloud, "Is this a comic? What's it about?" 

    "I think you'll like it," he says, cleaning your plates as you flip through it.

"Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow," 

     "We open at 10, come whenever you like,"

XxXxXx

"A CLIFFHANGER!" you shout as you enter the small bookstore the next day, slamming the door open so hard that you don't even hear the soft bells chime. You stomp upto Billy with gusto you didn't know you had and throw the book at him, "how dare you recommend me a book that ends on a cliffhanger!"

        "Whoa, whoa!" He says as he catches the book in one hand, "I'll get you the second one, Princess. Geeze, I've got it right here," he reaches below the counter and pulls out another comic. "But this one has a cliffhanger too, just so you know."

    "And the next one?"

"Comes out in a few months,"

     "Evil! Why would you do this?"

"So I take it, you liked the book?"

      "Liked it?! I loved it,"

"Then I got some more things for you. Because that isn't the only Hades and Persephone story, but they're-"

      "They're what?"

"Come with me," he saunters around the counter, flipping the lock on the front door closed before his hand falls to your lower back and leads you out to a storage room. 

    "So this is all-"

"Yeah, Greek myths retold and some of the steamier romances. They aren't super popular with my regular crowd, but I like to keep them on hand," your hand brushes over the Madeline Miller section, smiling at all the works that surround it. You'd never heard of Katee Roberts, but the Neon Gods seemed to call to you. “This one's my favourite,” he leans over you, his breath fanning down your neck as his hand grips your waist. His hand pulls out 'A touch of Darkness," and you like the way it sounds. 

    "What's it about?" You ask your voice softer than it's even been, as his nose nudges your ear.

"Hades worshiping his queen," his hand slides around your front, fingers spreading over your tummy and pressing your ass into him, "tell me Princess, have you ever been worshiped?"

     "I ah-"

"Gone all shy on me? You were so excited to tell me all your Pan fantasies yesterday," Fuck. You can't think, not with that musky cologne mixing with the scent of old books, those give hands wrapping around you and his coffee stained breath on your ear.

    "Billy, I-" 

"Yes, Princess, tell me what you want," you feel your heartbeat race as his lips trace your neckline, his fingers creeping down as his other hand wraps around your neck twisting your head so he can press his lips into yours. It was all passion, hungry, and desperate need as he pressed his semi hard cock onto your ass. "Do you want me to stop?" He asks, his fingers graze the hem of your skirt, dancing softly up your inner thigh. 

   "No, keep going," you press back into him. His palm cups your pussy that’s soaking through your panties. Rubbing gently over you and forcing soft moans from your lips. Twisting your arm back, holding his face to your neck. 

 "May I?" His fingers toy with the line of your panties, the only thing separating you from the delicate touch of his strong fingers.

   "Please," you arch back, trying to get him closer.

"Such good manners, Princess," he thrust his fingers into you, his thumb toys with your clit. Your breath hitches while you chant his name, feeling that tingle building in the pit of your stomach and when his teeth sink into your neck and inferno burns inside. You need to cum, need it so badly.

   "Look back at me," he says, tilting your head so he can look at your face, "want to see how pretty you look when I make you cum for the first time," holy shit, you'd never heard anything so hot in real life ever. It made the fire inside grow and grow until it consumed you and you burst all over Billy's fingers.

   "Holy, fuck." You pant, breathless as Billy spins you, cornering you against the shelves with his body. His thickness pressing unto your thigh as your lips meet and your hands twine around his neck.

   "Want me to slow it down?" He asks, his fingers spreading your juice over your lip and your tongue flicks out to meet them. 

   "There's more?" You ask, brain still half soaked in bliss.

"I've always got more for a Princess, like you," his other hand works fast to unclasp the dark black jeans he was wearing. "Let me borrow your hand," his voice sultry and smooth, his fingers circle your wrist, bringing it down to the hard length in his pants, "Touch me," he lets out a deep moan when your hand encloses around him, your thumb flicking over the huge head of his cock. 

 “It's so big," you gulp, staring down at it growing even larger in your hand, "it won't fit," 

   ��"Oh, it'll fit," he smirks, wrapping his hands under your ass and lifting you into the air. Your back pressing into the hard shelves behind you and the firm, muscular form in front. You grind onto him, using your hand to press his head into your clit and rubbing along it. 

   "Fuck," he groans, "I need to be inside you," his hips jerk, trying to hold himself back, "can I? Will you let me feel your insides on my cock, Princess?"

   "Please," you beg, adjusting so that he was lined up, "maybe just-"

"I'll go slow, ok. You tell me if it's too painful," you give him a curt nod. Surprised when his lips connect again with your neck, one hand on your ass and the other massaging your breast. He presses in, stretching you out in the most delicious way, you feel your pussy begin to pulse as the veins on his cock rub against your inner walls.

    "I don't think I can-"

"Yes, you can. You can take all of me," he presses in harder, his nails digging into your nipples through your blouse, his teeth latching onto your neck while his cock fills you so full you think you might die.

   "So full," your pussy pulses around him, his cock throbs in response.

 "You ready?"

"Yes," you thrust back only for him to squeeze on your ass.

    "Hold still, I don't wanna drop you,"

"Ok," you link your arms behind his neck, staring up at his eyes that are darker than midnight, you can't tell where his pupil and iris part. You think you might actually be hallucinating. But when he starts to move, his hard thrusts fucking into you, you know it's real. There's no way your brain could come up with something this hot.

   "Fuck, your pussy is so tight," his hands grip harder on your ass, "so fucking wet," he pants reaching down to kiss you again, "feeling it dripping down my cock," 

   "Feels so good," you moan in response 

"Do me a favor?"

   "Yes,"

"Play with yourself for me," you snake your arm down between you keeping the other latched onto his bicep, your fingers dance over your clit once and you feel your body begin to shake, "Did I tell you to stop?" He narrows his eyes at you, it seems more playful than commanding but you do it anyway. 

You feel your body twitching, your eyes rolling back into your head and when his cock rubs over your g spot you see stars. Wordless moans falling from your mouth, your nails dig into his biceps and you fall, your head lolling back into the shelves. 

   "Do it again," he growls, pressing you deeper into the shelf, his body now flush with yours his hand clasping around your neck, holding your gaze to him, "I want you to cum with me,"

   "Can't, " is all you manage to make out.

"You will," he stops thrusting. Grinding his cock into your sopping cunt, his pelvis grinding into your overstimulated clit and making your whole body shiver. "Be a good princess and cum for me,"

   “Billy, fuck. Yeah, like that.” You say in broken form between moans. His fingers dig deeper in your throat, his other hand snaking into your hair and tugging it back. Now only his cock and your legs wrapped around him were keeping you upright. You squeeze tighter, you didn't want it to stop. 

   “Yes, squeeze me harder,” he pulls, harder on your hair, “I'm so fuckin close,” 

“Cum, Billy, I'm gunna cum,” you moan into his mouth, his speed picking up just thrusting out a bit. Pressing you into the shelf as hard as he can.

   “I need to pull out,” 

“No, please. Full me up, don't fucking stop,” a loud growl leaves his throat as he pounds into you and you think you'll have bruising on your back tomorrow, though you can hardly find yourself giving a shit.

   “Cum, cum Princess, fuck I'm going to-” together you let out loud, delirious moans and you think you hear laughter on the street behind. Both of your bodies shake as you sink to the ground together, finding your legs are no longer working.

   “You ok?” You ask, peering over at Billy who was heaving his breaths and shaking his head.

“Yeah, I didn't plan on that. You know, I just couldn't help myself,”

   “I was there too, also not planning it. But do you-” you stop your train of thought. He saw you, like really saw you and in that moment he had wanted you. It's not like you can take it back now. 

  “Can I ask you something?”

“I mean, after we just did I think it would be rude to say no,”

   “Do you want to go on a date? Like not in my store? Maybe a picnic or something?”

“I'd love to. But first,” you say standing on shaking legs and helping him up off the ground, “you’re going to help me pick a new book,”

   “I meant to when we got here, but your intoxicating,”

“So any suggestions?”

Taglist:

@imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @wheresthesunshinesblog @fictional-hooman @sweetheart-im-the-boss @noortsshift @misstimeless @restingbitchsblog @nyctophiliiiiaaa

[allari-ammayi]

Butta Bomma

A. Bahubali x Reader x B. Deva

#5

The Monkey Woman

Synopsis: Y/n decides to blend in with the other women of Mahismati and dons a Sari, catching Bhalla and Bahu's attention. Y/n is acquainted with several other women in the court, who teach her how to wear a sari in the Mahismati way. When Y/n's new friends longingly stare at a fruit tree, Y/n takes it upon herself to climb the tree and fetch some fruit, which catches the attention of everyone around, especially an amused Bhalla, who endlessly teases her about it.

4k Words

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Once Y/N had been settled into her official room within the palace, she couldn't help but ponder her unique situation. The unfamiliar surroundings and the grandeur of the palace were a stark contrast to her previous life running her grandmother's antique store. She knew that to truly understand the kingdom and its people, she needed to blend in and dress like the other ladies of Mahishmati.

Curiosity piqued, and Y/N explored the closet in her room. To her delight, she discovered a breathtaking sari adorned with intricate patterns and vibrant colours. Although completely unfamiliar with the attire, she made up her mind to give it a try, despite her apprehensions.

With a mixture of determination and uncertainty, Y/N carefully unfurled the sari and began the process of dressing herself. She attempted to mimic what she had seen in movies and pictures, her fingers gently navigating the folds and pleats of the fabric. The sari's length and complexity posed a challenge, and her first attempt resulted in a slightly skewed, modernized version of the traditional attire. But she persisted, adjusting the drape and pleats until she managed to make it presentable.

As she gazed at her reflection in the ornate mirror, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in her efforts to assimilate into this new world. The vibrant colours of the sari added a touch of elegance to her appearance, and she couldn't deny that she looked the part, even if it was far from perfect.

As Y/N explored the vast palace, she marvelled at the opulence that surrounded her. The grand corridors seemed to stretch on endlessly, and the walls were adorned with intricate designs that told stories of a rich history. The palace felt like a labyrinth of secrets and hidden treasures waiting to be discovered.

She couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the grandeur of Mahishmati. The palace was a testament to the kingdom's power and influence, and Y/N couldn't help but wonder about the lives of the people who had lived within these walls for generations.

As she continued her exploration, Y/N encountered palace servants who bustled about their duties. Their attire and demeanour were a stark contrast to her own, but they treated her with respect and kindness. Y/N felt a sense of gratitude for their hospitality, which made her feel less like a stranger in this foreign land.

Her journey through the palace led her to the palace gardens, a lush oasis of greenery and vibrant flowers. The scent of blooming blossoms filled the air, and Y/N couldn't help but be captivated by the beauty of the natural surroundings. She took a moment to pause and soak in the tranquillity of the garden, finding solace in the midst of her extraordinary circumstances.

As Y/N continued to explore, she couldn't shake the feeling that her presence in Mahishmati held a greater purpose. She was determined to fulfil her mission, to change Bhallaladeva's fate, and to make a difference in this ancient world. The journey ahead was filled with challenges and uncertainties, but Y/N was ready to face them head-on.

With each step she took in the grand palace, Y/N's determination grew stronger. She was no longer just a visitor; she was a part of the intricate tapestry of Mahishmati, and she was determined to play her role in shaping its destiny.

As Y/N explored the grand corridors of the palace, her attention was suddenly drawn to a bustling training ground on the ground floor. Curiosity piqued, she made her way towards it. There, she spotted Bhallaladeva, intensely practicing swordsmanship with a group of skilled warriors.

From her vantage point on the third floor, Y/N had a clear view of the training ground. She couldn't help but be mesmerized by the display of strength and precision before her. Bhallaladeva's movements were like a dance of deadly grace, his sword flashing through the air with deadly accuracy. It was a sight to behold, and Y/N found herself completely absorbed in watching him.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Amarendra Bahubali, who had been present at the training ground, noticed her presence from a distance. He observed her as she admired Bhallaladeva's swordsmanship, intrigued by her fascination. Bahu had always been skilled in reading people, and he couldn't help but wonder what it was about Bhallaladeva that had captured Y/N's attention.

As Bhallaladeva continued his rigorous training, Y/N's gaze remained fixed on him. She admired not just his physical prowess but also the determination and dedication with which he practised. It was clear to her that he was a man who took his responsibilities seriously, even in matters of combat.

Y/N's unintentional observation of Bhallaladeva's training provided her with a deeper insight into the man. She had seen him not just as a prince or a warrior but as a person committed to honing his skills and fulfilling his duties to the kingdom.

Amarendra Bahubali, still watching Y/N, couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity about her. Her fascination with Bhallaladeva had not gone unnoticed, and Bahu wondered if there was more to this mysterious newcomer than met the eye.

Bahubali, with his innate curiosity about everything and everyone, couldn't resist the urge to approach Y/N. As she stood on the third floor, her gaze still fixed on Bhallaladeva's intense training session, Bahubali made his way towards her with a friendly smile.

He approached her with a warm and open demeanour, a natural conversationalist. 

"Quite a display, isn't it?" he began, gesturing towards Bhallaladeva and the warriors below. "Our prince takes his training very seriously."

Y/N, somewhat startled by Bahubali's sudden appearance, turned her attention to him. She found herself face to face with a man who exuded an air of approachability and friendliness. It was a refreshing change from the tension and unfamiliarity she had experienced since her arrival.

Her response, however, was marked by a strange manner of speech, a modern Telugu with a hint of her unique quirks. She replied, 

"Oh, I know right?! Like, seriously, he's a badass warrior, isn’t he?" Her unconventional way of speaking piqued Bahubali's curiosity, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her choice of words.

"Indeed, he is," Bahubali agreed, his deep voice carrying a friendly tone. "But I must say, your way of describing it is quite... unique." He emphasized the word 'unique' with a playful twinkle in his eye.

Y/N couldn't help but smile in response to Bahubali's warm demeanour. Despite the language barrier and the unfamiliar surroundings, there was something about his presence that put her at ease. It was as though she had found a friendly face amidst the unfamiliarity of the palace.

Bahubali continued the conversation, genuinely interested in getting to know this intriguing lady. "I haven't seen you around the palace before. Are you a guest of the queen, or have you recently arrived in Mahishmati?" he inquired jokingly, his curiosity driving the conversation forward.

Y/N nodded, her expressive eyes reflecting her enthusiasm. "Yeah, I'm like a newbie here. Just arrived and trying to soak in all the royal vibes, you know?" She joked back. She couldn't help but laugh at her own words, feeling a bit self-conscious about her informal way of speaking.

Bahubali's warm smile remained unwavering. "Well, we're glad to have you here in Mahishmati and it’s good to know you’re settling in well," he replied, his gaze sincere. "If you ever need any assistance or have questions about the kingdom, don't hesitate to ask. I'm here to help."

Y/N's heart warmed at Bahubali's offer of assistance. She had never expected to find such a welcoming presence in this ancient world. 

"That's really nice of you," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "I might just take you up on that offer."

As Bahubali and Y/N continued their conversation, their rapport grew effortlessly. The language barrier seemed less daunting, and they found common ground in their shared curiosity about each other's worlds. In that moment, amidst the grandeur of the palace and the intensity of Bhallaladeva's training, a genuine connection was forming between these two individuals from different worlds, bound by the intrigue of the unknown.

As Bhallaladeva sparred with the skilled warriors in the training ground, his focus was unwavering, his swordsmanship precise and relentless. However, on this particular day, something unusual happened. His eyes, trained for combat and strategy, were inexplicably drawn to the grand palace's upper levels.

There, standing on the third floor, was Y/N, dressed in a vibrant and slightly skewed sari that accentuated her grace and elegance. Bhallaladeva's swordplay momentarily faltered as he caught sight of her. He found himself inexplicably mesmerized by her presence, his sword hanging mid-air as if enchanted by her beauty.

Bhallaladeva found himself mesmerized by the grace and uniqueness of her attire, something entirely unfamiliar to him in this ancient kingdom. It was as if her sari style had cast a spell over him, capturing his attention in a way he had never expected.

Despite the bustling training ground and the clang of swords, Bhallaladeva's eyes remained fixed on Y/N. The warriors he sparred with exchanged puzzled glances as they witnessed their prince's unusual distraction. They had never seen their prince react this way before, and it was clear that something extraordinary had caught his attention. Something extraordinary had undoubtedly caught his eye, and it was clear that Y/N had ignited a curiosity and fascination within him.

Amidst the chaotic training session, Bhallaladeva couldn't help but find Y/N's sari style uniquely beautiful, even though it was a modern twist that stood out in the grandeur of Mahishmati. This unexpected allure pulled him away from his rigorous training, setting the stage for an intriguing connection that would defy the conventions of their world.

Despite his usually reserved and stern demeanour, Bhallaladeva couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards Y/N. There was an undeniable intrigue in her presence, an allure that had disrupted his focus in a way he couldn't explain.

In the middle of the clang of swords and the shouts of the warriors, Bhallaladeva found himself drawn to Y/N's graceful figure, her vibrant sari standing out amidst the palace's grandeur. In that moment, he couldn't help but wonder about the enigmatic woman who had unknowingly captured his attention, setting the stage for a connection that would defy the conventions of their world.

As Y/N decided it was time to explore more of the palace and get accustomed to the people around, she casually bid farewell to Bahubali, leaving him with a smirk and a wave. 

“Well, there’s a lot more this to palace than just a hallway and a balcony, so I’ll take my leave now,” 

“Well, I could show you around, if you wanted,” Bahubali offered, earning a smile from Y/n. Y/n looked around and saw the group of girls that were fawning over Bahu, and chuckled.

“Well, Prince Charming, I'll let you go back to your admirers. Don't want to keep the ladies waiting.” She said, with a princely charm, Bahubali chuckled, 

"You're quite the character, Y/N. I hope you enjoy your time exploring the palace."

“Thanks, I’ll catch you later, Bahu,” Y/n departed with a wink and a wave, forgetting that she wasn’t talking to a fictional character anymore, but rather a real prince. 

Her informal manner of parting amused Bahubali and even those nearby were taken aback by her audacity.

Bahubali, grinning at Y/N's playful departure, watched her go with an amused glint in his eye. He couldn't help but admire her spirited and carefree nature, which seemed to contrast the formality of the palace.

As Y/N ventured deeper into the palace, she couldn't help but notice the commotion caused by Bahubali's presence. It was a familiar scene - girls swooning and whispering amongst themselves, vying for a glimpse of the charismatic prince. Bahubali, accustomed to such attention, smiled and greeted those who approached him with charm and grace.

Y/N, on the other hand, was content to blend into the background, observing the interactions and dynamics of the palace without drawing too much attention to herself. It was her way of understanding this new world she had found herself in, and she was determined to make the most of this unique opportunity.

As Bahubali departed, a group of giggling girls quickly spotted Y/n wandering around the palace grounds. They couldn't contain their curiosity and excitement and rushed over to introduce themselves.

"Hello there! You must be new," one of the girls exclaimed, her eyes filled with curiosity.

Y/n offered a warm smile, appreciating their friendliness. "Yes, I am. I arrived here just recently," she replied.

The girls were eager to know more. "What's your name?" another girl inquired.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, thinking about her peculiar circumstances. "You can call me Y/n," she finally replied, opting for a more modern abbreviation of her name.

The questions continued to pour in as the girls gathered around her, creating an impromptu circle of curious faces.

"Where do you come from, Y/n?" one girl asked, her eyes sparkling with interest.

Y/n contemplated how much she should reveal about her true origins. "I come from a distant land, far from Mahishmati," she answered vaguely, maintaining an air of mystery.

"How do you know Prince Bahubali?" another girl inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity and perhaps a hint of jealousy.

Y/n chuckled, understanding the intrigue surrounding her connection with Bahubali. "I actually met him just yesterday," she confessed, and the girls exchanged surprised glances.

Their curiosity didn't wane, and they continued to pepper Y/n with questions. "What brings you here? Are you staying in the palace?" another girl asked.

Y/n decided to reveal her purpose, realizing that it wasn't a far-fetched story. "I've come to study the Mahishmati culture and learn about this incredible kingdom. As for staying in the palace, it seems I will be here for some time," she explained.

The girls exchanged glances, both impressed and envious of Y/n's opportunity. Despite their initial curiosity and perhaps a tinge of jealousy regarding her connection with Bahubali, they welcomed her warmly into their circle.

One of the girls then noticed something unique about Y/n's attire. 

"Your sari is quite different from what we wear. Have you tried draping it the Mahishmati way?" she asked, a friendly smile on her face.

Y/n looked down at her slightly skewed sari, realizing that she had indeed draped it in a more modern fashion. 

"I must confess, I'm not very skilled at draping it the way you do here. Would any of you be willing to teach me?" she asked, her eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

The girls exchanged amused glances and nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, we can show you! It's not too difficult once you get the hang of it," one of them reassured her.

With a single move, the ladies swept Y/n off her feet and ushed her to her chambers, but not before jealously admiring her room, its grandeur, size, and general amazingness.

Under the guidance of her newfound friends, Y/n's sari was expertly draped in the traditional Mahishmati style. With their assistance, she looked every bit the part of a palace dweller.

As they began to teach Y/n the art of draping a sari the Mahishmati way, the girls and Y/n formed an instant bond. Laughter and conversation filled the air as they shared stories and experiences, marking the beginning of a newfound friendship in the heart of the grand palace.

As they completed their task, the group of girls excitedly whisked Y/n away, eager to show off their newfound friend to the rest of the palace. They took her on a tour, introducing her to various parts of the grand palace.

Their wanderings led them to the training area, where the clashing of swords and the shouts of warriors echoed through the air. Y/n marvelled at the display of martial prowess taking place before her.

Unbeknownst to her, Bhallaladeva was engrossed in his training once more, his focus sharp as ever. However, as Y/n entered the area, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of her, and his swordplay faltered for a brief moment. Her presence, clad in the exquisitely draped sari, captivated him once again, much like it had the first time he saw her.

Bhallaladeva's intense eyes remained fixed on Y/n as she moved with her newfound friends, his curiosity and fascination growing with every passing moment.

As the group of girls roamed the palace grounds, they came across a magnificent fruit tree laden with ripe, tempting fruits. Their eyes sparkled with desire as they gazed up at the fruit-laden branches.

Y/n couldn't help but notice their wistful expressions. With a confident smile, she decided to take matters into her own hands. The girls turned to her, curious about her plan.

"I'll fetch us some fruit," Y/n declared, earning surprised looks from her new friends. They exchanged glances, intrigued by her confidence.

"How?" one of the girls asked, her curiosity piqued.

Y/n simply winked at them and began demonstrating her plan. She gathered the end of her sari and deftly tucked it into her lehenga. The other girls watched with wide eyes as she approached the fruit-laden tree and started to climb, her sari serving as a makeshift rope.

The sight was nothing short of astonishing, and it didn't take long for a small crowd to gather, both men and women, to witness this incredible display. Y/n's agile ascent was met with gasps of amazement and admiration.

From her lofty perch, Y/n plucked several ripe fruits and gently dropped them to her friends below. The girls eagerly caught the fruit, their faces lighting up with delight.

But amid the cheers and applause, Y/n couldn't help but notice Bhallaladeva among the onlookers. His gaze was fixed on her, his expression a mix of awe and fascination.

However, Y/n, unaware of his true intentions, mistook his look for one of mockery. She quickly descended from the tree and landed gracefully on the ground. Brushing bits of bark from her hands, she felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her.

Not wanting to appear immodest in front of the prince, Y/n hastily readjusted her sari, ensuring it covered her properly. In her mind, she believed she had committed a social faux pas by climbing the tree, unaware that her actions had left many in awe, including Bhallaladeva himself.

As Bhallaladeva approached Y/n, the crowd that had gathered to witness her impressive feat began to disperse, giving them some space. Bhalla couldn't resist a snarky comment and a playful grin as he closed the distance between them.

"Quite the agile monkey, aren't you?" he teased, a glint of amusement in his eyes. His remark was met with a few chuckles from those who had witnessed Y/n's tree-climbing adventure.

Y/n, never one to back down from a friendly exchange, responded with an equally snarky comeback. 

"Well, they say necessity is the mother of invention. Besides, I've never seen a tree laden with such delicious-looking fruit before."

Bhallaladeva's curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't help but inquire, 

"Speaking of inventions, why the change in your sari style?"

Y/n glanced down at her sari, now draped in the traditional Mahishmati fashion. She chuckled softly, realizing her earlier fashion faux pas. 

"Honestly, I didn't even realize there was a different style here. Back where I come from, that was how we wear saris. It's comfortable and practical."

Bhalla, despite his initial teasing, spoke more softly this time. "Well, you should wear your style more often. It suits you and you wear it well."

Y/n, caught off guard by one of the fruits that her lady friend had tossed her, blinked in surprise. 

"Sorry, I didn't catch that. Could you repeat it?" she asked, genuinely curious about his words.

But Bhallaladeva's face reddened, and he quickly masked his embarrassment with a snarky comment. 

"Never mind. It wasn't that important." Y/n held a saddened look on her face.

“Aw, come on please tell me, I really didn’t hear you!” She pleaded, her look causing Bhalla to go redder and he looked away in embarrassed anger.

“I said it was nothing, Monkey!” Bhalla huffed, angrily, waving Y/n away, “Go back to climbing trees or something.” He grumbled.

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Y/n both puzzled and intrigued by their brief but engaging conversation.

Y/n couldn't resist the opportunity to fire back, her playful smirk evident. 

"Oh, so you're an expert on monkeys now, Your Highness?” She shouted, causing Bhalla to turn shapely on his heel and walk back to Y/n with speed. “I didn't know they taught primatology to royal brats." 

Bhallaladeva raised an eyebrow, not one to back down from a challenge. 

"It appears they've also taught you to speak out of turn, insolent monkey girl." Y/n feigned innocence, batting her eyelashes. 

"Oh, forgive me, your majesty. I must have forgotten my royal etiquette class back in my land."

The prince's jaw tightened, and he shot back with a sly grin. "Perhaps they forgot to teach you manners in the land of Mexico."

Y/n pretended to ponder his words for a moment, tapping her chin. "Manners, you say? Is that why your palace is so quiet? Everyone afraid to speak?"

Bhallaladeva's face flushed. "Our court has its own decorum."

"Ah, yes," Y/n replied with faux reverence. "The 'Royal Rules of Silence,' I've heard of them."

The prince's nostrils flared as he clenched his fists, resorting to painting his face with a sly smirk. "You have a sharp tongue, monkey. I hope it doesn't get you into trouble."

Y/n leaned in closer, a challenging glint in her eye. "Trouble finds me, Your Highness. I've been trained in the art of survival in strange lands, after all."

Their argument was interrupted by the arrival of Y/n's friends, who had been observing the exchange with worry. One of them couldn't help but tease in hopes of killing the tension down a little,

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” She said, with a quick curtsy, “It seems you’ve met my friend over here,” She motioned towards Y/n, “She’s new to the kingdom, she doesn’t know anyone yet-” Bhalla raised his hand to the lady’s face, his eyes boring into Y/n’s.

“We’ve met before,” Bhalla said.

 "Looks like someone's found a sparring partner, Y/n." The lady said, awkwardly.

Y/n grinned and winked at Bhallaladeva. "Oh, absolutely. I've been searching for a conversation as stimulating as this for ages. It's not every day you get to trade barbs with royalty."

Bhallaladeva rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Just remember, Monkey, royalty always gets the last word."

Y/n chuckled as she turned to leave with her friends. "We'll see about that, Your Royal Snarkiness. Until next time!"

As they walked away, Y/n couldn't help but feel a strange mix of annoyance and attraction toward the enigmatic prince. Little did she know that their banter-filled encounters would slowly evolve into something more profound, leading to a love story that transcended time and culture.

As Bhalla retreated, the encounter set the stage for further interactions and developments in the story. Y/n, still adjusting to life in Mahishmati, found herself navigating her role in this ancient kingdom while dealing with Bhallaladeva's enigmatic and often contradictory behaviour. The exchange left her with a sense of curiosity about the prince and a growing desire to unravel the layers of his complex personality.

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Taglist: @vellipo-mellaga, @mellaga-karagani, @vayari-bhama, @bitchy-bi-trash (To join the taglist, let me know in the comments, and you will be added to future ones!)

[tennessoui]

Prompt: Can you shut up!?

hey hi hello!!! so this is set in the princess diaries au (no shame if you never heard of it, it's about 4 posts from about 5 months ago, i just thought the quote fit)

but basically anakin is the princess who writes the diary, obi-wan is chris pratt in the second movie, and they're very annoyed at each other except they also can't stay away or keep their hands off each other. because well. mutual obsession etc etc

(2.8k)

“Princess! Fancy seeing you here,” the most unwelcome voice in the entirety of Genovia and perhaps the world greets Anakin as he turns the corner into the main entrance hall.

He considers turning back immediately, but his grandfather has been trying to drill manners into his head and he knows that such a display of preference—dispreference, perhaps?—would be breaking half.

(Even though it’s not as if Anakin sees Qui-Gon obey all the rules Anakin has spent hours learning since he’d been discovered by his grandfather in San Francisco. All Anakin is saying is if Qui-Gon can knight a cop in order to get out of a speeding ticket, Anakin should be able to walk away from smarmy assholes who don’t know when to stop.)

“Lord Kenobi, what a surprise seeing you. Here. In my home,” he places his hands behind his back, files clenched just a hair too tightly between his hands. “Uninvited,” he adds in case the lord has not noticed that part.

“Apologies,” Lord Kenobi replies. He’s sitting on a side table, probably a Genovian antique worth more than his entire life, long legs crossed at the ankles in front and arms crossed over his chest. Does the man ever wear anything that isn’t a suit? At least he’s left off the jacket this time, but that might even be worse. All Anakin can see is his bare forearms, flexed as they are in that position.

All he can think about is the ball from two nights ago. It had been Anakin’s twenty-first birthday celebration, a coming of age in Genovia that could not be swept under the rug. That was how Qui-Gon put it, though Anakin still thinks his grandfather simply adores having a reason to throw a party.

He’d been warned beforehand that the guest list was mostly princesses and ladies and duchesses, women and girls looking to win his favor and eventually his ring. There weren’t many single, handsome, titled men these days—for good reason, of course, but still.

He’d been warned, but he hadn’t been prepared. After an hour and a half of dancing, he’d taken refuge in the linen closet off the main hall, several rooms away. He’d just needed space to breathe unperfumed air, to clear his head, to remember that he wasn’t just Ani anymore, the poor kid from San Francisco with the shit haircut he loved. He was Anakin Espa Tatoin Set de Shmison, Prince of Genovia.

And that meant dancing with women in ball gowns and long nails that pinched at his arms when he tried to leave before they were ready to see him go. That meant being a piece of meat, to be studied and measured by people he had no interest in.

But how can he say that?

Single, handsome, titled men are supposed to be straight. They’re supposed to be interested in women. And if they’re not—if they’re interested in men as well, that has to be an afterthought. That has to be a shameful secret, hidden away while they parade their beautiful wives around the world.

And single, handsome, titled men who aren’t interested in women at all? Who have only ever wanted to love another man openly and ardently? Who went to the San Francisco Pride Festival at the age of twelve and bawled in the streets at the realization that he wasn’t alone in feeling this way? 

Those don’t exist. Ani cannot exist, not if Anakin, Prince of Genovia is supposed to.

So he’d needed a second to remember, to get his head and his story, well. Straight. And he’d ducked out of the room, into a linen closet just for a few moments to breathe.

That’s all he’d had. Just a few moments. And then the door had opened and someone had closed themselves in with him.

Anakin had opened his mouth to protest—because, really, this was all very indecent, there was hardly any space between their bodies. If Anakin moved a single half-step forward, his entire front would be brushing along a—a very firm chest and broad shoulders, nice arms covered by a dark blue suit.

He must have swallowed his tongue there for a second, and it had given the strange man an opening. “Hello, darling,” he’d said, tone a low hot murmur very close to his ear. “Sincerest apologies for barging in like this, but I wanted to give you this.”

In his hand had been a champagne flute. For the first time, Anakin had followed the line of his arm up to his shoulder and then to his face. The man was gorgeous. His beard was neatly trimmed to the lines of his jaw, his eyes pleasantly crinkled on his smile. His hair had been styled, but several pieces had been falling out and they hung over his forehead.

“I heard it was your birthday, princess,” he’d teased in that same low tone, the lilting accent of a native Genovian coloring his words. “And I know in America they never celebrate twenty-first birthdays without a bit of alcohol. What do they call it again? When they go to different bars all in the same night for the sake of getting wasted?”

Getting wasted had never sounded more appealing than it did in that voice. “Twenty-one run,” Anakin had replied, taking the champagne from the man’s hand. “Usually it’s with harder stuff than champagne though.”

The man had smiled. “Champagne is the chaser, if you want.” He’d opened his jacket to pull out a silvery flask, shaking it slightly so Anakin could hear the liquid sloshing around.

And well. Many people had told Anakin many things throughout the course of his life but definitely since he became Prince of Genovia.

But no one had ever told him not to accept drinks from attractive strangers in cupboards.

They’d stayed there for at least an hour, talking in hushed tones and swapping the flask back and forth, champagne mostly forgotten. When Obi-Wan—his name was Obi-Wan Kenobi, what an amazing name—had complained about it being slightly cramped with both of them sitting opposite each other, Anakin had—Anakin had climbed into his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck.

And they’d laughed and Anakin hadn’t heard anything of what Obi-Wan said because he’d been too distracted by the way the man’s hands felt on his waist, and he’d felt so tired that he’d tried to curl up on him and go to sleep right there, face pressed against his neck so that all he could smell was Obi-Wan’s perfume, so strong at this part of his body that it almost drowned out all memories of the perfumes of the women at the ball.

The thought had woken him up. The ball. His ball. He’d been languishing in a linen closet for ages while his ball was going on. Unacceptable. Deplorable.

Obi-Wan had been shocked to feel him scramble up and away, shocked to watch him scrub a hand down his face and over his hair.

“No, no, I have to go,” Anakin had warbled when Obi-Wan’s hands had reached out to catch his own, bring him back to his lap. “No, I can’t—I’m not Ani, I have to be—I’m Anakin, Prince of…Anakin has to…he can’t like you, he has to go—he has to go dance with girls.”

Obi-Wan had stood up and looked at him with such kind, sad eyes that Anakin had thought he would cry if he had to see anything more. He’d turned to go, but Obi-Wan had caught his wrist, pulled him back and into his arms for a crushing and achingly quick hug. “You can have both,” he’d whispered in his ear. “I promise, Anakin. You don’t have to choose between who you are and what your duty is.”

Anakin had shaken his head sharply once, fighting the urge to cry, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t be both. Obi-Wan didn’t understand. Obi-Wan was just a lord. He didn’t understand that as a prince—he was expected to marry, expected to give heirs, expected to—

He’d left the closet but had been unable to get the words of the lord out of his head. Three dances later, he’d seen Obi-Wan standing on the sidelines of the room, next to a severe looking old man, hands clasped behind his back and legs indecently set apart.

You can have both, Obi-Wan had whispered. But was that true? Could it really be true?

It had been liquid courage that had made him cross the room to stand before Obi-Wan as the strings of the last song died. “Can I have this dance?” He’d asked, like an idiot, a tipsy, smitten child. And that’s exactly what Obi-Wan had treated him as, looking quickly at the old man next to him before he’d looked back at Anakin with an eyebrow raised in derision.

“I don’t know,” he’d said, lilting voice carrying so far the palace guards at the mouth of the driveway probably heard. “Can you?”

Anakin had flushed so red, it was a miracle he hadn’t simply burst into flames. But he’d wanted Obi-Wan. He’d wanted to be held and to hold the man again. Something about being around him made him feel safe and looked after. Protected. “May I?” 

And Obi-Wan, the man who had chuckled so deeply into his hair in the linen closet not even an hour ago had turned his head. “I believe someone more suiting your tastes is waiting over there,” he’d said, and Anakin had followed his gaze to spot a young woman clutching at her matriach’s hand, staring at him with stars in her eyes.

“I do not,” he’d said, and he’d sounded unsure, he knows he had. He’d broken and whispered almost furiously between them. “I hoped I could have both.”

Obi-Wan had taken a pointed sip of his champagne flute. “And I hope that with age, your naivety will meet its end. Happy birthday, my prince.”

And then he’d bowed, and then he’d left with that old man, and Anakin had been able to hear the whispers around the ballroom. He’d been so embarrassed, he’d been so angry—

And now Obi-Wan Kenobi is here, leaning on a table and looking at him consideringly as if he has any right to his time or his fucking—side table after what he’d done. He’d humiliated him, after letting him be vulnerable with him.

Worse, he’d—he’d given him hope. And then he’d taken it all away. He’d been a right dick, and Anakin despises him, an opinion that will never change.

“I’m not expecting visitors,” he tells him in a clipped manner, striding by. If he cannot turn around and leave, he will walk past and not engage. There—the grand staircase. He will go up a flight, perhaps two, and then into a random room full of things that can hopefully be broken without costing Genovia a fortune, and he will have a tantrum. “I’m much too busy today.”

“Are you?” Lord Kenobi asks. He says it like it’s a question he already knows the answer to. There’s the sounds of the man getting up, standing straight, and following him, but Anakin is walking much too fast to care.

He does care, however, when the files behind his back are plucked from his hands.

“Looking for a wife, are you?” Kenobi asks rhetorically, thumbing through the files.

Anakin whips around, hand already outstretched, but Kenobi ducks away. “Give those back,” he demands, stalking after him.

“I’m reading,” Kenobi says. “Too boring. Too spontaneous. Too cookie-cutter. Not rich enough. Owns a baking show, but only because of her title, you don’t want that sort of artificiality in your life.”

“Ahrt-e-fiss-i-a-lity,” Anakin mocks before he can stop himself. Kenobi looks over his shoulder with a lazy raised eyebrow, and Anakin wants to kill him.

He starts ascending the stairs and Anakin tears after him, tossing the idea of tackling him onto the floor out of his mind before it can completely form. It would be very satisfying though.

“All women,” Obi-Wan concludes as he reaches the top of the stairs. “Anakin,” his tone is…is disapproving almost. “We talked about this.”

Anakin wants to wrap his hands around Obi-Wan’s neck and squeeze. It is quite a feat of self-control that he does not. “Was that before or after you rejected me on the dancefloor?” he hisses at him angrily.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth as if to say something, but he pauses first and tilts his head. Anakin freezes as well when he hears the voices of a couple of maids down the hall.

Rumors have already begun to spread after the disastrous finale of Anakin’s birthday ball. He does not need to be caught arguing with Obi-Wan Kenobi right now, lest he feed more wood into those flames.

Without quite understanding why his actions are so bad, he blindly reaches out to the closest door and shoves both of them inside its opening.

“Princess, we have to stop meeting like this,” Obi-Wan says, pressed solidly against his front, the folders of all of Anakin’s possible wives the only thing keeping their chests from touching. “People will talk.”

Anakin feels his mouth drop open in outrage before he hits at Obi-Wan’s chest. “People are talking!” he hisses. “You—you rejected me! In front of everyone!”

“You weren’t in your right mind, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, letting himself be hit. Anakin doesn’t like that. Anakin wants Kenobi to fight back. “You were at least tipsy, on your way to fully sozzled. That sort of decision, it needs to be made fully sober. I refuse to take advantage of you like that.”

Anakin stares without seeing at Obi-Wan’s chest, bottom lip trembling slightly despite his best effort. “You were cruel,” he finally manages to say, slapping at Obi-Wan’s chest again. “You were cruel.”

Obi-Wan is silent for several seconds, before he lets out a little sigh. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I am. I—my grandfather was with me, you see. And it would be—if he knew that you held me in high regard, it would be terrible for you. For the crown. And I find myself…opposed to putting you in such a position.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan frowns at the question as if it’s especially offensive to him.

“Because I don’t like thinking about you in distress.”

“Oh, did you not see me after you rejected me in front of—”

“I said, my grandfather was next to me—”

“Oh, well if your grandfather was—”

“I didn’t expect you to do something so public—”

“You got me drunk in a closet and you—”

“I expected a bit more class—”

“I asked you to dance, I didn’t ask you to blow me in the throne room, for fuck’s—”

“Would you?” Obi-Wan is somehow so much closer than before, and Anakin’s hands fall to his shirt for a grip. “Would you ask that of me?”

Anakin falls silent, still. He has no idea what Obi-Wan wants, no idea what the man is after. It feels like all he can do is answer honestly, and the word is on the tip of his tongue when Obi-Wan speaks again. “I would,” he whispers like a secret between them. “If my prince wanted it of me. If I thought my lips wrapped around his length would halt his foolish search for a wife when we both know they’d never be able to give him what he needs—-”

“Can you shut up?” Anakin cries much too loudly, and Obi-Wan grins in the darkness of the closet. “Make me,” he requests teasingly, but Anakin has had enough of being teased by this man. Anakin will not take this any longer.

He sets about making him, yanking him closer to him until their mouths meet. Immediately, Anakin’s eyes slide shut because this is a kiss and he only knows one way to kiss someone: gently, softly.

But he isn’t feeling very gentle and soft towards Obi-Wan right now, and the lord definitely isn’t feeling the same if the way he bites at his lip is any indication. Anakin can’t stop the way he yelps, and when Obi-Wan takes advantage of his opened mouth, he can’t even say he’s surprised.

His yelp quickly turns into an embarrassingly loud moan, and he grips at Obi-Wan’s hair, shoving him back against the wall.

There’s a rushing waterfall of paper, as Obi-Wan drops the files in his hands in order to grab at Anakin’s waist and pull him in, pull him closer.

And that’s how the maid finds them on her journey to grab new linens for one of the bedrooms, liplocked and making out against the one part of the small space, Obi-Wan’s leg slipped between Anakin’s, while Anakin’s hands are clenched around his thighs, the smiling faces of Anakin’s potential wives laying discarded and forgotten on the floor. 

[ultfan]

famous first lines of poetry

BOLD the ones that apply to your muse. please repost in lieu of reblogging!

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked  //  tyger tyger, burning bright   //  i have done it again.   // do not go gentle into that good night. //  the sea is calm to-night.  // let us go then, you and i, //  april is the cruelest month,  //  pretty women wonder where my secret lies.  // there is a place where the sidewalk ends // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  // whose woods these are i think i know  // let us twain walk aside from the rest; // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely //  it so happens i am sick of being a man  //  i wandered lonely as a cloud  //  does it dry up like a raisin in the sun ? // o my love is like a red, red rose // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done;  //  out of the night that covers me, //  it was many and many a year ago, // you may write me down in history //  do not stand at my grave and weep //  some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.  // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,  //  no man is an island,

remember me when i am gone away,  //  i met a traveller from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves  // this is thy hour o soul,  //  when we wear the mask that grins and lies,  // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. //  laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; //  to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller  //  nobody heard him, the dead man,  // that crazed girl improving her music.  //  come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high //  when you are old and grey and full of sleep,  // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty  // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all,  //  if starry space no limit knows

come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense  //  bright star, would i were steadfast as thou art– //  thou still unravish’d bride of quietness  //  how do i love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach ! //  my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night  // shall i compare thee to a summers day? //  break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not all a dream. //   he clasps the crag with crooked hands.

[miss-scarletletter]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MON CHER 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

With amber eyes that shine like the sunrise, and hair spun in gold, I am inclined to believe that you were borne from Aurora’s arms as she sets you in this world where you live amongst both immortal and men. You walk through the fabrics of time the same way you walk through different thresholds of manors, palaces, temples, and emporiums, bringing with you--centuries of history and knowledge. It is no wonder why the crowd goes into this hysteria when they sense your presence; is it your muted three-piece suite that seems to mimic the colors of an antique gold? Is it the smell of saffron and ambergris on your nape? Is it the small pocket watch that’s hanging on your waistcoat, which hugged your built physique? Or is it the golden fragments in your eyes and hair that draws men and women alike, buzzing in your direction and eclipsing you from the rest of the spectators? Perhaps… or perhaps, it is the way you talk like a soft-spoken sage with a hint of mischief like a fox. Or perhaps… it is the fact that while you are familiar with the social circle, and yet you remain a stranger to those who have encountered you.

 It is that marvelous dichotomy--the enigma that you possess in your character that made you so unreachable, and yet, that could drive anyone to know who you are. Who are you? I remember the first time I met you, you were a stranger even after you introduced yourself with a title. And because of that, with suspicions and curiosity, I decided to get every information about you and follow my sights on wherever you tread. But who would have thought that the initial question of “Who are you?” would be answered in the end; it still, to this day, amazes me that it comes to this wonderful conclusion--

From the way you call me “Ma Cherie” to the sound of your Oxford shoes, you did become one of the most familiar figures in my life. You are a rather charming gentleman, but you said yourself that you are “neither gentle nor a man”--which sounds humorous until you keep showing the many facets of yourself in any given situation from fighting ruffians to showing your erudite capacities. You are mature and very practical, and yet--the more I know you, the more I realize that you have a Romantic child in you that is crying for help.

How many in your audience know that? That you have your share of suffering like the rest of the common folk? What anyone can’t see beyond the gilded structures of your person is the fact that you carry the weight of your hell--but it seems that they forget that even the most precious gold is vulnerable to the strikes of a hammer. You lived for so long, it shouldn’t be a surprise that you witnessed so many misfortunes, and with many that have died--you must feel so lonely in those moments to the point that it drains the pleasure in life from your immortal coil. This pathological grieving--this melancholia is uncurable; I feel pity for you, and oh do I want to just comfort you.

Admittedly, your stubbornness has frustrated me many times, and yet I still find myself not wanting to leave you to your own devices. Indeed you are a cunning man, secretive, and possessive. But also an indecisive mess-- “a ball of contradictions” in your terms. But these are the flaws I have long accepted. These do not compare to your sense of humor, your altruism, and your unconditional acceptance even of those who wronged you.

You tend to underestimate yourself and reprimand yourself for showing a crack on that gentleman-like mask of yours, when, in all honesty--you are the most beautiful, the best, and greatest of created beings! You said your name has no meaning, but there is more beyond that! For you gave those boys a haven in their second life, which you also provide. They are lucky to have you--the tenderest of fathers. You have been so respectful, attentive, and considerate; despite those tribulations, you are incredibly strong and steadfast in what you believe is right. And if they can live their life again, so can you--be happy and live again, Comte. Celebrate, dance, travel, make a toast, play with your violin--seize every moment of this impermanent world and reclaim the pleasures of life!

As I listen to the sound of the bow gliding across the strings with your eyes that hold so much warmth, I reminded myself that there are more reasons to love you than to fear or hate you. I love you and I do not regret it, In the end, you will always be my Comte--my Abel…

[historias-multorum]

famous first lines of poetry pt. 1: bold the ones that apply to your muse.

repost, don’t reblog.

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i // april is the cruelest month// pretty women wonder where my secret lies // there is a place where the sidewalk ends // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) // two roads diverged in a yellow wood, // whose woods these are i think i know // let us twain walk aside from the rest; // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely // it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? // o my luve is like a red, red rose // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; // out of the night that covers me, // it was many and many a year ago, // you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire // some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island, // remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveler from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller // nobody heard him, the dead man, // that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high // when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if tarry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were steadfast as thou art— // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do I love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not at all a dream. // he clasps the ring with crooked hands.

Tagged by: Yoinked from @chaosworthy

Tagging: @thuganomxcs @thexsenjuxheirs @apocalypta-secundus @reddawnmultimuse @hana-akari @erthlyheavn @ervaurem and anyone who wants to give it a go!

[ncruuk]

Sky News: Miss Puerto Rico and Miss Argentina announce they secretly got married

Feminist me - the Miss World competition is an antiquated, outdated concept that hypersexualises and objectifies women, creating massive industries that feed into and support a massive 'beauty pageant' culture which further perpetuates the harm.

Gay me - Yay! So happy for them. Hadn't ever considered the Miss World environment for its wlw networking potential. Representation! Oh, but they felt they had to be 'secret' (presumably because of the heteronormative pressure within the Miss World environment)- that's not great and must have been incredibly stressful for them.

In conclusion - I'm going to lean into the happy, positive read in this moment and circle back to the other stuff later.

Congratulations to the ladies!

[crossfires]

❛  Repost & BOLD which lines of famous poetry apply to your muse.

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked. // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i, // april is the cruelest month. // pretty women wonder where my secret lies. // there is a place where the sidewalk ends. // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) // two roads diverged in a yellow wood. // whose woods these are i think i know, // let us twain walk aside from the rest. // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely. // it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? // o my love is like a red, red rose. // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; // out of the night that covers me // it was many and many a year ago // you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire // some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island, // remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveler from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller // nobody heard him, the dead man, // that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high // when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if tarry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art- // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do i love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach! // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not at all a dream. // he clasps the ring with crooked hands.

tagged by: @androsemary

[absolut-maenaiac]

La Danse des bacchantes (1849) - Charles Gleyre

The Dance of the Bacchantes, the last painting by Gleyre exhibited publicly in Paris (at the Salon of 1849), came as a surprise to enthusiasts of bacchanals, which had been a traditional subject since the days of Titian and Poussin. Bacchus, Silenus and the satyrs are all absent, and the painting is therefore neither mythological nor fabulous, but rather historical and religious. Gleyre paints a mysterious, wild and exclusively female ritual, captured in very precise draughtsmanship and a smooth technique producing what one critic calls the strange effect of a “choreography, which is both noble and unbridled, frenzied and rhythmic”. Following in the footsteps of A l'instar de Pentheus, The Dance reveals a new, popularised reading of the roots of ancient Greek civilisation and its forms of worship in the 1830s. Contrary to the solar, masculine and Apollonian vision which had been extolled by Winckelmann since the mid-18th century, Gleyre depicts the primitive, eastern and Dionysian Greece, posited in the works of the philologist and historian Friedrich Creuzer. Subjects drawn from Antiquity provided the painter with the opportunity for a personal and unusual meditation on the origins of the arts, omitting any reference to either Apollo or Orpheus. In The Dance invented by the Bacchantes, the music played to animals in Minerva, the art of spinning taught to an absurd Hercules by the beautiful Omphale, and the love poetry composed by Sappho - the secret of the arts seems to be the preserve of women, acquired through a mysterious and intuitive affinity with the divine powers of creation. - Wikimedia

[thewild--flower]

[Translation] Code: Realize Wintertide Miracles Stellaworth Short Story - Saint-Germain

Translation of short story that appeared in the bonus booklet that came with the Vita/PS4 Stellaworth limited edition of Code: Realize Wintertide Miracles. Much thanks to Kou for providing the original scans.

Saint-Germain - Secret Emotions

‘.....Huh?’

It was teatime on a certain day.

Upon not seeing the usual figure of my lover elegantly drinking tea, I tilted my head to the side in puzzlement. I checked my watch to make sure I had not come too early but — that didn’t seem to be the case. It was the same time as usual.

It wasn’t as if we’d made a promise to have it together everyday, but, even so, it was strange for Saint-Germain to not be there. Did an errand suddenly come up?

‘.....Oh. Could it be—?’

*

I knocked a few times, waiting until he answered, ‘Come in’, then entered his room.

The moment I did— my eyes were captivated by ‘something’ beautiful and vivid.

‘Ah, might that be the one you tried on before…..?’

‘Indeed. It is a ‘kimono.’ Though it is a different kind than the one from before—’

From the other side of the beautiful cloth, which was a mixture of light purple and white, Saint-Germain’s face appeared, looking as he usually did. It seemed as if my guess had been correct.

Saint-Germain had a habit of shutting himself up in his room whenever he had a new delivery of rare art and antiques, so he could take his time looking them over.

That said, recently it seemed as if some of his enthusiasm had started to influence me as well. I was completely entranced by the exquisite colours and gold embroidery.

‘Ah, has that one captured your interest?’

‘..... Yes. I think this one is really pretty.’

‘Hahaha. I am so glad you like it. I did order it just for you after all.’

‘Eh? Clothes this lovely, j-just for me…..?’

It somehow felt disrespectful of me to even think of wearing such a beautiful garment. As if reading my thoughts, Saint-Germain smiled as if enjoying himself.

‘Worry not. As long as you follow the correct process, it shouldn’t be a problem. At the very least— you needn’t be worried that the kimono will wear you. You're my lover after all….. there's no one as charming as you.'

*

Ultimately, in the flow of the conversation, it ended up that I would try the kimono on. Encouraged by Saint-Germain, I went to go get changed, however—

'Mmph, here we go….. h-huh? Now what should I do….'

I had previously helped Saint-Germain put his kimono on before, so I had thought that I would be fine on my own but……

Somehow, judging from its structure, it did seem rather as if women's kimonos were made differently. I was able to more or less put it on and wrap it around myself, but after that I wasn't quite sure how to make it so it would hold together.

On the shelf in front of me there was a large bundle of cloth, maybe that was to be used somehow?

'Are you having some trouble, Miss Cardia?'

Saint-Germain's gentle voice across the screen partition. As to be expected, it seemed he had already finished getting changed without any problems.

'Yes, I am. I'm not sure how to fasten this.'

Even if I were to be stubborn about doing it myself, nothing would change, so I simply confessed my current situation.

'Hmm, although it does feel a bit shameful to walk in upon a lady changing….. Miss Cardia? If it is alright with you, shall I help?'

'.....'

Changing clothes— for some reason, I felt more embarrassed about it than usual. That's why, although I did feel a bit hesitant…..

'I-it's alright with me…. But don't stare too much, OK?'

We were lovers after all, even with my current shyness, I should be able to handle it.

'Yes of course. Then, please excuse me.'

—From the other side of the screen, Saint-Germain made his appearance, now dressed in his kimono. The velvety fabric he wore, in combination with the white porcelain of his skin, only made him more overwhelmingly attractive than usual…..

It was like receiving a shock in real time.

Involuntarily, my hands slackened, and the front of my kimono started to fall open—

'Oh dear, do be careful now? It has to be the right occasion for you to show your bare skin.'

Without wasting a moment, Saint-Germain moved to hold the kimono in place, and it was over without further mishap. However, now I was even more embarrassed.

'Ah, I see, you don't know how to fasten the 'obi.' I am only self taught but… let me try and help put it together.' 

Saint-Germain took the bundle of cloth, or, as he had called it, the 'obi', from the shelf, and almost like he was embracing me, began to wrap it around my torso.

'This might be uncomfortable for a moment ….. but please bear with me, alright?'

'Ye-yes…'

I was glad he couldn't see my face directly.

As Saint-Germain leaned closer to me in order to tie the 'obi', in front of my eyes I could see his collar bone area partially showing from a gap in the kimono's loose fabric. Each time he wrapped the cloth tightly around me, I felt his body temperature more strongly than usual.

His behaviour was always gentlemanlike, everything about him was so beautiful, he looked like someone that had appeared out of a dream. But— he definitely existed here in reality, and was my lover.

'.....'

'Haha. If you're embarrassed, you can keep your head down, I don't mind.'

'....Saint-Germain, could it be…. you're getting close on purpose?'

'Of course not. Truly, if I don't do it this way, I won't be able to tie the obi properly.'

'Hmph…..'

It was possible he was telling the truth.

But knowing Saint-Germain, it was also possible he was doing it partially to tease me as well.

I was always the only one getting all embarrassed, it was almost a little annoying….. at the very least, I could at least act like I wasn't bothered, so having decided to ignore his suggestion, I looked up—

'.....'

At the same time, I noticed something.

'.....Saint-Germain?'

'Yes, what is it?'

'Um…. Your ears, they're bright red.'

'Oh, is that so? I can't tell myself…..'

The reason his ears had turned red. That is, in other words—

'.....Um, that is…..'

Because of the thinness that was characteristic of the fabric of a kimono—

The accelerated rhythm of his heartbeat couldn't be hidden completely.

'....Saint-Germain, your heart was beating faster too, because of me.'

When I looked up once more, I saw his face smiling at me.

Although his opened eyes wavered, they steadily took in my kimono-clad appearance—

'—I am seeing my beloved's charming figure up close, feeling the warmth of her body while dressing her up in colours with my own hands. In such a situation, there's no way I wouldn't be nervous, is there…..?'

As if to match his words, his cheeks were flushed a faint red.

[dispersio]

famous first lines of poetry

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i, //  april is the cruelest month, //  pretty women wonder where my secret lies. // there is a place where the sidewalk ends // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) // two roads diverged in a yellow wood, // whose woods these are i think i know // let us twain walk aside from the rest; // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely // it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? // o my love is like a red, red rose // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; // out of the night that covers me, // it was many and many a year ago, // you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island, // remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveller from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, //  and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller // nobody heard him, the dead man, // that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high // when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if starry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were steadfast as thou art– // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do i love thee? let me count the ways. // HEAVEN IS WHAT I CANNOT REACH! // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not all a dream. // he clasps the crag with crooked hands.

Tagged by: NA (taken from old blog) Tagging!: anyone who wants to do this.

[contrarywiseizybel]

Kinktober 2022

Day 1: Lucius Malfoy/Bill Weasley (Brothel)

Madam Capucine, despite being one of the oldest names in the world’s oldest profession, did not reside in a castle, nor a manor, nor a sprawling estate. Instead she and her business occupied a quaint storefront in the junction between Diagon and Knockturn. The front room was a tea shop, hosting both the well to do of Diagon and the powerful if not questionable patrons of Knockturn. If one were to go past the heavy maroon drapery in the back and up a set of polished mahogany stairs, they would find Madam Capucine’s personal dwelling. A shockingly modest apartment that managed to be cozy even while filled to the brim with priceless antiques. A flat that spoke of a practical minded owner with access to life’s finest things.

But, if someone went down the set of polished mahogany stairs, that was where they would find Madam Capucine’s true treasure trove.

The sprawling cavern, despite being entirely underground, was almost airy. Perhaps it was because of how far underground this secret space was, and how the high cave walls were covered in glowing and glittering rough gems. Fairy lights danced around the cavern, reflecting off the rough gems and giving the receiving room an otherworldly feeling, even by wizarding standards. Down in that cavern was Madam Capucine’s true receiving room, which managed to be shockingly welcoming, with an ornate bar full of the world’s finest wines and a clockwork figure that crooned love songs all day and night.

In this receiving room wizards and witches of high society could mingle with the most beautiful and charming of Madam Capucine’s employees. Thin, ethereal waifs with veela blood running through their delicate veins. Plump, coy ladies with kohl lining their impossibly bright eyes and silk fans hiding their playful smiles. Muscle bound men and women who would watch potential customers while sipping fine wine from tankards that looked more like teacups in their powerful hands.

And among the beautiful and the powerful, Lucius Malfoy swore he had spotted his most hated political opponent draped over a chaise lounge.

The Malfoy patriarch relaxed when he realized it wasn’t that muggle obsessed loon Arthur Weasley, but instead one of his brood of children. The oldest, if Lucius had to guess. A recent graduate of Hogwarts, another in the Weasley’s line of lions. And sorting some horrible diminutive of an otherwise respectable name. Was it Bob or perhaps Bert? Lord Malfoy could hardly begin to guess.

The youth laughed loudly and unrestrained at a joke from a visiting foreign dignitary, far louder than the joke merited. A rough little thing then. But it was a nice laugh all the same. Young and careless, unrefined compared to Malfoy’s own controlled chuckle, but almost endearing in its blunt honesty.

Lucius allowed himself to look closer, admiring the boy’s shape. He took after his father in frame, almost willowy compared to his hearty maternal relatives. But where the senior Weasley slouched and fumbled about, the son knew how to move his body. Instead of stumbling with his long legs, he stretched them on the chaise as though to invite one’s eyes to travel their length. Where Arthur’s orange mess of hair was starting to recede and was never maintained, the boy’s hair was as red as fire and streamed down his back. A back that was mostly likely covered in freckles, if his cheeks and shoulders were any indication.

It was the freckles that pushed the boy from a passing curiosity to into a covetous desire. He had never been with anyone as marked, and found himself wanting to trace patterns and constellations in his skin. He wanted to see the path those little marks took, draped across his shoulders and possibly trailing down towards his navel.

With a practiced hand Lucius waved down Madam Capucine, who despite her age still monitored her business with a sharp eye and a sharper wit. He motioned at the boy, not bothering to play coy. “A new addition?”

She smirked, painted red lips twisting in easy amusement. “Lord Malfoy certainly had an eye for quality. Our lovely William has just joined our little family. You’ve caught him on his very first shift.”

The heat grew, flamed by the possessive desire and the unending need to own anything and everything beautiful. The same desire that drove him present Narcissa Black with his family ring before they had even graduated school. The same desire that pushed his ruthlessness in politics and in high society. He coveted, and he intended to own that beautiful boy.

“1,000 galleons, and I get him for the night.” Lucius offered, refusing to dishonor the Weasley boy with any lower amount. If he wanted to save money or, Merlin forbid, haggle he could go to the whorehouses off Knockturn. Capucine’s was not a place for people on a budget.

That much was evident when Lucius retired to a room two halls down from the main sitting area. The room itself was rather simple, by his own impossibly high standards, with stars and constellations glimmering on a ceiling painted so dark it may as well have been the night’s sky. The furniture was a deep, almost black hawthorn, with elegant engravings all polished to a shine. A large bed with silver damask sheets, stood further into the room, behind a small sitting area and a large marble fireplace. And to the right of the door was a bathroom, one he used to clean and prepare for the night ahead of him. And by the time he emerged it was to William Weasley holding a silver tray of delicacies and tea.

“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” His grin was youthful and bordering between mischievous and bratty. “I understand I’ll be joining you tonight.”

“Quite.” Lucius agreed, settling on the velvet chair beside the eldest Weasley child. “If I remember from your father’s rambling, you don’t go by William, do you?”

The boy laughed, a hearty noise that came from deep in his chest. “No, I go by Bill. Picked it up from my great uncle Billius. I always thought we should match.”

The long, willowy body all but flowed onto the footstool, forcing the boy to look upwards through dark lashes in order to meet Lucius’ eyes. The Malfoy scion found he rather liked the image. Long, thin fingers curled around the crystal teapot, hoovering over an ornate teacup until Lucius nodded. Perhaps his father’s ill manners were a choice then, if his son managed to present such a refined image.

“I suppose you were prefer I call you Bill, then?” Lucius asked.

“I suppose. And what will I call you? Lucius? Mr. Malfoy? Sir?” Bright blue eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief, “Daddy?”

Only 1,000 galleons for the boy’s first night? He had absolutely underpaid. That would need to be remedied, but not until tomorrow.

Lucius reclined in the sinfully soft chair, legs spreading just slightly and smirk widening. “You shall call me Lucius or sir. Though I can’t imagine it will matter for long, as I have plans for your mouth.”

Like smoke over water Bill slithered off the footstool, kneeling between Lucius’ legs with a confident smile of his own. Bill’s hands, thin fingered and almost delicate, settled on Lucius’ knees and his cheek rubbed oh so gently against the silk of Lucius’ trousers. “Weird time to bring it up, I know, but are you planning on telling my dad about this? He doesn’t know about my job, and I’d rather he continue not knowing.”

The Malfoy scion huffed an amused breath. One hand held his tea, spiced and with just a hint of orange and lemon, while the other held Bill’s head. Fire red hair spilled through his fingers and the length would make for a perfect leash.

“I suppose we can keep this between us.”

The bright grin grew wider, Bill’s fingers reaching up away from the knees they’d been resting on. “Let me thank you, sir?”

And with a sharp nod Bill pulled Lucius’ cock from his trousers, flushed and hardening just from the build up and banter. Lucius relaxed the grip on his hair, allowing Bill to reach forward and plant soft kissed along the length, though when it turned from pleasurable into just teasing he tightened his hold.

Bill laughed, that same deep chuckle, as he was pulled away from his goal. “Sir?”

Lucius didn’t respond, outside of loosening his hold and allowed Bill to return to his work. The beautiful boy was distracted from his task often, drifting his focus to Lucius’ bollocks or even trailing soft bites along the inside of his pale thighs. But Lord Malfoy would allow his explorations, at least for a few moments, before again tugging at his hair.

Finally, with his cock fully hard and curved angrily towards his belly, Lucius used his grip on Bill’s hair to push the boy towards him. “Do not remove me from your mouth until I have finished.”

“Yes sir.” Bill teased with a wink. Instead of thrusting towards the spit stained lips Lucius pushed Bill’s head forward and pulled back. Forcing Bill to fuck his own mouth onto Lucius’s cock. The redhead didn’t fight, barely gagged, allowing Lucius to manipulate him however he wanted.

Tears gathered in those bright blue eyes, but from the playful expression it wasn’t distress that caused it. Bill managed to somehow look like a playful school boy, even while kneeling on his knees, lips stretched obscenely around Lucius’ cock and hands clinging desperately to Lucius’ hips. If he choked it was followed with a muffled laugh, if he drooled it was with a groaning moan.

With a willing mouth and the sharp bite of nails against his hips, Lucius was soon spilling over. Bill gagged, just a little, before swallowing and proudly showing his empty mouth to his patron. Lucius couldn’t help but chuckle at the display.

“Shall I draw you a bath, sir?” Bill said, the picture of professionalism despite the red flush and swollen lips. That professionalism shattered quickly as Lucius stood, dragging the boy with him and pushing him into the plush mattress only a few steps behind them. He smirked down at Bill’s face, flushed under the constellation of freckles and transparent with desire and eagerness, and Lucius’ expression turned almost feral at the delightful picture displayed under him.

“Oh, sweet thing,” He crooned, “We’re only just starting.”

[ultfan]

famous first lines of poetry BOLD the ones that apply to your muse.

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked / tyger tyger, burning bright  / i have done it again. / do not go gentle into that good night. / the sea is calm to-night.  / let us go then, you and i, /  april is the cruelest month, /  pretty women wonder where my secret lies.  / there is a place where the sidewalk ends / i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) / two roads diverged in a yellow wood, / whose woods these are i think i know  /  let us twain walk aside from the rest; / once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, / i taught myself to live simply and wisely / it so happens i am sick of being a man / i wandered lonely as a cloud / does it dry up like a raisin in the sun ?  /  o my luve is like a red, red rose  /  o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done;  /  out of the night that covers me, / it was many and many a year ago, / you may write me down in history / do not stand at my grave and weep / some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. /  hope is the thing with feathers  / the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, / no man is an island, / remember me when i am gone away, / i met a traveller from an antique land / ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves / this is thy hour o soul, / when we wear the mask that grins and lies, /  death be not proud, /  and death shall have no dominion. / laugh, and the world laughs with you; / the art of losing isn’t hard to master; / to see a world in a grain of sand / is there anybody there? said the traveller / nobody heard him, the dead man, / that crazed girl improving her music.  / come to me in the silence of the night; / where the mind is without fear and the head is held high /  when you are old and grey and full of sleep,  / in flanders’ fields the poppies blow / i thought of you and how you love this beauty  / life, believe, is not a dream / it may be misery not to sing at all, / if starry space no limit knows  / come live with me and be my love, / had we but world enough and time, / my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense / bright star, would i were steadfast as thou art– /  thou still unravish’d bride of quietness  /  how do i love thee? let me count the ways. / heaven is what i cannot reach ! /  my dear, my dear, i know / in visions of the dark night /  shall i compare thee to a summers day? / break, break, break / she walks in beauty, / i had a dream, which was not all a dream. / he clasps the crag with crooked hands.

tagged by: N/A tagging: you if you want :3