#all I did was walk into the city to see the grand palace??

[theostrophywife]

be my baby.

if you know how to by my lover, maybe you can be my baby hold me close under the covers, kiss me boy and drive me crazy

author's note: happy valentine's my loves. in honor of this day, please have this sweet, toothache inducing fluff of our favorite bat boys. the lil cas cookie cutness is dedicated to my darling @writingsbychlo to hold her over until i finish a smuttier cassian piece 😈 song inspiration: be my baby by ariana grande

The High Lord tapped his fingers.

The Illyrian general narrowed his eyes. 

The shadowsinger crossed his arms. 

The three brothers watched one another in quiet contemplation, waiting for the others to break the silence. 

In true Cassian fashion, the male sighed and succumbed to his impatience. “So, what’s it going to be?”

Rhysand’s fingers hovered over his ornate desk, scanning the room. “It appears that we find ourselves in a conundrum, brothers.”

Azriel nodded as his shadows curled over his shoulders. “We have to make a decision soon. The day of hearts is coming up.”

“Well the solution is obvious, isn’t it?” Cassian stated. “One of us should just ask her.”

“Yes,” Rhysand agreed, “But which one?” 

“Since I’m the one who even introduced her to you two idiots in the first place, I should be the one to ask.”

The High Lord crossed his arms. “Just because you met her first doesn’t give you some sort of claim,” Rhys objected. “Besides, it’s obvious that we have the most chemistry. Did you see the way she looked at me during dinner?” 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Everyone was looking at you, Rhys. Who wears a godsdamned cape to a restaurant? You looked like one of those bloodthirsty vampyrs from the north.”

Cassian snorted in response while Rhys glared at him. “Like you were any better, Cas! Don’t think we haven’t noticed that all of the sleeves on your tunics have suddenly disappeared. We get it, brother. You have biceps.”

The shadowsinger bit back a smile. “It was a bit exhibitionary for my taste.”

“Not all of us can be dark, brooding, mysterious pretty boys, Az.”

“Did you just call Azriel a pretty boy?” Rhys mused. 

“That’s besides the point!” said a frustrated Cassian. “Who is going to ask Y/N to be her date for the day of hearts? All three of us obviously like her so how are we going to decide?”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Azriel mused. His brothers inched closer, eager to hear the shadowsinger’s solution. “It should obviously be her decision. Each of us will come up with our own strategy to ask her out this week. Once she chooses, then we put this rivalry to rest.”

Cassian nodded thoughtfully. “That works for me.”

Rhysand smirked, pleased by the challenge. “May the best male win, then.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I intend to.”

Rhysand was the first of his brothers to try. 

It was early in the week when he invited you for a day out in the city. Never one to turn down brunch and a shopping spree, you found yourself walking down the sunny, cobblestone streets of the Palace of Thread and Jewels. You squeezed the High Lord’s arm as you strolled side by side along the Sidra River, throwing your head back in laughter. 

“You’re absolutely vicious, Rhys,” you chastened in a teasing tone. “You almost gave our poor waitress a heart attack from all your shameless flirting.”

Violet eyes twinkled with mischief as he recalled the eventful breakfast. The two of you had indulged yourselves in pancakes, eggs, bacons, and bottomless mimosas, laughing and joking as you regaled each other with your most expensive purchases. Not unlike yourself, Rhys had a penchant for the finer things in life, often splurging on expensive silks and luxurious velvets. The most exorbitant of which was a shirt made of spider silk, which cost nearly a month’s worth of your wages. 

Still, Rhysand had nothing on you. One of your shoes had diamonds the size of a fist encased in a transparent heel and the High Lord’s eyes had widened at the damage it had inflicted upon your coffers. It was worth every penny. As the drinks flowed, the more boisterous the both of you grew. The tables around you kept casting amused glances in your direction and your waitress, a pretty little nymph, had nearly fainted as Rhys sent her an apologetic smile. 

“It’s not my fault that females find me irresistibly charming,” he retorted with a wink. 

“And unbelievably humble, too.” You retorted dryly, “Is there anything you can’t do, High Lord?”

“Pull off a cape, apparently,” Rhys exclaimed with an exaggerated sigh.

You burst into a fit of giggles. “It was an interesting choice,” you mused, earning you a fond eye roll. “But you should really run your more experimental ventures by me first, Rhysie.”

“I won’t make the mistake of not seeking out your expert fashion advice again,” his lips quirked and an easy smirk spread across his devastatingly handsome face. “Though I know you prefer me shirtless and sweaty.”

His words drew the attention of the crowd around you, making you blush. You lightly pinched the inside of Rhysand’s arm. “Silver-tongued Rhys,” you said with an incredulous shake of your head. “One of these days that wicked mouth of yours will get you into trouble.”

“Trouble is the least of what this wicked mouth can get into, darling.”

You rolled your eyes in response and tugged him into one of your favorite stores. Tease or not, you weren’t about to let Rhysand distract you from the goal of this outing. You fully intended to shop until you dropped today. Luckily, the High Lord was more than happy to oblige. 

The shopkeeper had a rack of the newest arrivals waiting for you at the back of the store. You were a frequent and loyal customer to the point that the female sequestered the largest dressing room for your use every time you dropped by. Today was no exception. Although now another rack filled with elegant suits and sleek shoes sat beside your own. 

You plopped down on the cushioned seat in the middle of the dressing room, swirling a glass of champagne in your hands. “No capes this time, Rhysie.” 

The High Lord rolled his eyes before picking out a few choice pieces and disappearing behind a thick privacy curtain. You perused through the dresses the shopkeeper had laid out for you, running your fingers through the fabric and setting aside the clothes that you were most excited to try on first. 

Caught up in the beautiful garments, the sound of the curtain being drawn back registered a beat too late. You turned, mouth gaping and hand clenching around the stem of your champagne flute at the sight before you. 

Mother save you.

Rhysand emerged from the dressing room clad in a lavender silk shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. The cut of the garment was seamless, accentuating every delicious inch of him. As was his custom, the High Lord left the first few buttons undone which granted you a generous view of his golden brown skin and the intricate tattoos swirling through his chest and shoulders.

Your mouth suddenly felt as dry as the desert. 

He cocked his head to the side, waiting on the answer to a question you couldn’t recall hearing. A devious smirk spread across his face as he crossed the room. Rhys pressed something into your hands, his fingers brushing against your palm. 

“Would you be a doll and finish me off, darling?” 

You were pretty sure that your face was as scarlet as the famous locks of the Vanserras. “W-what?” you stammered. 

Rhysand raised an amused brow. “The tie, dear.” You looked down at the slip of fabric in your hand. “I’d love it if you tied me up. You were always better at knotting than I was, if I recall correctly. A most useful skill to have.”

“Charming,” you muttered in bewilderment. 

The arrogant, attractive, delicious…stop. You took a deep breath to center yourself before approaching the smug male before you. Rhysand was grinning as you looped the tie around his neck, focusing on the intricate knots. He watched as you worked, his fingers caressing the inside of your wrist. The touch was distracting and you had to re-loop the damned tie three times before you finally got it right. 

“You’re quite good at that,” Rhysand mused. “I wonder if it translates to other uses as well.” You tightened the bow around his neck while glaring at him for making you blush so furiously. The High Lord only laughed. 

“I’d stop your teasing if I were you. I’m half tempted to cut off your circulation.”

Rhys winked. “Who says I’m not into that, darling?”

Before you could respond, he strolled through the dresses you set aside and picked out a stunning, silver number that glittered against the light. “Shopping for something special?” 

You swatted him away and grabbed the dress from his hands. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Rhysand sprawled out on the velvet settee, sipping on champagne and watching you over the lip of the glass. The scrutiny of his gaze awakened a horde of traitorous little butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Flustered, you drew back the private curtain and busied yourself with putting the dress on. 

“I am curious,” Rhysand said from the other side. “The day of hearts is coming up, you know.”

As if you could ever forget. You’ve only been fretting over it for the past month. Mor was convinced that Rhysand was going to ask you to spend the holiday together and while the thought was extremely flattering, you couldn’t say yes. Not because you didn’t like Rhysand. Quite the opposite, actually. 

But you’d also grown fond of Cassian and Azriel, which only served to complicate the situation. The last thing you wanted to do was get in between the three brothers. You valued their friendships too much and it would break your heart to lose any of them. 

The safest route was to establish clear boundaries. You were friends. Just friends—even if a part of you craved more. 

You slipped on the dress and straightened, reminding yourself of the same motto you’ve been drilling into your mind over and over again for the last thirty days. Just friends. 

Rhysand’s head darted up as you exited. Your heart dropped as soon as your eyes met. The way he was looking at you…that wasn’t how friends looked at one another. 

You wrung your hands together, turning your back on him and surveying yourself in the mirror. Attempting to busy yourself, you absentmindedly tugged at the zipper of the dress. It snagged halfway up your spine. 

“Here,” Rhysand said softly. “Let me.”

The room fell silent as he stepped behind you. His reflection was one of hesitance, but he gingerly swept your hair over your shoulder and gently pulled the zipper up. Your breathing was shallow as he worked, the back of his knuckles brushing against your skin as your eyes met in the mirror. 

“You’re stunning,” he breathed, twirling you around. The dress flared around your ankles like soft dusk and the diamonds embedded into the fabric glittered like stars as you swayed across the plush carpet. 

Rhysand smiled. A bright, genuine smile that caught you completely off guard. 

Beautiful. 

Rhys was so beautiful. 

“Have you gone into shock, love?” he asked with a low chuckle. You blinked, unable to speak. The High Lord tucked a stray strand of hair behind your pointed ear, his thumb caressing the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “No one would blame you if you did. I am quite irresistible.”

You snorted, swatting his hand away. “Careful, Rhys. If your ego grows any bigger, you won’t be able to fit that fancy little crown of yours.”

“Then take me down a notch,” he said smoothly, sliding his hands inside those perfectly fitted trousers. “Be my Valentine and spend the day of hearts with me, love.”

Eyes widening, you stilled as panic seized you from within. You wanted to say yes—so, so badly, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. It would be utterly selfish considering how you felt about Cassian and Azriel.

Plastering on a half-smirk, you turned towards Rhysand and cocked your head. Boundaries. You had to draw boundaries. “As enticing as that would be,” you said softly, “I already have plans for that day.”

If Rhysand was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. Instead he gave you a sly, easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Oh? Anyone that I know?” His tone was casual, but you could hear the curiosity that he was trying to reel in.

“No.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie. You planned on spending the day cooped up in your flat while reading one of the steamy romance novels that Nesta had lent you and Rhysand technically didn’t know the brooding silver-haired elf prince on the cover. 

“Well, whoever it is,” Rhysand drawled, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror, “I hope he knows that he’s a very lucky male.”

The afternoon passed quickly after that with you and Rhysand indulging in more shopping and champagne. With your pockets lighter and your head swimming, the two of you strolled side by side along the Sidra River as you walked home. Like a true gentleman, your friend insisted on carrying your shopping bags for you though the starlight dress wasn’t among your many purchases. Mostly because you couldn’t get that look on Rhysand’s face off your mind and you realized that you didn’t want to wear it if you didn’t get to see the twinkle in those violet eyes of his as you twirled. 

The High Lord bid you goodbye and kissed your cheek. Before he winnowed from your quiet street, Rhys handed you your bags and departed with a wink. 

You didn’t think much of it until you were putting away your purchases. Tucked underneath the skirts and corsets that you’d splurged on was the starlight dress. It was neatly folded and tied with a lavender ribbon. A note with familiar handwriting snagged your attention and you bit back a smile as you slowly unraveled it. 

It would have been a shame to leave this at the store. Promise to wear it out even if I’m not there to witness it. A beautiful dress like this deserved to be worn by an equally beautiful female. Go outshine the stars, darling. 

Yours, 

Rhys

The smile that spread across your face remained even as you turned in for the night.

Cassian’s plan was foolproof. 

The Illyrian general approached the task of asking you to be his Valentine with a well-thought out strategy, considering the pros and cons of each idea with the perspective of a battle hardened warrior. In the end, he settled for a simple yet effective plan. 

“You do know that the goal is to actually bake the cookies, right?” you stated, batting Cassian’s hand away from the bowl of cookie dough. 

Your flat was filled with the sweet smell of chocolate as you whisked the mixture in your hands. For all his preaching about maintaining a balanced diet, Cassian had devoured nearly half the bowl of cookie dough and you hadn’t even decorated the first batch. 

He snatched the mixture from you and stirred faster, his strong arms flexing with each movement. “Says the female who devoured half a cup of chocolate chips when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

You gasped, feigning an affronted expression. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to shame a female for her eating habits? Someone should really teach you some manners, Cas.”

Cassian smirked. “I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes, you snatched the bowl back and hip checked the Illyrian general as you rolled out the dough. Cassian fell into place beside you, watching intently while you worked. Despite his sweet tooth, he managed to stay on task and follow your instructions. It was highly amusing to watch the large, heavily muscled warrior squint in concentration as he rolled the dough between his rough, calloused hands. 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as Cassian’s brows furrowed in concentration. The two of you had always shared a love of cooking, having met at a master class in the city. The instructor had assigned you as partners and by the end of the night, you and Cassian managed to prepare a six course meal and strike up an instant friendship. 

You’ve been crushing on him since then. 

There was something endearing about his gentle manner, the softness that came out when he was doing what he loved. It was the complete opposite of what you’d expect from a battle hardened warrior, but it made perfect sense at the same time. You watched with a fond smile as Cassian leaned over the counter, his wings pressed tightly across his back, a pastel pink apron tied around his midsection, his shoulder length hair haphazardly thrown into a half bun with a few strands framing his ruggedly handsome face. Rich, hazel eyes were laser focused on icing the cookie in front of him. 

You hadn’t realized how intently you’d been staring until Cassian looked up at you. He lifted a brow, the slit in the middle rising as he shot you a smirk. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

You stuck your tongue out, making Cassian chuckle. “Actually, I was critiquing your piping methods. It looks a little sloppy if you ask me.”

“No one’s ever complained about my piping before,” he said with a suggestive tone, “But you’re free to correct my form if you’d like.”

Heat crept up your cheeks, but you weren’t about to back down now. Not with the challenge dancing in Cassian’s molten gaze. “Let the professional show you how it’s done, Cas.”

Before you could think better of it, you grabbed his wrist. You tried not to gape at the obvious disparity of your hands, the way your fingers barely covered his palm, the roughness of his skin against your own, the warmth of his touch as you directed the piping bag over the surface of the cookie. 

With shaking hands, you drew a sprawling shape with the red frosting and Cassian chuckled behind you as he beheld your creation. “Wonder what that could be,” he mused. 

The rendering was a little off, but that was to be expected thanks to Cassian’s effect on you. Under the conditions, you thought you’d done a rather great job at imitating those giant wings of his. 

“Looks awfully accurate,” he continued. “Been thinking about my wings quite a bit, have you?” 

“It’s kind of difficult not to when they literally take up half the room.”

“I’ve been told they’re bigger than average.”

Fire snaked across your belly. “But not the biggest, right?” you said with a smirk. “I believe that honor belongs to Azriel.”

Cassian scoffed. “My brother has yet to prove that claim. Az refuses to measure.”

You giggled as your friend took the bait. “He doesn’t have to,” you said with an innocent smile. “Az just has big wing energy, you know?” 

“Big wing energy?” Cassian repeated. His confusion made you burst into uncontrollable laughter. He rolled his eyes once he realized that you’d been toying with him. “You’re devious, you know that?” 

“Perfectly aware, thank you very much.” 

The Illyrian general chuckled to himself as you returned to your own pile of cookies. Pink, red, and white frosting were spread out across the marble countertop and the two of you worked in silence, wrists flicking in the air as you drew hearts, arrows, and other decorations befitting the upcoming holiday. 

“Do you remember when Varian asked us to teach him how to bake a cake for Amren last year?” you asked, adding frills to your sugar cookie. 

Cassian snorted at the memory. The Prince of Adriata was good at a lot of things, but baking was not one of them. With Amren’s newfound ability to actually consume food, he wanted to gift her with something of his own making. Though he did purchase a diamond the size of Cassian’s fist in case the cake went horribly wrong, which it did. 

It would’ve been fine had Varian not insisted on making the entire thing by himself while the two of you watched. You had suggested something easy like a plain vanilla cake with strawberry filling, but the Prince was dead set on a molten chocolate lava cake, which was considered a generally advanced bake. 

In the end, the desert that he had presented to Amren looked more like a heap of ash than anything remotely edible. Cassian had to give it to the Tiny Ancient One, though. She limited her grimace to two side eyes directed at the both of you before fixing her expression into a reluctant smile. You nearly wet yourself from laughing so hard. 

“I honestly thought we were done for,” Cassian remarked. “Amren looked like she wanted to stick us in the oven after that first bite.”

“It’s not our fault!” you exclaimed, “Varian was adamant about doing everything by himself.”

“This is why the nobility have private chefs and cooks. They’re all helpless when it comes to cooking. No offense, duchess,” he added with a smirk. 

You scrunched your nose up in distaste. While the noble title had technically passed to you upon your parent’s passing, you rarely used it outside of your emissary duties. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Not as much as Amren hated eating that cake,” he responded dryly. 

The two of you doubled over in laughter. Wiping your tears away, you chuckled softly. “Love makes you do strange things, I suppose. Either way, it was a day of hearts that Amren will never forget.”

“Speaking of which,” Cassian said, training his voice into a casual tone, “The big day is coming up. Do you have any plans?” 

He kept his eyes on his own cookie, the writing almost finished as he placed one final loop over the question. Cassian angled it towards you, the culmination of his plan coming to fruition. This was it. The big moment. The final play. 

“I—um, well I—” 

That was not a good sign. Cassian perked up at the hesitation in your voice. In all the time that he’s known you, you’ve never faltered. You were sure, decisive. It was one of the many qualities that he found incredibly sexy about you. 

But now you looked like a deer caught in faelights.

Retreat. Fall back. Abort mission.

“Well, I’ve actually already got plans,” you declared in a rushed whisper. 

His heart clenched in his chest. Of course. Of course he’d been too late. One of his brothers probably already asked and you’d said yes, which would explain why you looked so uncomfortable. 

Cassian’s eyes widened as your gaze landed on him. He immediately looked down at the cookie and the silly question he’d carefully frosted over its surface. 

Be my Valentine? 

The pink and red cursive of his own handwriting mocked him. Cassian had to get rid of it. Now.

You stepped closer to him and any second you might look down and see his pathetic little question. Cassian only had one choice to make. 

The Illyrian general stuffed the whole cookie into his mouth.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes widening at your friend’s sudden outburst. “Cas?” you asked incredulously. “What the hell are you doing? You’re gonna choke on the damned thing!”

Cassian coughed, wincing as fragments of the cookie scratched the back of his throat. Still, the embarrassment he felt in this moment paled in comparison to what he would’ve felt if you’d seen the writing. 

He smiled sheepishly. “I was hungry,” he said, swallowing the last bits of his botched plan. 

You furrowed your brows in concern before Cassian wiped his hands on the front of his apron. He grinned, elbowing your side. “So, you’ve got plans, do you?” he said even though pain lanced through his chest at the words. “Whatever you do, don’t bake him a molten lava cake.”

The two of you broke out into another conspiratory grin before you looked down at the cookie before you, angling it away from your friend. The wings you drew earlier flared out with the help of your magic and as they fluttered, you flicked your wrist to wipe away the doodles that you added. 

Tiny pink and white hearts that matched the striped apron Cassian was wearing. 

Unlike his brothers, Azriel didn’t see the need to resort to gimmicks. 

The shadowsinger had always been meticulous about every goal he set his sights on and asking you to be his Valentine wasn’t any different. His best chance would be during your weekly meetup in the city and he was fully prepared to execute his strategic ten step system until he’d walked through the coffee shop to find you seated at your usual table. 

Then you looked up at him and smiled and he forgot all about the damned system and nearly tripped on his feet trying to get to you. Before he knew it, a half hour had passed and he still hadn’t built up the courage to ask you the pressing question, but instead rambled about the mystery novel he’d just finished reading. 

Not that you minded one bit. 

One of the things you adored most about Azriel was your shared love of reading. 

While the shadowsinger was by nature a silent male, he came alive when you talked about books. You loved listening to him talk passionately about a new novel he’d discovered, watching as those brilliant hazel eyes glowed golden, his shadows darting excitedly around his shoulders as though they too, found the change in his reserved behavior entirely enchanting. 

That was the Azriel that greeted you in the cozy alcove of your favorite coffee shop, his beautiful face animated, his hands gesticulating as he explained the plot twist of his newest read, his normally cool, dark voice filled with warmth and excitement. Your friend was a brand new male and you were grateful to be able to witness such a breathtaking sight. 

Azriel cocked his head, a smile toying at his lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

You shook your head, forcing yourself out of reverie. “Nothing, you’re just cute when you’re passionate.”

The shadowsinger narrowed his eyes. “Cute? I’m the High Lord’s Spymaster. I can rip a male’s spine out without blinking.” He crossed his arms, clearly affronted. “I am not cute.”

“Yes, yes, you can be quite terrifying, shadowsinger.” He pouted as you reached across the table and tapped his nose. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’re absolutely adorable when you get excited like this, Az.”

The Illyrian male playfully flicked your wrist. “You’re lucky I like you, angel. No one else would dare to speak to me like this.”

You rolled your eyes, snorting. “Just drink your damned hot chocolate before I hex your nose off.”

Azriel stuck his tongue out, but did indeed take a sip of his hot drink. It was a little known fact that the shadowsinger had a vicious sweet tooth, which was yet another similarity that you bonded over. You’d won him over by inviting him to Deja Brew, a little hole in the wall coffee shop tucked into a quiet street at the Palace of Hoof and Leaf. 

The shop was quaint and homey, part coffee shop, part bookstore, complete with the most delicious hazelnut latte you’ve ever tasted and a collection of books that rivaled your own shelves. By far its best feature was its privacy. Within its walls, you never had to worry about being viewed as the shadowsinger or the emissary. You were simply two friends eating, reading, and laughing without worrying about garnering unwanted attention. No one even looked at you twice in here. 

And the silence—comfortable, glorious, silence enveloped you like a warm hug. 

You basked in it and you knew Azriel did too. As much as you loved your friends, the two of you were introverts at heart. Sometimes all you wanted to do was sit in a quiet room and read until the sun disappeared over the horizon. Thus, Deja Brew became a sacred haven for you and the shadowsinger. 

Once a week, you had a recurring date to simply sit in silence and read. Most days, you barely spoke a word to one another aside from the initial greeting. It didn’t matter who arrived first. Your designated spot underneath a hidden alcove towards the back of the shop was supplied with the usual. For you, a hazelnut latte and an almond croissant. For Azriel, a hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll the size of your head. 

The elder dryad who owned Deja Brew brought another refill of your drink, her kind eyes appraising you as she set the latte down. “Thank you, Esme,” you said with a smile. 

Esme grinned back. “Anything for my two favorite customers.” She set a heart shaped danish between you and Azriel, a knowing look on her face. 

“I don’t think we ordered this,” Azriel murmured. 

“It’s on the house, dear.” Her eyes flickered over his face as a deep flush turned the tips of his ears pink. “In celebration of the day of hearts. I’m experimenting with some of my recipes. If you two don’t already have plans, you should stop by during the holiday and try some of the other pastries I have in store.”

It was your turn to blush. “That’s quite sweet of you, Esme. We’ll keep that in mind.”

As the dryad winked and disappeared beyond the alcove, silence settled between you and the shadowsinger. A different type of silence. A tense, adrenaline inducing silence that made your body crackle with electricity. Hazel eyes darted towards your direction and suddenly, your mouth felt as dry as hay. 

Azriel gave you a lopsided grin, shrugging his shoulders in such an endearing way that you were almost tempted to close the gap between you and kiss him right then and there. But you didn’t. 

Instead, you reigned those feelings in and focused on your book instead. Except you couldn’t focus on a single word. Not with the way Azriel was looking at you from across the table. 

Hiding behind the safety of your book, you allowed yourself to sneak a glance at the shadowsinger. Azriel’s cheeks were a lovely rosy color, warm from the heat of the crackling hearth, its hazy red glow kissing the elegant planes of his face. His scarred hands, as beautiful as the rest of him, toyed with the spine of his book as the bright emerald green and soft earth of his irises swirled to combine into the most stunning color. The golden flecks in his eyes gleamed brighter as his shadows swirled around his wings. 

They were moving about excitedly. One curled around his ear to whisper something. Azriel’s head snapped up, smiling as he found you openly staring at him. 

It was one of those rare Azriel smiles. A smile that had taken you months and months to coax out of him. The force of it would have knocked you off your feet if you had been standing. 

“I love it when you look at me like that,” Azriel said quietly. His voice was barely a hoarse whisper, but the words reached the depths of your soul nonetheless. 

“How do I look at you?” you asked, curious. 

The shadowsinger held your gaze. “Like you see me. All of me.” Something unreadable flickered in his expression. “And you’re not afraid of what stares back.”

You grinned, feeling your chest tighten with emotion. “I could never be afraid of you, Az. When I look at you, I think about books and cinnamon rolls and comfortable silence. I think about our secret little spot, away from the crowds, away from the noise. It makes me feel…safe.” 

So much for containing your emotions. The revelation settled between you, but you didn’t regret saying them. Azriel deserved to know. He needed to know what this friendship meant to you. 

The shadowsinger’s expression softened. He stared at you, weighing his words. “And should I expect to see you in our secret spot for the day of hearts?” 

Your heart fluttered at the question, but you quickly tampered it down. First Rhys, then Cas and now Azriel. Every rejection felt bitter in your mouth, but you had no choice. You were not going to let your selfish desire ruin the wonderful relationship you had with each male. 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to miss out on Esme’s new creations,” you said with a small smile. “As I’ll be indisposed during the holiday.”

Azriel’s expression revealed nothing, just mild curiosity. He smiled back, but it wasn’t like before. It was guarded, masked. Hiding layers of emotion that you couldn’t decipher. 

“Very well, then.” Azriel stated in a cool, even voice. It might’ve made your stomach twist into knots had he not followed it up with a sly grin. “That leaves more sweets for me.”

Grateful to settle back into the comfortable silence, you spent the rest of the night reading. At least, you attempted to. You weren’t sure you retained any of the plot of the novel in your hands as you and Azriel walked through the empty streets of the quiet market square. While you usually would’ve winnowed while Azriel flew back to the House of Wind, neither of you seemed keen to end the night quite yet. 

It was only when your flat building came into view when Azriel bid you goodnight. You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek, thanking him for—well, everything. For being him. 

He descended down the stairs leading up to your front door, turning back at the last step. With his wings spread across his back, he looked at you over his shoulder.

“Y/N?” 

“Yes, Az?” 

Azriel pinned you with his gaze. “You make me feel safe, too.”

With that, he shot into the skies, flying across the city of starlight and taking your heart with him.

On the day of hearts, the three brothers gathered. 

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys agreed not to reveal your choice until the morning of the holiday. The Illyrian warriors gathered at Rhysand’s office in the House of Wind, surveying each other with quiet contemplation. 

This was the moment of truth. 

“So?” Cassian prompted, “Which one of you did she say yes to?”

“Not me,” Rhysand said, his violet eyes shifting to the shadowsinger. 

“It isn’t me, either.” Azriel declared. 

A brief silence settled through the office. Cassian paced, his expression twisting into confusion. “If it’s not any of us, then who is it?”

“Maybe someone from the Day Court?” Rhysand theorized, “She was helping Helion out with his nobles during her last mission.”

“It can’t be,” Azriel said. “My spies would’ve reported any activity, friendly or otherwise, with the nobility.”

“Maybe it’s someone from Velaris, then.” Cassian interjected. 

“Do you think she’s meeting up with him in the city?”

Rhysand tapped his fingers against his chin, a devious glimmer in his eyes. “There’s only one way to find out, brothers.”

“What?” Cas sputtered, “You mean spy on her?”

“We can’t do that,” Azriel argued. 

“Why not? You’re the Spymaster, Az. It’s literally your job.”

The shadowsinger rolled his eyes at the High Lord. “I said we can’t, not that I can’t. You two are about as stealthy as two bulls in a china shop. I’ll scope out the situation and report back with my findings.”

Cassian snorted. “There’s no chance in hell that we’re staying back while you spy on Y/N. We want to come, too.” He cocked his head to Rhysand, who nodded in confirmation.

Azriel sighed in resignation. There was no use in arguing. His brothers would make a right mess of things if they attempted this on their own. 

That was what the shadowsinger repeated to himself as the three of them staked out your flat from the rooftop across the street. Just a glimpse, Azriel thought. A glimpse of the male so he could go home and research every single fact about the poor bastard while sharpening his beloved dagger. 

Rhysand and Cassian seemed to hold the same sentiment as they leaned over the railing, surveilling the empty street below. One misstep and his brothers would be hurtling towards the cobblestone steps. Azriel rolled his eyes. 

“Cas, if you lean any further you’ll tip over,” Azriel said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And Rhys, stop pacing back and forth. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Wait!” Rhysand declared rather loudly. Clearly, the High Lord was not at all used to fading into the shadows. “There he is. Walking up to her door, right now.”

The three Illyrians hunched over, watching as you opened the door. You greeted the male with a bright, cheery smile. He seemed to be carrying a present of sorts. You gladly took it and Azriel waited for you to invite the male inside, but instead you placed a gold coin into his hand and bid him goodbye. 

The shadowsinger moved, watching as you plopped down on the couch and tore open the box. He clenched his fist, only to release it a few moments later when you produced an array of food. Azriel recognized the logo of your favorite restaurant written on the takeout boxes. 

“Is she…eating?” Cassian asked in confusion. 

Rhys blinked. “This doesn’t make any sense. She said she had plans.”

You curled up on the couch, an egg roll in one hand and a romance novel in the other. 

“Maybe she’s waiting for her date?” his brother said, scratching the back of his head. “Maybe he didn’t show?” 

Azriel snorted. “If a male stood her up, do you really think Y/N wouldn’t be on her way to tear him to shreds rather than laying on the couch?”

Rhys chuckled. “Az is right.” He tapped his chin, “Besides, she never actually said she had plans with a male. We all just assumed. There must be another reason why she turned us all down.”

Cassian crossed his arms. “Well I’ve had enough of sneaking around. I say we go in there and ask her ourselves.”

“What?” Azriel asked incredulously, “You mean to march in there and demand answers from her? She’ll hex the three of us into the next century.”

Rhys grimaced. “You may be right brother, but at least we’ll know.”

“This is a terrible, horrible, idiotic idea.” Azriel grumbled his disapproval under his breath, but followed his brothers across the street.

He came to a stop behind Rhysand, who was watching Cassian knock on the door with a wary expression. A few moments later, you came to the door and gaped at the three males gathered outside of your flat. 

“For the record, I tried to stop them.” Azriel announced in greeting. 

Your gaze flickered from Cassian to Rhys to Azriel before you sighed in resignation as though you were expecting to face this exact situation. “Come in, boys.”

The three Illyrian warriors followed you into the cozy flat, settling into your couch. Rhysand crossed one ankle over his knee, Cassian sprawled his long legs in front of him, while Azriel leaned against the cushions, watching you. 

“So,” you started warily, “I assume you’re all here for a reason.”

“We…were just stopping by,“ Cassian started. “Scoping out the mysterious plans you had for the day.”

You raised a brow. “By that, you mean you were all spying on me from the roof.”

Azriel groaned. He knew his brothers would give them away.

“We weren’t spying, darling.” Rhys said, cowering a bit when you glared at him. “We were simply satiating our curiosity.”

“I’ll satiate more than that if you don’t wipe that damn smirk off your mouth, Rhys.”

Cassian snorted. You turned on him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t even get me started on you, Cas.” 

“And you,” you said, settling over Azriel’s calm expression. “I expected more from you, Az.”

He sighed. “Trust me, I have no idea how I got roped into this either.” Azriel offered you an apologetic smile. “Despite our questionable methods, we really just wanted to make sure that whatever lucky male you decided to spend the holiday with was respectful.”

“Imagine our surprise when you decided to ditch us for egg rolls and an elf prince,” Rhysand teased, nodding to the romance novel on the table. 

You rolled your eyes. “At least elf princes don’t spy on me.” Pacing the living room, you pinned the High Lord with a withering glare. “Give me one good reason not to transform you into a slug.”

Cassian chuckled. “You wouldn’t dare. You like looking at our pretty faces too much.”

At that, you cracked a smile. “Idiot,” you said fondly, smacking Cassian’s knee. “You’re lucky that I have a soft spot for foolish Illyrian warriors.”

“Speaking of that,” Rhys said, segueing into the reason why they gathered here in the first place. “Why did you reject all of our offers? Though I was banking on myself as your favorite, I thought you’d at least choose Cas or Az once you turned down being my Valentine.”

You sighed. “It’s…complicated.” 

“Try us, angel.” Azriel said softly. 

“I said no because I wanted to say yes.” The three brothers exchanged a confused look, but waited for your explanation. “I wanted to say yes to all of you. Because I like all of you, but obviously I could only pick one and…I can’t. You all mean so much to me, in different, unique ways and I couldn’t bring myself to choose.”

Rhysand stared at Cassian and Azriel, seemingly conveying a mind to mind message. Cassian grinned while Azriel nodded in confirmation. 

“Who said you had to choose?” Rhys said with a wicked smirk. 

“W—what?”

“We all like you, too.” Cassian provided, “And we all want to make you happy. Nothing should stand in the way of that.”

“I don’t understand.”

Azriel grabbed your hand and caressed your knuckles with his thumb. “What Rhys and Cas are saying is that we’re more than open to explore between the four of us.” A mischievous smirk slid across that handsome face. “Besides, we’re all quite good at sharing, aren’t we?” 

Rhys and Cassian grinned. The Illyrian general pulled your other hand while the High Lord twined his arms around your waist, enticing you in. 

“What do you say, darling?” Rhys asked, his violet eyes flashing with desire. “My brothers and I are all on board with the idea, but the choice is up to you.”

Cassian nodded, tracing soothing circles on your palm. “Think about it, sweetheart. This way, you can have your cake and eat it too.”

You shivered as his words snaked down your spine. “How would this even work?” 

Azriel chuckled, his gaze settling on Rhys. “Like this.” 

You watched in suspense as the shadowsinger leaned in and pressed a hungry kiss against Rhysand’s lips. The High Lord responded with equal fervor, twining one hand through Azriel’s hair while the other gripped your right hip. 

Not one to be left out, Cassian winked at you before palming Rhys through his expensive trousers. He twisted and kissed Cassian’s neck, eliciting a low growl from the Illyrian general. 

Azriel chuckled as you bit your lip. “What do you say, angel?” 

Rhys pulled you between his legs. “Make us the happiest males and be our Valentine, darling.”

Cassian brushed your cheek with his thumb. “Put us out of our misery, sweetheart.” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I’d like to be your Valentine.” 

The three males smiled at you, but it was Azriel who tugged you into his lap and tilted your head back to give you a proper view of Cassian and Rhys as they continued kissing.

"I think you'll find that all three of us are more than generous Valentines."

A shiver went down your spine and you laid back as Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys pounced.

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

[iamjucie]

A History in Lessons

Chapter 2: Light Reading

He grabs the book from your hand.

*SMACK*

He slaps you across the face. The stinging shoots right to the sinking feeling in your gut.

"What in the HELLS do you think you’re doing?!" He hisses.

Tav learns the lesson of not touching things that don't belong to her.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.6k CW: Domestic Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Physical Abuse AO3 link(it is chapters 2 and 3 on there)

Tags: Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual orgasm

(thank you @itsthatpearl for beta reading and my friend mert on twitter for inspo)

@velvolktra photo credit

After a short but successful hunt out in Lower City, you strut down the streets making your way back toward the Crimson Palace. You feel so suave and confident, as you tend to do when you have a fix of blood. Your vampiric powers are so fueled, so enhanced. You feel so- happy. 

And it’s still early! You have even more time to spend with your love before going to sleep for the night. 

You’re antsy to see Astarion and tell him about the time you had. You did so well, he will be so proud of you. He loves to hear about your excursions, sometimes he even tags along with you. Even though he doesn’t necessarily need to feed anymore, he still finds he enjoys the sport of it. Especially being though it’s for him and you alone. You have no master to answer to. 

But tonight, he decided to stay back at the house. He said he has business to attend to. 

You walk up the stairs and go through the entrance to the grand palace you get to call home. Skipping down the hallway, you make your way to the office.

Astarion tends to spend most of the time you’re not in the palace in there reading books, writing letters, signing documents; whatever an all powerful Vampire lord would need to be sitting at a stationary desk for. 

You don’t tend to spend time with him there, though. He usually will have made his way to the bedroom or the den awaiting your arrival. But, being though you had finished your hunt so early you expect him to be there.

The door is open a crack, leaving just enough room for you to catch a glimpse of him intently reading a book. 

You should surprise him. He’ll be so glad to see you home so early.

Based on the spine of the book, it appears to be one of the research journals Cazador had within the confines of his massive library. His eyebrows are furrowed, his hand is on his chin, and his posture is relaxed in his chair with his legs spread apart. 

He only has a face like that when he’s trying hard to retain and understand something. You find that in his new role as the Vampire Ascendent, he is more intrigued to learn about his and your kind. To know the secrets his vicious master knew and kept from him. He must be reading one of the vampirism studies Cazador had in his archives.

Perfect- he is totally distracted.

You sneak your way in, tapping into the adventurer you once were. Tip toeing slowly, being sure to remain in the shadows of the room as to not alert him. Eventually, you manage to stand directly in front of him without him noticing. 

Wow- he must really be concentrating.

You quickly snatch the book from his hands.

“What are we reading?” you ask cheekily. 

Your mood shifts dramatically as you begin to read from the middle of the page it is open to.

“-essentially a meat puppet for its creator to take full control and advantage of. Over time, its mind shall diminish. A spawn will learn be to be utterly devo-”

He grabs the book from your hand.

SMACK

He slaps you across the face. The stinging shoots right to the sinking feeling in your gut.

“What in the HELLS do you think you’re doing?!” He hisses.

You stand with your mouth slightly agape and your hand resting on the point of impact. Your eyes dart from the furious look in his eyes to the cover of the book he was reading.

“The Uses of a Spawn for its Maker: A Vampiric Study”

You look into his eyes, horrified. Still in shock, you dart out of the room. 

“Darling, wait! I-”

You barely hear him calling after you. His voice trails away with the increased distance away from the office. 

You run into your chambers and dive onto the bed and begin to sob. You’ve never seen that side of him. He has a temper, sure, but he had never taken it out on you like that.

He is eloquent enough to talk through his emotions instead of being so reactionary. At least, he was.

You know him, that’s not him. At least, you thought you knew him.

You’re not sure you’d ever seen that look in his eyes. If you had, it surely wasn’t directed at you. He was… scary. He made you feel afraid. You’ve never felt so small. Even the hundreds- no, thousands of challenges you faced in your adventures leading up to taking down the Netherbrain, you never felt so helpless. 

How could he do this? He’s meant to be your protector. Your lover. He is supposed to keep you from harm. He promised he would.

Oh gods- was this all a mistake? Should you run? What if everything you know is a lie? What if you never knew him at all? What was in that journal? What is he capable of? What if it-

Your spiral is interrupted by a light knock accompanying an opening door. 

He’s here. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You feel so many emotions that you can’t even begin to try to express them to him. Not now. Right now, all you feel is anger. Rage. Disgust. Fear.

He slowly makes his way in, approaching where you remain motionless laying on your side facing away from him. When he gets to the bed, he sits on the edge close to your back gently, as if to not disturb a scared animal. As if any sudden movement would cause it to bite or run. 

He’s not entirely wrong to assume that to be the case. 

Slowly and softly he places a hand on your back, rubbing it in a soothing circle motion. You don’t move. You lay stiff as a board, other than a slight tense at his touch.

“I know there’s nothing that I can say to make it better. To make it so it didn’t happen…” he begins talking to you without looking at you. 

“I am so sorry for hurting you dear. I didn’t mean it. I-I don’t know what came over me.” he gulps. “The rage I felt in the moment- it seemed so… unbearable. I don’t know what came over me… I-I’m… “ his hand leaves your back and goes to his face as he begins to sob into his hands. “…I’m a monster.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you whip your head toward him and see him slouching forward crying. Instantly, like a switch was flipped, you feel guilt rush over you. How could you make him cry like this? You were so dramatic. He needs you to be understanding, not the silent treatment. You sit up and wrap your arms around him and lean your head onto his shoulder.

“Shh, it's okay love.” You begin to run your fingers through his silver curls the way you know soothes him. “You didn’t mean it.” you stop petting his hair. “See! Look at me.” You put your hands on his wet cheeks and pull his face so it’s facing your’s. “It didn’t even hurt!” You turn your head side to side to show him your blemish-less skin. No sign of injury to be seen.

Despite your effort, the sadness in his eyes remains. He turns away from you and looks down.

He closes his eyes and tears continue to slowly run down his cheeks. “I’m no better than him. I will only end up hurting you.”

Him. The reminder of him and what he did to your lover is enough to send you into a rampage.

Your posture becomes straightened and serious, and your voice becomes stern. “You will never be like him. I will never let you be like him. You know that.” his head remains low but he turns toward you, eyes looking into yours. Like he wants to believe you, but something inside is stopping him.

You take his hands in yours and continue gazing into his eyes. “Besides, I shouldn’t have taken something from you like that without knowing what it is. That was foolish of me, I know that now. Lesson learned!”

He looks away from you again and sighs. “No, you deserve to know. We are partners, yes. But, our relationship has a power dynamic that is very imbalanced.” He turns back toward you and places his hands on his lap. “As soon as you’re capable and strong enough, you will be able to be a full vampire yourself. But until then, I will have the ability to have complete power over you. To connect our minds. Insert myself into your consciousness like the tadpole had never been removed.” His lips quiver slightly. He takes your hands into his. “You can trust me though love, I would never do that to you. I understand it can feel… violating.”

“I know that.” You caress his face. “I trust you. I’ve trusted you so far when it’s been objectively the foolish thing to do. Why would I stop now?”

He smiles gently and pulls you in for a kiss. 

“I’m surprised you even stayed.” your foreheads are pressed against each other. “I half expected you to bolt out the door and never look back.”

“Never, Astarion. You said it yourself, aetherna amantis. Remember? I’ll always be here for you. Besides-” you chuckle “couldn’t you just command me back?”

He rolls his eyes at you and with a light laugh, pulls you into an embrace.

“I don’t deserve you.” he says quietly into your shoulder.

“And I you.” you pull away and place your hand on his cheek, admiring his beauty. “But how lucky are we to have each other anyway?”

After a few seconds of getting lost in his scarlet eyes, your mouth is drawn to his like a magnetic pull. You begin kissing gently, but gradually the connection of your lips becomes more intimate. 

The hand on the back of your head begins to lightly grip your hair, stirring the heat in your core exponentially. The weight of him increases as he begins to shift from a sitting position to being entirely on the bed, your lips never disconnecting. You both lay down and continue exploring each other's mouths, his body on top of yours. The closeness of your bodies fuels your desire tenfold. 

Your tongue penetrates his lips and licks the roof of his mouth. Grazing the back of his teeth, you knick your tongue on his fang. He ferociously licks the slight injury, trying to get any taste of your blood. Once he’s sure there’s no more to taste, his tongue returns the favor by exploring the inside of your cheek. Your kisses grow to be feverish, leaving you both craving more of each other's body.  

He pulls his mouth from yours and looks at you with sinful intent. “Darling, let me make it up to you.” he purrs as his hand slyly grazes your cunt through your clothing. “Anything you want, we can do.” 

Fuck- you can barely think, your lust is flowing from his hand directly to your brain. You remember something that had sparked your interest in the dirtiest way while he was confiding in you before.

“Well I- There was something you said earlier…” you begin “...about how you can enter my mind? Like the tadpole?”

He leans down and starts kissing your neck, unable to resist touching you. “Mmhmm…”

“Well I was actually thinking recently…” he licks your collarbone. You groan, trying to ignore the way he is making you feel in order to continue your thought. “-That I regret not utilizing that connection more. Sexually I mean…” you gulp.

He lifts his head up from his advances and looks at you with a gaze drenched in seduction. “Are you saying you want to feel what I feel when filling you up with my cock?”

You shudder at the image in your mind. Fuck, it’s too much. You need to relax your vivid imagination to remain composed.

“Y-yes. And I want you to feel what it’s like to be full of your cock. At the same time. I want to combine our pleasure…”

He looks at you for a moment, squinting. Thinking about what you’re suggesting. Thinking of the logistics. When suddenly, it clicks- it’s possible. A grin spans his face and he latches his mouth to yours playfully.

He pulls away for just a moment. “I love the way your mind works, pet.”

With unnatural speed, he pulls his shirt over his head and dives into kissing you again while untying your corset top. As if purposefully prolonging the process, he slowly unbuttons your undershirt. 

You can’t handle it anymore, you need him. Your pussy is aching with desire. You push him off you and rip your shirt and the buttons fly in all directions. He kneels where he landed after your recently-fed-strength fueled shove and looks at you adoringly.

“I positively love when you’re feral for me darling.” he growls. 

You lean forward and stalk your way to the bottom of the bed where he resides. You press your newly exposed skin against his, kneeling so that your tits are in his face. “Let me feel how much you love it-” you lean down and your hand drags down the bulge in his pants “...and you can feel how feral I really am.”

The giddiness he feels at your words is palpable, no matter how composed he pretends to be. This must have been a shared fantasy between the two of you, because based on how he is acting you’re sure he has thought of this before. With a smile spread across his face he concentrates on establishing a connection between your minds and bodies, interlinking your senses.

Like a bolt of electricity strikes you, your entire body feels a jolt of- sensation. Pure sensation. Every nerve ending from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet are feeling so much. Twice as much. Double the lust. Double the desire- No. Double the need to be touched. You sit in shock, taking a minute to adjust to the new feeling. Judging by Astarion’s face, he is feeling the same. From this moment forward, you are only feeling the same. You’re both so utterly overstimulated in the most beautiful way possible.

He looks at your body up and down. You can feel what his gaze upon you does to him, you feel what he wants to do to you. You reach your hand to touch his face. His mouth is open slightly in shock, still trying to adjust to the foreign doubled sensations. Once your hand reaches his skin, you feel a wave of heat shoot through your own cheek.

A grin spans across your face. Oh, this will be fun.

He can feel your excitement and lust. And like an infinite undying echo between both your minds, it grows until neither of you can contain it anymore. You reach your hand to begin to undo his pants and he does the same to yours. A wave of pleasure rushes through you as you graze your hand over the throbbing member through the fabric of his pants, making you both moan simultaneously.

Once you’ve finally managed to take both your pants off, you can’t keep your hands off one another. He’s laying on top of you and both of your hands are touching every part of each other; everywhere but the sources of your carnal lust. Eventually, your hands go from his hair to rubbing down his back. You can feel the sensitivity of his scars piercing into your own back like they’re your own.

He brings his hand to your dripping cunt and languidly strokes the outside of your folds making his way to gently rub your clit. He shivers and lets out an airy laugh with delight, you love knowing it’s your pleasure he’s feeling. There’s something so intimate about having the exact same experience.

As he continues to play with your pussy, you bring your hand to his cock. You can feel the pressure he is feeling and you need to see it relieved. Your fingers slowly rub his length, starting at his head and making your way down the bottom of his shaft and stopping at his balls.

You are so utterly overstimulated, you can barely think. No- you can’t think. This is too much. Knowing he is feeling the exact same way enhances the pleasure tenfold. Your hand grasps around his cock and you begin to slowly pump. At the exact same time his fingers enter your cunt, rubbing your inside walls in a way that makes you scream. And you do.

You’re both moaning and riving in pleasure, you’ve never felt so connected to one another. This is more than the tadpole could ever have done, you’re connected by blood. Every nerve, every cell in your body is synced with one another. Every action is synchronized as if you had rehearsed it a million times before. Every desire is shared. You feel his want to dominate you, he feels your want to be dominated. You feel his want to have you full of his cock, and he feels your need to be filled with it.

You share a knowing glance. Nothing needs to be expressed verbally, any need for dirty talk is gone. No need for words when you can feel. He puts a hand around your throat and you position his cock at your entrance. He slowly pushes into you. He needs to adjust to the alien feeling, but quickly gets used to it. Once you’ve both become accustomed to the feeling, you both smile gently at one another. He pumps in and out of you, hitting the spot that fills your mind with light..

This is the single most beautiful sensation you have ever experienced. You can feel the pleasure of your tight walls wrapping around your- his cock. You clench slightly, and you feel the increased grip around him and you both moan. If this continues to feel this breathtaking, this won’t last very much longer.

You feel the pressure building in your- and his core. 

You look like virgins having sex for the first time. Just looking at one another with your mouths agape, him pumping in and out of you. But with the increased sensation, it’s all you’re able to do. It’s hard to concentrate on doing anything special when you’re so overwhelmed with double sensations, the infinite echo of your lust and desires. It doesn’t matter, though- you don’t need anything more than this.

He breaks the silence that has been maintained since your connection was established. “I-we are going to come. Ready?” He manages through pants and hisses of pleasure. All you can manage is a nod.

And like he was awaiting your acknowledgement, he explodes in you. You simultaneously come, your mind and body is filled with otherworldly light. It’s as if you see colors that don’t exist. You’re both screaming and moaning through your shared orgasms. The feeling of his cock spurting inside you, the feeling of your walls pulsing around his cock, it’s too much. 

You’re starting to think you’ll never stop coming. You’re both holding one another, shaking and moaning. He’s still inside you, any movement required to pull out would be way too overwhelming. After a few beautiful minutes, the feeling fizzles out. He’s laying on top of you and you’re both basking in the afterglow of the most incredible orgasm of your lives.

Astarion severs the connection of your minds before pulling out of you and laying beside you. You’re both staring at the ceiling.

“That was…” you say after prolonged silence. “A lot.” 

“Yes it was. I would ask if you enjoyed yourself, but I already know the answer.” he says cheekily.

You chuckle, “You’re right. I can’t even lie to you, you can be inside my head at any time.”

“That’s right love.” he says in a facetious patronizing voice. “You can never lie to me, I will always know.”

You both laugh. 

You roll over onto your side and prop your head on your hand. “So what else can you do to me as my ‘maker’?”

“What ever do you mean, darling?” 

“Like, what other powers do you have over me? You must have learned something in that journal.”

“Well…” he says “I am able to be granted control of you. Command your every movement while you sit in the passenger seat.”

 A pregnant silence follows. You recollect when you grabbed the book from him. 

‘-a meat puppet for its creator to take full control and advantage of.’

He breaks the silence and continues, “I would never do that though, of course.”

You sit in another moment of silence until you ask, “Even if I asked you to?” 

His brows furrow. “I- I’m not sure I understand.” he stammers. “Would you… Like that?”

“I don’t know, it could be hot.” You lay your head back on the pillow. “Giving up complete control to you, you know?”

It’s like a fire was lit inside of him, the soul behind his eyes fueled with desire for power over you. He attempts to act unfazed by your confession, but it does something to him. He looks at you differently. Not negatively, just… differently.

“If you’re sure-” he purrs, “...how could I say no? Of course that experiment will need to wait.” He rolls over to wrap himself around you, cuddling you as you both fall asleep. “I am positively exhausted from tonight's experiment.”

“Next time, then.” you say, eyes closed and drifting to sleep.

He kisses the top of your head. “Next time.”

You both drift to sleep in the warmth of each other’s grasp.

Next chapter: "Your Most Prized Spawn" pt. 1

[achaotichuman]

Hedonism

Welcome back for day three of Tamlin Week, today's prompt I went with both. Prompts- Flower language, and Mates. Though I used them quite loosely in this fiction.

This oneshot is focusing around Tamlin reconciling with his feelings about Lucien and taking action finally to attempt to fix what he has lost. He has never been good with words, and much less any kind of relationship. But for Lucien he will try. For Lucien he has to try.

You can read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Warning- Explicit Mature Content.

The sun was on the edge of the horizon, a few minutes from slipping below the line of the glittering sea when Tamlin landed in Day. The white marble, sandstone and gold gleamed in the dusk light. A smatter of pinks and yellows smeared over the picturesque city. His own golden hair gleamed in the light. The gold in his eyes like spots of sunlight as he looked upon the Palace of gems and carved marble. 

The guards standing as sentries either side of the large gilded doors shared a glance. Neither showing any signs of recognition when they looked upon the disgraced High Lord. The disappointment of his father, and his father before him. It was a sigh of relief to for once not be seen as the Lord of the Spring Lands. 

Tonight he had braided his hair with forget-me-nots, marigolds and bluebells. Spilling down the plain white shirt he wore. A simple beige coat overtop, and black pants. Daggers nowhere to be seen tonight, only a leather satchel slung over his chest. Gripping the leather strap tightly, he lowered his head and looked through his long, blond eyelashes at the guards. Walking slowly up the stairs. 

“Your business here?” The one on the left, a male dressed in armour from head to toe, but with a peek of dark gold hair underneath his helmet. 

“I am here to see the Lord Lucien Van- SpellCleaver.” Tamlin corrected himself quickly. 

The guards both scrutinised him. But ultimately didn’t seem to think he was lying. Lucien had spies and sources scattered all throughout Prythian, it wasn’t an unlikely story that he was one of those. 

One guard called for an escort to take Tamlin into the Palace. Two new guards flanking him as he was led through winding hallways covered in finary. With statues of females and males lounging amongst their own nakedness, and art of swirling colours hanging from the pristine walls. 

Thesan’s Palace was grander, but Day held a hedonistic, lightly charged sense of finary. That Tamlin didn’t feel he belonged in. Lucien certainly did, the male was the definition of hedonistic. 

With scarlet hair that fell in thick, shiny waves over his shoulders, spilling down his back. Gleaming dark skin that glowed in afternoon sunlight. Amber eyes that shone with tame wickedness, even that scar added a hint of cruelty that only added to roughen his sharp appearance. Making him appear like a freshly sharpened blade. 

With a build made to wield weapons with effortless grace it was no wonder he resembled one. Tamlin looked down at the rolled out carpet across the tiled floors. All swirling gold and white. 

He was a smear of mud in an otherwise perfect painting. He shouldn’t have come here tonight. 

Eventually they faced a large dark oak door. Silence rang through the world, and Tamlin’s hand twitched. The servant, with fluttering wings and dark skin, who had been his escort, knocked three times in rapid succession. 

“Enter.” A muffled voice called, and Tamlin’s heart throbbed against his ribcage. He knew that voice so, so well. 

The delicate wrist of the Day Faery opened the golden handle, and the door swung open. Letting Tamlin take in the dappled sunshine breathing through the large open windows of the office. It was simple, simpler than the rest of the grand palace, but just as tasteful. With white lounges and dark wood furniture. And every wall that was not a window was a display case for dozens, if not hundreds of books. 

Lucien didn’t look up from his desk, as he scribbled away at writing some kind of letter. His slender fingers stained with black ink. A smudge under his eye, and on his cheek. His hair was held back by a red satin band. And he wore a long loose red silk robe with swirls of gold, open over his chest. 

“What is it?” Lucien asked, not looking up. 

“You have a visitor, my Lord.” The servant said, bowing low. 

“I do-” Lucien cut himself short as he finally looked up. 

“Everyone leave.” Lucien ordered, standing up to reveal the loose knot at his waist. 

In a second, the guards and servant scattered out, the door clicking shut behind Tamlin. His heart thundering as Lucien stepped away from behind his desk, robe swishing with every movement. His long hair fluttered behind him, strands of wine red hair glowing dark in the dying sunlight. He stared at Tamin, those glowering amber eyes not looking at his face but rather fixated on the flowers in his hair. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien said, as he made his way to a white lounge. Effortlessly draping himself over the blankets tossed lazily across it. A blank expression in his face, but his eyes revealed the true expanse of emotions hiding behind his false indifference, “What brings you from the South to the Solar Courts.”

“Are we really playing this game?” Tamlin asked with a cocked eyebrow, truly his hands began to tremble, so he folded them behind his back. Lucien’s eyes darted to the motion as a cruel smile slipped over his face, he knew, the bastard always knew. 

“Yes we are.” Lucien murmured, “You ensured it the last time I was in Spring. That we were back to these games.”

The last time Tamlin had laid eyes on Lucien. When they had fought so ferociously, both losing themselves to suppressed anger and the trauma they desperately hid from the eyes of others. Lucien had spat venomous words that in hindsight Tamlin knew he hadn’t meant. But in the moment, they had struck true. 

His magic had lost control once again. Falling prey to the insane beast writhing within him. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d done it all the same. Lucien had left with bruises and cuts, the most prominent of them all a blackened eye. 

Tamlin had run for him, but Lucien was gone with tears in his eyes before he could get a word out. 

“I didn’t mean it.” Tamlin whispered softly, "Truly I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter though does it?” Lucien hissed, “I know you can’t control your magic Tamlin, it wasn’t about the injury. For fuck’s sake, I broke your arm once on accident during sparring. But fucking Cauldron on earth and Mother in sky, I apologised right after.”

Tamlin kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward. Taking everything he said. 

“You’ve taken two years Tamlin, two fucking years. Two years of me thinking everything we had was truly thrown away, and now you come here thinking you can make it alright with an apology?” Lucien stood, gracefully smooth, that scarlet silk caressing his naked skin underneath. 

He said nothing, just waiting, waiting as Lucien watched him with those cunning, sharp eyes. Staring him down like he was deciding whether to ask him to leave or to punch him in the face. Neither Tamlin would have hated him for. 

Lucien waited for his response too, and when it was clear Tamlin wasn’t saying anything. He stalked forward. Head high and eyes locked in on green. The sun’s rays disappearing behind the horizon. 

Tamlin’s eyes trailed up and down Lucien, “Is it thrown away?”

For once during this entire conversation, Lucien looked at a loss for words. As if he had practised this encounter a hundred times over in the mirror, like Tamlin wasn’t following the script he had out, “What?”

“Is it thrown away? Is everything we used to be just,” Tamlin made a flitting gesture, “Gone.”

Silence echoed like thunder through the room. The room began to darken, as the sun was almost fully set. The pinks it left behind slowly dimming and giving way to deep purple and endless midnight blue. 

“I don’t know.” Lucien whispered.

Tamlin didn’t know either, he just knew he had to make this right. One way or another. Find someway to fix this. There was hope, Lucien hadn’t thrown him out yet, he was standing right in front of him. Telling him off as he had done for years. 

In those burning amber eyes, there was want. Lucien had waited for this day, so there must be some part of him that wanted it. 

And Tamlin needed to take advantage of the opportunity he had. To rekindle what they had lost, what in part had been taken from them, and in part he had neglected. 

But there were no words that he had that could fix this. No magic he possessed that could rebuild their relationship right this second. 

So Tamlin instead said something he knew Lucien would want to hear anyway, “The bar down in Summer is closing.”

Lucien blinked at him, surprised once more, Tamlin put the cherry on top, “It’s their last night open, they have a deal going. Three shots for the price of one.”

That bar was owned by two Lords who had moved to working in Tarquin’s Court. Tamlin had known them as long as he had been of drinking age. And knew they had a large supply of cheap alcohol that needed getting rid of quickly.

There was a heartbeat of silence, followed by another. 

Lucien turned on his heel and headed for a door that when it swung open, revealed his sleeping quarters. He slammed the door shut and Tamlin flinched, blinking at the door.

A grin curled on his lips as Tamlin counted in his head. 

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

The door swung open again and Lucien was fully dressed. Simple and mostly plain. A billowing white shirt with black pants. A golden drop hung from one ear, and a simple necklace with a blood red ruby dangled around his throat. 

“Off we go.” Lucien said, already heading for the door. 

And Tamlin was quick to follow. 

Disappearing from Day, they left the rich smells and salaciously, tasteful erotic air behind. Exchanging it for one of loud ruckus, the reek of cheap alcohol, and smoke thick air. 

Tamlin didn’t bat an eye as he walked from the old, chipped away street just on the outskirts of the Summer Court into the small half-broken door of the bar sitting like a hole in the line of old, old buildings. But from the corner of his eye, he watched Lucien’s back suddenly straighten, his face souring as his nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed. 

This, this felt more like him. Dirty, depraved and awful. A stain on the floor. It wasn’t Lucien though. May have been what he felt like years ago, but now as he had been reunited with his mother, with his brothers. And brought to a place that he clicked like the last piece of a puzzle, it wasn’t him any longer. 

It didn’t stop him though, from walking beside Tamlin into the crowded, roaring bar. 

The Lords of this place had neglected it for a while, leaving it all to be run by the two managers in charge. Once they made their way up the imperial ladder, they were finally closing it down. In all honesty the place was overrun by criminals, and should have been shut down ages ago. 

But the drunk violence, the selfish greed all around, the haze of drugs outlawed by the Court they were in and the unrestricted amount of drinks that poured from the bar, was something Tamlin needed to be able to forget. He knew it was disgusting. He knew he was partially hated by it. But he was a selfish man and that much he could admit. 

Lucien wasn’t though, which was why he seemed so out of place. 

But one thing was for sure. In the depraved darkness of this place, there was only a hunger for something to forget the days before and the days to come. To give in to the young of the night and let the swirling midnight haze sweep through the mind. As such, the formal resentment between High and Lesser Fae slipped away in this place. Turning a mix of cliques. Either those looking for a good fight to work out the tension of their work day, or those looking for a good fuck to work out their unmet need for pleasure. 

So Tamlin and Lucien elbowed their way through both High and Lesser Fae. Until they found two thankfully empty seats right at the bar counter. 

Both quickly stole away a place, and let their heavy selves rest against the countertop. The bartender looked up to see them. A lesser faery named Laurel, with white wings that were tinted pink at the edges. She had pale pink skin and an arrangement of flowers falling from her white hair. Despite the loveliness of her appearance. Laurel was also tall, taller than Tamlin, and stronger than him too. He knew that only because of the time he had drunkenly pushed a male down against the bartop and sucked him off on the spot. That night Laurel had to pick him and the male up and throw them outside. 

She saw them and waved with a big grin on her face. In a second she had three shots poured out and all were in front of them in a second. 

“Tam, long time no see.” She yelled over the crowd. 

“Good to see you too, Laurel!” He told her back, he then clasped Lucien’s shoulder and asked, “You remember Lu, right?”

“Yeah, course I remember Lucy.” She smiled at Lucien who waved back. 

“Yell out when you want more drinks, boys, there's plenty more that needs to go.” She said, then her eyes went to two males getting too rough at a table, “I gotta go sort that out, safe drinking!”

Tamlin laughed as he watched her brace a hand on the counter and swing herself over. Running to separate the two. 

As Tamlin turned around, he saw Lucien pick up the small glass, the clear liquor staring up at him. He knocked it back and winced as he did. But quickly took up the next. Tamlin grabbed his own before Lucien got too carried away. 

They said nothing as they waited for Laurel to be done dealing with the bastards fighting. She hopped back over the counter and wordlessly poured them more, before getting back to her own job, the next three were gone in a moment and this time Tamlin took two shots and Lucien one. 

Slowly, the bar began to quiet down. Turning to a buzz around them as the alcohol began to take effect. Laurel had scared the shit out of the noisiest of the lot, so everyone began to return to their own drinking and hiding in the corners away from her cunning eyes for a quick handjob. 

“So…” Tamlin started, he knew they needed to talk, but he didn’t know how to approach it. 

“Let’s play a drinking game.” Lucien stated, Tamlin blinked. 

Slowly, the blond breathed out, “Okay, what’s the game?”

Lucien lifted his empty shot glass to grab Laurel’s eye, and waited until she poured another three before disappearing again. 

“We talk about this.” He said, “And anytime one of us lies, sugarcoats it, or otherwise tries to hide what we think. You have to take a shot.”

This was dangerous. This was so, so dangerous. 

But if they didn’t do something, Tamlin was going to lose him forever anyway, so. 

Fuck it. 

“Okay.”

“Good, I’ll go first. I hate that I ever met you.”

Tamlin gritted his teeth, as his eyes gleamed. But it wasn’t hatred that curled in his gut, rather a fire that began to stoke itself up and up. 

So that’s how they were to play. 

Fine. 

“I hate that I ever met you.”

A growl loosened from behind the Day Heir’s teeth, “I hate that I learned to care for you at all.”

“I hate that I loved you enough to take you in.”

Lucien gripped the counter, “I hate that I loved you enough to defend you in front of Amarantha.”

“I hate you for going even though I told you time and time again it was a bad idea. That wouldn’t keep your mouth shut.” Tamlin carved a line in the counter with his claw, leaning back on the stool. 

“I hate you for coming after me right before I could finally let you go.” Lucien said, staring into the old chipping wood. 

“I hate that I didn’t force you to the continent when Amarantha struck.” Tamlin whispered. 

Lucien swallowed, “I would never have gone. And if you forced me it would have made me hate loving you more.”

“We are a tragedy, and it’s all my fault.” Tamlin breathed out. 

“No, it’s not.” The redhead told him, “It’s not all your fault.”

“Every scar you have is because of me, I mutilated you.” Tamlin told him. 

“No.” As soon as the word slipped from his mouth, Lucien reached over and took a shot. Throwing his head back, the red of his hair all slipped down his back. Throat bobbing as he swallowed. He slammed the glass back onto the counter and wiped his mouth aggressively, “Every scar I have is because of you. And it’s because of how much I fucking love you.”

“I hate you because I can’t fucking hate you!” Tamlin yelled, grinding his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut so tightly they pulsed with pain.

“Well I hate you because no matter what, I can’t forget who you were to me. You are everything in me. You’re twisted around me, I can’t even look at a fucking tree without thinking of you!” Lucien stood up to look at him. 

“I hate there was nothing I could do.” A tear spilled down over Tamlin’s face, “I hate that no matter what, no matter who tells the story, there were so many times where there was nothing else I could do. I already begged Amarantha to spare you, I already tried to get you away from your brothers. I couldn’t stop what she did to your eye.”

Lucien whispered, “I hate that I couldn’t make it all stop. I hate that I couldn’t help you.”

“I hate that I made it so hard for you.” Tamlin murmured back, “I hate that in the end you even stopped yelling at me. You used to do that everyday.”

For once, a smile slipped over Lucien’s face. One pure and real and genuine. 

“We haven’t lost it all.” Lucien said, sitting back down, “We aren’t all gone.”

“What else can we do?” Tamlin asked. 

Lucien didn’t respond as he took another shot. Tamlin followed suit. As he did his head spun and the light in his eyes swam. 

Then he felt a pair of hot hands on his shoulders, making him turn to face Lucien. The male seemed closer than before. As if he had moved his chair across to be nearer. 

“I remember your hair.” Lucien whispered into the space between them, “I remember how much you liked me brushing it, or braiding it, or weaving flowers into it.”

He was silent then, as his index finger lifted to curl a fallen lock of blond strands around it. 

“I remember your skin.” Tamlin told him, “I remember each and every mark and freckle. And how you shiver when I run my finger down your neck like this.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the longing for his friend back, or even the repressed sexual need. Perhaps all three. Either way, Tamlin boldly moved his hand, trailing his fingers down from Lucien’s jaw, over the sensitive flesh of his dark throat, as expected, as he touched, Lucien shuddered. His soft, supple skin prickling underneath his fingertips. 

Tamlin stopped at the edge of his collar. Then let his hand fall away, before he rasped, “I remember that night right here, when I took you on the counter and we got thrown out because of it.”

Lucien’s breath was sucked from him, as his pretty face, all flushed pink from alcohol. Darkening in colour as he too remembered that night. 

Because Lucien was the male Tamlin sucked off that night. Too many drinks in, laughing and grabbing at each other. Getting hot and riled up. Lucien’s hot hands had slid over his shirt, eventually finding underneath the fabric. Tamlin’s mouth pressed into his neck, and large hands went up and down his thighs. Both had come to some kind of agreement not long before, that they explore the parts of them they had never been able to before. The parts that made them stare a little too long at the training sentries, the parts they had been told time and time again to hide in shame. 

Then, they had gone further in their explorations than ever before. Lucien’s hands found his chest and started groping him while whispering every dirty thought that went through his pretty head. And Tamlin lost his mind. 

In a haze of what must have been stupidity, drunkenness and pure lust. He pushed Lucien back onto the bartop, Lucien’s nimble fingers had unlaced his trousers in a second to spare them from being ripped by Tamlin’s claws. 

Tamlin’s body, running entirely on lust, had moved quicker than his thoughts. His head had gone down, and before he could even process his own actions, silky skin pierced his lips and flooded his mouth. Filling his throat as his eyes had rolled back. Lucien’s head had thrown back, moaning as he grabbed Tamlin’s hair and fucked up into his mouth. 

After being thrown out, they hadn’t talked of that day again, but Tamlin had never forgotten it. And from the wide-eyed look on Lucien’s face, he hadn’t forgotten it either. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien released his breath so carefully slow. Holding onto his control as much as he could. 

“Yes?” Tamlin ducked his head, pressing his lips to the same spot he had all those decades ago. 

“Mm, fuck.” Lucien bit his lip as his head tipped to the side. 

This was so dangerous. They shouldn’t be doing this. After everything that had gone down they shouldn’t be doing this. 

It just made Tamlin want it more.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Lucien’s skin. Before his tongue darted out and drew a line up to his jaw, before he bit into his skin. A sudden noise left Lucien’s throat, and those hot fucking hands moved. Lucien pulled Tamlin’s shirt out of his pants and immediately went under. Sliding up his skin and finding his nipples. Rolling the stiff buds between his fingers, pinching roughly. Tamlin groaned into his neck and bit down on the fleshy part of his neck and shoulder, harder than he meant too. Causing Lucien to squeeze his eyes shut as he suddenly jolted and moaned. 

One of his hands started groping Tamlin, while the other tugged his hard nipple. Leaning close to Tamlin’s ear, he whispered, “I remember how you moaned like a bitch when I did this.”

Suddenly, Lucien bit the tip of Tamlin’s very, very sensitive ear, and the blond Faery cried out. Trying to muffle himself on Lucien's shoulder. His hands went to Lucien’s thick thighs and started squeezing the hard muscles there. As he mouthed at his neck. 

Lucien licked up and down along the point of his ear, teasing the skin with his talented tongue. All the while his fucking fingers played with his nipples, hands occasionally swapping sides, one to grope, one to toy with the buds. 

“I hate how fucking hot you are.” Lucien breathed out. 

“That’s a lie.” Tamlin pointed out with a grin, “Take a shot.”

Lucien leaned back a little, regarding Tamlin with a fox’s smile, “Wicked.”

“Not as much as you.” Tamlin replied. 

Lucien licked his lips, as he slid his hands out. Making Tamlin shiver at the loss of contact. Moving to quickly lean over the counter, he snatched the bottle of alcohol from where Laurel had briefly left it to deal with another rowdy crowd. Lucien poured himself a shot. Then slowly brought it to his lips. Watching Tamlin over the rim as he took the liquor in his mouth, and swallowed. His pretty throat bobbing up and down as the contents of his glass were drained away. 

The fox kept his eye contact as he put the glass down, the second his fingers were away from it. Tamlin was on him. 

Pushing off his own seat, he practically climbed into Lucien’s lap in his desperation to get those hot lips on his own. Grabbing his face, their mouths met. Both moaned into each other. Lucien grabbed the back of Tamlin’s head with one hand, then slipped his other back up his shirt. At the same time he started pinching and groping again, he pulled the High lord’s hair hard. 

Tamlin whimpered into Lucien’s mouth, as he slipped Lucien his tongue. Causing the male to groan and pull his hair harder, the flowers falling out as his braid came undone. 

His hair had grown wildly longer since they had last been together. As it untangled it fell down to his thighs. Lucien smiled against him as he slipped his hand underneath all that hair and held onto the base of Tamlin’s neck. 

Tamlin grabbed a fistful of pretty red hair, desperately needing something to hold onto, to anchor himself. Biting down on Lucien’s bottom lip, then sucking the flesh. 

As his skin grew hotter and hotter he felt something hard pressing against his own growing bulge. Tamlin moaned as he started grinding his covered cock against Lucien’s. Making the younger hiss as he held Tanlin tighter, pushing them harder together.

They pulled back enough that both could catch a breath, Tamlin breathed out, half-dazed and barely able to form a coherent thought except for one, “Fuck me.”

“Fuck yes.” Lucien said quickly. 

“Get. Out.” Tamlin and Lucien were quickly torn from their lust induced trance as they snapped their gaze around to see Laurel glaring so horribly at them. 

Tamlin was half about to ignore her, when Lucien grabbed the back of his thighs, and lifted him off the chair as he stood. Tamlin quickly wrapped his arms around the back of his neck, and Lucien shouted an apology as they both stumbled out to the entrance. 

Lucien was strong, strong enough to give Tamlin a good fight, and it seemed he had only gotten stronger. Of course, Tamlin also knew he was a lot lighter, having been living off of scraps every couple of days for two years. 

Getting out into the darkness, the warmth of Summer was sticky all around them, despite the sun having gone down at least an hour ago. 

Tamlin grabbed Lucien’s hair, kissing him sloppily as they both grinded and panted against each other, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Lucien forced his mouth away and stared up with glazed eyes. For a moment, their spinning worlds came to a sudden stop as they looked into each other and for the first time in a lot longer than just two years, they truly saw into the other. Saw them for who they were and every broken piece underneath. 

Tamlin cupped Lucien’s face with both his hands, at the same time Lucien squeezed his thighs harder. 

In that second, in that moment of stillness, Tamlin realised one thing. 

They had seen each other at their absolute worst. Broken, destroyed, taken apart and forced to keep going. They had scraped through life by each other’s side for so long. The bond they had ran deeper than just the friendship they showed. It was a deep understanding of what the other had been through, something that no one else in their life understood. Something they all never would. 

But they knew. In their small world, Tamlin and Lucien knew. Better than anyone else ever could. 

“I’m sorry.” Tamlin whispered, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know.” Lucien whispered back, before pressing such a sweet and gentle kiss to his lips. 

In a second, they were in Summer, and the next rich smells and charged air were filling Tamlin’s lungs once more as they winnowed to Day. 

Their lips crashed together once more. And Tamlin moaned as Lucien gently set him down on the floor again. Immediately their hands started roaming, desperate to get underneath each other’s layers. 

As Tamlin tried to pull Lucien’s shirt off, considering simply ripping it. Lucien grabbed both his wrists and held them together as he dragged him back into his bedroom. 

Tamlin barely got time to look around. Just noticing the blinds were thrown open, the doors to a balcony open, allowing in the soft night breeze. The bed was covered in a myriad of soft pillows, red and gold silks. Then Lucien was shoving him back onto the bed. Tamlin pulled his wrists free, but Lucien crawled up after him, as Tamlin pulled himself back, until he was amongst the pillows. 

Lucien pushed himself on top of Tamlin. Both thighs bracketed around his own. The Heir of Day, then grabbed both Tamlin’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Tamlin squirmed at the restraint but Lucien whispered, “Be a good boy and stay still.”

“Fuck, Lucien-”

“Wanna get fucked tonight?” He asked with a cruel tint to his voice, “Stay still.”

Tamlin huffed, blowing out his cheeks, but obeying and keeping his hands above his head. Lucien smiled, looking down at Tamlin like he was proud, “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” Tamlin said, whole body turning red as arousal shot through his body like poison. 

Lucien’s hands left Tamlin’s, and the area was left feeling cold, which Tamlin fought to not whine over. Before his attention was quickly captured by something else. 

Lucien’s hands went to his belt, quickly undoing it and pulling out the leather. Then he leaned back over Tamlin and grabbed his wrists once more. In a few seconds, he skillfully locked Tamlin’s wrists together. Tamlin couldn’t help the whine that left his throat when he felt the leather tighten on his skin. 

“Good boy.” Lucien whispered again, sitting back as he looked down at Tamlin. Restrained, flushed and panting. 

“Are you just going to sit there all night?” Tamlin taunted, “Or are you going to do  something?”

Lucien laughed, “Oh really? You want me to do something Tam?”

Frustration welled in Tamlin’s chest and at the same time his heart leapt at the familiarity in the nickname, “Yes, god, please.”

A grin curled on Lucien’s face as he then snapped his fingers, and in a second the rumpled dishevelled clothes plastered to Tamlin’s skin were reduced to ash from flames. It didn’t hurt in the slightest, only a light tingle of sudden warmth danced across his body. 

Now completely open and exposed to the midnight chill. Tamlin’s skin prickled, as his nipples began to ache from lack of attention, and at the same time blood rushed down and his cock began to throb in time with his heartbeat. Even still, he tried to not move as Lucien observed him. 

Amber eyes dark in the minimal light. Lucien slid his tongue over his lips before he moved one hand up. His fingers circling Tamlin’s left nipple, making Tamlin squeeze his eyes shut, and bite down on his tongue. 

“So pretty,” Lucien breathed, as those damning fingers pinched the bud. Rolling it gently. 

Tamlin couldn’t stop as his back arched. Eyes rolling back at receiving the attention he so desperately craved, he moaned as his mouth fell open. 

“And responsive.” Lucien noted, watching like a predator. 

“Fucking… Mother dammit.” Tamlin managed to say, even as he was losing himself to each and every touch. 

All of a sudden, Lucien took away his hand and it took Tamlin biting his inner cheek hard enough he nearly drew blood to not whine. 

“Alright, I’ve had my fun, I’ll fuck you now.” Lucien announced as he reached over to a nearby nightstand. 

“Finally.” Tamlin said, head pushing back into the pillow behind him. 

Lucien opened the first drawer, and reached in, pulling out a clear glass cork top bottle of thick oil. He moved and sat back on his heels as he easily opened the bottle. 

“Spread your legs,” He ordered as he poured out the thick liquid onto his fingers. 

Tamlin was quick to obey this time. Watching with poorly contained excitement as Lucien put the bottle back on the nightstand and slipped his fingers between his open thighs. Pressing one digit against his hole, Tamlin sucked in a harsh breath that followed Lucien murmuring, “Good boy, you’re doing so well.”

Tamlin cursed under his breath again, body beginning to throb as fire climbed higher and higher in his core. Lucien pushed his finger in further, gently exploring, as Tamlin wrapped his legs around his waist. Needing to hold onto him in some way. 

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Lucien grabbed one of his thighs and forcefully spread his legs open, keeping them wide set as he smoothly thrusted his finger in and out. 

“You can take a little more.” Lucien whispered into the darkness between them. The words were nearly lost to Tamlin, his mind altered by pleasure and alcohol. 

Lucien pressed another finger inside, working it in slowly, until he was thrusting his two fingers in and out. Followed by three, working quicker and quicker as his own desperation built. 

Tamlin was a moaning mess below him, gasping for breath, and moving his hips as Lucien spread his fingers, the searing stretch making his hips jut up and his back arch. 

“Fuck, Lucien.” Tamlin moaned. 

“So fucking tight.” Lucien mumbled, seemingly lost in a daze, Tamlin didn’t know whether he was talking to him or to himself. 

Either way, Tamlin felt himself go redder as that fire built. Then Lucien twisted and curled his fingers and brushed some spot inside him that made his toes curl as he cried out. Pulling at his restraints, he bucked back against Lucien’s fingers, desperate for him to hit that spot again. 

Leaning down over him, Lucien pressed his lips to Tamlin’s. The blond males/’s eyes went wide, his tension causing Lucien to quickly back track, but before he could get too far away. Tamlin wrapped his arms around his neck and crashed their lips together again. Laughing into his mouth, Lucien snaked the hand not fingering Tamlin open, around to the back of his neck. Holding onto him tightly. 

Eventually Tamlin got impatient. As they pulled away to gasp for breath, a string of saliva connecting their lips, he said, “Hurry up.”

Lucien, dazed, flushed and panting, just nodded. Falling to the same need crashing over them. Pleasure pulsed in hot waves through both their bodies, rolling through their cores as Lucien finally dragged his trousers over his hips. Grabbing both of Tamlin’s knees he pushed them up until he was able to push the tip of his hard, weeping cock to the High lord’s slickened entrance. 

The red head crashed over Tamlin again, kissing him desperately as he sank in. Wrapped in each other, limbs like knots. Kissing, sucking and moaning. Tamlin arched up, and Lucien wrapped his arms around his back, pressing them together. Sliding in until he bottomed out. They remained still for a moment, catching their breath as Tamlin adjusted to the feel. 

His chest rising and falling rapidly, Tamlin felt the strands of Lucien’s scarlet hair tickle his throat as he looked up. Opening his green eyes, Tamlin looked up to see Lucien not looking down at him but rather at the open window. 

“What are you-” Tamlin turned his head, and his breath hitched as his eyes went wide. 

The balstrode, the doors, climbing into the room like roots stretching out, where dozens of vines of bleeding hearts, flowering pink. Tamlin looked back up at Lucien who had turned to stare at him. 

Something wet like warm rain fell down the side of his eye and soaked the sheets below. Lucien whispered something that may have been his name but Tamlin couldn’t hear it properly to know. He just knew that the red head leaned down and pressed their lips together. This kiss wasn’t frantic or heady. Steady and chaste. Though setting his body as fire just as much, if not more. 

No words were spoken, Tamlin was glad for it, if he did speak he might break from the thick emotion surrounding them. Clouding his thoughts till they were a jumbled mess of memories and guilt. 

He wanted to just.. Float away from his body forever. 

Lucien seemed to think something similar, he didn’t even try to open his mouth to talk. But he did press another kiss to his lips. Then to his cheek, then down his neck. 

He pulled out just to the tip, then sank back in again. And all at once Tamlin was lost to bliss. 

The sun woke him up, warm and rich like golden syrup. It spread over his skin, casting him in the glow. Tamlin blinked against the rays. Shifting slightly as he tucked his foot back under the covers, freezing from being out. He sighed in content into the mass of chest his face was buried in. His arms around Lucien’s waist, and his around Tamlin’s back. 

Head rolling back, Tamlin started to untangle their legs carefully to stretch out the sore muscles. In the jostling somewhere, Lucien awoke. Tamlin watched as the male slowly came back to consciousness, amber eyes dimmed from sleep but growing brighter as the sun came up. The gold turning to something like liquid sunlight. Tamlin half smiled at the sight, for a moment basking in the glory of waking up like this. No matter how dirty the sheets were and how messy their skin was. This didn’t compare to anything. 

“Morning.” Tamlin rasped, his throat a little sore. All at once a headache popped in his skull and he groaned. It wasn’t too bad, but enough that he wanted a tonic for it. 

“Morning.” Lucien repeated. Pulling himself away from Tamlin, who nearly whined at the loss. 

Sitting up on the bed, propping himself against the headboard, Lucien looked down at Tamlin, “We going to talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Tamlin replied, half-dismissively. 

Lucien just raised an eyebrow and Tamlin folded. 

“I don’t want to lose you.” The golden male admitted, “it’s been torment not having you there at all.”

“You never lost me, Tam.” Lucien told him, “Never.”

“I fucked us up though.” He said. 

Luien shrugged, “A lot of what happened was circumstance and… other’s actions. But yeah, you did fuck a lot up.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Tamlin asked, “What do I need to do to get you back?”

Lucien smiled at the sheets over his lap, “Look at us Tam, you have me back.”

“I don’t deserve it though.”

“We both don’t deserve a lot. Besides,” Lucien looked over to the High lord, “You’ve more than paid the price. What other rock bottom could I ask you to hit?”

Shuffling up, Tamlin leaned against the headboard. Staring at the opposite wall. 

“There’s a lot of shit both of us need to deal with, Tam. We don’t have to get it all done in one morning.” Lucien reminded him. 

“I wish we could. I wish I could.” He whispered. 

Lucien reached out, his fingers brushing over Tamlin’s knuckles, before tangling their fingers together, “But we can’t, so we'll take it all one step at a time.”

Tamlin closed his eyes as he smiled, “One step at a time.”

Lucien hummed and rested his head on Tamlin’s shoulder. 

In that sacred, holy moment, something heavy and hateful just seemed to… disappear. Like all it took to get rid of it was the words they exchanged. 

Tamlin knew it was deeper than that. That last night they had reverted back to who they were before all this, just for a moment. He knew more than anyone they couldn’t live off that high forever. He had tried that with Feyre, and now look where it got him. 

His free hand moved to gently thread through waves of crimson. 

He’d take advantage of this, they’d both been living off of the high of pleasure for far too long. Now they would build something stronger than ever before, something that would withstand the test of time, magical bonds, evil Queen and Kings. 

They’d make something built off of love. Not from hedonistic highs.

“Bleeding hearts right?” Lucien murmured. 

“Hm?” Tamlin questioned, then Lucien pointed him once more in the direction of those flowering plants. 

Tamlin groaned and flopped down, causing Lucien to fall atop him. They both laughed suddenly. Lucien giggled, burying his face into Tamlin’s shoulder. 

Tamlin threw an arm over his eyes so he didn’t have to look at Lucien’s face. 

“What do they mean again?” Lucien mockingly questioned, “Wasn’t it… passionate love, and romance?”

Tamlin rolled his eyes, but moved them so Lucien’s head was laying on his bicep. And Tamlin’s fingers threaded through his hair once more, “Yes, and it can mean unrequited love and a broken heart.”

Lucien’s teasing smirk faded away into something like awe, his eyes beginning to line with tears. Tamlin smiled softly, his thumb reaching out to brush them away from his eyes. 

His fingers shinny with the drops, Tamlin held his hand between them, and whispered, “Then there’s camellias for love, adoration, longing, devotion and care.”

As he whispered the words, a pretty, perfect, pink camellia flower grew from the palm of his hand. Lucien’s eyes went wide with wonder, once again filling with tears that dripped down his face and onto the petals of the new bloom. 

Tamlin leaned over and brushed a kiss to his forehead, “I will try, I promise.”

“I love you.” Lucien whispered. 

“I love you.” Tamlin whispered back. As Lucien wrapped his hands around Tamlin’s holding the camellia and pressed their mouth together. 

Like young blooms in spring, unfurling the cold, misty mornings. Something rich and golden. Filled with immeasurable hedonistic pleasure, filled them both to the brim, spilling over like the wine of a glass. It ran over them like roots and vines held desperately to what they clung too. Like new plants finding their way into life. 

A perfect melding of hearts intertwined. Heavy, rich and luscious, with young, airy and abloom. 

Something so opposite, yet sliding together so easily. 

The mating bond did not ‘snap’ as the many stories went. It bloomed. 

@tamlinweek

[traumxrei-archive]

【 noble gentlemen; diasomnia 】

— or, the noble gentlemen series, in which the genre of the world is historical fantasy, and you and the twst boys are citizens of a distant magical land !

details: gn! reader, drabbles, can be read platonically or romantically, warning !! mention of blood (sebek) and drinking (lilia)

note: ahhh sorry for being so late on this one :'))) had a busy day or two and i didn't have time to edit n post this until now sjkfdjskf but i hope you enjoy this nonetheless <33

[ part two out of seven in the noble gentlemen series ]

Malleus Draconia. As a citizen of a kingdom he will one day inherit, it was only natural that you knew the crown prince's name. And while the crown prince had never made a public appearance, there were always those that spoke of his prowess in battle as well as his talent in magic. Though the descriptions of him varied, everyone agreed on two things: that the crown prince was a cold and untouchable existence, and he had the characteristic horns of the royal bloodline.

So it happened to shock you when you were taking a nighttime stroll near the palace to see a young man leap over the castle walls.

Startlingly green eyes met yours and you quickly turned to walk away when you heard his voice calling to you, "Wait! I...did not mean to startle you." You looked at him once more, taking in his...horns. Could he be...? No, but what crown prince walked around wearing a simple white shirt and training pants?

He seemed to follow your gaze, scratching the back of his head, "Ah, please don't think badly of me, it gets a little stuffy at the palace after all." He took a few steps forward, a kind smile on his face, "My name is...Mal. Would you let me join you on your stroll?" You agreed to his request.

You guessed that he was some sort of knight in training who snuck out to have fun in the city. And from the way knights trained without rest, you couldn't blame him. Thus started your nightly strolls with the mysterious Mal.

———

Mal was very fascinated by old architecture. He would spend countless hours of your nightly strolls scrutinizing different buildings around the city. He had them all memorized, from the techniques to create the intricate plastering of the Grand Theater, to the way gargoyles are meticulously carved from stone by hand. Much to his delight, you had snuck him over to your estate to see its exterior.

"Your house has simply magnificent gargoyles," He said mirthfully, and it was the most excited that you had seen Mal since you met him. “They will keep the walls nice and clean. And they look a tad bit fearsome don’t they?” You agreed and he chuckled, “They will surely scare away anyone with potential bad intentions, don’t you think?” You…never really thought of it like that. Since then, you made sure to greet the gargoyles whenever you left, thinking of Mal’s words from that night.

———

Mal had surprisingly childish tastes. You assumed it was so when you two had brought ice cream, of all things, on a particularly chilly night. But your hypothesis was proven correct when you brought a tin of cookies to one of your nightly outings. Mal's eyes glittered as you explained that you baked them by yourself the day before. 

"It is an honor to eat something made by your hand," Mal gave a wide smile before demolishing all the cookies in one sitting. It was actually quite impressive. You made a mental note to give him more cookies next time. Clearly, a knight's diet deprived him of indulging in sweet foods.

———

Mal...was very popular in the city. He was especially popular with the guards. You had to curse your luck as another guard chased the two of you around a corner. This was happening more and more often recently, but you didn’t understand why. And suddenly, you were weightless. There was a hand at the small of your back, and you looked back to see a secretive smile on the man’s face.

"Apologies, it seems that a bit of magic was needed for that escape," Mal murmured into your ear as you two all but flew over the night sky. The view was breathtaking, but your mind nagged you with a different question: who was Mal really? Would guards really chase a fellow knight through the city so frantically? Was the Mal who was capable of such magic feats really just a simple knight? Or was your first guess of him being the crown prince…really true?

The Captain of the Knights Order was quite a lofty position, and it came with lots of fame. As the ones responsible for the safety of the city as well as the crown prince, there was no question that the name “Lightning Commander Silver” was always met with awe and fondness whenever it was spoken by the citizens of the kingdom. You had always quietly cheered on the Knights Order during the festival, content with being able to support them from afar. But what you weren’t expecting was to accidentally meet the Captain himself.

It was during a lively festival that you first met him; under a tree near the outskirts. Silver hair befitting his namesake, and a relaxed expression as birds frolicked around him. It almost looked like a scene out of a painting. You had faintly remembered that the Captain of the Knights Order was amongst the festival goers but...that wasn't really him, right? And it reminded you of the Vice Captain that was busy yelling around to find “Silver”...so maybe this really was him.

Without thinking about it, you called out to him. The man woke up languidly, as if he knew that you posed no real threat to him. "Hmm...who might you be?" Silver blinked. "Ah, I must've fallen asleep. Sebek's going to get worried... Thank you for waking me." You informed him that the Vice Captain was, in fact, looking for him and helped him straighten up his clothes as you walked back to the festival.

He paused before entering the glittering hall, "Allow me to repay the favor for you in some way." There was conviction in those eyes of his that told you refusal wasn't an option. You swallowed, giving him your word. This was the first time you met the sleepy yet kind Captain of the Knights Order.

———

Sir Silver was good with animals. That was the only way you could explain it, with how animals seemed to flock to him in interest. This proved especially troublesome when your favor to him was to have him help with your garden. It wasn’t long before animals started emerging from the woods, intrigued and overall smitten by the presence of the confused and exasperated knight.

"...I apologize for all the chaos," Silver mumbled bashfully, eyeing the various birds perched on his shoulders as well as the critters now running amok in your garden. "I've only caused you more trouble, haven't I?" You shook your head. It was more than delightful to see so many animals roaming your garden without fear. And besides, watching how eager each creature was to be with Silver was slightly funny.

———

Sir Silver was talented at sleeping. It seemed that the man could fall asleep anywhere and at any time he so wished. Even at the times  he didn't expect. Once, you were watching him watering the flowerbed before he stumbled head-first into a wall. You had immediately dropped your book in horror, rushing over to the knight’s aid.

He winced when you cleaned his wound, "...It's a bad habit of mine, to fall asleep at unfortunate times. I’m trying to fix it but it still happens when I get too relaxed..." You couldn't really get mad at him for something he was working hard to prevent. But you were happy to hear that he was more comfortable around you now.

———

As a Knight, it was impossible not to take part in things such as sword fighting competitions. Silver, being the chosen representative of your kingdom, had invited you to come and watch. You came to watch, your curiosity getting the best of you as you had always wondered what Silver would look like when he was in his usual habitat. As his sword clashed with his opponent’s you couldn’t help but think that Silver suited the title of Captain of the Knights Order even more.

You couldn’t get his serious expression out of your head, even as he approached you, “...Is there something on my face, perhaps?” You shook your head, explaining how you thought that the nickname "Lightning Commander" fit him very well.

“...Hmm, I hope it hasn’t startled you,” Silver ducked his head. “Being a knight is my purpose first and foremost after all.” And with that, you found yourself growing a newfound respect for Silver. When he was spending time with you, he was a gentleman, but when it came to his knight duties, you could see his dedication. You thought that Sir Silver was admirable in that way.

Sir Sebek Zigvolt, nicknamed the nation's "Thunder Blade". He was the Vice-Captain of the Knights Order and was famously— or was it infamously?— known for his deep loyalty and admiration towards the Crown Prince. He was also known for his distinctively loud tone of voice, or so people said. And you definitely felt the power of his voice when you first met him.

You were wandering the streets when someone suddenly grabbed your bag and took off. You froze for a moment before starting to give the thief a chase.

That was, until a loud voice almost knocked both you and the thief onto your backs, "YOU! THE THIEF RIGHT THERE! What gives you the right to disturb public order on a day that his Highness has deemed beautiful!"

You watched as the green-haired knight hoisted the thief into the air, throwing him into a pile of straw like it was nothing. The thief seemed to quiver in his boots as the knight picked up your bag.

You thanked the knight and he just scoffed, "Hmph, humans are always so defenseless... Be more vigilant! As a knight of my stature won't be available all the time!" You nodded, wide-eyed, at his words and before you could ask for his name he was gone. From the whispers of the people around you, you realized that you had been saved by the Vice-Captain of the Knights Order, Sir Sebek Zigvolt.

———

The next fateful meeting between you and Sir Sebek was surprisingly at a library. You finally found the book that you were looking for, and just as you were about to grab a step ladder to get it, you saw a hand slipping the very volume you wanted off the shelf.

You turned around, fully ready to complain when a boisterous tone greeted you, "Hmm...so you're interested in this type of literature." You shut your mouth, still confused as to why Sebek was there in the first place.

"It sounds interesting," He said, before finally handing the book to you. "Could I borrow it after you're done reading?" You nodded, still confused as he followed you back to where you were reading. You were even more confused when he pulled out his own book and started reading— but oh well. He wasn't exactly disturbing you. And it was rather nice having a reading buddy.

——— 

Even if you liked silently reading with Sir Zigvolt, you were still curious about him. Whenever you asked questions, he would always respond with short answers or, his favorite, 'You humans shouldn't be so concerned.' So one day you mustered up the courage to ask him about his rumored favorite person: the crown prince.

Sebek had a proud grin on his face as he talked, "His highness is the most magnificent person! He is kind and considerate, and he has very refined tastes too." It was the most you had heard Sebek talk. Ever.

And he even had more to say, "He advises us on many things, though he seemed to have a hobby of sneaking out nowadays… Naturally, I carve his every word and command into my heart."

You laughed softly at his enthusiasm and Sebek immediately flushed, "H-HUMAN! Do not laugh at a great knight such as I! You were the one that inquired about his Highness—!!" Your ears were going to need to get checked after that outburts... But still, it was nice to see how human Sir Zigvolt was, especially when faced with his favorite conversation topic.

———

Sir Sebek took his duties as a knight very seriously. Once you had approached him while he was patrolling and he had scolded you lightly for it. 'I'm here for the safety of the citizens. We can talk when I have free time, human.'

So when you spotted the telltale green of his hair, you opted not to approach him. Well that was, until you saw someone directing a hateful glare toward him. You moved as soon as you saw a glint of something sharp. You knew it was stupid. You were sure that Sebek could defend against the attack better than you could. But you still pushed the knight away.

"H-human!" Sebek was rightfully startled, before his eyes hardened at the way the blood was trickling down your arm. "You're bleeding... They will pay for this." You clutched at the wound as Sebek drew his sword. There was a fearsome expression on his face as he fought. It wasn't long before he struck, using the flat side of his sword to finally subdue the culprit.

You gulped as Sebek turned to you, a crease between his brows, "HUMAN! Y-YOU ARE STILL BLEEDING! I need to take you to Master Lilia so he can make sure you are alright! And that was foolish–!" You yelled his name as loud as you could, trying to cease his very-loud ranting, lest a crowd started to form around the two of you.

"You...did you just call me Sebek?" He blinked, and you belatedly realized that you forgot to address him by his title. "Well, it's alright, really, but—!! WE NEED A MEDIC!" And after dragging you all the way to the royal clinic, watching the doctor intently as they patched up your arm, Sir Sebek...no, Sebek, finally calmed down.

When talking about the name Vanrouge, one's mind would immediately conjure up the famed war hero of the history books. Once the Queen's most esteemed commander, Vanrouge had disappeared a multitude of years ago. And now, the name Vanrouge was tied to someone different entirely: the Crown Prince's adviser, Lilia Vanrouge. He was quick-witted and knowledgable, and always had a relaxed and regal air when you saw him at public events. And he was well-suited to be the crown prince’s adviser.

The very same adviser that you accidentally spilled your drink all over one fateful night at the bar. You looked at the stain seeping into his shirt in horror while the man in front of you laughed.

"Don't look so pale," He had grabbed a spare towel. "I don't look angry, right?" You nodded and the man brought a hand to his chin, a mischievous smile on his face, "Hey, how about we have a few drinks on you as compensation? My name is Lilia Vanrouge, a pleasure to meet you."

Your head snapped up at his introduction. In the darkness of the bar, it was hard to see his face properly, but now that you were looking at him… You felt faint. You really did coincidentally meet Lilia Vangrouge. Thus started the unconventional relationship between you and the Crown Prince's trusted adviser.

———

Lilia was a lot more free-spirited than you expected. You thought that the life of an adviser would be filled with busy meetings and events, but… He often indulged in street performances and ran around looking for more to entertain himself with. Sometimes he would take your hand, spinning the both of you into a dizzying folk dance.

"See? Isn't it lots of fun?" Lilia's pink hair seemed to glow, especially under the streetlights. "It is nice to be young and the day is still young, so let us play some more." That day, you "played" till your legs hurt and your back ached. But there was a smile on your face so wide that you couldn't bring yourself to be mad at the man.

———

Lilia bore a surprising resemblance to the war hero Vanrouge. You noticed it when you happened to pass by one of Vanrouge's statues in the middle of a grand plaza. You couldn't really pinpoint what it was, but they both had the same…air about them...

Lilia must've noticed your staring because he chuckled, "So you also think I look like that old man? But I do have to say, aren't I a picturesque view of youthfulness? Surely I don't look a day over one hundred?" After a few more prods, you ended up complimenting Lilia's youthful looks in deadpan, all while Lilia puffed out his chest. You questioned to yourself whether or not this man really advised the crown prince whenever he acted like this.

———

When festivals came around, Lilia would always lead the Prince's carriage on horseback. The Lilia you saw was a far cry from the troublemaking prankster you usually spent your time with. Formal wear adorned Lilia's body, and he led the horse with one hand as the other waved regally at the citizens.

When he found you after the parade, he had a big smile on his face, "How was it? I was cool, right?" You clammed up slightly.  Seeing him up close was definitely different from seeing him from the crowd."Oh, come on," Lilia pouted and you wondered how many people were staring at the Lilia Vanrouge walking amongst the citizens. "All I wanted was one little compliment from you." Instead of boosting his ego, you promised to buy him a treat from a stall when he was done with his duties. That seemed to satisfy the man and he left you to deal with the people coming up to you asking how you knew the Crown Prince's adviser. What a headache.

[ bonus : how do these gentlemen know each other ? ]

— Lilia and Malleus shared a master-apprentice relationship, however they also consider each other as family. Lilia has been looking after Malleus ever since he was a youngling, so Malleus sees Lilia as a father-figure of sorts.

— Meanwhile in the Knights Order, Silver is the Captain and Sebek is the Vice Captain. Their nicknames are "Thunder Blade" and "Lightning Commander" respectively, because like lightning and thunder, one is rarely seen without the other in battle. This also speaks to their amazing compatibility in terms of power; with Silver's fighting style relying on speed and technique while Sebek's relies on sheer strength and offensive ability.

— Lilia is still Silver's legal guardian! He picked up Silver as a child from the woods, and has been raising him ever since. Although he never forced Silver to learn the sword, Silver long became curious seeing Lilia's old sword collection hanging around their house.

— "Okay, but is Lilia really not Vanrouge, the war hero?" As Lilia would say, he can vouch that he is very young and cute! But if he was to answer honestly, he would say that "One should never reveal all of one's past...it takes away from the mysterious charm, fufufu~"

— Sebek and Silver initially met as children. Silver followed Lilia around when he was younger, and he would often wait in empty drawing rooms for Lilia to be done with work. Meanwhile, Sebek was the son of an influential Dukedom. One day when Lilia was supposed to be taking care of Young Master Zigvolt, he introduced him to Silver instead, saying, "Children should play with each other and be merry!"

— If you're curious, their first meeting went something like this:

Sebek: You! Which family do you hail from! I am Sebek from the Zigvolt Dukedom!

Silver: ...Uhm, I'm Silver. And I think that Father's last name is Vanrouge...

Sebek: V-Vanrouge? Like the war hero?

Silver: Maybe..?

Sebek: How ignorant not to know of the great war hero Vanrouge! Here, let me tell you about him—

[ they instantly became friends because of their love for knights and heroes ]

— (Yes, Sebek's idol before he was introduced to Malleus Draconia's existence was, in fact, the war hero of old, Vanrouge. He still has books about Vanrouge and all sorts of paraphernalia in his childhood room.)

— Malleus started sneaking out of the palace after he figured out that he could boost himself over the wall with magic. And that he could easily cloak himself from the magic sensors by reducing his magical output to zero once he reached the apex— basically, he figured out a way to sneak out and has been doing it a lot more often. Much to the exasperation of Sebek and Silver, who are tasked to guard his room nightly.

— (If you're wondering what Lilia thought about all this...he thought that Malleus was going through his rebellious phase and that it's okay as long as he doesn't get caught by the guards outside the palace.)

thanks for reading ! if you'd like to see more, check out my masterlist, or the rest of the noble gentlemen series >:DD

[loiladadiani]

"In St. Petersburg we work, but at Livadia, we live."

Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna

In 1909, Nikolay Krasnov, who was responsible for the Yousupoff Palace in Koreiz, was engaged to design a new imperial palace in Livadia (before that, there had been an imperial residence in Livadia consisting of a large and a small palace used by Alexander II and later by Alexander III, who died at the smaller residence.) When Nicholas II decided to build the new palace, he also demolished the older residence but left the small palace where his father died.

The Tsar's diary indicates that the Imperial Family discussed the design; it was decided that all four façades of the palace should look different. After 17 months of construction, the new palace was inaugurated on 11 September 1911. In November, Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna celebrated her 16th birthday at Livadia.

The family was always the happiest at Livadia.

One of the Tsar's "motors" at Livadia. If you look carefully, you can see the "side of the palace" where the car is parked and the main entrance in both the contemporary colored and black and white photos.

Above is the beautiful Italian Courtyard of the palace as it stands today. If you look at pictures taken when the Romanovs used the palace, the centerpiece of the courtyard was different. Today, there is a fountain at the center. Examining the older pictures (below), you can see that there seemed to be what I can only describe as a "well" at the center of the courtyard. There was a column on each side of the well. In one of the photos below, you can see Grand Duke Dmitry Pavlovich; he had his own rooms at the Livadia Palace.

Nicholas II and his family were so at ease at Livadia that they also conducted some minor official functions in addition to family activities. When the family went to Livadia, they usually went as far as Yalta by sea; it is easy to infer that the official activities they conducted were related to the crew of the Standart. In addition, at the time, it was believed that mountain air and rest could cure tuberculosis, and there were several spas and sanatoria in the mountains in the area. The Empress and the girls visited the sick there (they also participated in other charitable activities.)

The Yousupov family gifted the beautiful door above to Nicholas and Alexandra. The painting next to it is from a beautiful book by Kravnov ("Fiftieth Anniversary of Yalta"), who worked on the palace's design (and on that of the Crimean summer residences of several Grand Dukes.) The window is also featured in the painting.

The "solarium" seems to have been a very popular area. Nicholas and his children preferred the outdoors, and Livadia seemed to provide the Empress with the perfect environment to get sun and fresh air in comfort regardless of her many ailments.

This is the "Moorish" courtyard of the palace. It is small, but notice the exquisite tilework on the walls. And, of course, the little balcony between the windows seemed perfect to Alexis for him to "address" his family.

The palace had a chapel so that the Romanov family could worship in privacy.

A few of the interiors of the palace. The chandelier is Murano Glass (amazing that it survived all these years.) Olga's coming-of-age celebration took place in Livadia in the formal dining room in the photograph above, dancing spilling into the flower-perfumed courtyard. That is a luxury of the type you cannot buy! The girls' rooms are currently being restored. There are pictures of the rooms as they were, but I was not sure they were from Livadia, so I did not include them.

Finally, some photos of the "Tsar's Path" (or Sunny Path), which exists to this day (it goes from Livadia Park to the city of Gaspra.) The family loved to walk this path (regardless of its name, it is not sunny but pleasantly breezy). This path is on one level so that anybody can walk it, regardless of their cardiovascular status. I have read two stories about how it "emerged," and as usual, the truth is probably in the middle. First story: The new Livadia Palace did not exist yet, but the Romanovs used the old palace and always loved coming to Livadia. Alexander III kept gaining weight, and his doctor recommended that he walk but not overdo it...so Alexander had the path leveled. The path's beginning and end differed from what they would be later. Second Story: Sandro had the path from Ay Todor toward Livadia built because Nicholas and Sandro's families always visited each other (they started calling it the Prince's Path.) Nicholas loved the idea and extended the path.

Today, the main path remains, and other routes to other small towns can be hiked from it. Many of the same benches and sculptures are where they were at the time of the Romanovs.

Just one last photo. Here, you can see how close the palace is to the mountains and the sea. A beautiful big house full of fresh air and light with flowers perfuming the air. No wonder Olga liked it so much! (gcl)

[drwcn]

I have a question about the Imperial concubine system. Where did they all *live*? In cdramas the consorts are always depicted as masters of their own palaces (at least in the ones I've seen), but not *every* concubine would merit such a thing, nor could there be enough space, so where did they live? Did lower-ranked concubines live in the same palace as a high-ranked one? Did they live together in one palace and only supervise their own apartments?

Hi friend,

Hmm, the answer is they all lived in the Forbidden City (for the Qing and Ming dynasty). I think people underestimate just how big the Forbidden City actually is. I remember when my granddad took me there as a teenager, it took me 3 hours to walk through it from north to south, and I only briefly glimpsed about 40% of the palace because at least half of it was under repair/maintenance and also used as government/military offices now.

There's a saying in Chinese: 后宫佳丽三千, which roughly translated to the harem has three THOUSAND beauties. This is of course an exaggeration, but the palace is designed to house A LOT of people. I think if you watch Empress in the Palace, you'll notice not every concubine has their own "court", aka an enclosed property contained within a courtyard, as part of the over all palace. This "court" could called a "gong" 宫, a "yuan" 苑, a "ge" 阁 etc, determined mostly based on their size and who lives in it.

An empress or a consort of high station will live within a "gong". Now the gong is not one singular building. As you propably have seen in harem dramas, particularly of the Qing or Ming dynasty, Chinese "houses" are not very big, in and of itself, but what makes a court big is that it has a lot of houses that make up one court. Typically, a gong is headed up by a consort of a certain station. Concubines of lesser stations may not have their own own court but live within the court of a higher consort. The main consort of each court will live within the main building of the court, and if she had lower concubines living under her juridiction, they will occupy a smaller side building.

The buildings you see in dramas like Story of Kunning Palace, Story of Yanxi Palace, Empresses in the Palace, are all in the design of the Forbidden City in Beijing, which served as the royal palace for the majority of the Ming dynasty, and all of the Qing dynasty until the early 20th century when the Qing dynasty dissolved. It is not actually filmed in the Forbidden City. Most shows are shot in man-made film cities built for the tv and movie purposes. These are replica buildings designed to look almost identical to the layman's eye to the actual thing.

I highly encourage people to actually visit it; it is very cool. Although..I will warn you that the "south front" of the Forbidden City, which is also its grand main entrance, opens up to... Tianmen Square.

[weavewithshadow]

fitted claws.

dark urge/gortash, rated M

Welcome to another Velkynverse™ fic! Where I write my Dark Urge in first-person and write Gortash as "you" throughout, for the soulmate energy of it all.

synopsis: The Tadfools enter the Szarr Palace — but after skulking at Astarion's insistence, they are oh-so-politely directed to the main attraction: a masquerade ball hosted by the vampire himself. To their collective dismay, Szarr is not the only viper in this den, and Enver Gortash is still keen to provide answers to every one of his Bhaalist's questions.

But that's not all he offers.

The Banite can't be the only one with claws in their "collegial business partnership and definitely nothing more," after all.

Oh, and why is Velkyn's name mentioned as 'A'ryin Syv'? wouldn't you like to know!

content warnings: depictions of light violence, mentions of heavier violence, canon-typical violence, implied/referenced canon abuse, manipulation i guess??? but it's gortash. what did we expect?

read on ao3!

The Szarr Palace twists writhing knots in my core long before an attendant takes Astarion by the elbow and guides us merrily to its main event. At his request, we sidestep the splendor at first, dodging the wary glances of the staff to pore over his old dormitory. The worst and most bloodied chambers. His home. His shame.

It’s impossible not to hear the buzz of the grand hall from all corners of the palace — but I watch the hope leave his eyes, hope he’d just kindled by wrenching Godey’s bones apart, the moment mention of it leaves the servant’s lips.

That we’re all in delicate finery worsens the feeling.

I know how suppressed terror looks on Astarion’s face: I’ve seen him roused from the nightmares he won’t mention, injured enough that tortuous sleep is what he needs to mend. I see it through the holes of this damnable mask: a slip of black fabric adorned with silver filigrees, a high arc of lace to disguise the scars on my brow. Cumbersome at best, it scratches enough that the Urge prickles under my skin, clawing for release the same way as words stuck in the throat.

The others are more at home than I. Gale and Shadowheart follow just behind Astarion, unabashedly arm-in-arm, visions of swirling Weave and silver moonlight. Wyll and Karlach walk with their knuckles brushing, though they do make an attempt to play the part of patriar and faithful guard, clad in the same stunning abyssal black. Lae’zel is the only one at the rear of the group with me, her lips pressed thin, itching at her indigo suit jacket.

She doesn’t speak to me, nor I to her. Instead, I watch the halls we pass in reverse, letting my mind wander in ways it did not on our way in.

Instead of Astarion’s lodgings, his prolonged torment, I wonder if I ever bore witness to some part of it. If I ever walked these halls, and if I wore some shape he wouldn’t have known. If a mask was on my face, or if I cavorted here without pretense. If I knew what was happening — as I seemed to know every dismal churn of these streets — and reveled in it.

Every shadowed corner I find in this city, a pair of eyes light in recognition that I don’t share. How many here will set their eyes upon me tonight like hunters on prey?

The attendant leads us to towering doors, surprising no one, and takes Astarion’s hand in theirs. He wrenches away, but they tighten their hold.

“Your ring, sir.”

“I don’t have a —“

“Please, sir. You were seen pilfering the chests. Allow me to place it on your finger, per the Master’s request.”

The Master. I watch from a distance as the title curls Astarion’s lip, baring fangs. The rest of him is unnaturally still, without the need for breath.

“Fine.”

With unnecessary decorum, the attendant makes a show of bowing while he slips the ring on Astarion’s left little finger. Astarion snatches his hand away — successfully this time — and lays it against the seal.

Then the attendant speaks in words I cannot fathom, reading from Astarion’s invitation. Crimson blazes to life in runes around the seal, and another ring around that, until spirals of red arc up the towering doors’ entirety. They unlatch of their own accord, a deep groaning mechanism inside the wood, and swing open with somehow grandiose slowness.

A sea of black awaits inside. The theme of the evening is Nightfall. Aside from Gale and Shadowheart, who took liberties with what colors exist in the night sky, the crowds are a tide of shimmering void and rich violet, splashes of silver and gold punctuating the dark. The surrounding architecture matches them: dark stone pillars veined with putrid green and dull gold; ornate designs etched in the floor, difficult to make out under quick-moving feet

One figure stands in striking red embroidery, a bloodbath of rubies stitched into the lapels of his long coat. His mask, a simple piece of black cloth, is sewn so its underside resembles a row of fanged teeth. Astarion freezes, but Cazador Szarr does not catch sight of him from his place on a dark dais at the rear of the room, his attentions occupied. Whatever he says, smirking, is swallowed by the nearby musicians. One other stands next to him and listens, flanked by guards several steps to each side, fine wires elaborately woven into midnight blue fabric to resemble a network of sparkling electric constellations set over pale skin and slicked black hair.

Karlach is next to freeze, shoulders tensed. Wyll lays a hand on her arm, shattering the illusion of patriar and guard.

“Motherfucker,” she snarls. “Tell me that isn’t —“

But it is.

It’s you.

And you’ve spotted us entering.

“Karlach, darling, breathe — with me, all right?” Wyll strafes in front of her, the gold breadth of his mask glinting from the arcane lights strewn around the room. He lays hands on her shoulders because it is safe, because he can, because it is one of the only things to keep her heat at bay. “He won’t come to us, and we won’t go to him. Not tonight.”

“I need him to know. That I’m —” Her voice chokes out before the word comes. Dying.

And I knew that you bargained her away. Of course I knew. I had to have done.

Shadowheart turns in front of me, a dazzle of silver. She moves past Wyll and Karlach, a vision of serenity, lifting a hand to hover near Astarion’s cheek. It should be me, I should have his hand in mine as he’s taken the Urge’s hand in his — I should tether him to something in this tempest.

But I stop looking at him, because you are looking at me.

I can’t breathe, pinned under the weight of your stare. I wonder if I ever could.

It doesn’t matter, because I push into motion before I can dwell any longer. Better to collect my thoughts, bury the Urge deeper in my chest, before daring to open my mouth. Astarion is in capable hands — ones sounder than mine, less liable to slice.

And I will return. That, we promised: that the dawn would always come after the night’s worst cruelty, and we seven would survive ‘til the next night and the next. That we would always make our ways back to each other.

The dance’s tempo changes, and the tide of dancers twirl and shift direction. I gulp in a breath and duck into their foray, half a plan alight in my racing mind.

It’s a skill I found — relearned — not a tenday ago. But when I touched upon it again, it was as natural as breath: a pull in, a gathering of Weave, and an exhale moving through me. Not just from full lungs to heady air, but a shiver down every nerve.

A shudder, and I can shed my skin. There is a comfort in it, an embrace in reverse — from the confines of one cage to brief and electric freedom before the next shape takes hold.

I do not move along with the partnered pairs. I weave through their sea, avoiding the crush of bodies, putting the tide of twirling dancers between myself and the others. On its other side, I am human: the best I could muster while still fitting into the garment I’m stuck in, a small chest and subtle hips. It’s my face that’s different behind the mask: I have to keep the same angle to my nose and cheeks to hold the mask aloft, but my skin is peach-pale, not ashen-violet. I tug the band out of my hair and let new strands, blue-black, fall in a wave down these new shoulders.

With luck, that’ll create enough of a new silhouette to buy myself time. Time to find my breath. To gain some ground between myself and —

You. The sharp scents of your cologne and spilled ink flood my nostrils the instant before your hand closes around my wrist.

The Urge reviles your touch. It bares my teeth. I tug back, but your thumb arcs hard over the base of my palm, confounding the instinct to rid you of your hand.

I can’t spill your blood. Not here, in this den of vipers, when just one of them must die. When we won’t have the chance if I strike first.

“Don’t touch me,” I force out. Meek.

With a single backward glance, you shine a cutting smile down at this human shape. You angle us seamlessly toward the dancers in the same motion, and their current pulls us in.

I would pull a different current from my core and push it into yours. I would char the meat still on your bones, sear your heart in its last beats —

Your hand lands on my hip, the sharp points of your gauntlet needling the unarmored flesh there. The other snares my fingers in your palm.

“This is no place for your urges, assassin,” you mutter, insistent strides setting our pace.

My crimson-clotted vision centers on our feet. My legs move back when yours drive forward, hardly a second out of place — until I blink, and your toe knocks mine.

“Focus.” Rougher, now.

My eyes snap up, and yours smolder like stoked coals. There is a knowing glint to your stare, behind the mask.

“You couldn’t possibly have seen,” I argue. “I was quick. Silent.”

“You were.” This only quirks your lips up, shifting the scar on your chin. “Just as you used to be.”

“You —” A turn, and suddenly we are sidestepping together, the needle-points of your gauntlets dragging an inch. My hand claws your shoulder, half for balance and half to leave a bruise. “You followed me. Like prey.”

“Please. Who do you think taught you this dance?” Another turn; we’re rounding the circular dance floor, one pair in a ring of many. The gold ornamenting your arms, embroidered in your lapels, catches the light of every ornate chandelier. “It wasn’t Ravengard’s boy, surely.”

Your coat — this is the first time I’ve caught you without that coat. Your metal armguards are under a finely-made jacket to match Nightfall. Its gold stitching is laid over midnight fabric that is not perfectly black — this close, its faint traces of blue are just barely softer. Just barely warmer.

I jolt when your callused fingers move over my hand, breaking your firm grasp to twine with mine. When I look back, your burgeoning smile curves to a wicked grin.

“Tell me, dear Bhaalist,” you bend to purr near my ear, “Did you ever let the devil close enough to touch you?”

Your breath rolls down my neck and I keep my spine stiff, only to shudder elsewhere. The gossamer-thin fabric of this garment does nothing to protect from your firmer clutch into my hip. I tilt under your guidance, bending into you, despising your heat. I revile you, I will sew regret into your bones — until you use your grip to turn us, then relent.

“I am no Bhaalist.” I press my lips thin, waiting for you to flinch, but you don’t. You haven’t yet. “I did not choose this.”

You should sneer. You don’t.

“I never could pin you as just one thing, no matter my efforts,” you admit, like it’s no secret. As if reading the thought, you turn your eyes up to scan the room before returning them to mine. “But until you show your sister as much, it is what they will call you in places like these.”

The tempo increases. You twist us around so I am on the backstep. My legs threaten to falter. These boots — they are not mine. These tights do not move the way I wish. And if I fall, capturing the whole room’s attention?

“This is ludicrous,” I spit. “End this charade.”

Your hold tightens, raking heat down my core. “No.”

“There is no reason for it. If you want to talk, then —”

“And have your allies take note?” Your fingertips graze up to the small of my back. “You know how to do this. Breathe, and let go of your own weight.”

“You think I’ve forgotten my own breath, Banite?”  I didn't expect to end on the last word, and the feel of it on my tongue throws my focus. The Urge claws for my speaking-chords, threatening a growl until your subdued laugh eclipses the sound. Barely a whisper, like you clamp down the noise.

Then, you lift — just enough that your gauntlet indents my hip, stinging up my side, and just enough that my feet lift, too. Lightning crackles in my veins, and the air of the storm within me keeps me aloft. Your movements turn conniving: you take our twined hands and parade me around you in what almost resembles an elaborate spin.

My feet find stone for a second, and then they lose it, never more than a few inches away. Around me, you move faster, a technically flawless endeavor.

The coals of your eyes never leave mine. You are waging war, you are challenging me in every second your stare holds, you are begging to be torn apart.

And not once do you cower. Did I ever make you cower?

Did I ever want to?

The song peaks, and then silence falls after its last striking chord. My feet touch the ground, and your gauntlet leaves my hip to hook under my elbow. We share a wordless debate: I tug and you groan, you slice another look down and pull me away from a passerby’s hips that would have knocked bruisingly against mine. You take us further away from where I entered, using the shift of the parting crowds as cover.

I don’t know when it is I that takes the lead as we find the far edge of the crowd, hidden from the entry and the dais. I don’t know when you become content to follow. Only that you resume your stance, angling so it is your back to the crowd when we slow.

You part from me, delving into a pocket of your jacket. My pulse ratchets faster — something in me begs, begs, to run.

The Urge takes that part, snaps it in twain, and hones in on you. My muscles prime themselves to lunge, not flee. Never flee. Not until you are burnt worse than the figment from my dreams. Not until you cannot move at all.

My jaw spasms when you look back up. For a second, your facade falls away, and you watch me in earnest: lips parted, openly wary.

“This doesn’t have to be you.”

I know, stays stuck in my throat, trapped on my unwilling tongue. And yet I am made of nothing else.

I clench my fists and grit my teeth, warring to banish what cannot ever be held at bay for long.

Something glints in your hand. It’s easier to turn my focus down.

Ten little baubles rest in it, all metal-worked silver. Ten rings, ten sets of chains, ten intricately adorned claws, shining in the dazzling light. All freshly polished. All perfectly intact.

You clear your throat, and your hand flexes almost imperceptibly, the barest close of your fingers. I’d have missed it in a blink.

“These were yours.”

Mine. The word should mean something. Like every other play you’ve arranged, some answer should stir in me. You watch me expectantly through your glimmering mask, waiting for something I cannot give you. Something more specific than the heat blooming across my collar, the twisting of my viscera, or the looming dread snagging in my chest.

Anything — anything — we once shared. But only darkness remains, chasms where my life should be.

And you could fill them with honeyed words.

“You know I can’t…” My lips press thin. You start forward — and even when I jerk back, you grasp my hand, firm only for a split second. Then, the warmth of your palm cups underneath: my knuckles the prize in one of your hands, and the baubles the prize in the other. I swallow, lifting my eyes to stomach your gaze again. “This could be a lie.”

Your answer comes too easily, a question unto itself. “Then why don’t we try them on for size?”

“No.”

“Why?” Your thumb closes over the meat of my palm when I try to retract. Your grin might as well be fanged. “Careful, Bhaalist: presentation is everything in dens like this one.”

I take the inside of my lip between my teeth until blood’s saccharine taste coats my tongue. “This is not my normal shape,” I manage tightly. “You don’t know they’ll fit these hands.”

This time, your eyes fall, and the press of your thumb bends along the scarred breadth of my palm. “You never changed your hands,” you counter, stabbing-soft. “Not enough to alter your grip. Not enough to unbalance your blades.”

“And what will your den of vipers think if you adorn them?” I swallow the rest — what will the others think, if I am found caught in this viper’s coil — and you smile in my silence.

“I’d raise more brows if I weren’t doing something like this.”

“Just how many did you court?”

“Court? No.” You wait for my face to change, and it doesn’t. Eventually, you relent. “In time, most people on my arm were you behind the veil. This shape, however. This is new.”

You pick one of the widest claw-and-ring sets from your hand, minding my eyes while you slip it on. You watch me like a tamer studies their beast, equal parts proud and prey. You suffer the twitch in my hand and pretend it isn’t there.

“Why are you doing this?” There is too much grating in my voice. I want not to hinge on the answer. “Why an offering? Why now?”

I want to turn and run from whatever is about to fall from your lips as much as I want to find refuge in the known. I want to leave you and never look back. I want to stay until a whole lifetime pours from your mouth.

You fix your attention on fitting the next claw to the opposite middle finger, and something solemn crosses you. Something that makes me stamp down the itch to hook these claws in your tendons, one by one.

“They’ll give you an edge.”

The world tilts on its axis. An edge.

“You know why we came.”

“Of course I know.”

“Then you — you meant to pluck me from the others. You are here because I am their edge. And if I do not turn back — gods, I will take this knife you hold to my neck, this invisible and wretched thing, and I will —”

“If I wanted you dead,” you say, slow and deliberate, “You would be dead.”

I want to wrench my hand from you. I want to lash these claws — four now — through your throat. I want never to see you again, to turn and run until the world is painted red with all blood but yours. Because I don’t know what to do with yours.

You don’t snare me. No fight comes. The red fades from my periphery.

“He is your ally.”

“He is.”

“Then why…” I trail off, watching you fasten the eighth claw. I am dexterous enough to fasten them alone. There was never a doubt, but you infringe on the act with your persistent touch. I scan for prying eyes to distract from this revulsion, praying not to find any I recognize.

“I’ve made arrangements.”

My attention snaps back. “What arrangements?”

Ten claws fastened, and you offer me your arm in earnest. “I’ve worked around these things before, Bhaalist.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Always the demands, with you and your ilk. Come: they’re picking up for another song.”

You’re right: on the rear of the dais, stringed instruments are raised to the ready. Dancing partners look between each other, smiles and questions on their lips. Your invitation, I notice, possessed neither. It is a given that I am here, just like it was a given that all ten of these claws would fit my form exactly.

And they do, like extensions of my cutting-sharp self.

I hook my arm in yours, testing the curl of my new blades. They rake over the fabric of your jacket, eager to split threads. You watch yourself fray, then dip your chin in a peculiar nod.

And then we take to the floor, striding in tandem.

This movement is slower, its notes dragging darkly through an alluring first few measures. The pairs that gather bring their hips almost flush, groping hands wandering down past narrow waists, clenched around more than crumpling fabric.

Don’t, I want to warn, but your claws settle gingerly on the curve of my hip, just as before. Your smile is a constant by now, as though you think it harmless — as though you think it will placate me, when it only raises the hairs on the nape of my neck.

“Why?” I ask as we move again: fingers twined without claws lashing, my other hand splayed over your lapel.

“Why what?”

“Don’t toy with me,” I bite out. “Why arm me tonight? Now? I’m not —”

Your breath hitches under my palm. I stop short of your Bhaalist. Short of I’m not who you remember.

Now, your claws rake to the small of my back. Flinching away means arcing forward, into your tighter clutch around my waist. Close enough that I look higher up at you, and the voids of your irises are shadowed under your brow.

Close enough that you are all I smell, that your heat seeps through this damnably fragile fabric.

“Because I am still upholding my end of our oath,” you murmur, your features impossible to read. “I won’t meddle in your affairs.”

Nor you in mine is how the rest of the oath should go. You told me that. I spent hours searching for the sliver of magic that should stop my thoughts of enacting your ruin.

“You know it is already broken.” I swallow, a lingering hint of blood down my throat. I want you to act, to say something, to move or breathe or stop, but you only take us further. We continue to move, entirely as one.

“This ends,” I press, and it sounds false from my wretched, treacherous mouth.

A turn; you bring me closer, your front flush with mine. “I know.”

“Ravengard will go free,” I needle. “You know we won’t stop until he does.”

“They won’t stop until he does,” you correct. “I know.”

“And you’re going to let us —”

“— them —”

“—no doubt with some sadistic bent!” I bark back, too loud. I grit my teeth, steady my breathing.

“I am,” you relent, too easy. Too fucking easy.

“Then this topples down around you.” I school my voice into something quiet, but razor-sharp. I let my gaze burn into yours, and watch your reaction when I let my irises slip back to white-blue. My core burns hotter when your look widens, unguarded.

“Or the wreckage of it crushes you.”

“Or you lose, Enver.” The name hits you where I want it to, cutting off your voice. “You are lying down when you should be drawing arms. If you let yourself fall into death’s waiting maw, after this?” I shake my head, revolting against my twitching, clamping jaw. “Fight. Fight it. Or —”

My teeth grind. Or I’ll never know —

My heart thunders in my ears.

— what it was —

My spine stiffens, the Urge rattling my ribcage.

— that made me die for you.

Your gauntlet leaves my hip, but our bodies keep time without it. The claw of your index finger skims my jaw, never hard enough for blood to bead over the skin. Only enough that my twitching muscles stiffen, primed for battle.

That poised veneer of yours peels away for something softer.

“Not yet.”

It is a feint. It must be. You are betraying a weakness you do not have. The words are too smooth. They sound like a plea. You do not plead. I would know. I would know —

“Why?” A growl, through the clench of my teeth. I want to move away. I want to breathe. I can’t, I can’t I can’t I —

The last thing I feel is your hand tugging mine, twisting, arcing; my body pivots and spins.

I twirl, and my vision clots red red red.

Inside the wash of crimson, I am a tempest. As though caught on the edge of a dream, I am half-aware, straddling the line of consciousness.

I will kill you —

Finding myself through the haze means winning a war that my every fiber craves to lose. I push, focusing until I narrow the ache searing through me to just my skull. I find my lips and I bite them without restraint.

— I will make a ruin of you, ruin ruin ruin —

I find the press of your fingers in what I imagine is my palm, and I wrench it from your grasp. My shoulder arcs down, but the muscle is too far from me to heed my call.

Something else catches me.

— like you made a ruin of me.

I fight my bonds. The Urge will suffer no chains. My hands clench, claws digging deep.

Your blood hits my nostrils, and the blood-hue unclouds from my sight. With a bleary blink, I find your arms belted around my waist, my back to your front, my form wreathed in your heat. My own grasp at them, violent and cruel, veins prickling with lightning.

The silver you gave me has pierced through your sleeves, embedded in your skin.

“There you are,” you rasp against me, stubble raking down my earlobe, over my neck. Held this tight to you, the hard press of your want is impossible to miss. “A’ryin Syv. Just as I remember. My equal — and mine.”

From your lips, my name sounds like a prayer already answered, salvation in two meager words. Your grin widens against my skin, but when I turn to wipe it from your smug mouth, you catch my chin and turn my attention forward.

Forward, where the sea of dancers parts, for the song ends.

Forward, where a gap in the thinning crowd makes way for a lone, shaking figure to stare at me, confusion ablaze on his alabaster features.

Two red eyes watch me in some potent amalgam of fear and disdain, and I let them. I do not move.

It isn’t Astarion I loathe, as he loathes me in this moment.

It is you. And more than that, it is me.

“This was your aim.” My voice wavers, muscles shuddering as they release the Urge.

“It is the truth, dear Bhaalist,” you whisper, sickly sweet. “They will never know you as I do, and you know it down to your marrow. You will come to me, again and again, because it is all we ever did before. One cannot break habits ground that deep.”

You release my jaw. I do not plunge my claws into your chest, and it is a mercy — but only because I cannot stomach looking at you.

“Go on,” you tell me, every word melting-soft, utterly poisonous. All of them, ice in my veins, fire in my viscera. “Return to them. But do remember to shed your false skin before you do. It seems they’re not fond of pretenders.”

Damn you and don't turn from me now war for purchase on my tongue, but I grant neither the victory.

I leave you alone without so much as a word, because I cannot afford to do anything else.

I wonder if I ever could.

[starlight-starfury]

When Stars Align

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Characters: (F!Elf!MC) Raine Nightbloom x Tyril Starfury

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Length: 1.6k

Summary: After Raine is caught in a flood, Tyril finds himself reminded of that painful year he spent trying to save her.

Tags: @liviusofpella @watatsumi-island @inlocusmads @petalouda85 @dutifullynuttywitch @thosehallowedhalls @stars-are-within-me @megas-choices @brycesgirl @sophie-summer @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations

A/N: Helloooo I have returned from the void! Admittedly this is short and not the best so please know I spent months stuck on this fic only to somehow churn out around 80% of it at 12am for two nights in a row 😵‍💫

Twice he had failed her.

The small group of heroes strode horseback through the desolate plains of the shadow realm, and Tyril gripped the reigns tightly in his hands as they followed the river downstream, desperately trying to keep his racing mind steady while the floodwater grew shallower with each passing step.

The first time had been in Whitetower, when she was taken from him during what was supposed to be their victory feast. When he’d allowed her to be taken from him. He was so sure that if he was stronger, if he hadn’t been caught so off-guard during the attack then he would have stood a chance at keeping her safe.

It was a lesson he had learned well along his travels, during his pursuit to take down the Shadow Court; even a moment of respite could be a lone warrior’s undoing. He knew Raine would have chastised him at the thought. Their victory was well-earned and the two of them more than deserved the rest they had indulged in during the few days that followed the defeat of the Dreadlord, but that brief time spent together was supposed to have been the beginning of an era of peace, with both of them believing the threat to have finally passed.

How wrong they had been.

The attack had taken place the evening before their departure from the human capital, with preparations already made for them to return to Undermount together the following morning. Tyril found his mind wandering back to the last few moments of peace they had shared before everything went horribly wrong.

“Are you ready for our journey tomorrow?” He asked, his fingers brushing against hers before she entwined them with her own as they walked down the marble halls of the palace.

“Of course!” She beamed, and he caught hold of a mischievous glint in her violet eyes before she continued. “I believe someone promised me the ‘Grand Starfury Tour of Undermount’, after all.”

“I did not phrase it like that.” Tyril humphed, although he found that a smile lit up his face all the same. “But yes, I look forward to showing you Undermount as it is supposed to be, untainted by corruption and the lingering remnants of shadow.”

His gaze turned vacant for a moment as he stared out the windows in passing, brows furrowed in thought and cerulean eyes like frosted glass before he shook his head, as though coming back to himself. “Never mind, our city is filled with Light and magic and wonder once more, I hope you’ll return to see it has changed for the better.”

Our city. Raine’s heart fluttered at that, and she squeezed his hand. “Well with you standing up against Xenia the city is safe, the elves are no longer bound to those contracts and negotiations that only she benefited from, and Adrina will lead House Starfury while guiding Undermount towards a brighter future. I’ve no doubt it’s already become a better place because of you.”

Tyril smiled fondly, his expression alight with warmth. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Raine leant up to kiss his cheek, and his face flushed violet before he continued speaking. “Still, I can’t wait to show you all the beauty of the city, from the enchanted gardens and streams to the star spires that extend to just above the mountain peaks.”

Her own gaze turned starry-eyed in awe at the thought of it all. “That sounds beautiful.”

“It is,” he said, “and at certain times of the year even the fountains begin to emit a golden glow, making the water look like flowing Light, but there’ll be plenty of time to see it all tomorrow. I believe we have a feast to attend?”

The pair walked down several more corridors before they reached the same indoor gardens they had first seen after arriving in Whitetower weeks ago, finding a full table of food prepared for the heroes to feast on and ornate chairs occupied by familiar faces.

Everyone had sat down, talking and laughing and raising crystal glasses to toast their victory while immersed in the feeling of glory, but before anyone could take a sip, the portal appeared.

It carried a dark and ominous aura, electric purple energy swirling like a dangerous thunderstorm and crackling with lightning before the army swept through. They had all fought valiantly, but the enemy forces kept emerging from the portal, flooding the gardens and overwhelming the heroes.

In that time, Raine had been taken captive, and Tyril tried to lunge forward and reach for her, but the soldiers crossed his path with drawn swords and he was still too far away from her.

He didn’t understand, they had defeated the Dreadlord, the battle was supposed to be over. Tyril hurled flaming balls of fire and struck with his sword relentlessly but just as quickly as they had arrived, the soldiers retreated, and Raine was gone.

The sun set over the hills as the portal drew closed, as though even the sky itself was darker without her presence in the world.

And a year would pass before he saw her once more.

As for the second time, he could not fight against nature’s strongest forces.

This time she had been swept away by a ruthless flood, and the storm was preventing them from following in pursuit, something Tyril berated the others for. He wouldn’t have let a storm dissuade him from searching for her, not even one whirling with shadow magic and tumultuous darkness.

But as the weather grew more turbulent, the rain fell so harshly they could barely see what lie ahead of them, and the thunder obscured any sound they heard. It was Imtura who placed a hand on his shoulder and said they would wait out the storm, that they would have a better chance at finding Raine once it had lightened.

And so Tyril had turned his back on Raine, and despised himself for it. She was in danger and every step he took towards Ironbreach led him further from her. As he sat and waited for the storm to ease, his loathing towards himself only continued to simmer, until finally the worst of it passed and the group rode horseback towards the river once more.

His mind kept drawing itself back to the riverbank, helplessly watching her be swept away by the torrents, and it had felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest and plunged into the icy waters alongside her.

Tyril’s grip on the reigns tightened as the water grew shallower and their chances of finding her alive were beginning to slim, his sharp gaze scanned the unnatural landscape scrutinisingly where the dark mountains jutted from the devastated ground at bent, jagged angles. Shadows began to shift and coalesce into unfamiliar shapes from the corners of his eyes, none of which resembled her.

Panic seized his chest more tightly the further they walked, and the lingering fear he had lived with every day for that painful year returned as he wondered if he would ever hold her in his arms again, if he would feel her warmth or see the brightness of her smile light up the world once more.

He had held faith in her during the year she remained trapped, and he knew he must do the same now.

After what felt like an unending eternity, a figure emerged in the distance, like the sun rising over the horizon at dawn.

Raine.

“Well, if it isn’t the four horsemen,” she beamed, and he supposed the group must have looked like an omen of despair striding through the shadow realm in the aftermath of the storm, faces sullen and bodies completely soaked.

A bundle of feathers toppled out of her arms and onto the ground below with a chirp, then promptly began pecking at the tips of Mal’s boots.

“Uh,” the rogue said as he cautiously tried to nudge the creature off of his shoe with his heel, “watcha got there, kit?”

“That’s Peri!” She said proudly. “He’s an owlbear cub I found alone in the storm.”

As the group fawned over the owlbear, Tyril found himself unable to hear a word of the conversation. His eyes were fixed solely on her, relieved to see her safe and yet afraid it was all a dream, that she would disappear if he got too close to her like all those times before.

Raine caught his gaze and handed off the cub to the others before she walked over to him. She took one of his hands in her own, tracing the smooth skin of his wrist with her fingers as she frowned. “Are you alright?”

As though her touch had lifted a spell, he pulled her into his embrace, arms wrapped around her tightly and she returned the gesture just as strongly.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked as he whispered into her hair, and he didn’t know if his eyes were blurred with tears or rainfall. “I should have—”

“It’s okay,” she clung to him tighter, “I’m okay.”

After a long time, he took a deep breath and pulled back, still holding her hands.

“I didn’t protect you,” he said. “Just like last time. It was all just like last time, not knowing where you were, if you were safe.”

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her once again, fingers running through her fair hair, the strands soft and silky. He could feel her heart beating against his own chest, and the rainfall began to settle as he held her close, finding comfort in her warmth while knowing she was alive and safe.

“You came back to me.”

Raine smiled, and he found himself breathless as her eyes lit up with the brightness of a thousand starlit galaxies. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

[unrequitedloveletter]

The Fire That Burns Within- N.L x fem! reader Epilogue

Masterlist

All right! We’re at the end. This fic was very fun to write, even if I wrote the majority of it through the power of writing sprints. If you’ve read from chapter one, thank you for sticking with this fic and I hope that you like this last chapter.

Fic type- theres a patch of angst at the beginning but this is so fluffy

Warnings- mentions of death, theres a tad bit of fear of the dark, illusions of being pressured to marry (there’s a bit wherein it is discussed that reporters notice the reader doesn’t have an engagement ring after a year and speculate upon whether or not Nikolai is leading her on, and it’s described that the reporters become a little more insistent in that narrative as time continues), nonspecific mention of threats (zoya is said to have threatened nikolai once),

The first few months after the war had ended were the toughest. You buried your dead, you grieved their losses and sent money to their families.

You helped Zoya plant her garden and took once again to your corridor walks, though at first you'd made a point of walking the familiar corridors at night. You had spent too long afraid of the dark at the hands of the Darkling, and you figured the first step in legitimately processing all of it was to get used to the darkness by moving through the hallways that you'd been wandering since your very first day on palace grounds.

The months grew easier with time. You created a routine and settled into it, advising Nikolai on the decisions he made for the palaces and for Ravka as a whole during the day, eating dinner with Genya and Zoya at night. Wandering the halls aimlessly after you’d eaten, when the only thing to save you from the darkness was the sure grip of your flint, and the only thing keeping you from using it was the determination you felt, thinking: I will not let the Darkling and his shadows scare me away from the darkness forever.

Six months after you'd returned to the palaces, the financial plans Nikolai had drawn up were implemented. Palace tours became commonplace during the weekends, and you were quick to learn which hallways to avoid when you were going from the Little Palace to the Grand Palace for the day, both to see Nikolai and to grab books from the library to read when night had begun to fall and the tours were finishing up and the time for your corridor walks was almost upon you.

Your courtship with Nikolai moved slowly, but that was only at your collective agreement that it would. You went on proper dates twice a week, laughed and danced to the violin music that was always playing in the city whenever you went. Being around Nikolai grew easier and easier, and within a year, you'd exchanged 'I love you's.

The reporters who'd seen you and Nikolai out and about would often remark upon the fact that you were still not wearing an engagement ring after a year. After two years, they grew more insistent, claimed Nikolai was perhaps leading you on. After three years, it seemed like the reporters had more of a tendency for fire than you did.

But Nikolai proposed in late spring. Three and a half years after your courtship had initially began, and he'd done it by the lake. Tolya and Tamar had been the ones to spread it to the spies so that it seemed like a rumor. There were talks of a tearful proposal, a big speech by lakeside sunset, the whole nine yards. When yours and Nikolais wedding-slash-coronation was announced to come in the early fall, business with the palace tours started booming, almost. Just to keep the waitlist from growing months long, the schedule adjusted and you moved into the Grand Palace with Nikolai full time, as you would’ve after you’d gotten married regardless. 

Your wedding and crowning as queen occurred in early autumn. The night before it actually happened, you and Nikolai had a small wedding, just for friends and those close enough to be family. It was outdoors, had a lot of dancing a lot of wine, and a couple of tears on Genyas part, plus a drunken threat in Nikolais direction from Zoya.

The coronation and big wedding had an incredible turnout, one that managed to make you incredibly nervous. You had a crowd of 5,000 people that was going to watch you become their queen and marry the love of your life--again, though none of the reporters had caught wind of the first wedding because none of the servants had been much for gossip as it were--and that was terrifying.

"You hated the man you're about marry," Zoya intoned. Her elbow was looped through your right, Genyas through your left. Tolya, who was the first guy to have shown you kindness after you escaped the Darkling, was the officiant. The Apparat had a part to play in your crowning, but you knew he would be eerily out of sight until he appeared when he was needed. "Nearly four years ago, you hated him."

"I know," you nodded. "I don't hate him anymore, though, and that's what counts."

"Love is power," Genya hummed. "Love is strength."

"Love is going to give this country it's first Grisha queen," Zoya intoned. "Love is more than power in this case. In this case, it is revolutionary."

The music began to play, and all three of you stilled immediately. The doors that you had been standing in front of opened, revealing a long hall. Nikolai stood at the end of it, and when he turned his head to look at you, his jaw dropped almost instantly, eyes widening for a moment in an expression of awe.

You turned to look at Genya, and saw she was beaming. She looked really happy, both for you and for Nikolai. "He's lucky," she whispered. "So are you."

"Oh, he knows he's lucky," you whispered back, unable to stop smiling. "And I know I'm lucky, too. I feel it everyday."

"He looks good in black, though he never wears it," Zoya amended. "You, however, look stunning in white. If Nikolai doesn't cry by the end of the ceremony I will be amazed."

"Was the sight of his tears at the ceremony last night not enough for you?"

"There are never enough tears from a Lantsov king," Zoya whispered with a shrug.

You approached the end of the aisle, took Nikolais hands in yours as the ceremony well and truly began.

"We are here today for the marriage and coronation of Y/N L/N and Nikolai Lantsov," Tolya said. "We'll start with the marriage first, get it out of the way. There are royal vows that you two must repeat to each other, but first, may the bride and groom have the rings?"

David passed Nikolai your ring, and Genya passed you Nikolais. Because you didn't want to do it twice, you'd decided to save the ring part of the ceremony for the wedding as it were, and the previous night had exchanged vows and kissed because you knew that the royal vows were tradition. Nikolai and yourself had altered them to your collective liking, however, as his parents and their parents had done. 

They’d been entirely different from the vows his parents had exchanged, the only thing that needed to be the same having been a promise to love the other person for as long as either of you were to live.

"Do you take Y/N L/N as your wife and your queen?"

"I do," there was so much love in his gaze. You felt entirely undeserving of it.

"Nikolai, you may say your vows first."

"Y/N, I promise to love and cherish you for the rest of our days," he said. "I promise to be the best husband, the best king, that I can be for you, and I promise to remain at your side no matter what. In sickness and in health, in life and death, in good decisions and bad decisions, I will remain by your side for our eternity."

He slipped the ring onto your ring finger.

Tolya turned to you. "Do you take Nikolai Lantsov as your husband and your king?"

"I do," you nodded.

"Y/N, you may say your vows."

"Nikolai, I promise to love and cherish you for as long as we both live," you said. "I will be the best wife, the best queen, that I can be for you and I will be at your side unwaveringly. In sickness, in health, in life and in death, in good decisions and bad decisions, you are well and truly stuck with me for the rest of our eternity, and I cannot wait for it to begin."

Your vows were pretty much the same, though the night before, your vows had been expressions of deep love and adoration and an admittance to the fact that you'd been wrong about him all those years ago at the Spinning Wheel.

You'd made Nikolai cry, and he'd made you cry with the way that he talked about you, calling you his anchor when the demon created by the Darklings merzost took hold and the only thing that could bring him home was the sound of your voice.

Everyone had cried during your ceremony the night before, even David, and that was saying a lot. Tolya had barely been able to officiate by the time you were finished because he was crying, and after that, there was just a lot of laughter. The wedding ceremony you'd had with Genya, David, Zoya, Nadia, Tamar, and Tolya was definitively going to be the one you remembered more in the years to come.

You slid the ring onto Nikolais ring finger, and Tolya clapped his hands together as he grinned.

"You may kiss the bride," Tolya said. Nikolais arms wrapped around your waist, and you kissed him, and your heart lightened until it was almost weightless, as it always did whenever you kissed him.

Nikolai pulled away, and there the Apparat was.

Your crowning was nothing more than a small speech from the Apparat and a tiara being placed on your head, so it was done with quickly.

You and Nikolai left the hall, husband and wife, king and queen, hearts so content it was almost unbelievable. - The years passed by in what felt like blinks. Ravka climbed out of debt in four years rather than the seven that Nikolai had predicted, built up the war treasury within six months, and was back on it's feet for the first time in several generations thereafter.

You did make history as the first Grisha queen. Revolutionary, Zoya had called it, and she'd been right. Ravka became a bustling country because of how many Grisha felt safe enough to go to it without worrying about being picked up by the slavers--who's populations in Ravka had nearly diminished within your first six months as queen--and because of tourists booking palace tours in the hopes of catching a glimpse of you and Nikolai.

You did have children with him, as it was the expectation, and both of them were Infernis, just as you were. Things moved rapidly in your life, but you cherished every moment of it. 

You stopped being afraid of the dark, taught your children not to be afraid of it, either. You told them stories of a big bad shadow summoner and the sun summoner, the girl who changed everything for you and for Nikolai and managed to save the world in the process. You told them never to let anyone try to stomp out their fires as the Darkling did yours, because it is the fire that burns within that matters the most.

You lived a loud life in a loud palace and cherished the quiet moments you got, a lot of your time spent reflecting and feeling disbelief because of the fact that you never thought yourself to be deserving of a life so good.

You let yourself have it, though. You let yourself enjoy your life and loved it for all that it was, the good, the great, the bad, the terrible. 

[thomashoes]

Thinking about.... Alhaitham

so i hung out with one of my best friends today and i updated her on what was going on in my life and i told her about a dream i had and it made me think that it would be a good alhaitham fic lol. anyways, here ya go!

fem reader x alhaitham

angst, little comfort, false accusations

might have grammatical errors and typos, i apologize

alhaitham might be a bit ooc, sorry :&lt;

TW// mentions of harassment

Little backstory:

y/n and alhaitham dated during their akademiya days (shocking i know) purely out of ”motivation” but genuine feelings did develop later on. they were quite toxic with each other, they just couldnt tell. they broke up bc of a rumor about y/n was sleeping with one of the matra so she wouldn’t get into trouble with her academic offenses when she was in fact harassed by the matra who also spread the rumor. alhaitham caught wind of this and initially didnt care until another student approached him and that was when he screwed up by making out with that student. and (un)fortunately kaveh saw this and told y/n about it like the good senpai he is. that was when the two of them blew it off and split. as soon as y/n graduated, she left to mondstadt and worked for dawn winery. met diluc and fell in love. yeah. enjoy!

The Akademiya decided to hold a celebration for the “return” of their Archon, Lesser Lord Kusanali, and practically put a hold on all sorts of research that any of the scholars had going on. Alhaitham saw this celebration as unnecessary since him and the rest of the “save the archon” team already did in zubayr theater and, as the Acting Grand Sage, he rejected the idea.

At first, at least. 

After much persuasion from Nahida herself, he reluctantly agreed seeing that their Archon seemed to want this celebration with the entire city and the neighboring nations. He was then in-charge of overseeing the organizing procedure and sending out invitations to the other nations. Needless to say, he was quite overworked but it was nothing compared to when still a student in the Akademiya.

On the day of the celebration, he made sure that everything was in order and that the city's security was guaranteed. He walked around the bustling city streets which was more lively than the celebration of the Jnagarbha Day. The more he walked around the city, the more he felt at peace since it seemed his hard work had paid off.

When evening fell and it was time for the formal party that was arranged for the prominent figures from each nation to gather and was held at the Palace of Alcazarzaray. The night was going as smoothly as he had expected. He watched as the Acting Grand Master of The Knights of Favonius spoke with the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, the General Mahamatra in his own group, that Paimon lovingly called “the archon protection squad”, was laughing rather loudly. Too loud for his liking, really.

Taking a sip from his cup of Mondstadt’s dandelion wine, he mentally checked off the names of the guests that have arrived and noted that one was missing. He shrugged it off thinking that he might have not seen a letter from the guest declining the invitation with due to his busy schedule. As he was about to walk away from the table he was hovering over, the entrance door opened and revealed the guest that he thought wouldn’t arrive.

And there he spotted her, donned in a simple yet elegant black dress with her hair up in a bun with her bangs hanging freely against her forehead and some strands falling to her shoulders. her face didn't seem to be caked, allowing her natural beauty to show. Alhaitham was not sure if the wine has finally hit him or was it his old feelings that made the thought, but he absolutely believed that she had stolen tonight's spotlight.

He was quickly taken out of his head when he recognized the red haired gentleman that walked alongside her.

Ah, yes. He had completely forgotten about one unfortunate fact. The one that he once called rival for the Scribe title and the love of his life was now to be wed to Mondstadt’s very own wine tycoon, Diluc Ragvindr.

The aforementioned man walked up to him but Alhaitham only had his eyes on her. Diluc and Alhaitham exchanged greetings and pleasantries while Y/N would occasionally answer for Diluc. Alhaitham tried to ignore the way Diluc would look at her, so much pride and adoration. The same look he had once held for her. His heart twisted painfully as he watched Diluc place a kiss on her knuckles before they excused themselves. Alhaitham needed fresh air, so he swiftly moved his legs to exit the palace and settled in the small gazebo at the front.

He stared at the night sky, his glass of wine forgotten beside him as his mind wandered to the “what if’s”. As he drowned in his thoughts, he failed to hear the footsteps that approached him.

“Didn’t think you would accept the title of Acting Grand Sage,” the person friskily commented. “But, it is to be expected of the oh-so-amazing Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham turned around and silently watched Y/N walked to the other end of the railing he was situated on. They stayed in silence before Alhaitham answered her, “I never wanted to be one and I actually declined the position multiple times. However, the city was a mess and someone had to bring everything back in order.”

Y/N looked at him with a perfectly shaped brow raised, “And they chose you to be the Grand Sage? The Akademiya might as well have shut down if that was the case.” She shifted against the railing to lean against the gazebo’s post as she eyed the glittery sky. Alhaitham scoffed at the familiar comment, “That’s what Kaveh told me as well.”

A soft hum came from her throat, “It’s nice to know that you and Senior Kaveh still get along in a way.” she turned to look at him, “Or are you just tolerating his presence?”

A chuckle left Alhaitham’s mouth as he sipped on his wine, “Tolerating him is an understatement, but you may view it however you want.”

Another round of silence enveloped the cold setting as neither of the two spoke, simply enjoying each other’s company and their drinks.

Y/N hesitated to speak, fearing that her emotions may get the better of her especially with the alcohol in her system. but before she could speak, Alhaitham beat her to it.

“I’m sorry,” Alhaitham uttered, pain spread across his chest as soon as he did. “For everything that I have said and done to you. I shouldn’t have let arrogance get the best of me and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. I knew what I did was wrong but I didn't care back then. But please know that I did love you and I still do.”

The emotions Alhaitham had held on for years had finally revealed themselves to Y/N. He felt woozy and his heart was pounding, unsure if it really was the alcohol or the result of years of pent up emotions. Y/N looked at him with watering eyes, “Please stop, don’t do this to me. I did not come here for closure, Alhaitham. We are long past that. You made your decision 5 years ago, there’s nothing left for you to do.”

His heart throbbed, “I know that it was wrong of me to do and say those things to you, but you weren’t innocent either, Y/N.” he remarked bitterly. Y/N’s gaze hardened and gripped the railing hard, “Oh, so now you’re pushing the blame to me? I already told you everything and after all these years you’re still hung up on that rumor?”

Y/N scoffed and shook her head before pushing herself off the railing, “You know what, this is why we couldn’t work out. You may be the most intelligent guy in the world but you definitely are lacking in the social understanding department. I didn’t approach you tonight to pick a fight and open old wounds.” she rummaged through her purse and pulled out an envelope while she stood firmly on her feet and looked Alhaitham in the eyes before handing it to him.

A cold wave washed over Alhaitham as he realized what it was.

It was a wedding invitation.

“Diluc knows about you being my former lover and also my best friend. Him and I talked about this and thought that our wedding would be a nice way for us to reconnect because he trusts me not run back into your arms, as he put it.” Y/N conveyed to him earnestly. Alhaitham didn't move to accept the envelope simply staring at the engagement ring on her finger, all the more reminder of his loss.

Y/N realized he was not going to move so she walked up to him and slid the envelope on the pocket of his suit. Alhaitham slowly breathed in to calm his heart from pounding, catching whiff of her favorite scented shampoo.

Seeming to sense that Alhaitham was tense, Y/N looked up at him and saw his eyes were glassy. Her heart ached at the sight, despite years of separation and zero-contact, it seemed that a part of her still loved him. Just not as much as before.

She smiled at him as she felt her own eyes water and raised a hand to stroke his cheek. The words she wanted to say dried up in her throat. Alhaitham subconsciously leaned in to her touch and moved his own hand to hold hers, mentally begging her to leave her fiancé.

A moment of silence passed by before Y/N whispered, “Thank you for everything, Alhaitham.”

The Acting Grand Sage was frozen as soon as she slid her hand off his face and silently made her way back to her fiancé. And before Alhaitham knew it, his heart broke for the first time in 5 years and tears have run down his face.

He never thought loving someone could be so painful.

this brainrot was brought to you by trauma //j

[enola6]

Thrawn II- A Traitress to the Empire

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In the vast embrace of spring’s offspring, which sent seeds to sprawl across the grand garden of the Batonnese castle, a beloved young queen sat on her cushions and played her double viol as her ladies in waiting watched and sipped on imported quanya . It was very rare that the queen was seen without her heavy crowns and dresses with trains so long they would need to be carried by servants or the castle’s handmaidens. A soft ‘meow’ was heard , causing a palace guard to turn around into the hallway , no longer on the balcony where the women lay. It was only Jankie. Taking advantage of the opened door, she ran and jumped on her mistress, who jolted when the new weight was added to her stomach.

“Kayyidl,” the Queen called to her guard; she did not even need to turn to know which one of them had accidentally made way for the loth-cat to find herself onto the delicate robes of her mistress. “You see , if that was an enemy of house (L/N)-Mitth, I would have been penetrated by some sort of saber or blaster by now, no?”

She arose from her cushion with Jankie in her hands as the handmaidens and noble ladies laughed , all the while Kayyidl blushed under his armor. She offered him a kind smile and handed the tiny creature to Uiona , one of her ladies in waiting, who stood so proud to wear the symbolic jewelry of the Queen’s crest. 

“I apologize , my princess …” He stuttered when he caught his mistake and stumbled upon his words , “I mean, Lady Mitth.”

“What are you , corporal? An imperial?” The Lady Mona inquired with a large smile.

“She is ‘Her royal majesty, the Queen (Y/N) Mitth'raw'nuruodo of Batonn, Acting Empress of the Batonn sector and Chief of Batonn’s Minning Operations.’”

“I can never say that Chiss name correctly.” One of the ladies remarked.

“Neither can I. My brother can say it perfectly.” (Y/N) strolled over to the edge of the balcony, where she peered over. Placing both hands on the stone railing, she gazed onto the fields of green. Only in spring would you  see such a thing. It was then that she noticed a walking figure. A tall figure in the traditional clothing of a Batonnese Count. “Knowing him, he sat in a dark room alone and practiced it over and over and over again.” 

The ladies laughed, and she waited for the inevitable question as to how her handsome and eligible bachelor brother was doing in the imperial navy.

As the Queen so commonly did , she remarked, “I must go,” and lifted her skirts, and ran from the balcony and the everlasting hallways that never seemed to end. The women called after her, but she ignored them all to rush down the many stairs which brought her to the ground floor. The castle servants, being used to (Y/N)’s outbursts , still bowed to her dashing frame and greeted her as they would if she walked . 

Pushing open the heavy doors, her hair flew in the wind, and her shawl nearly fell from her shoulders. 

“Clvtorig!” she called to the man who fell to rest on the field of grass. “Clvtorig!” He heard her very well and clear over the chirps of birds and buzzing of bees , new to spring. He groaned and acted annoyed when she kicked him with her foot. “Count Clvtorig, did you suddenly go deaf after your little vacation to Coruscant?”

“A vacation hardly , my queen. Listening to imps gossip will drive even the strongest man insane.” 

“Get up,” she kicked once again.

The Count rolled to his side, now turning from the sky to the waterway that separated the castle from the rest of Paeragosto City. As lively as ever, speeders and people roamed the streets and roads; their buzz could be heard from the gardens. Instead of getting up as ordered, Clvtorig grabbed (Y/N) by her ankles so as to drag her down to the comfort of the soft grass. “Ask your gardeners what they use to fertilize this grass , will you? I plan to make  the grass at my estate as soft as her royal majesty's.”

“And soft grass you will have, your grace, if only you will tell me what they say about Lady Mitth on Coruscant.” Her laugh was music to his ears, for it was genuine and true, unlike the laughs heard on Coruscant.  And because of this, he smiled and turned to her, dangerously close.

Ever since her marriage and forced introduction into imperial society, (Y/N) had tasked Count Clvtorig Tronstad of Paeragosto with attending the social gatherings on Coruscant as a spy to hear the gossip as she put it. No, he wasn’t a spy according to the young Queen of Batonn, he was simply a listener . He would fly back to Batonn with all the latest gossip coming from the mouths of fat imperial wives. In return , she paid him a hefty sum of credits . But he was an old friend, the Queen and him had played in the hidden oases since they were young. They were almost engaged , but then Thrawn forced himself into the house of (L/N). He thought of all the times he spent with her in their youth, then was brought back to maddening reality. 

“There are rumors,” he replied.

“Rumors?” She gestured to her bump. “I suppose this has something to do with it?”

“Yes, (Y/N), rumors and no, little Thrawn has nothing to do with it. They say that you are having an affair which explains as to why you have been consistently seen on Scrim Island and outside Paeragosto.” He yawned, then started making designs with the clouds in the ever-blue sky , “It seems we have a spy in our midsts.” 

(Y/N) used her arm to support herself as she lifted her head from the grass, her face was obviously red with frustration and anger as her other hand was used to grip the grass from its stems.

“Oh?”

“Hold it All mighty empress of the Batonn Sector. Would you rather have them believe you are having an affair , or that you are aiding rebels?”

Her grip loosened and she laid back down.

“Who says such things?”

“Thalassa Tarkin.”

“Oh that dreadful woman, she’s hated me since I was introduced as the Grand Admiral’s wife.”

“Well, she’s going to hate you even more when the little chiss is born. You know, she was even telling the other imps about your ‘friendship’ and about how close you two are . She was even speaking of coming to this ‘uncivilized’ planet to help you give birth .”

“And why would she ever do such a thing?”

“Well (Y/N), because your parents are dead and you have no one else to help you go through an alien pregnancy which could possibly kill you.”

“I have Seren, thank you very much.”

“Seren of Flor?” Clvtorig questioned with an eyebrow raised. (Y/N) always found it funny when he did that. “The Last time she had a child was a millennium ago.”

(Y/N) arose and began pacing around the soft grass . She couldn’t help but laugh and lose her train of thought, nearly tripping on nothing. 

‘Well I guess you’re right.” Then she snapped and pointed at him as if she had thought of something smarter “Lady Okann Veath.”

“Didn’t she die in the Creekpath Mining explosion, something that Pryce girl blames you for , by the way.”

“Do not forget that I was attending school on Hosnian Prime when the mine exploded. Also, my cousin married a Pryce , she should show me the same respect as family .”

“Isn’t the killer coming to Batonn to visit .”

(Y/N) offered her dear friend a kind smile and picked a blue flower from the grass. “My husband comes today.” she held the small thing to her nose and smelled a foreign scent unfamiliar to Batonn. “ The imperials have allegedly found a new source of doonium just north of the continent.”

“Will Tannian arrive with the party?”

“Party? It is only the Grand Admiral .”

“The Grand Admiral and the Tarkins…”

“The Tarkins!” she yelled a little too  loudly.

Strong wind blew from behind the Queen, nearly pushing her over onto the Count. She moved her hands so that they would block her hair from blowing into her eyes as she looked into the sky.

“It seems that is them.” He watched her eyes widen and focus on the grey that clouded the sky, casting a shadow over both of them before landing on a pad. “ I would run along now, little empress. You don’t want Thalassa seeing you in anything but your best ”

When he turned, she was no longer there but yards away from where she previously lay. The white of her loose dress danced in the wind, getting tangled in the (H/C) of her hair which she wore down, something unbecoming of a Batonnese queen who was expected to always look her best.

“Run (Y/N)! Run!”

But this young queen was at odds with some traditions passed from her forefathers, or so it seemed. For instance, one incident most could remember was when the Queen did not remove her crown when greeting Governor Restos and Grand Moff Tarkin ,whom governed Batonn and the Outer Rim therefore ranking above her. Oh all the gossip it caused was unbearable for that was all anyone would speak of until the next scandal occurred. It was Batonnese tradition when greeting one higher than you, the Emperor of the Batonn Sector for instance, to remove and hold your crown as a symbol of submission, though the Queen refused to do so. 

Many just brushed it off as ignorance but she later removed her crown when her brother arrived. 

For all imperial officers outranked those in a traditional monarchy.

“Uiona!” she called to the sole woman in her bedchamber. The doors made a tremendous sound when they were cast open , startling Jankie who awoke from her slumber. “My husband has arrived and I am not decent….” she stuttered as she looked around the closet for something quick and easy to put on.

“Your Majesty …” and (Y/N) turned to the woman she had long called the swiftest to see her holding her dress-military uniform. “It would be the fastest to put on… if we skip a few medals.” 

She simply nodded and began to hastily undress.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Her boots made clacks against the cold floor, alerting the guards and servants of her presence. They all knelt when she passed them, her handmaidens following behind her in dresses of black and gold to compliment the Queen’s military uniform ; some of them seemed mad that they had to quickly change, one of them more than the others. They always wore garbs which were mundane but intricate to compliment what their Queen wore. For the Queen was always meant to be the prime focus when she entered a room, whether she liked it or not .

She reached the immaculate doors, looking up to the window which was above it. She couldn’t see the shuttle , but she knew it was there. She could feel it. “Guards.” acknowledged them and suddenly she felt small and meek. The last time she had seen Thrawn, it was when she was coronated. She had been pressured by her brother to sleep with him, to have his child in hopes of protecting her family. Though she highly doubted even sharing his blood would protect the Batonnese crown, or at least allow for some leniency. Uiona noticed her feel the part of her uniform which covered her womb, she only slightly showed but it was noticeable to anyone who stared at her for a while.

He had written to her , but she had not yet notified him personally of her pregnancy. She wondered how he would react, she wondered how her people would react. He was Chiss, cold and feared. And though the Batonnese were diverse and educated on aliens and near-humans, she feared the integration of an imperial alien into the pureness of Batonn’s royal blood would create even more tension than what was already present. 

“Guards!” She called, “Open the door.”

And the doors opened as she ordered. 

The light blinded her and she fought the urge to turn and run back to the sanctuary of her bedchamber. 

She stepped forward and took a large breath. ‘

“I present to the The Honorable Queen and acting Empress (Y/N) Mitth of Batonn and the Batonn Sector,” she stared straight into the abyss, avoiding eye contact with the imperials who stood before her. “Grand Moff Tarkin , his consort Lady Thalassa Tarkin and Grand Admiral Thrawn, consort to the Queen of Batonn. Batonn welcomes you.” The announcer stopped his yell and bowed to the two groups of people. An evident tension appeared between them . 

Guards of Batonn stared down stormtroopers who nudged them and strolled in front of them, even catching the attention of the Queen.

“Lady Tarkin, Gentleman,” she officially greeted, looking down at the older woman, “It is always a pleasure though I admit you caught me off guard,” she wanted to mention the disturbance of Lady Tarkin though she decided to avoid conflict with the dreadful woman, anything to avoid a conversation. “You see I was riding in the fields.”

“Do you truly believe you should be riding in your condition?” and the Governor's wife gestured to the Queen’s bump, bringing up the unbearable. The screech of trumpets could not mask the malevolence in the crone’s voice. If only they were on a barren world resting in the unknown regions, then she would have her way the Queen thought.

“A little riding cannot hurt one’s-”

“Oh Grand Admiral, are you not happy I am here ? Your young wife is so helpless she could kill your heir-.”

“Enough, Thalassa.” Grand Moff Tarkin hushed his wife while simultaneously looking upon the Batonnese Queen who never seemed to enjoy his sinister presence. “Lady Mitth, it's a pleasure to be welcomed so graciously. Your planet is as impressive as reports say. I look forward to seeing the growing potential Batonn has in aiding the Empire.”

“The pleasure is mine, Governor. My people are honored by your presence and this is Lady Tarkin’s first tour of Batonn so we hope to impress you with our dedication to the empire.”  

(Y/N) looked upon her arranged husband with a face that simply showed confusion and guilt, an odd combination . She had secretly wished that he would have arrived before the Tarkins , so that they were allowed some alone time. She would tell him that she had secretly missed him, but the words would just simply escape her lips as she became overwhelmed in the moment.

“Your highness,” Uiona approached the Queen and whispered so faintly even she could barely hear, “The kitchen staff have a meal prepared for your guests.”

“Very well,” she beckoned to a guard with her hand to get ready and close the door. “We have a meal prepared for you , my handmaidens will escort you to your rooms , then to the dining room where I will join you. Now excuse me.”

A guard situated on the highest tower of the castle lit a blue fire, a symbol of a visitor arriving. It glistened and grew larger and larger as the sun set. The growing fire almost obscured his view of the landing pad, but he could still see his dear friend and noble Queen. He stared down at the launch pad where the shuttle still laid. His black mask of fabric blew in his eyes with his eyeshadow rubbing on the already black fabric. From the sheer black, he watched his Queen stand to the left, her hair blowing in the wind as it came out of her bun. He smiled, her loose hair must have been the product of his long conversation with her in the garden. 

The palace staff had already been stiff following the arrival of Governor Restos who had originally roomed in a large bedchamber on the first floor. But he complained of the view overlooking the city, complaining that the soot from the mines would travel to his room and cause him to fall ill. So he ordered that he be moved to the second floor.

When (Y/N) originally heard of his order she found it to be peculiar for the city, though viewable from the window, was still many miles away. But she had more pressing matters at hand. And that pressing matter had just strolled into her home. 

“Ladies,” the queen vocalized as she took off her cover, letting the door close behind her. “Tend to Governor Tarkin and his wife , show them the same respect you  would show me.” They all bowed and gave the robotic “yes, your majesty” and went along their way.

She was then left alone in the echoing chamber.

She slouched and ran her hand through her hair, sighing as her eyes became watery. Maybe it was the stress of being queen, or maybe it was the flux of hormones that came with pregnancy… she didn’t know.

“Your majesty!” 

The Queen turned to her handmaiden , Shínrin, who bowed to her queen and held a little green box. 

“The Grand Admiral is staying in your royal bedchamber  and is there right now. I… I just wanted to notify you.”

“Of course.” and she nodded, dismissing the handmaiden who bowed and shuffled in the direction of the dinning hall. 

“Wait, your majesty.” and the girl came running back with the utmost haste, not caring if anyone saw her act in such an indecent matter. It even caused (Y/N)’s eyes to widen , never seeing Shínrin act in such a manner. Shínrin was a woman who came from the northern city of Tavonia , a city which held the chateaus of many high ranking imperial officers, it was also a city which went against the orders of the king and sided with the empire and housed their missiles deep within their majestic mountains. Those mountains are beautiful but covered with sand. It is where (Y/N) met Shínrin, many years ago over a short summer holiday to her father’s chateau, where the future queen was first introduced to the imperial flag.  It is even rumored that Shínrin broke her betroval to a rebel sympathizer, only for his political views which very much mattered in the political climate of Batonn. “I was told to hand you this.” 

The green box was handed to (Y/N) who looked down at the box and ran her fingers over its surface.

“By who?”

“A man who came walking down the stairs… I must go”  

She seemed in such a hurry, nearly tripping over her own dress. (Y/N) watched her scurry and placing the tiny box in her brassière, she decided to investigate it later.

(Y/N) then looked to the large stairway that seemed to reach the moon.

 ‘A long ways trek to my room’ she thought.

She began walking up the stairs, counting each step. She twiddled her cover , her only distraction from the overly lit staircase. 

Though it felt like an eternity, she soonly reached her room but paused before entering. Guards moved from her way as she dismissed them , always obeying their queen. 

Hell, it was her room , she should feel comfortable entering and undressing in her own room. A room in which she had resided since birth; where she had wrapped her dying father’s wounds and where her unborn child was conceived. Where a sparrow dies, an everlily grows. 

She felt anxious opening the door, but saw no one once she stepped in and looked around. Letting out a sigh of relief , she removed her coat and threw it on her vanity stool. Her blouse simply fell from her shoulders and reached the ledge of the stool, the box unknowingly falling to the floor.

There was a dress already prepared for her , hanging on the wall near the vanity. Looking around the room, she noticed luggage that had the tags of an imperial officer and wanted to vomit. They were empty, meaning that the contents of the bags had already been emptied and put away somewhere in her room. She kicked the trash with her foot, already beginning to dress in the white dress Uiona had most likely  prepared for her. Usually, handmaidens would help her dress, but she had ordered all of them with other tasks. Besides , how hard was it to button a dress? Well, it was proving to be quite difficult for the buttons sewed into the back of her dress where proving difficult  to reach. 

She was so concentrated on her dress that she did not notice her guest walk from the balcony. He had been there the whole time, admiring the scenery of a planet he once fought.

“My wife, your presence brings light to this vacuous room.”

Whipping her head around  she gasped and rendered a “hello, husband.” while holding the fabric of her dress. How awkward . She related herself to be almost naked with an open back. 

“I admit I did not expect you to come so early I admit. I apologize for the bedraggled and void state of our room.”

“No need to apologize,” he strolled over and buttoned the back of her dress as if he had done so many times before. “I understand you are preparing for an expected change.”

She turned to face him once he placed his warm hands on her shoulders, signaling to her he was done. 

“I wanted to tell you in person. To show you…”

“It seems we have much to discuss , (Y/N). I have neglected you for far too long.” He caught a loose piece of her hair and moved his gaze to his new fascination. (Y/N) only held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t question her on her whereabouts. “But that unfortunately will have to wait .” he offered her his arm and she latched onto it.

“Let us join your guests. Then we will have our much needed alone time.”

Crunching her nose, she wondered what he meant by that statement that seemed to so easily dance off the tip of his tongue . The setting sun offered minimal light as they left the room, but it managed to sculpt his face and showcase his blank expression. ‘Always such a Chiss.’ she thought.

Behind her dress there was a long cape made of clear crystals and gems which had been mined from the innards of her planet. She remembered the gems being presented to her father once, and he handpicked the shiniest ones to be sewed into her mother’s clothing. This cape once belonged to her mother, but the regalness now sits in (Y/N)’s closet. 

The door to the dining room was opened and the couple walked in, their auras contrasting with each other. It was noticed by the handmaidens who stood against the wall and the guardsmen who had opened the door, one of them recognized her mother’s cape. Thalassa turned her head and followed the two handmaidens who came and detached the cape from her dress to allow her to properly sit with her eyes. 

“Now that is the Queen of Batonn.” Thalassa exclaimed, “That is the stately woman I’ve read so much about. Not that savage mess you presented yourself as only an hour ago.”

(Y/N) noticed Governor Tarkin rub his face into his palm, obviously annoyed at his wife. 

She took her seat, not at the head of the table where she usually sat but towards the side. Well, she was about to sit in her usual seat before the smaller chair to the side next to Governor Restos was pulled out by Thrawn, awaiting her to sit before he tucked it in. Thrawn and Governor Tarkin both claimed the head seats with immediate and taut superiority. In an open and exhausting way , (Y/N) pouted, but only a little so as to not make it obvious to no other than her husband. She would surely bring this up during their talk tonight.

“Well, Lady Tarkin,” (Y/N) began to speak, noticing that the woman and her husband had already began eating “I apologize if my appearance so heavily offended-” 

“Why were you wearing the same uniform your people wore while fighting against the forces of my husband and yours?” she questioned sternly before turning to her husband , “surely you will not allow such a thing.” 

Tarkin rolled his eyes as Restos placed his fork down and swallowed his last serving of potatoes. 

“We allowed the Batonnese to keep their uniforms due to the morranshees.”

“The native species.” (Y/N) chimed.

“We found that the morranshees were more responsive to their uniforms rather than ours due to their incredibly strong recognition.”

Morranshees had only seen the face of the queen they hated so once, and it had been when the Queen was only a young princess. It was cold that day, so cold that it froze the lake on her grandmother’s estate, allowing her to skate. Everyone else had been growing warm inside when a Morranshee came with his staff and smacked her against a tree which stood tall but no longer proud. It was a visiting jedi who saved her, though she no longer remembered his name.

They hated the crown. They hated her. Her forefathers had enslaved them to work in the mines, and now they were being exported to different parts of the galaxy. 

“You have no need to fret, my Lady” Restos continued “We made sure any Morranshee settlements within a certain radius were swept. Destroyed.”

“Well , it seems that I won’t be leaving the castle.” she joked with a guffawing laugh.

Thrawn studied his wife and the reaction she was cloaking. Over time it became easier to read her, as with all humans. Looking at her hands, he noticed her clenching the knife and fork which caused her knuckles to turn pink. He also noticed the quick and disguised smile she flashed at her before taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh no,dear. Don’t drink that.” and the older woman walked from her seat and snatched the drink from (Y/N)’s hand. It was a glass of quanya, something she had served to the rest of her guests. “It will hurt the baby.” 

The Queen remained frozen , unable to even move the tiniest muscle besides her left eye which twitched. It had been many years since a nanny had removed something forcibly from her hands. Such a simple action made her feel as though she were a child who did not know right from wrong. It was unbelievable , but (Y/N) looked at her husband and decided to bite her tongue as Lady Tarkin endlessly babbled about “how grateful the grand admbril should be that she was here to watch after his  young wife”.

She found the words being spatted from the woman’s mouth to be doltish. It seemed her husband felt the same.

“Now that that's over.” the Grand Moff placed his napkin on his plate, indicating that he had finished dining. “Lady Mitth, there is a rumor that you will inherit the late Senator Ruser’s seat on Coruscant.”

It was her brother Ruser who had inherited the throne from her father and therefore he also inherited the seat on the senate. He wasn’t trusted nor was he liked by the others who shared seats with him on Coruscant , so he was Governor Pryce and the traitor prince who wished them all dead. Truth be told, she had only been to Coruscant once and that was to visit her brother and his promotion ceremony. She rarely left Batonn.

“I think Lady Mitth will make an excellent senator. With her devotion to the empire and imperial navy , she’ll certainly win some allies once we allocate our mining projects to the military.” Restos said as he turned to Thrawn , as if the queen no longer existed in the room. He ignored her as he had always done before.

“Well, that will have to wait, Governor.” The Queen interrupted, “For i’d prefer to stay on Batonn in my state.”

“I would much prefer it if you remained with Imperial medical care.” Thrawn voiced to his wife. “Hybrid pregnancies are known to be quite treacherous.”

“The future sovereign of Batonn will be born on Batonn.”  She almost wanted to laugh.

Her handmaidens grew uneasy for they feared that their queen would say something else even more dense which would lead to another punishment bestowed upon her. Shínrin’s knuckles grew yellow as the pitcher she held shook due to her clenching. Her eyes watched Thrawn, understanding his body language through countless spying and eavesdropping. Glancing at the disguised Count Clvtorig, who wore the armor of a palace guard, she noticed him shake his head at the Queen , hoping she would notice his signals of succor.

The Grand Admiral, The Grand Moff and the Batonnese Governor looked amongst each other. For it was believed by Governor Restos and Tarkin that the vexed queen would become more subservient to her husband and the empire once she grew with child. It was even the Grand Moff who astonishingly suggested that Thrawn impregnate his bride as soon as he was able, after it was found that parts of her family had aided the rebels. Though no evidence of her interception in the attack was found, Tarkin had his suspicions. 

The Grand Admiral stood at parade rest in the dim room as he discussed the presence of his fleet with Governor Tarkin over the holoprojector. It was meant to be a quick call , but Tarkin had just been given records from Governor Pryce indicating that a certain Batonnese senator had been stealing and reprogramming imperial droids , turning them on their own. Thrawn listened carefully and closely , surprised by the senator's betrayal.

“So the senator and all those who corresponded in this attack will be executed.” Tarkin explained, concluding his report. “I am sending an agent to Batonn for I suspect the Princess was aware of this interception… of sorts.”

“We should just execute them all.” Captain Slavic spat , speaking without turn. “These Batonnese are proving to be more of a liability than asset.”

“Retaining Batonn’s monarchy is essential in the compliance of the Batonnese people.” Thrawn replied to his subordinate , “To understand why the emperor opted to conserve their monarchy is to understand their culture. The Batonn Insurgency would have suffered far more casualties if the monarchy was stripped.” 

Tarkin paused for a moment before returning to speech .

“Captain, you are dismissed. Return to your duties.” 

Tarkin watched as the younger man faded from the holoprojector. Now it was solely him and the Grand Admiral. He related the marital and political issues of the Grand Admiral to his own, for  Garoche seemed to have kept Thalassa occupied before he grew.

“Grand Admiral, might I suggest start a family with the princess . It would surely shut her up and keep her from trouble . It would also send a sign I believe, a sign of submission to the empire.”

“I will surely take that into consideration, Governor.”

“I am authorizing shore leave for you , go to Batonn and see what you can do.”

Having a child with a human woman , no less the pure Queen of an important planet, would also help the chiss become more accepted by the xenophobic humans who littered the empire. And Thrawn did admit that after introducing (Y/N) (L/N) Mitth'raw'nuruodo as his wife, he saw less of the common scorn of his human coworkers. He also noticed more compliance.

“I have already arranged for your departure to Coruscant with the best doctors-”

“My child will be born on Batonn!” 

And though she did not yell, it was made apparent that she did. 

“Lady Mitth,” Tarkin interrupted the nearly arguing couple, “It seems that you have forgotten that you are a Mitth, no longer a (L/N).”

“I feel comfortable with the midwife I have selected-”

The queen’s voice drained as Clvtorig went into the kitchen, signaling to the handmaiden Shínrin and Goi to follow suit. The  handmaidens both took their pitchers with them of course, careful as to not spill the liquid which was inside. No one at the table noticed, for they now bickered about the leniency of acceptance at the Royal Imperial Academy, something (Y/N) sat out of.

The kitchen bustled as always. This time however, stormtroopers stood inside and watched to make sure no food was poisoned (though it seemed as if they had become drowsy and dozed off). Clvtorig led the woman to the back, just in case anyone saw them speaking. 

“Here” he said as he revealed a sachet of pills which hid in his breastplate. “Dissolve these into your drinks. It will hopefully end this comedy.”

“What will it do?” Goi intrigued, sniffing the liquid. 

“Just make them drowsy, like them.” 

The group looked at the sleeping stormtroopers and laughed. They laid lamely, Helmets nearly off and blasters just laying carelessly on the floor.

“Will it work on the consort?”

“No . No. No. Don’t use any on Thrawn or her majesty. I need her to view the chip before they have their meeting.”

“So why not use it on Thrawn?”

“I don’t think it will work on his anatomy, I admit. I only have a little so use it on the ones whom I have briefed you on.”

“As you wish, Your Excellency.”

They each offered a respectful bow before stepping back into the room, holding the tainted pitcher. With a silent prayer, the count wished the girls would remember not to pour into the Queen’s cup—the mark on the chalice needed to be witnessed by her sorrowful gaze. Her eyes, witnesses to endless suffering, spoke volumes of pain. Adjusting his helmet to avoid obstructing his view, he carefully secured it back in place. After methodically counting to twenty twenty times, he returned to the room, taking his position to the left of the door.

It didn’t take long before the Tarkins and the Governor began to feel drowsy, cutting their answers and arguments shorter and shorter by the second . 

(Y/N) chuckled to herself before taking a sip of water. 

“Well , that must have been a long ride.”

“Perhaps.” Thrawn responded to his wife, cutting his answer short. In reality, they had argued the whole ride, not realizing they reached the outerim until they landed. 

“It seems we have all finished.” Thrawn stod, ending the dinner with his words. “My wife and I shall retire. I suggest you all do the same . We have an impactful day tomorrow.”

He presented his hand to (Y/N), who took his hand and elevated herself with such grace.

“Ladies,” the Queen called to her handmaidens. “Please guide our guests to their rooms.” 

It wasn’t until (Y/N) soaked in her tub did she beckon her husband, questioning him as to why the Lady Tarkin traveled with him. Thrawn sat in clothes suitable for sleep at the window, reading a novel which had appeared when he had searched the palace library . 

“Lady Tarkin came as a courtesy. I was not opposed to the idea , it was actually proposed to me-”

“She came uninvited to my house.” (Y/N) pouted.

“Did no one inform you?”

She looked around, only moving her eyes before uttering a suspicious “no”.

“She rarely even invites me to her parties on Coruscant.”

“That hasn't stopped you from attending when you seem fit.”

Suddenly she let out a laugh before arising from her tub. It just so happened that the Grand Admiral had turned around, fixing on the nakedness of her slightly swollen womb. It was his seed inside of her, growing in her womb. The inevitable human and chiss child intrigued him. Secretly , he wondered if the child would look  more like  him or more like his wife. But the Grand Admiral did not have time to start a family, marrying and having a child was his duty, not a want.

In reality, this was all proving to be a liability . But he knew the emperor’s game.

“Please Thrawn, that was only two times. Two times I regret.”

She stepped into her house shoes and then into her night dress and walked from the bathroom and crawled into bed.

“What are we naming it?” she asked when he entered. Thrawn paused before allowing her to speak again. “Will it be given a chiss name or a human name? Will it be raised on Batonn or your apartment on coruscant? Is this our last child?”

“My wife, you ask questions in which I do not know the answer to.”

“Well… these are questions one usually asks the father of their child.”

“If they are to succeed in the imperial academy-”

“The Imperial academy!” The expecting mother jolted from the bed and looked into the gleaming red eyes of her loathsome husband. It came as a shock to her really , and she couldn’t help but wonder if her brother had anything to do with this arrangement. “No, my child… our child… he shall be the next king so that I may die happily knowing the line of Batonn is secured.”

“You don’t seem to realize your current reality.” He was calm when he spoke, something that angered (Y/N) to no end. “ Your opinion on my offspring’s future will not be taken into consideration, your royal highness. You are a servant of the empire and it is time you accept your position , there are rumors… the senate wants to get rid of your monarchy all together.”

“Making me a senator would only do such a thing.” For it was true. She would be occupied with matters  in the senate, no longer able to sustain the cultural relationship she had with her people. Thrawn was smart, but she was smarter. Or so she thought.

“Your highness,” he stood tall and it almost intimidated her for the room was dark and his eyes were bright. “I advise you to keep your head down. You are growing unpopular in the senate ”

She knew what he meant.

She knew he knew.

They looked at each other  and suddenly , (Y/N) arose from her bed as the room began to shrink and dissipate as she feared was the inevitable fate of Batonn. 

 "I will not let the Empire erase our heritage, Thrawn, for it seems as if that has already been done.” Although he was on the other side of the bed, she felt as if he were close, strangling her with his sanguinary hands.“Our child will know Batonn, its people, and its history. You may be part of the Empire, but I refuse to let them strip my family of who they are."

He seemed to contemplate what she said, turning to her with the stone-cold posture that he always bore. 

“Throughout history in every culture on every planet,” he began walking towards the door, “Marriages have been about compromise . This one won’t. It is time you learn to subserve to the empire. ”

The room seemed to enclose and he walked closer to her , standing right infront of her nearly trembling body, something he noticed. 

“I was going to leave but then I thought you would prefer me here, with you.”

She stepped back and looked him up and down in the dark with a scorn upon her lips.

“I am also curious as to your… progress.”

“My progress?”

“Our child. I have done research on hybrid children and your growth is meant to be stalled due to my seed…”

“Yes , Thrawn I know.” She unbuttoned her nightdress and let it drift to the floor. The sheer white of the gown had almost made her seem as a ghost , but now she seemed human. It would be a lie to say that the changes she was experiencing made her feel uncomfortable and trapped . Often she would compare herself to animals, saying that she was made and the empire was the sire . Her handmaidens would reassure her that she had control of her life , but she had her doubts. 

The queen was up longer than what was usually expected, but she got up quickly in the morning so it was alright. It came to her surprise , however, that her husband had been up before her and gone from their shared bed. She wished to share breakfast with him, but she figured that she also needed some alone time away from imperials to calm her headache.

So she sat on her balcony and ate the eggs and drank the milk that had been prepared for her. Only one handmaiden accompanied her , sitting silently across from the queen as she enjoyed her lesser meal. The rest of the girls had been attending to other matters, ones deemed more important than accompanying the Queen to breakfast . 

“Lady Mitth!” an annoying chatter rang. “Lady Mitth!”

The Queen closed her eyes and awaited the Tarkin to disturb the evergoing peace that was the balcony. It was if she were running from something, the way her hag body walked almost seemed muddled.  Simultaneously, as woman yelled, the queen stained her dress with the dark tea.

The Queen arouse anyway and so did her handmaiden who bowed and swiftly picked up her plate and walked from the cobble. “Lady Tarkin, what a pleasant surprise.”

“How rude of you to not invite your guests to breakfast. I was pathetically eating all alone.”

“Well my Lady I apologize but I was under the impression that you had left with your husband and the Grand Admiral.”

“Wilhuff’s business is none of my own.”

(Y/N) smiled as she placed her chalice onto the plate, signaling that she had finished her meal. Amongst the hitting sun and the smell of freshly planted flowers, (Y/N) suddenly felt the urge to leave the outdoor setting once she saw that dreadful woman. 

“Oh how right you are.” She then gestured to the seat next to her, now clean “Would you join me then? I am done but I could pour myself some tea.” 

“Very well.” she sat, making (Y/N) feel a sudden urge to throw herself from the balcony.“Are you excited?”

“For?”

“For the baby of course.”

“As any woman would be given the circumstances.”

“We all hope it looks like you.”

It wasn’t a question , but a statement which forced the queen to slam her tea cup. Her eyes bolted to the woman, who seemed unaware of the confusion she had just caused. No, it wasn’t confusion but rather disgust .

“Excuse me?”

“Well I must admit that it is gossip amongst the wives of officers, something you are too good for.”

The flags flapped in the wind, creating a mystical song which drowned the sneer in 

Thalassa’s voice. It was simply the word ‘gossip’ which angered her, something she knew they enjoyed making her the subject of. It was also prejudiced. She must admit that when she first laid eyes on her arranged husband, she was scared. Not only considering his invasion of her planet, but because of the odd colour of his eyes and the cold colour of his skin.  

“Thalassa,” She started with an artificial smile on her face “My child will be born with skin of blue and eyes of ruby. Human blood will only seep into the veins of my grandchild who will have my skin , my hair and the legacy of his grandfather.”

It then hit Thalassa who despised the reality that Thrawn, one of the empire’s most successful officers was nonhuman and that his legacy would unfortunately live on through the womb of the Batonnese queen. She simply smiled as she had been taught to do and laid her fork to rest. The breakfast was cut short to say the least. It did not sadden (Y/N) who rushed into her room to change her dress. She sat at her vanity with her handmaiden following behind, undressing her from the buttons behind. Uiona took the dress and walked from the room with the dirty dress, leaving the Queen in her solitude. 

It was then when (Y/N)’s bare foot brushed against a flat, elevated surface did her concentration avert from the mirror. 

She raised a brow and picked the object from its home beneath her vanity. Her fingers gently grazed the hardened box, something she did not remember owning but then again, she had been so busy she forgot her brother’s name for a while. She opened the box and there was a chip, a chip most likely containing a recording. It was then she remembered who had gifted her this box and how sudden it had been. 

“Droid!”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The buzzer went off and (Y/N) stod quickly from her seat , knocking the binoculars that had sat upon her lap. Her husband picked them from the floor, the cheers from the people below them distracted him from the crack in the lens. It was horse racing , and Thrawn had decided to accompany his wife last minute. Just as she was leaving, he was returning . Shínrin was meant to accompany her but her husband dismissed her, wanting to observe his wife on her many outings from the palace.  And because of that, she had to cancel her true plan to visit the rebel leader in the country. 

She sat back down now that the horses were out of sight. She did not worry for listening to the announcer was enough to send her on edge. 

“Your Majesty?” A droid came with drinks on a tray, her favorite- quanya. 

“My wife is fine, thank you.” He took a glass, leaving her thirsty. “Something without alcohol will do.”

(Y/N) took a sip of her drink, trying to hide her longing for the days without child. She glanced at her husband, who was engrossed in the ongoing race. Seizing the opportunity, she decided to probe into his unexpected appearance.

Carefully as to not offend , she chose her words carefully , "Thrawn, I didn't expect you to join me today,"

He shifted his attention to her , "I thought it would be interesting to witness your pursuits outside your royal duties, my dear. Besides, I find the strategies employed in these races quite fascinating."

She nodded and then groaned when the horse she decided not to bet on crossed the finish line, “Well they still have six more laps to go.” She then beckoned her hand for the same waiter. “I’m hungry, get me my usual … make it two?” 

“Fromirian roast queg.”

“You know me so well,” she laughed and held up her broken bonchliers. “Crap…”

Evening dawned when the race was over. They walked in the empty viewing lounge, near the mirrors as to allow the oranges and yellows of the setting sun to hit their faces. She held onto the white of his uniform, using her other hand to sway with the skirt of her dress. It was then when his footsteps halted, nearly casting her forward.  She wanted to say something, but she enjoyed the silence too much.

 

"I stress of you," Thrawn began to vocalize, his commanding tone resonating through the air as he turned to face his wife. The sheer sternness of his demeanor made (Y/N) acutely aware of the power he wielded, yet there was an underlying intensity that stirred something deep within her. Despite the stern facade, she couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull towards him, finding comfort in the subtle warmth beneath his unyielding exterior.

“I am fine, you don’t need to stress. I live in a castle filled with people and droids waiting on me hand and foot.”

“Not of that , my wife, but of your reputation and your planet's reputation. Hopefully your introduction as the mother of my child will change that tarnished reputation that you hold.”Thrawn asserted, his words carrying the weight of both authority and a hidden tenderness.

“Thrawn, I must admit that I worry for my people… There are rumors that the empire plans on enslaving my people.” she confessed, searching for reassurance in his unwavering gaze. The silence that followed felt ominous, casting an eerie spell over the conversation.

She was then drawn back to that morning. The morning where she inserted the chip into a droid and saw a recording of an imperial explaining his plans on enslaving Batonn.

Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire, 

Today, I stand before you as a representative of our glorious Empire, entrusted with a crucial responsibility that will shape the destiny of this esteemed planet. Batonn, a jewel in the outer rim, possesses invaluable resources that have the potential to fuel the progress and prosperity of the entire Empire.

As we gaze upon the vast, untapped mines beneath our feet, it is imperative that we recognize the untold wealth hidden within the depths of Batonn. The minerals and ores waiting to be extracted are not just a resource for this planet but a source of strength for the Empire as a whole.

In the spirit of unity and progress, the Galactic Empire proposes a bold initiative: the mobilization of the people of Batonn to contribute to the flourishing industry that lies beneath our very soil. By harnessing the collective strength of its citizens, we will unlock the unparalleled potential of these mines.

Through the unwavering commitment of every citizen, we shall ensure that the riches of Batonn benefit the entirety of the Empire. Our vision is one of shared success and collective achievement. This initiative will not only secure the economic future of Batonn but also fortify our position within the Galactic Empire.

I understand that change can be met with hesitation, but let it be known that this proposal is not an imposition but an opportunity for each of you to contribute to a greater cause. Together, we shall forge a legacy that will be remembered throughout the galaxy.

May the strength of Batonn be harnessed for the greater glory of the Galactic Empire. Join us on this path of progress, and together, we shall shape a future that transcends the boundaries of our wildest dreams.

Long live the Galactic Empire!

"Please tell me it’s not true," she implored, her voice almost a plea as her face turned red.

“For an empire to prosper, some must suffer.” Thrawn declared, his stern expression unwavering.

“No!”  (Y/N) protested, a surge of emotion breaking through.

“It is so.”

“But we are human; the empire does not enslave those-”

“Oh but they do, how ignorant you have been in that stone palace you reside in.” Thrawn revealed, the sternness in his voice cutting through the air.

“I will not allow this. You will not allow this!” And suddenly he saw that spark, the spark in which he had been warned about.

“And what will you do, my gentle queen.” Thrawn challenged.

“I will not go to coursant. I will stay here,” she vowed.

“Do not make this difficult, it is best for us,” Thrawn urged, his stern facade momentarily softening as he leaned in. He pressed a lingering and passionate kiss to her lips, a silent promise.

They then found each other entangled in eachothers arms on Thrawn’s bed situated on his personal ship. She awoke in utter silence, the sterile witness of the room nearly caused her naked body to quiver in the unknowing cold.

“Husband,” she shook him roughly, nearly crying. 

He wore grey, meaning he had changed after the act, something she noticed as he slowly awoke from his position on the bed. 

“Thrawn, where have you taken me?”

 

“We are going to Coruscant , (Y/N), a decision I have made for the both of us.”

“Thrawn… you have betrayed me,” there was hurt in her voice and she nearly wanted to cry. “Where are my handmaidens? Where is the Count? Where is Jankie?”

“The count is here,” Thrawn sighed, “He would not let you go without his presence.”

Thrawn packed his case and had ordered his wife’s handmaiden to do the same in respects to his wife. He stood in her room, ready with a case to walk to his shuttle where she had already found sleeps embrace. The night was dark and he had ordered the serving women to be quiet so as to not awake anyone else who resided in the palace. 

The count stormed in the room, breaking the silence which no longer lingered in the room. He enlighted his lightsaber , the green engulfing the ever growing darkness. 

“Where is my Queen?” He shouted. The handmaidens quaked , squirming to the left corner of the room. It was the first time many of them had seen a jedi, the scene frightened them.

“ Count Clvtorig, what a surprise. I’m sure you’re aware that threatening a senior officer of the navy is illegal…”

“Bring him to me.”

“I’m afraid that cannot be done, my dear. Your dear friend Count Clvtorgi is being confined to the ship’s prison.”

“Why?” she stood from the bed, holding the sheets to cover her bareness.

“He is a jedi,” he then raised his eyebrow “surely you had known.”

“No. None of this is true.”

“(Y/N), you must understand that the Empire values the symbolism of our presence on Coruscant.” 

“Symbolism? It is better that I stay on Batonn.”

“My love, I brought you to Coruscant for the well-being of our child. The medical facilities here are unparalleled, ensuring a safe and secure environment for the hybrid birth. The matters on Batonn will be addressed in due course. But being there allows us to influence decisions that impact our entire sector.” 

It was then when a comm rang, disturbing the argument that was bound to occur. He strolled to his desk and pressed down the answer button .

“Agent Kallus to Grand Admiral Thrawn,” The man’s hologram appeared.

“Speaking.”

“The inquisitor has just landed. Should we guide him to the Count’s cell?”

The Queen’s jaw twitched. She held her mouth to prevent the violent tremor from becoming noticeable though that was too late. 

“I will be there, agent, tell the inquisitor to stand by,” He then turned to his wife who simply yearned to cry into her pillow. “This discussion will have to wait.” In a haste, he dressed and left the room, dressing perfectly in the minimal amount of time he was given. 

It was sometime before she was able to collect herself, but the time came and she dressed in a gown of blue and made her way down the hall looking for the man who was about to kill one of her only friends. He had already taken her family, he was not going to take away Clvtorgi.

Or her baby.

This she would not allow.

“You,” she pointed at the stormtrooper who roamed aimlessly “where is my husband?”

With no answer, (Y/N) stormed past him and made her way to the deck where only a few officers captioned the ship. They did not turn when she approached , seemingly ignoring her frightened presence . “Gentlemen,” she called, unknowingly triggering the senses of a certain guard who had accidentally let her sleep. 

“My lady,” One of them stood while the other one continued manning the ship. “I thought you were confined to the Grand Admiral's quarters.”

“Confined?” she simply gasped and clenched her heart “I am your commanding officer’s wife, not a prisoner.” 

A noghri stood silently behind her, his weapon drawn and ready to stun. 

“Well,” the imp smiled , showing his teeth “It seems as if you must take up your complaints with someone else.” 

Slowly, she turned her head , seeing the electrifying weapon which had surely been charged before she boarded.  

It was then when she was stunned and fell to the floor did the Jedi trained Clvtorgi scream and struggle from his confinement. The Inquisitor paused his mind tricks and turned to Agent Kallus who stood to his left. 

“All he can think about is that girl,” the inquisitor sneered and ignited his saber.

“Girl?”

“The Grand Admiral's wife. He seems to have a very deep connection to her, and the child she carries.”

“So what should we do in the meantime.”

“Oh I’m not finished yet.”

In her dreams she heard his haunting screams and desire to remain as stoic as a jedi. It wouldn’t be long before they killed him , making him a jedi only spoken about in books and fairytales. In her dreams, she wandered through the desolate corridors of her home on Batonn, its grandeur reduced to shadows and echoes of its former glory. The once vibrant colors were now muted, and the air hung heavy with a sense of foreboding. The walls seemed to close in on her, and every step echoed with a haunting emptiness. It was then she reached the end of the hall , where Clvtorgi stod in his regal disguise. 

The quietness of the door opening disturbed her dream, and the count’s face slowly disappeared, replaced by a face of blue.

“I heard you had a confrontation with my guard,” Thrawn stated, entering the room.

“It was nothing,” she whispered.

He said nothing and entered further into the room, asserting himself in her sleeping space. 

“We will reach Coruscant tomorrow,” he began shedding his uniform as a snake would its skin. “Lady Tarkin is throwing you a blessingway. I won’t be able to attend but I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

Voices became white noise and the ship's hum became roaring. He did not stop talking though, even when he noticed that she was disengaged, causing her to gasp from his shockingly boring voice. 

“Hmm are you alright?” He turned to her before sitting at his desk.

“Yes, It just kicked…”

“He”

“What?”

“Male. The child is male.”

“How do you know?”

“Count Clvtorgi,” She sat up in bed, using the sheet to cover her breasts “He knew through the force, something he is strong in. Another reason as to why you should stay on Coruscant.”

“No, the empire agreed to keep the monarchy.”

“Your duties changed once you began carrying our heir.”

And that was the end of it.  She felt the weight of her responsibilities shift, becoming mature and womanly. No longer was she Queen of Batonn, but a wife to her husband-Thrawn. 

The changes were palpable – at social gatherings, during shopping excursions, and even in the formalities of Imperial addresses . It was even evident at parties, when she went shopping and when she received mail or was addressed by the imperials.

“Welcome Lady Mitth, would you like to add this to your account?”

“Lady Mitth has arrived.”

And Lady Mitth did arrive one afternoon to the endless city of Coruscant. The twi'lek porter held her few bags which would maybe suffice for a month or two. Thrawn promised her that he would send for her other belongings and perhaps a handmaiden or two but for the time being:

“Go shopping and take the droid with you,” he said to her when he caught her exploring his obnoxiously large coruscanti  apartment. “Charge everything to my account. No one should question you, everyone knows who I am and you are.”

In a way it was both a warning and a blessing.

“I will join you for dinner. I have business to attend to in the meantime, but send for me when you’re ready.” 

And he said it as cold as always, ignoring her presence as he left the room. But she gave him scant credit, for he had sensed her lingering blues and concluded that the combination of the unexpected move and the pregnancy had put a strain on his wife. He sometimes caught her staring aimlessly out the window, cradling her growing bump and counting the speeders in the skyline. It was time for some excitement in her life.

So that was when she decided to overcharge his account, buying everything and anything in sight. There was one thing about Batonnese women, and that was their expensive taste and style, something Thrawn had observed through art commissioned by his young bride. He did expect her to spend all his credits and pick the most expensive dress and buy it in every colour offered just to spite him , so that was what she did. 

Those dresses of every colour were thrown neatly in the trunk of the speeder , left to a droid to attend to. She didn’t mind if  they got wrinkled , for she was probably never going to wear them. Maternity wear was just dreadful and plain.

“Where are my reservations at?” She questioned the driver as they traveled through the endless sea of lights “I would like to know where I'm going.”

“The Pinnacle, My lady.”

“The Pinnacle ?” she raised her brow. In reality, she would expect no less from her husband and his choosing but she secretly wished for something more private and calm. The Pinnacle attracted many of the empire’s most elite members which meant that Lady Mitth would most likely see someone she despised.

The vehicle stopped and already she noticed enemies she had made on her first visit to her husband's adopted home. In some strange sick way , she felt a sense of jealousy towards those women. Their slender, youthful forms with the power to captivate any man they wished for seemed like an elusive fantasy, something she could only envision in her dreams.

Graciously and with the dignity belonging to a queen , (Y/N) exited the vehicle and held her head higher than the 500 Republica. She hoped the night would masquerade her face, hiding her slight plumpness from the youthful women her age.

“Lady Mitth !” one of the girls shouted from the sea of elites “Look Vegga, it’s (Y/N). Remember her, the Batonnese girl.”

“Oh brother,” she signed under her breath.

Already, (Y/N) noticed the judgmental smile that plagued the girls whom she vaguely remembered as Gendora and Vegga , daughters of Commander Drexton. 

"Well, where's the Grand Admiral? Not joining us today?" 

“He’s on his way,” she tried moving past them , but was stopped as they moved closer. 

"Well I just wanted to extend my congratulations. Word is you're expecting."

 "Thank you. Yes, we're thrilled."

 "Thrilled, I'm sure. It must be such an... interesting time for you." She looked down at her overly flowing dress, seeing the outlined bump.

"It is. Your kind wishes are appreciated."

She pushed past them, trying to hide her tears. She couldn't shake the feeling that beneath the surface, the congratulations were marred by a prejudiced undertone, driven by the fact that her baby was a mix of Chiss and human. 

Human, something she felt too much.

She approached the host , but she need not to introduce herself. 

“Lady Mitth, we’ve been expecting you! We have the rooftop table . Where’s your husband?”

Everywhere she stepped, everywhere she was noticed, she was asked about Thrawn. He was a part of her, an invisible parasite glued to the center of her face. It was as if she wore a badge that read “Thrawn’s Wife. Obedient : silent, and imperial.”

“Just send him to my table when he arrives,” a small giggle flew from her mouth as she followed the host to her designated table, picked by her husband. 

The scenery almost overwhelmed her but sulking for long never looked good on women in society. Especially one who wore the badge of a grand admiral's wife. If only she were still the unmarried virgin she once was only a few years ago, with not a worry in the world. She would still retain her thin figure, her unbraided hair , and her finger which was free of a heavy ring. 

Still, she thought of Count Clvtorig and his alleged jedi title and the many times she had been so stupid as to not notice. It was him who had saved her when she had visited the witch, and it was him who had been there when the imperials threatened and raided the farms in the north. She was so deep in thought that she failed to notice her husband who had just walked into the restaurant. All eyes seemed to be on him, but hers. 

“Lady Mitth,” he stood with his hands resting on the hem of the chair , looking down at his wife. 

“Thrawn!” she nearly dropped her glass on the table as she stood abruptly, allowing her husband to kiss her. He took the seat opposite of her, tucking her into the table before he did.  

“I trust you found the dressmakers on Coruscant to be satisfactory.”

“Well the women here do know how to dress.”

Thrawn inclined his head, acknowledging her words. "Efficiency is key in all aspects of life, including choosing the clothing we wear." Scanning the menu he then placed it neatly on the table.

A waiter approached to take their orders, and Thrawn opted for a selection of dishes that reflected his refined taste. As the waiter turned his attention to (Y/N), she hesitated for a moment before placing her order.

"Is there anything specific you desire?" Thrawn inquired, his eyes fixated on her.

"I'll trust your choices," she responded, attempting to convey a sense of ease despite the nervousness she felt.

He of course asked her how her day went, if she had felt ill or in any sort of way. She then asked how he had been and he responded with information pertaining to the imperial navy , diplomatic matters, and the delicate balance of power within the Empire. She  listened attentively, as a good wife should, providing occasional nods and thoughtful responses.

Thrawn then shifted the conversation to a more personal realm. "Your adjustment to Coruscant has been swift," he observed.

"It's a different world," she admitted, offering a small smile. "But I'm doing my best."

"The Empire values adaptability," Thrawn stated. "It is a quality that will serve you well."

The topic shifted to Lady Tarkin's upcoming blessingway, and Thrawn emphasized the importance of maintaining a positive image within the Imperial circles.

"You are a representation of not only yourself but also the stability of our union," Thrawn explained, his gaze piercing. "Appearances matter."

(Y/N) nodded, understanding the unspoken expectations that accompanied her role. The conversation drifted towards the impending arrival of their child, and Thrawn's demeanor softened, revealing a rare glimpse of paternal anticipation.

"Your connection with Clvtorgi troubles me," Thrawn admitted, his voice measured. "The Inquisitor sensed it, and I cannot ignore the implications."

"He's an old friend," (Y/N) explained, her tone sincere. "He saved me in times of need, and I cannot turn my back on him." 

She then began to stress , her brows furring and her teeth clenched .

“Please tell me what his fate will be.”

Thrawn regarded her with a thoughtful expression, his eyes probing. "I do not wish to stifle your connections, but caution is imperative. The Empire's perception of loyalty is unforgiving."

"Your adaptability will continue to be tested," Thrawn remarked while standing and extending his arm, offering her to dance."But I have faith in your ability to navigate these intricacies."

He guided her to the dance floor as the soothing notes of a waltz filled the air, evoking the painful memory of her coronation. Facing him, she felt his hand on her waist, poised to lead.When she was young and the palace still flourished with the (L/N) family , (Y/N) would always lead when dancing with her brothers or suitors. However, the first dance with Thrawn marked a shift, as he insisted on leading and discouraged any attempts to adjust her hands to take charge.When she was young and the palace still flourished with the (L/N) family , (Y/N) would always lead when dancing with her brothers or suitors.

The realization made her stop him by standing still and not moving her body in a way which complimented the music. 

“(Y/N),” he stopped along with her and moved his hand to her cheek “Is everything alright?”

She wanted to tell him that she grew weary from her fake smiles and her perfect posture and just wanted to go back to the apartment. It was evident in her eyes, she knew that he could sense it as well as others.

“I’m very tired , I…I- I’d rather just go home.”

He led her off the dancefloor , bringing her down the stairs and escorting her into his personal hovercraft. They sat in silence, his hand rested on her leg while she stared at the busy roads. It was night and she could not get over the lights flashing into her face from others whom she felt watched her.

He opened the door letting her into the dark and silent apartment.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me but of course, call the droid first,” he left her in the dark and went straight to his office, it seemed the working day hadn’t ended. 

But even as tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep knowing her husband was awake and ignoring her in the other room. A tranquil breeze gave her a chill, solidifying her feeling of loneliness. She moved the comforter , slipping from the sheets and moving across the hallway to go knock on his door. 

“Lady…” the silver droid had caught her lurking in the hall, but was ordered to be quiet by (Y/N) placing a finger on her lips. After a knock, (Y/N) entered Thrawn's office, finding him buried in a stack of datapads and holographic displays. The air carried a tense atmosphere, and she could sense the weight of his responsibilities pressing upon him. He almost did not even notice her, but then he looked up and saw his wife standing before him.

"Thrawn," she spoke gently, approaching his desk. "You seem stressed. Is there anything I can do?"

"There are pressing matters that I must attend to," he admitted with a sigh.

(Y/N) then leaned against the edge of his desk, twisting her hair and looking down at her husband. "You've been working tirelessly. “You deserve a break."

 "The demands of the Empire are unrelenting."

She reached out, placing a hand on his, offering a comforting touch. "You don't have to carry it all on your own, Thrawn. Have one of your assistants help."

Thrawn's gaze softened at her words, a rare vulnerability surfacing. "The burden of command is mine to bear."

 "And I'm here to share it with you, as your wife."

A growing tension entered the room , not the same tension that had appeared over dinner, but a romantic and wanting tension. A tension only felt by lovers and those of the sort.  Thrawn leaned forward, capturing her lips in a tender kiss, solidifying their joint needs for desire and companionship . 

He pulled her closer to his body, kissing her once more in a fit of passion and desire. He held the back of her head, moving his hand slowly to the buttons of her nightdress. She did the same, removing his shirt and throwing it to some unknown corner of the room. With haste, he picked her up and laid her gently on a sofa with the last chaste kiss of the evening.

Already, he had taken off her gown and undergarments and she- his clothing . He laid on top of her and looked into her eyes . She was wanting , yearning , needing. He cheeks grew red with desire and her nipples erected at the sound of his groan . He moved his hand down his body, touching himself . 

She instead replaced his hand with hers and began to delicately move her hand in such a way which would elicit some sort of pleasure. She knew how hard he had been working and admitted that she had felt neglected for awhile. But lonely she felt no more. 

Never was the stare of Thrawn so intense. She saw the want in his eyes and laid down on her back , letting go of his shaft and wiping her fingers on her pink rose. She arched her back and moaned when she rubbed herself , pulling him down with her. It became hot in the room, causing the couple to pant and become red with pleasure.

He found her incredibly desirable even with her slightly bulging womb which she found distasteful. He used his hands to trail up her body , reaching her soft and perky breasts . His fingers decided to cup and massage her hardening nipples, causing her to gasp. 

“I’ve missed you,” He moved his lips to her ears, whispering sweet nothings and biting onto the soft and delicate skin “Oh you’re simply a work of art.”

She could barely respond .

It was sensual and wanting, an emotion she was guilty of longing for when he was gone. As he touched her, remembering her pleasure spots from previous nights before, she gripped the back of his neck, making it so he was paralyzed in his movements. Oh but that was what she wanted, so that he would never stop.

A red gush of pleasure dropped over her body when he inserted himself into her soft, delicate hole. “Thrawn…” she panted as her body bounced back and forth, matching his rhythm. He did not hurt her this time, she grew accustomed to his size and the way he manhandled her, making her sensitive to his touch. He remained close to her, his head buried in the crook of her neck. Covertly, she turned her head to her right so that she was facing a shelf . A shelf she had been yelled at once for snooping around in. She saw a new folder, one that was scarlet, matching the colour of Batonn’s flag. 

‘That one,’ she heard the voice of her imprisoned friend, a voice she remembered so clearly ‘You must save our home. For me , it is too late.’

He whispered something to her in his native tongue before releasing himself into her, bringing her back to her senses, causing her to face him. She stopped her moaning and closed her mouth, allowing him to collapse on top of her. Swiftly , he got up and began to dress himself, paying no mind to her fixation on the shelf until it discomfited him.

“I must get to work now,” he helped her up, handing her the discarded dress in the process. 

It was an anticlimactic end, but in the morning she would wait for him to leave before abstracting the folder which sat on the shelf.

It seemed that Batonn had always been awarded the dull end of the empire’s sword.

[daitranscripts]

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Pt. 19c

A Public Truce

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Masterpost First: Gaining an Invitation Previous: The Fate of the Empress

The PC walks out onto the balcony with Celene, Briala, and Gaspard.

Briala: Your sister attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard.

Gaspard: You’re the spymaster. If anyone knew this atrocity was coming, it was you.

Briala: You don’t deny your involvement.

Gaspard: I do deny it! I knew nothing of Florianne’s plan! But you… you knew it all and did nothing!

Briala: I don’t know which is better: that you think I’m all-seeing or that you’re trying so hard to play innocent and failing.

Celene: Enough! We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against our nation! For the safety of the empire, I will have answers.

1 - Dialogue options:

Gaspard was planning a coup. (Reveal evidence of Gaspard’s crimes to the empress.)

Briala helped stop Florianne. (Use the evidence gathered about Gaspard to support Briala.) + Solas approves

All of you are at fault. (Try to force all three leaders to a truce.)

All of you are at fault.

If court approval is not high enough: PC: Every one of you is implicated. You all conspired to allow this to happen. Celene: This is hardly the time for histrionics, Inquisitor. Do be serious. [Back to 1]

If approval is high enough: + Solas approves Divine: Cassandra +1, Vivienne -5 PC: Every one of you is implicated. You all conspired to allow this to happen.

Celene: That’s a bold claim, Inquisitor. Are you prepared to defend it?

2 - Dialogue options:

General: You lured Gaspard here. [3]

General: Briala’s playing both sides. [4]

General: Gaspard planned a coup. [5]

3 - General: You lured Gaspard here. PC: You allowed the grand duke to sneak soldiers in, hoping he’d make a politically foolish move. Gaspard: That’s duplicitous even for you, Celene.

Dialogue options:

General: Gaspard, you fell for it. [6]

General: Briala played you both. [7]

6 - General: Gaspard, you fell for it. PC: You took the bait. I met your mercenary captain, Your Grace. He says you were ready to attack tonight. Briala: Clever move, if you were trying to get hanged for treason. [8] 7 - General: Briala played you both. PC: Of course, Briala was outplaying everyone. She killed your negotiators and forged new documents. Briala: So what if I did? Take me down, and elves will riot in every city in the empire. PC: They won’t. Not when they learn you were sleeping with the woman who purged Halamshiral’s alienage. [8] 8 - Choice dependent dialogue: - Blackmailed Celene first [Back to 2] - Already blackmailed Briala [9] - Already blackmailed Gaspard [10] 9 - Already blackmailed Briala PC: And Gaspard fell for Celene’s trap and was going to attack the palace. [21] 10 - Already blackmailed Gaspard PC: And Briala was playing both of you. She murdered your ambassadors and sent you each forged letters. Briala: Even if I did, you can’t touch me. PC: No one will defend you once it’s revealed that you and Celene were lovers when she burned Halamshiral’s alienage. [21]

4 - General: Briala’s playing both sides. PC: Briala was sabotaging the negotiations all along. I have the documents she stole from your ambassadors. Briala: Even if I did, there’s nothing you can do about it. Lay a finger on me, and you’ll have riots in every city in Orlais. PC: The elves won’t stand up for you once they know you let your lover burn Halamshiral’s alienage to the ground. Gaspard: The Inquisitor’s outmaneuvered you, rabbit. I’m impressed.

Dialogue options:

General: Celene set you up, Gaspard. [11]

General: You staged a coup, Gaspard. [12]

11 - General: Celene set you up, Gaspard. PC: I’m not the only one you underestimated. Celene let you sneak mercenaries in. She lured you into a trap. Gaspard: Surprisingly underhanded, even for you Celene. [13] 12 - General: You staged a coup, Gaspard. PC: You were going to attack tonight. You brought mercenaries in addition to your soldiers. Briala: Clever move, if you were trying to get hanged for treason. [13] 13 - Choice dependent dialogue: - Blackmailed Briala first [Back to 2] - Already blackmailed Gaspard [14] - Already blackmailed Celene [15] 14 - Already blackmailed Gaspard PC: And Celene knew of Gaspard’s coup and let it go far enough to hang him for treason. [21] 15 - Already blackmailed Celene PC: And Gaspard fell for Celene’s trap and was going to attack the palace. [21]

5 - General: Gaspard planned a coup. PC: Gaspard brought hired mercenaries into the palace for a coup. I have the word of his captain. Briala: Oh, Gaspard. So predictable. Brutality is your only talent.

Dialogue options:

General: You’re no better, Briala. [16]

General: Celene let it happen. [17]

16 - General: You’re no better, Briala. PC: You don’t hold the moral high ground, Briala. You did murder ambassadors and forge documents. Briala: So what if I did? Take me down, and elves will riot in every city in the empire. PC: They won’t. Not when they learn you were sleeping with the woman who purged Halamshiral’s alienage. [18] 17 - General: Celene let it happen. PC: The empress knew what you were doing, and let you get far enough to make a public ass of yourself. Gaspard: Surprisingly underhanded. Even for you, Celene. [18] 18 - Choice dependent dialogue: - Blackmailed Gaspard first [Back to 2] - Already blackmailed Briala [19] - Already blackmailed Celene [20] 19 - Already blackmailed Briala PC: And Celene knew of Gaspard’s coup and let it go far enough to hang him for treason. [21] 20 - Already blackmailed Celene PC: And Briala was playing both of you. She murdered your ambassadors and sent you each forged letters. Briala: Even if I did, you can’t touch me. PC: No one will defend you once it’s revealed that you and Celene were lovers when she burned Halamshiral’s alienage. [21]

21 - Scene continues.

Celene: You’ve made your point. What do you want?

Dialogue options:

General: Work together for Orlais. [22] - Cassandra slightly disapproves + Sera slightly approves + Blackwall slightly approves + Cole greatly approves

General: You’ve been outplayed. [23] - Cassandra slightly disapproves + Blackwall slightly approves + Sera approves

General: You work for me now. [24] - Cassandra slightly disapproves + Sera approves + Cole greatly approves

22 - General: Work together for Orlais. PC: You are three of the best minds in the empire. You could do so much for Orlais and your people if you stopped fighting. Celene: It is remarkably… optimistic to believe that the three of us could ever forget our differences, Inquisitor. [25]

23 - General: You’ve been outplayed. PC: If you don’t want your dirty secrets revealed, you’ll all do as I say and work together. Briala: You realize this can only end in disaster? [25]

24 - General: You work for me now. PC: I beat you all at your Great Game. You work for me now. Gaspard: We’ll see how long this lasts. [25]

25 - Scene ends.

Next: Addressing the Court

[ye-olde-sodor]

Night Talks (CotL Fic PT 3)

Gordon gazed of into the distance from the castle balcony. His eyes glanced down at the sight of the city of Vicarstown below him. Vicarstown, the largest city on the Island, connecting the Mainland to Sodor itself, looked so small from the palace in the sky.

When 10 had took control of the island, the Diesel works had ascended into the sky, shifting and morphing from the ranshack sheds that the Diesels dared to call home into a grand and wonderous palace that could rival that of Windsor itself.

Gordon turned his back from the view and leaned against the railing of the balcony. He felt the cold autumn wind brush against his face and arms as he turned his attention to the archway. The light of the moon seemed to shimmer around him and the balcony railing. As Gordon look at the grand arch, a small, thin man in a red turtleneck and black overalls had appeared.

Diesel, the appointed magic scholar, had returned from his trip from the bar. Gordon scoffed at him as he approached.

"You're fifteen minutes late, Rudolph. Any later and you would've had to deal with the Patrols."

"Yeah yeah," the diesel mocked. "It's not my fault we had to take the roads."

Gordon became cross at the mention of roads. "You took the roads?! You're a diesel, why didn't you just travel by rail?!"

"Hey, blame Dodge, not me!" the thin man proclaimed. "His engine failed last week, remember?"

Gordon blinked. He had heard of Dodge's engine, but had assumed all had been fixed. He also assumed that Dodge would've just climbed into one of his colleagues cabs and driven home. Then again, after living with them for so long, he knew the diesels tend to make things more complicated than they would've been had they just used their heads. At least they were typically creative in their poor decisions.

He rolled his eyes at the man but decided to drop the subject. "Just...try to get back here on time next time. I'd hate for you to get mixed up with the patrols."

Diesel, surprisingly enough, felt guilty. Gordon was one of the few engines on the railway that had a fondness for Diesel, although he's not exactly sure why.

In a surprising turn of events, Gordon had stayed with the Diesels after his fight with Diesel 10 and had been working for them ever since. He'd gotten along with the other diesels better than anyone would've expected...and he became especially close to 10.

Diesel wasn't the only one who noticed this change in the prideful engine's notion towards diesels. Many suspected that it had to do with what had happened in the fight between the two of them. While he himself wasn't present for it, he knew that the mysterious Gold Dust was involved with it...and he was determined to understand how it worked.

He walked closer to Gordon and pulled a sheet of paper out of his overall pocket and handed it to Gordon.

"If it makes up for it, I've been meaning to give you to this," he explained.

"What is it?" Gordon questioned.

"It's just an experiment proposal for the dust. I'll need a small bag of the dust for it, but it's a reasonable amount."

"So you want me to propose the idea to him." Gordon concluded as he skimmed through the paper. Diesel was right, It was a simple request. Just a small amount of Gold Dust for Diesel to sprinkle onto a live plant to see what would happen. Simple, but if it produces a result, can prove to be very useful.

"You're the only one he talks to anymore," he argued. "Even Splatter and Dodge can't get to him."

"That makes sense," Gordon argued, "He's...changed since the last time you've seen him."

"Really?" Diesel snarked sarcastically.

"More so than usual, you brick." Gordon sneered. "If you knew how much he's changed you'd understand."

"Of course I know how much he's changed," Diesel thought, "I've known him for years and no one knew he would do this. Besides, what do you know about him? How did you suddenly become his number one fan?"

Gordon put the paper in his pocket and turned to Diesel. "Well, I'll see what I can do. I can't guarantee that he'll go through with the idea, but I'm sure he'll have a look at it. I know he's fond of your little tricks and tests."

"Y'know, you sure know a lot about him." Diesel teased. "I've known him for, what, Three years now? I didn't even know he liked my tricks!"

"What are you implying?" Gordon growled.

"Oh nothing! Nothing at all!" Diesel said as he threw his arms up in defense. "It's just that, well...You two seem awfully close for-"

"We're friends." Gordon interrupted, his face turning red. "Nothing more, nothing less. You're just telling whoppers again."

"For Makers sake Gordon, you two have matching tattoos!"

"Friends can have matching tattoos!" Gordon protested as steam rose from his mouth.

"And send each other love poems?"

"Friends can absolutely send-HEY."

Diesel smiled at the reaction. Little did Gordon know that he had stumbled on a poem on Gordon's desk earlier that day. He had no ill intent with the information, he merely wanted to hear it from the blue engine himself. Both for confirmation and for the fun of it.

"It's fine, really." Diesel insisted, "I just wanna know the story. How did you two, of all engines, hook up?"

Gordon, knowing he'd been caught, let out a long sigh. "It happened around...three years ago. When he first showed up here."

"That long?!"

"It didn't happen right away, you fool!" Gordon clarified. "He was the one who started to feel something for me when I was teaching him the express route. I didn't start having those feelings until after he sent me one of his poems."

"How Chessy." Diesel snarked sarcastically.

"Oh it gets better," Gordon remarked. "It was a rough draft. According to him it was awful, but his driver mixed up the rough draft with the finished poem."

Diesel cocked his head, "Sooooo what happened when you read it?"

"I was swooned." he admitted with a deadpan look, "Completely taken out of my element."

Diesel burst into laughter as Gordon went on, ignoring the man altogether as he was lost in recollection.

"He had his driver pin the note to the side of the shed wall where I was sleeping for the night. When my driver found it in the morning, he read it out loud to us."

Diesel tried to compose himself as Gordon when on.

"I didn't even know we could feel intimacy towards each other until then, and even after the poem I was still skeptical about the feeling. A few weeks later the two of us met to talk about it, and we decided to just keep things the same."

"What?"

"Neither of us knew what romance was. 10 believed that we could feel it, I didn't. We didn't even know if what we were feeling is love to begin with. It could be something else entirely for all we know."

The emotions of machines were never fully understood by anyone, not even the machines themselves. Many believed that they could feel certain emotions, others didn't. Gordon was one of these machines. Him and the majority of the engines on the island believed that love was foreign to engines, even after the evidence from Toby and Henrietta. Until 10 came along, he was convinced that romantic attraction was impossible for engines to feel, and even went as far as to shame those who did back in his youth. Now that he was older (and wiser), he's been expressing doubts about the beliefs that were drilled into him at Doncaster.

Diesel, now incredibly intrigued and eager to help, wanted to quiz the engine. "Can you describe it. The feeling I mean, can you tell me what it feels like?"

"It's...difficult to explain it, but I could try to."

Diesel nodded and decided that questions could help him out. "When my driver fell in love, he said that he could feel happy when he thought of her. What does it feel like when you think of him?"

Gordon took a moment to think about it and responded back. "I feel...warm. Like my fire was recently lit during the winter. It's cozy, and it feels good."

"What about when you two are close together or when you spend time with him? Do you get the same feeling?"

"Yes, I do." Gordon explained. "It's the same feeling, but it's stronger. Warmer even...What do you make of it?"

"Driver says love is like a fever," explained Diesel, "But it's a good fever. It means you found the person who you want to stay with for the rest of your life. The two of you are supposed to be happy together, your supposed to make each other happy, y'know?"

"When you put it like that, it makes sense. But it feels so much more complicated than that, words just can't do it justice."

"It sounds a lot like love to me," Diesel spoke. "but I can't speak for the two of you. You gotta figure that out yourselves."

"True, but some advice from an expert would be appreciated...I don't think either of us know what we're doing."

Diesel shrugged his shoulders. "I may not know much about love but...well I wish for the best for you two. If anyone it can make it work, it's 10. He's tough, but he's a softie. He'd never hurt someone that he loves."

Gordon smiled at the man. He was about to thank his friend before he was seized by a sudden coughing fit. He began to cough violently as thick black smoke had begun to bellow out of his mouth, the smell of diesel fuel filling the air around him.

He knelt down to the ground as he gripped his chest. Diesel reacted quickly and placed his hands on his shoulders as he tried to soothe him. The smoke stung his eyes, but he held on to his friend, waiting for the eventual end to the coughing fit.

The two of them had grown accustomed to the fits, as they had started after his fight with 10 on the platform at Knapford. They typically started around midnight and in the early morning hours, and only lasted for a few moments.

Diesel would never suggest it to Gordon's face, but he suspects that the Gold Dust that 10 used in the fight had been the cause of the fits...and Gordon's transformations.

Eventually, as the black clouds faded, Gordon released the grip on his chest and looked at the palm of his hand. His already long nails had formed into a set of claws, with small quills jutting out from his arm. He cursed as he rubbed his wrist and, with the help of Diesel, got up from the ground.

“It would appear…that my stay here is overdue. Very overdue." he spoke weakly. “Derick and Spamcan must be waiting for me at the gates…I should be off."

"Wait, are you alright? Do you need someone to cover for you?"

"I'm fine," he spoke softly. "If anything, it's quite ironic. I lecture you for being late and yet here I am stalling. We can chat in the morning when we get back, if you'd like."

Diesel smiled as he helped Gordon to his feet, careful not to poke himself with the quills. "Deal, but take it easy. I don't want to be the guy to tell 10 that his boyfriend got hurt on the job."

"Oh hush you." he teased. "There'll be Hell to pay for everyone if that were to happen to me."

Gordon waved farewell to Diesel and walked into the fortress. As he entered the castle, a feeling of excitement and unease rushed into his body in anticipation of the patrol. Like all of the other changes to his body, he had become used to the sudden changes in appearance and behavior by now...but it didn't make what would happen next any more normal.

He hated it, but there was nothing that anyone could do to stop it. Not until they understood his situation, and in order to understand it, he had to let it happen. Not that he had much of a choice.

A small pain in his chest had formed again, and his heart began to race...and he sprinted towards the gates, praying that no one would see what would about to happen to him next.

[helluva-hazbins]

@liecoris

Despite rumors, Hell's great Ringleader did get out of the palace, it was a rare occassion but when it did happen it was luxury and atmosphere that he desired. The classiest place Pentagram City had to offer and because of that along with it's exclusivity policy, the Ringmaster made it a point to visit. It was a fully glamorized decor that adorned the interior walls and high rise ceiling of the Night Club, bar and lounge. It had a theme that just about revitalized the era of Earth's topside 1930's art deco, sharp geometrics and gold accented. He was in the V.I.P. section, roped off for only the highest valued clientele but it was only after a few drinks he realized he didn't feel much for drinking alone.

Eyes trailed along his surroundings. Until they halted, time not only stood still but could have ceased existing at all. It was only his third time out recently and he'd caught glimpse of her each time. Something about her was so magnetic, he felt drawn to her, in a way he hadn't been pulled at in so long, he'd almost figured he'd never feel it again. She was in a seperate roped off section, though on the same teir, it was a smaller space that she appeared to be sharing with a fair selected few as far as Lucifer could deduce. He knew she couldn't be royalty, he was familiar with all of them. Her looks, gorgeous as she was, read purely of that of the features indicative of a Sinner, formerly a surface dwelling human who had met with death. Even knowing that, he surprisingly didn't feel deterred.

So he got up, adjusted his coat and proceeded to walk towards an unlit stage. The stage attendant nearby, quickly dropped everything else he had been doin upon realizing exactly who it was heading up the steps of the oval-hsaped center stage and turned on all of the associated lighting, giving Hell's highest Royal Figure the complete spotlight. He reveled in it instantly, a wide smile as he took the mic, "Good evening folks! Hope you're all enjoying yourselves. Who am I kidding, of course you are, you deviants!" He laughed and nodded. "How about a little live entertainment, that sound alright to you fine folks?" Being the King came with it's perks, like never being told 'no'. A flash of ruby lightning zaps across the stage and with red clouds of smoke, it appears he's manifested several duplicates of himself to play several instruments and make up a band to accompany him. He himself, takes the seat at the large white grand piano that had also appeared in the red clouds of smoke and shimmering essence from his mystical power. Placing the mic back on it's stand, he gave a signal with a flick of his wrist and they all began to play in tempo; perfect harmony.

~You make me feel so young~

~You make me feel as though spring has sprung~

And every time I see you grin

I'm such a happy individual

The moment that you speak

I want to go play hide and seek

I wanna go and bounce the moon

Just like a toy balloon

After some time he stands, removes the mic from it's placement, taking it in hand once more and glides across the stage in her direction. Once in place he makes clear eye contact. A smile at play as he continues his song.

You make me feel so young

You make me feel there are songs to be sung

Bells to be rung

And a wonderful fling to be flung

There was a flame blooming from inside his chest and he just had to sing, his words; an outpouring of pure unfettered emotion he only wished would reach her. If his talent, his music, his passion could translate somehow. Maybe she would feel a fraction of what he'd been feeling, too.

The song finishes, he thanks the crowd, disperses his bandmates in a puff of shimmering red smoke clouds and begins walking down the steps, rubied eyes searching the crowd as they sweep over so many faceless individuals.

There was only one face he had eyes for in this moment.

[wessexroyalfamily]

{Location: White Lodge, Winchester City}

Princess Margaret of Lancaster: I thought the Queen was in residence at the Palace, why are we driving out of the city?

Anne Spencer-Lewis, The Countess Spencer: You’ve been invited for tea at Claremont House ma’am.

Margaret: You don’t think the Queen is angry about the protesters outside of the Cathedral the other day, do you?

Anne: No at all, no one can blame you for what people think.  

Margaret: Well my mother already has. 

Anne: No offence to your mother, but she is not the Queen. 

Margaret: Exactly! If my mother was that upset, imagine how furious the Queen must be.

Anne: After the war, the Queen’s popularity took a hit, and since then she’s prefers to spend her days out of the city, to be away from the crowds of protestors.

Margaret: So?

Anne: So, you might be surprised to find aa ally in her, who understands what you are going through.

{Location: Claremont House, Hyde Park - outside of Winchester City}

Queen Anne II of Wessex: It was too soon.

Prince Christian, The Earl of Gloucester: How were any of us to know?

Anne II: We should have waited before having the two of them in a joint engagement. What was Alexander thinking?

Christian: We agreed to it. 

Anne II: His role is to advise us, with advise that will actually be helpful.  

Christian: I think he made the right call.  Now we have a chance to iron out the kinks before their tour around Dorset after the wedding.

Anne II: This  marriage was supposed to bring the country together, not have the people banging at our doors.

*knock at drawing room door.

Anne, Lady-In-Waiting: Her Royal Highness has arrived.

Margaret: Your Majesty, it is so good to see you again.

Anne II: Yes, Margaret, welcome dear.

Margaret: Thank you, thank you both, for inviting me.

Christian: Of course , now come in and sit, we have tea already ready.

Anne II: Did you get here alright?  

Margaret: Yes a car drove me straight here. It surprisingly isn't too far of a drive.

Anne II: Not at all, Hyde Park has been used as a retreat by the royal family for generations. William and his brother basically grew up in this house. I'm guessing soon you and William will have your pick of country houses in the Park soon, if you wish.  

Margaret: Thank you ma'am, but honestly I haven't thought that far.

Christian: Smart girl. How are things going at White Hall?

Margaret: We are all settling in fine. My mother and sisters love the garden. and it is nice being in the city but having additional privacy of the surrounding park land.

Anne II: Oh that's excellent to hear.  

Christian: And the press hasn't been giving you too hard of a time?

Margaret: No, security keeps the paparazzi at bay for the most part.

Christian: And the protestors?

Margaret: Luckily they aren’t allowed near the house, but I hear that a few have set up camp outside Woodstock Palace.

Anne II: Yes, Will’s staff had to increase security around the entrances.

Christian: You should know this won’t be going away anytime soon. The pressure I mean.

Anne II: But our hope is to make it easier for you. 

Christian: Yes exactly.

Anne II: We’ve arrange some engagements for you and Will to attend. The more the public see you two together, the more they’ll come around to the idea of the wedding.

Christian: And not just with you two, but you with the rest of the Royal Family. It will show the nation that you are one of us now.

Margaret: How many engagements? I was hoping to spend these last few weeks with my family as much as possible.

Anne II: I’m sure Countess Spencer can ensure there is time set aside, but it will be a bit strenuous. 

Christian: We a lot of ground to cover before the wedding in a month. 

Anne II: There’s a tree planting ceremony in Woodstock Grand Park that has been planned as a photo-op for you and William, and the royal household scheduled for you and William to tour the new library at William’s old day school, and a walk-about was scheduled outside of Woodstock Palace.

Christian: Not to mention the Courts General and Royal Wycombe in two weeks, and the luncheon at the Palace this week for the family.

Anne II: But we’ll start with a simple trip to the bridal store with me, your mother, and your sister to try on some gowns for the wedding. I think that’s all right, Christian? 

Christian: I know it sounds like a dreadful time. 

Margaret: Know I understand...just not much time left for me to spend with my family.

Christian: But you are apart of this family now, and it is important that the public understands that too.

[anon-e-miss]

The Desert Blooms

They had sent the reinforcements through Amalgamous’ Pass. Prowl sighed, he was not the least bit surprised, merely exasperated. The sixth battalion had been wiped out by the Polyhexian guerillas, just as Prowl had believed they would if Praxian reinforcements went through that narrow mountain pass. He looked out to sea of sand. Beyond the horizon, though he could not see them, Prowl knew more bands of guerilla fighters patrolled the Wastes, ensuring no battalions and no caravans could cross the unforgiving desert to reinforce or resupply his fortress. Already, the situation in Darkmount was grave. Coolant and energon shortage had the population in truly dire straights. The status quo would not hold long enough for his grand-originator, the Emperor of Praxus, the deploy another battalion.

“Draft the articles of surrender,” Prowl ordered as he turned back to the table where his council sat. He did not flinch at the outraged gasps.

“Absolutely not!” Crosscut, Windbreaker’s ambassador, gasped, slapping his servos to the table as he stood up sharply.

“I do not recall asking for you for your opinion, Ambassador,” Prowl said. “Or your permission.”

“The Emperor...” Crosscut argued.

“Is in Praxus,” Prowl replied. “Given the state of Darkmount’s fuel stores and the famine already gripping the city, we are beyond the Emperor’s aid. The sixth battalion was our last hope and that hope was damned the moment they entered the past.”

“It must delight you to see yourself proven right,” Crosscut said, scornfully.

“I am not delighted to see thousands of soldiers foolishly lost,” Prowl replied.

“If we divert the aquifers to the palace, our defences could hold,” Gravitas offered.

“No,” Prowl declared. “You forget only twenty percent of the civilian population of Darkmount are Praxians, the majority of that remaining eighty percent are native Polyhexians. Fear has restrained them thus far but fuel deprivation is a powerful motivator and our troops cannot defend against riots at the same time as the siege.”

“This is cowardice,” Crosscut snapped.

“This is pragmatism and logic,” Prowl countered. “Two things I recognize you sorely lack. Draft the articles of surrender and send a courier to present it to the rebels’ commander.”

“We don’t even know who that slagsucker is!” Crosscut snarled.

“Considering the rebels are undermining the walls as we speak, it should not be hard for a courier to find someone to pass the message on,” Prowl said. “I will not tell you again. Draft the articles. I am waiting.”

Prowl was not naive or optimistic. He dictated only a single condition, that the Praxian civilians and soldiers be permitted to leave unmolested. It was his dearest hope that it be accepted but Prowl knew it was not guaranteed. Over the decavorns since his grandprocreators had conquered Praxus, his framekin had not ingratiated themselves on their new vassals. The puppet prince Windbreaker had installed had been a cruel tyrant. Darkmount, though Polyhexian, had be no protector to his kinsmecha, but instead, he had been a greedy, power-hungry fool. That he had been assassinated by his own frametype had been no surprise at all to Prowl. Being sent to replace him as Sovereign Prince, had surprised Prowl.

His originator had been correct that this was no reward but a banishment the commonmecha of Praxus would not recognize as a slight and thus would not question. Camshaft had not had the power or the influence to save him and Prowl had not wished for him to risk as much as he had arguing the matter. For a time, Prowl had feared his originator would be banished with him and he imagined that Windbreaker had wished too but sending the Second Prince of Praxus to a remote and hostile vassal state would not have been accepted by the nobility or peasantry of Praxus. There were limits on the Emperor’s powers, not many but there were some.

As mid-cycle turned to dark-cycle, Prowl made his way to the sprawling palace gardens. He walked passed dry and silent fountains and pools. It had struck Prowl as irresponsible, when he had arrived at the palace a vorn ago, to waste precious coolant on ornamental fountains when the city held as his capital suffered under a crippling drought. A land of desert and coast, Polyhex’s scattered cities depended on aquifers fed from ancient, underground rivers. His grandprocreators had known this and as part of their war of conquest, they had ordered aquifers sabotaged. They had brought Polyhex to its knees in this way. Only one aquifer survived to provide Darkmount the coolant its crops and mechanisms needed to survive. One aquifer was only manageable in times of plenty but in drought it was a true hardship and this drought had lingered on and on. Since Prowl had arrived in the desert city, it had never once rained.

The jasper and kyanite were growing well. Prowl took took his snips and cut clusters from the lush crystals and set them in his baskets. They were pretty crystals, to his optics, not glittering or luminous by any means but their colours were rich, a prime to be harvested. There was nothing in this garden that could not be consumed. His originator would have called it a market garden, but of course Prowl did not sell the crystals but gave them to Ratchet, the Iaconian medic he had met earlier on in his tenure as prince. It was not much, it was not enough but Prowl grew what Ratchet needed, what the medic could not find in market stalls anymore.

In the distance, Prowl heard a commotion. It was as he had expected. As glyph had spread of the imminent surrender, much of the palace’s staff had fled, not wanting to be caught up in the inevitable carnage. That was fair enough in Prowl’s thinking. Why should an innocent chambermech or cook die for their master. Prowl had no illusions of their loyalty. Much of the contingent assigned to the palace had slunk away, Praxians who hoped to get away with their lives while they could; he wished them well. Prowl clipped a handsome pyromorphite as he saw torches climbing higher and higher. There was no sense in running; he had nowhere to go. A common soldier could disappear into a crowd, not a prince whose face had been carved on every monument.

“There he is!”

Prowl did not flinch as tall doors to the garden crashed against the walls as they were thrown open. He had not locked them, there had been no need to use the battering ram against them. As the mob gathered themselves up the ground where they had fallen as the doors had given way more easily than they had expected, Prowl watched dispassionately. It was a spectacle but Prowl was not especially amused by it. Leaving his snips in the basket, Prowl set it on the ground. With any luck, the crystals would still find their way to Ratchet. Given the way the mob waved their torches as they climbed over the fall battering ram, Prowl suspected his garden was going to be burned. For this, he could mourn a little. Though it could only have been a klik, perhaps even not that long, it seemed like breams before the mob had made order of themselves and marched towards him, blades, blasters and torches raised.

“Tyrant!” They cursed him. Prowl could not help but be a little offended by the moniker but he knew that was what the Polyhexians called him, the Tyrant of the Wastes. He did not think himself a tyrant but it was not surprising they saw him in a considerably more unfavourable light. In the light of the torches, the energon-lust in their optics was magnified and their sharp blades flashed with lethal promise.

“Don’t you fragging dare,” Ratchet snarled as he jumped between Prowl and the mob. The Praxian took a stepped back, startled that the medic had appeared, or that he could move that fast.

“Ratchet, go!” he said, feeling frantic for the first time since this debacle had begun. “They will kill you!”

“They wouldn’t dare,” Ratchet replied. He waved his wrench at the mob who had come for Prowl’s helm. To Prowl’s surprised, the whole of them flinched, even cowered. “Darkmount is dryer than kindling and you scrap for processors are waving torches around? Really? Do you think there’s coolant enough to put out a fragging fire? Go home, ever last one of you dumbafts.”

“Y’re on his side?” One of the mob asked, sounding betrayed.

“How about you use your optics and look around you,” Ratchet snapped. “Fluorite, iolite, quartz. Look. Does this look like Straxis’ garden? Now you know where I’ve gotten the crystals I’ve needed to treat all of you. I got them from him. Now go.”

Somehow, they obeyed, casting Prowl confused and suspicious glances as they retreated. Prowl too was confused. Ratchet stood guard over him until they had gone. They would not be the last. These had been tradesmecha and common mechanisms tasting freedom and vengeance for the first time in eons. Robbed of their vengeance, Prowl feared what might become of the Praxians in the homes below his fortress. Would these mechanisms slake their first on innocents after being denied him? Prowl had no guard left to send to their defence; he had no protection to offer.

“You need to go,” Prowl said.

“Not a chance,” Ratchet replied. “You aren’t leaving my sight until this is settled.”

“You cannot be tied to me when the rebels come for me,” Prowl countered. “You need not lose your helm.”

“You aren’t going to lose your helm,” Ratchet said. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

“You cannot hope to stop them.”

“Oh, yes I can,” Ratchet declared, tapping his wrench against his servo.

“Ratchet,” Prowl entreated. “Please. There are hundreds of Praxians down there with no protections and no expectations of love from their neighbours. The guards have fled. I need you to go down and cool tempers so that there might not be a slaughter.”

“Prowl...”

“Please,” Prowl begged. “They are, most of them, innocent in all of this.”

“Okay, fine,” Ratchet said. Prowl sagged with relief. “Go to your berthroom, lock and barricade the door. I’ll be at your side when you meet Punch. I’ll see to it you get out of this alive.”