#allie writes under the rose

[warabidakihime]

Rules and Roses Chapter 2

★ characters: kibutsuji muzan x reader x akaza

★ plot summary: Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to expand his empire, and the way he intends to do so is by running for the highest political position. With you, his darling wife, at his side, he believes he can achieve and have everything the world has to offer. He is, after all, the Phoenix of Phario.

★ fic playlist: sometimes, same day, as time stops, wolf’s song (this is also the vision board for the fic). 

★ content warnings : implied violence and abuse, profanities, toxic relationships, smut.

★ Previous Chapter

a/n:

hello!!!

first of all, i am so sorry for taking so long to update this story. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

life happened and i got sooo busy. the time i uploaded this fic was when i just started at my new workplace and shortly after a few weeks, i was already preoccupied with work. at first, i was laser-focused on getting used to my new work and the culture. then later on, i found myself playing a more important role in the office that required my undivided attention lol. besides that, so many things happened in my personal life as well that i didn't have the time and energy to write.

btw i'm now a writer by profession as well so oftentimes i would feel drained af after writing corporate write-ups. tbh, i also got hit by writer's block, especially for this fic because the plot i have in mind for it is lowkey intricate, and for the most part, i haven't decided on what route i should take story-wise. so during those 2 years, i was constantly trying to reconstruct the story in my head, and here we are!

i'm back but i'm not so sure about updating regularly as i'm still incredibly busy, but i will do my best! the latest kny seasons inspired me to write again (aka my crush for muzan lol).

hopefully, everyone is still here to read this. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

as always, comments and kudos are highly appreciated!

happy reading!

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"Can you outline your key policy platforms should you be elected President of Phario? Given your extensive background in the human resource industry as well as your rich connections owing to your business ventures in Obelisk Kibutsuji, do you first plan to address the pressing issue of the national unemployment rate?"

"Indeed, that's correct. As President, one of my top priorities will be to strengthen our nation's workforce, which is crucial for advancing our economy. I have a comprehensive plan focused on job creation, vocational training, and support for small businesses. These initiatives will not only reduce unemployment but also stimulate innovation and competitiveness within our economy.

I also aim to implement policies that ensure equal access to education, equipping our citizens with the skills needed for the evolving job market. Healthcare reform is high on my agenda. I'll ensure healthcare assistance is accessible to everyone, public hospitals are well-maintained, and healthcare workers are fairly compensated and protected by the state in any dire situations. Additionally, I'll push for technological advancements and infrastructure development to attract both local and foreign investments.

Addressing social issues is equally important, and as a devoted ally of these communities, I'm committed to fighting all forms of discrimination, especially against women and the LGBTQ+ community. We must ensure everyone, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, or identity, has equal opportunities and protections under the law.

Moreover, I'll advocate for the rights and welfare of people with disabilities, ensuring they have access to the necessary resources and support to lead fulfilling lives. This includes improving accessibility in public spaces and promoting inclusive employment practices.

Animal welfare will also be a significant focus. We need to enact and enforce laws that protect animals from abuse and ensure humane treatment.

Lastly, I'll champion the rights of minorities and immigrants. Our nation is built on the strength of its diversity, and it's imperative we create an inclusive society where everyone feels valued and respected. This includes reforming immigration policies to be fair and humane and implementing programs that support the integration and empowerment of minority communities.

In essence, my administration will be dedicated to creating a sustainable and inclusive economic environment where every Pharian has the opportunity to thrive and contribute to our nation's progress."

Muzan stood confidently at the podium, a modest yet proud smile gracing his face after addressing a journalist's question amidst a room bustling with media personnel.

Today was the day where presidential candidates shared their platforms, which also served as an open forum for engaging with the press and fielding inquiries on a wide array of topics—from current events to personal matters.

With his seasoned composure before cameras and crowds, Muzan navigated the spotlight effortlessly. His articulate delivery drew admiration from all corners as he outlined his plans for the presidency, filling you with pride as you watched from the audience.

Among the attendees, your smile beamed with pride and unconditional support for him. Akaza, who is sitting right beside you, maintained a stoic demeanor outwardly, though inwardly, he couldn't deny a hint of impressed regard. Muzan's comprehensive platform and commanding presence left an undeniable impact on him.

Eloquence had always been Muzan's forte, a skill honed through years of being a businessman and somewhat of a public figure, as among his peers and in the business landscape in general, he is well-revered and widely celebrated.

Beyond his ability to articulate ideas, he possessed a magnetic charisma—an invaluable trait for navigating the intricate world of politics and public service.

Several hours later, the policy speech slash press conference finally ended, and now you were on your way to meet up with Muzan at the lobby of the hotel where the gathering was held when a few journalists spotted you among the sea of people who were also exiting the function room.

Akaza was right behind you and is also on full alert, an important instruction your husband told him when he appointed him as your personal bodyguard a few years back. Committed to his duty, he stood there in a stance where he is ready to take action should anything happen that is out of the ordinary.

Mics were stretched out and placed within just a few inches of your face, and one of them took the liberty to ask you a question: "What are your thoughts on Kibutsuji Muzan's campaign platforms?” 

Very much like your husband, you also wore a modest yet confident smile on your face as you held eye contact with the journalist who asked you that question before displaying your own version of eloquence as you answered,

"To say that I am proud while listening to him share and advocate for the causes he wholeheartedly believed in would be the biggest understatement of the decade," you said with a fond chuckle before continuing, "even before he filed for his candidacy and even way before he became the man we all know now, he has always been outspoken about these things. He would always share with me his desire of making significant changes in the world, hoping no more children would have to endure what he did. As many of you know, Muzan, my dear husband, came from very humble beginnings, and unlike me, he has faced challenges far beyond my own. His vision and intuition surpass that of most, and so, as cliché as it may sound, his words and strong convictions carry a weight and authenticity that are strong enough to enable him in doing the impossible and inspire others to believe that a better future is within our grasp."

Akaza listened intently to your answer, finding himself captivated by your words. The way you addressed the press made you sound like a candidate yourself who's also sharing her platform. In that moment, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming surge of pride as he continued to absorb your statements.

The journalists surrounding you mirrored his sentiment, clearly impressed by your response—no surprise from the esteemed Ballerina Queen of Phario.

It had been quite some time since you last entertained interviews, having retired and chosen to stay away from public engagements.

"Among the plethora of initiatives he wishes to take action on once he's elected, what resonated with you the most?"

You paused, contemplating the list of campaigns your husband had presented earlier. Just as you were about to respond, an arm encircled your waist and gave it a tender squeeze.

It was Muzan.

"Knowing my wife's love for animals, I'm certain she's most excited about what I have planned for animal welfare," Muzan interjected warmly.

You playfully rolled your eyes, eliciting amusement from not only your husband and your respective bodyguards but also the press. "You say that as if it's a bad thing," you quipped.

Muzan chuckled fondly. "Not at all, my love. Your passion for animals is one of the many reasons I fell for you."

The same journalist who had asked you the second question now directed his attention to Muzan, eager for his response. "Based on the most recent public survey, you're likely the most favored candidate to win the elections. What can you say about that, Sir Kibutsuji?"

Muzan smiled bashfully at the reporter, his eyes reflecting a mix of humility and determination. "I'm incredibly honored and thankful that our fellow countrymen have placed such faith and confidence in me. It's a humbling reminder of the trust they have in our vision for a brighter future. This campaign has always been about bringing real change to Phario, addressing the pressing issues our nation faces with innovative solutions and inclusive policies. The support we're seeing reflects not just my efforts, but the collective desire of our people for progress and unity."

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping across the room, before continuing with renewed conviction, "Though I would like to emphasize that I don't take this trust lightly, it actually fuels my commitment to serve with integrity and purpose, to listen to the voices of every Pharian, and to lead with compassion and foresight."

By now, the press was highly satisfied with the answers both of you had given, granting you the freedom to depart. Clearly spent after the eventful day, you exchanged farewells and well-wishes before going your separate ways.

With Muzan's arm still draped around your waist, he guided you towards the grand entrance of the hotel. Meanwhile, Akaza made his way to the basement parking lot to retrieve your car, preparing to drive you both home. Kokushibo remained close to Muzan, ensuring your security as you awaited the car's arrival.

Turning to Muzan, unfazed by the bustling activity around you, you placed a tender kiss on his lips, smiling warmly. "Great job out there, my love. You did so well today. I'm incredibly proud of you."

Clearly elated, Muzan mirrored your smile and returned your affection with a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Thank you, darling. Your support means everything to me."

"Truly, I was beaming throughout your speech. You were absolutely amazing. Phario is fortunate to have such an admirable leader like you," you praised sincerely.

Right there and then, Muzan couldn't help but raise his eyebrow and playfully smile at you, prompting a confused raise of your own eyebrow.

"What's that look for?" you asked.

Muzan shook his head with a playful smirk before replying, "You're not showing favoritism now, are you, my love? I know you adore me, but let's keep it fair, hmm?" he teased, his tone light-hearted and affectionate.

You rolled your eyes at his playful accusation. "Ha-ha. Very funny, Muzan. I'll take it back, then."

Muzan laughed wholeheartedly, drawing attention once again. "I was just joking!" He then smiled warmly at you, his eyes reflecting pride. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Hearing that from you means more than any applause, you know?"

You reached out to pinch his cheeks. "You play too much sometimes, you know?" you said with a chuckle before continuing, "But like I said, hearing you speak today—and in all those times you shared your aspirations with me from when we were students up to now, as you finally have the opportunity to make all come true—it's evident how deeply committed you are. Beyond your skills and capabilities, your passion is what makes you so compelling, Muzan. It's what makes me believe in you, too."

Minutes later, while waiting by the entrance, Akaza finally pulled up with the car. You and Muzan bid farewell to those around you before stepping into the comfort of your vehicle.

As the city lights blurred past the windows, you reflected on the day's events.

"You know," you began, glancing at Muzan beside you, "I have a feeling your speech today touched more hearts than just mine."

Muzan smiled softly, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

"I hope so. Though the election is still months away, and who knows how things might shift, that's why I don't want to take any of this for granted. I'm in this for the long haul. You'll be there with me, won't you?"

He looked over to you, and in that moment, despite his big words, he looked absolutely adorable, with his ruby eyes shining at you and his lips slightly pouty as he waited for your response, which you gladly provided through the means of placing yet another sweet and passionate kiss on his lips and squeezing his hand reassuringly. 

"I'll always be here for you, Muzan, through every challenge and triumph."

"I love you," he whispered lovingly, his expression sincere and heartfelt.

"And I love you," you replied with equal affection.

With a comforting squeeze of your hand, you nestled against Muzan's shoulder, feeling a sense of contentment as the car navigated through familiar streets towards home.

Meanwhile, in the driver's seat, Akaza's face remained unreadable. He was outwardly indifferent to the tender exchange between you and Muzan, but inwardly, he was seething with rage.

You think you're so clever, spouting all those promises and pretty words, playing the saint for the public eye. But I see through you. You're nothing but a manipulative snake, a liar wrapped in a facade of righteousness.

His gaze hardened and his grip on the wheel tightened as he stared ahead, the streetlights casting shadows on his determined expression.

One day, your mask will slip. 

I will fucking rip it off your face, even if it's the last thing I do.

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]The relationship between women in history is not just love rivals,

“but also thousands of years later, everyone knows that it is me and you.”

Let's get to know about them/她们 in China history.

1.【Han Dynasty】:Princess Jieyou (解忧公主) & Feng Liao (馮嫽)

Princess Jieyou (Chinese: 解忧公主; 121 BC – 49 BC), born Liu Jieyou (Chinese: 刘解忧), was a Chinese princess sent to marry the leader of the Wusun kingdom as part of the Western Han Chinese policy of heqin(和亲).

As the granddaughter of the disgraced Prince Liu Wu (劉戊) who had taken part in the disastrous Rebellion of the Seven States,her status was low enough that she was sent to replace Princess Liu Xijun (劉細君) after her untimely death and marry the Wusun king Cunzhou (岑陬).

Jieyou lived among the Wusun for fifty years and did much work to foster relations between the surrounding kingdoms and the Han. She was particularly reliant upon her attendant, Feng Liao, whom she dispatched as an emissary to Wusun kingdoms and even to the Han Court. She faced opposition from pro-Xiongnu members of the Wusun royalty, particularly Wengguimi’s Xiongnu wife. When word came that the Xiongnu planned to attack Wusun, she convinced her husband to send for aid from the Han Emperor. Emperor Wu of Han sent 150,000 cavalrymen to support the Wusun forces and drive back the Xiongnu.

In 51 BCE at the age of 70, Jieyou asked to be allowed to retire and return to the Han. Emperor Xuan of Han agreed and had her escorted back to Chang'an where she was welcomed with honor. She was given a grand palace with servants usually reserved for princesses of the imperial family. In 49 BCE, Jieyou died peacefully.

Feng Liao (馮嫽)

Feng Liao (馮嫽) was China's first official female diplomat,[citation needed] who represented the Han dynasty to Wusun (烏孫), which was in the Western Regions. It was a practice for the Imperial Court to foster alliances with the northern tribes via marriage, and two Han princesses had married Wusun kings.

Feng Liao was the maidservant of Princess Jieyou (解憂公主), who was married off to a Wusun king. Feng herself later married an influential Wusun general, whose good standing with Prince Wujiutu (烏就屠) of the kingdom later proved beneficial to the Han dynasty.

When Prince Wujiutu seized the throne of Wusun in 64 BC, after his father died, there was fear in the Imperial Court of Han that Wujiutu, whose mother was Xiongnu, would allow Wusun to become Xiongnu's vassal.

Zheng Ji, Governor of the Western Regions, recalled that Feng Liao had married into Wusun and with her familiarity of the Wusun customs, she was a prime candidate to persuade Wujiutu to ally his kingdom with Han. Wujiutu acceded and Emperor Xuan of Han (漢宣帝) sent for Feng. He praised her for her judgement and diplomacy, and appointed her as the official envoy to Wusun.

Wujiutu was conferred the title "Little King of Wusun" while his brother, the son by a Han princess, was named "Great King of Wusun". Wusun was divided between the two kings and tensions in that region were eased.

※Xiongnu: Xiongnu: A nomadic tribe that has occupied northern China for a long time. Later it gradually became a state. It harassed the borders of the Han Dynasty for a long time and robbed supplies.

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With their efforts, the Wusun Kingdom gradually tended to support the Han Dynasty, and the Xiongnu's defeat in China also began.

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2.【Tang Dynasty】:Shangguan Wan'er(上官婉儿)&Princess Taiping (太平公主)

Shangguan Wan'er/上官婉儿 (664 – 21 July 710) was a Chinese politician, poet, and imperial consort of the Wu Zhou and Tang dynasties. Described as a "female prime minister,"Shangguan rose from modest origins as a palace servant to become secretary and leading advisor to Empress Wu Zetian of Zhou. Under Empress Wu, Shangguan exercised responsibility for drafting imperial edicts and earned approbation for her writing style. She retained her influence as consort to Wu's son and successor, Emperor Zhongzong of Tang, holding the imperial consort rank of Zhaorong (昭容). Shangguan was also highly esteemed for her talent as a poet.Shangguan was also highly esteemed for her talent as a poet. In 710, after Emperor Zhongzong's death, Shangguan was killed during a palace coup that ended the regency of Empress Dowager Wei.

Princess Taiping (太平公主)lit. "Princess of Great Peace", personal name unknown, possibly Li Lingyue (李令月) (after 662 – 2 August 713) was a royal princess and prominent political figure of the Tang dynasty and her mother Wu Zetian's Zhou dynasty. She was the youngest daughter of Wu Zetian and Emperor Gaozong and was influential during the reigns of her mother and her elder brothers Emperor Zhongzong and Emperor Ruizong (both of whom reigned twice), particularly during Emperor Ruizong's second reign, when for three years until her death, she was the real power behind the throne.

She is the most famous and influential princess of the Tang dynasty and possibly in the whole history of China thanks to her power, ability and ambition. She was involved in political difficulties and developments during the reigns of her mother and brothers. Indeed, after the coup against Empress Dowager Wei, she became the real ruler of Tang. During the reign of Emperor Ruizong, she was not restricted by anything, the emperor issued rulings based on her views and the courtiers and the military flattered her and majority from every civil and military class joined her faction, so her power exceeded that of the emperor.

Eventually, however, a rivalry developed between her and her nephew, Emperor Ruizong's son, Crown Prince Li Longji. Both of them were hostile in power-sharing and they fought for the monopoly over power. After Emperor Ruizong yielded the throne to Li Longji (as Emperor Xuanzong) in 712, the conflict came to the political forefront, and openly, the court became a manifestation of conspiracy rather than the administration of the empire; in 713, Emperor Xuanzong, according to historical records, believing that she was planning to overthrow him, acted first, executing a large number of her powerful allies and forcing her to commit suicide.

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The relationship between Shangguan Wan'er and Princess Taiping has always been written as "enemies" in official history, but with the phrase "千年万岁，椒花颂声", their friendship that has been buried for thousands of years was revealed.

The"千年万岁，椒花颂声" sentence comes from the epitaph written by Princess Taiping for Shangguan Wan'er. The original text is: "潇湘水断，宛委山倾，珠沉圆折，玉碎连城。甫瞻松槚，静听坟茔，千年万岁，椒花颂声”

Translation: Now that you are far away, the sky and the earth will lose their color. I'm afraid that all I can do in the future is to sit and look at the tea tree in front of your tomb. Maybe I can hear your voice again when I stand within an inch of the tomb. But this is a delusion after all, a quiet tomb, no beautiful face, a empty place of death. I hope that in a thousand or ten thousand years, there will still be people like me who remember you.

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3.【Late Qing Dynasty】:Lü Bicheng(呂碧城) & Qiu Jin (秋瑾)

Lü Bicheng(呂碧城)also known as Alice Pichen Lee(1883–1943) was a Chinese writer, activist, newspaper editor, poet and school founder. She has been mentioned as one of the top four women in literature from the early Republic of China.

When she was four, her father retired to Lu'an, Anhui. She lived a life of comfort until the age of 12, when her father died in 1895. Because Lü Fengqi had no male heir, relatives of the Lü lineage contested for his inheritance, and Yan Shiyu and her four daughters were forced to move to Lai'an County to live with her natal family. When she was nine, Lü Bicheng was betrothed to a Wang family, but as her own family fortune declined, the Wang family broke off the marriage contract, giving the young Bicheng the stigma of a "rejected woman". The resulting emotional scar is often considered a major factor in her later decision to never marry.[8] Her widowed mother and the Lü girls were not well treated at the Yan family in rural Anhui. When Lü was 15 or 16, Yan Shiyu sent her to live with her maternal uncle Yan Langxuan (嚴朗軒), who was the salt administrator in Tanggu, the port city outside the northern metropolis of Tianjin. Her sister Huiru also joined her later.

During her stay in Tanggu, Qing China went through the tumultuous period of the failed Hundred Days' Reform of 1898, which brought about increasing awareness of women's education, and the Boxer Rebellion of 1900. In 1904, Mrs. Fang, the wife of her uncle's secretary, invited Lü Bicheng to visit a girls' school in Tianjin, but her uncle prevented her from going and severely reprimanded her. The next day, she ran away from her uncle's home, and took the train to Tianjin with no money or luggage. She wrote a letter to Mrs. Fang, who was staying at the dormitory of the Ta Kung Pao newspaper. Ying Lianzhi, the Catholic Manchu nobleman who founded the newspaper, read the letter and was so impressed by it that he made her an assistant editor. Lü Bicheng wrote a "progressive" ci that she had previously written, set to "A River Full of Red" ("Manjianghong") usually used to express heroic emotions. Ying transcribed the whole song in her diary and published it in L'impartial two days later. At the time, it was sensational for a woman to write for an influential national newspaper such as Ta Kung Pao. She was 21 years old. She used Ta Kung Pao to promote feminism and became a well-known figure.

Lü's ci poetry was published in the newspaper and it was very well received. She was the chief editor of the newspaper from 1904 to 1908. In 1904 she decided to improve education for girls. She had published her thoughts on women's rights and the general editor of the newspaper introduced her to Yan Fu who was an advocate for Western ideas. The Beiyang Women's Normal School was established that same year. At 23 Lü took on the job of principal of the school she had founded two years before. At first this school found it difficult to find girls who qualified for secondary education and students were brought in from Shanghai to make up the numbers.

Lü knew the revolutionary Qiu Jin and they had similar objectives but Lü did not join her in Japan when she was invited as she was unsure whether women should meddle in politics. She was then chosen to be secretary to Yuan Shikai, one of the most powerful people in China. When he set out to declare himself emperor of China she left, like many of his followers, and abandoned him.

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Qiu Jin (秋瑾)8 November 1875 – 15 July 1907,was a Chinese revolutionary, feminist, and writer.Her sobriquet name is Jianhu Nüxia (Chinese: 鑑湖女俠 lit. 'Woman Knight of Mirror Lake').

Qiu was born into a wealthy family. Her grandfather worked in the Xiamen city government and was responsible for the city's defense. Zhejiang province was famous for female education, and Qiu Jin had support from her family when she was young to pursue her educational interests. Her father, Qiu Shounan, was a government official and her mother came from a distinguished literati-official family. Qiu Jin's wealthy and educated background, along with her early exposure to political ideologies were key factors in her transformation to becoming a female pioneer for the woman's liberation movement and the republican revolution in China.

In the early 1900s, Japan had started to experience western influences earlier than China. As to not fall behind, the Qing government sent many elites to learn from the Japanese. Qiu Jin was one of these elites that got the chance to study overseas. After studying in a women's school in Japan, Qiu returned to China to participate in a variety of revolutionary activities; and through her involvement with these activities, it became clear how Qiu wanted others to perceive her. Qiu called herself 'Female Knight-Errant of Jian Lake' — the role of the knight-errant, established in the Han dynasty, was a prototypically male figure known for swordsmanship, bravery, faithfulness, and self-sacrifice — and 'Vying for Heroism'

Qiu Jin had her feet bound and began writing poetry at an early age. With the support from her family, Qiu Jin also learned how to ride a horse, use a sword, and drink wine—activities that usually only men were permitted to learn at the time.In 1896 Qiu Jin got married. At the time she was only 21, which was considered late for a woman of that time. Qiu Jin's father arranged her marriage to Wang Tingchun, the youngest son of a wealthy merchant in Hunan province. Qiu Jin did not get along well with her husband, as her husband only cared about enjoying himself.While in an unhappy marriage, Qiu came into contact with new ideas. The failure of her marriage affected her decisions later on, including choosing to study in Japan.

While still in Tokyo, Qiu single-handedly edited a journal, Vernacular Journal (Baihua Bao). A number of issues were published using vernacular Chinese as a medium of revolutionary propaganda. In one issue, Qiu wrote A Respectful Proclamation to China's 200 Million Women Comrades, a manifesto within which she lamented the problems caused by bound feet and oppressive marriages. Having suffered from both ordeals herself, Qiu explained her experience in the manifesto and received an overwhelmingly sympathetic response from her readers. Also outlined in the manifesto was Qiu's belief that a better future for women lay under a Western-type government instead of the Qing government that was in power at the time. She joined forces with her cousin Xu Xilin and together they worked to unite many secret revolutionary societies to work together for the overthrow of the Qing dynasty.

Between 1905 and 1907, Qiu Jin was also writing a novel called Stones of the Jingwei Bird in traditional ballad form, a type of literature often composed by women for women audiences. The novel describes the relationship between five wealthy women who decide to flee their families and the arranged marriages awaiting them in order to study and join revolutionary activities in Tokyo. Titles for the later uncompleted chapters suggest that the women will go on to talk about “education, manufacturing, military activities, speechmaking, and direct political action, eventually overthrowing the Qing dynasty and establishing a republic” — all of which were subject matters that Qiu either participated in or advocated for.

Life after returning to China

Qiu Jin was known as an eloquent orator who spoke out for women's rights, such as the freedom to marry, freedom of education, and abolishment of the practice of foot binding. In 1906 she founded China Women's News (Zhongguo nü bao), a radical women's journal with another female poet, Xu Zihua in Shanghai. They published only two issues before it was closed by the authorities. In 1907, she became head of the Datong school in Shaoxing, ostensibly a school for sport teachers, but really intended for the military training of revolutionaries[citation needed]. While teaching in Datong school, she kept secret connection with local underground organization—The Restoration Society. This organization aimed to overthrow the Manchu government and restore Chinese rule.

Death

In 1907, Xu Xilin, Qiu’s friend and the Datong school’s co-founder was executed for attempting to assassinate his Manchu superior. In the same year, the authorities arrested Qiu at the school for girls where she was the principal. She was tortured but refused to admit her involvement in the plot. Instead the authorities used her own writings as incrimination against her and, a few days later, she was publicly beheaded in her home village, Shanyin, at the age of 31. Her last written words, her death poem, uses the literal meaning of her name, Autumn Gem, to lament of the failed revolution that she would never see take place:

秋風秋雨愁煞人 (Autumn wind, autumn rain — they make one die of sorrow)

After Qiu Jin was killed, no one dared to collect her body. Lu Bicheng endured her grief and took great risks to bury her friend. The guarding Qing army learned that the woman who came to collect the corpse was Lu Bicheng, who was famous in China, and they had no choice but to do anything.

Qiu Jin's death caused Lu Bicheng to lose a rare confidant in life. She wrote many poems in memory of Qiu Jin, recalling this like-minded friend.

Later, Lü Bicheng wrote "The Biography of the Revolutionary Heroine Qiu Jin" in English, which was published in newspapers in New York, Chicago and other places in the United States. It caused a great response and not only made many people in the world know about Qiu Jin's legendary story, but also published it in newspapers in New York and Chicago. It also makes people understand the darkness and corrupt social status quo of the Qing Dynasty. Lu Bicheng used a pen of her own to record her friendship with Qiu Jin, and also fulfilled her promise to Qiu Jin to respond with the "battle of words"

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📸Video & 🧚🏻‍ Model：@荷里寒 & @阿时Ashi_

🔗Weibo：https://weibo.com/3618951560/NEZZnpQRq

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[captainsophiestark]

The Hard Call

Azriel x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requeted by Anon! Nonnie, thank you for enabling me to write about Az and Flynn, I absolutely love you for it ❤️ Feel free to drop by any time you want to talk anything SJM-related! Hope you like this, and good news, I have a Flynn fic coming in the next couple days too!

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Summary: Azriel made the hard call when he had to, but he's feeling pretty guilty about it.

Word Count: 1,610

Category: Angst, Fluff

WARNING: House of Flame and Shadow spoilers below the cut!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I swore under my breath as Nesta jammed Ataraxia into the back of the Daglan, the Asteri, whatever it was called. Black blood spurted out of its mouth, but a moment later, the thing—Vesperus—pushed back against the tip of the blade and removed it from her chest. It shouldn't have been possible for something to survive a direct hit like that from Nesta and that sword, but a lot of things from the past few days shouldn't have been possible.

When a fae female had landed in a heap on the River House lawn in front of my mate, I knew we were in for some strange new challenges. But never in a million years could I have predicted the journey she'd led us on through tunnels apparently running all under the Night Court, straight into the heart of the Prison. And now we were facing down one of the most dangerous creatures in the universe, just me, Az, and Nesta, with the female Bryce as an unreliable additional ally.

I tightened my grip on my sword and tried to calm my racing heart as I stood shoulder to shoulder with Azriel. We'd gotten through countless life and death situations together before, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure we'd be able to get out of this one.

Vesperus gave Nesta a horrifying smile as the wound in her chest quickly healed. I glanced to Az, but he kept his eyes locked on the monster before us.

"Ataraxia didn't work," Nesta breathed. "The Trove-"

"Do not summon the Trove," barked my mate. Based on what we knew about this thing before us, I immediately agreed. "Don't bring it near her."

"But-"

"Not even for our lives," he snarled, leaving no room for argument. The same harsh resolve solidified itself in my mind, and I braced myself for the possibility of a last stand. At least if we went down, it would be fighting side by side with my mate.

A flicker of shadows floating softly over my shoulders was the only indication that my mate felt the same. The Daglan grinned, and I got ready to pounce.

****************

Hours later, I sat slumped in my favorite chair in the Velaris townhouse, trying to recover from everything that had happened under the prison. We'd managed to kill the Daglan-Asteri, despite Bryce trying to question it, no matter the risk to our world. But she had gotten away in an impressive display of power, which meant her world's Asteri might have a chance at using her to find us.

Needless to say, when Az, Nesta, and I had made it out of the Prison, we'd had a lot to debrief about with the rest of the Inner Circle.

Nobody was happy about the situation we now found ourselves in, but for the time being, there was also nothing we could do about it. So once we made a basic plan to try to gather information and prepare in case something from that other world came back, we all split off for our separate tasks. Az still had a few things to go over with Rhys, but I was free for the time being, so I'd come to my favorite cozy spot in Velaris to try to come down from the insane adrenaline that had been pumping since Bryce got here.

One perk of Rhys and Feyre building the River House and Nesta keeping Cassian at the House of Wind more often was that the townhouse, my personal favorite location, was often free for Az and I to use as our own. I closed my eyes in my favorite armchair by the fire, still in my fighting leathers, and focused on taking deep breaths to try to get the tension out of my shoulders.

I'd actually almost managed to drift off to sleep when I heard the front door open and shut heavily. I didn't need to look to know Az had just arrived, so with a deep sigh to drag me back from the edge of sleep, I raised my head and turned to look at my mate.

"Everything figured out with Rhys?" I asked. He nodded once, moving into the room with a face like stone. I frowned, sitting up and paying a little better attention as he took a seat on the couch, his gorgeous hazel eyes never leaving mine. "What's wrong?"

A muscle in Az's jaw ticked, and I knew he was mustering a response to my words. Despite his reputation as the unreadable spymaster, all our time together as friends and then as mates had given me a leg up on everyone else who tried to read his expressions.

I stood from my seat in the armchair and moved to sit before Az on the couch instead, taking his hands in mine. His eyes searched my face, and I let a small smile work its way through the exhaustion, trying to put him at ease. He could take however long he needed to, and I'd be ready to listen when he wanted to talk.

"I'm... sorry."

I raised an eyebrow. "For what, exactly?"

That muscle in his jaw was working over time, the rest of his face the same inscrutable mask he'd worked so hard to perfect.

"For what happened in the Prison. For... being willing to let you die down there, rather than risk Nesta summoning the Trove. You deserve a better mate than that."

My jaw dropped, shock preventing me from responding for a few small moments. Az just kept staring at me, and even though his face didn't show it, I could feel the guilt eating him up at his core.

"Az, you have nothing to apologize for!" I finally managed. One of his eyebrows quirked up and he frowned, expressing doubt at my words without speaking one of his own. I huffed and squeezed his hands tighter.

"Listen to me, Azriel. The reason you are my mate is because you made that decision in the Prison. We both know that letting something like that into the world with a weapon like the Mask is an unacceptable option, as long as there is anything in this world we can do to prevent it. If the Daglan or the Asteri or whatever she was had gotten her hands on the mask, it probably would've cost the lives of everyone we've ever cared about, and the rest of this world along with it. Nothing is worth allowing that to happen."

Az ground his jaw, his gaze softening and his eyebrows furrowing as he continued to scan my face.

"Are you... sure? Cassian and Rhys... I think they'd tear the world to shreds for their mates."

I just shrugged. "For what? If the world is gone, if the cost of that choice is absolutely everything else, then what's the point of saving each other in the first place? We'd have nothing left, other than the blood of the world on our hands."

Az grunted, and I shifted closer to him, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek.

"Az. I love you, so much, and a part of that love is because you're not so selfish as to risk throwing the world away for me. Especially since, more likely than not, we'd be dead anyway not long after she got that mask. Neither of us is selfish enough to make a call like that, and I love that about us. The only thing that matters is that we stand together as long as we can, and I knew damn well in the cave that if either of us was going down, we were going down side by side, fighting to our last breath. Obviously I'm happy we both made it out of there, and I'm not saying we shouldn't fight for each other, but that call you made today? I'd be pissed if you'd made a different one."

Az studied me for another second, and I let him see every truth and emotion written in my face. Finally, he sighed, the tension going out of his shoulders as he reached out and pulled me closer to him, arms around my waist. I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling my hands in his hair. We'd almost died today, and I wasn't about to take the fact that we were both still here together for granted.

"Have I mentioned lately how happy I am to have you as my mate?" Az asked, his voice a little gravelly as he leaned in closer to me. I smiled, leaning forward and letting my lips ghost over his own.

"Yeah, actually, you have. But I'll never complain about hearing it again."

Az smirked, then gently closed the last of that distance between us, his lips brushing softly against mine. I leaned into the kiss, eager for more contact, and I could feel Az's smirk widening right before I deepened the kiss. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me as tight to his body as possible, and I tangled my hands in his hair, letting myself get swept up in him.

I'd meant every word I'd said to my mate, about the choice he'd made and how I felt about it. But I was also incredibly happy it hadn't come down to the cost of our lives, and that we'd made it out of there together. And now that Official Night Court Business had been taken care of, I intended to fully celebrate and appreciate Azriel, and the fact that we were still here together. And I knew he intended to do the same.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

[mncxbe]

UGH IM LOVING ALL THE SUB AKU FICS you write him so well!! I wanna request one where he's getting a bj and he cries from pleasure

TYSM ANON you're so sweet and oh my your request got me so giddy. hope you like it mwuah♡♡

°☆○

Girl dinner♡

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smutty smut♡/ head is therapeutical

Akutagawa was a cold, ruthless man, feared by both his enemies and allies, raised to fight for the Port Mafia. That's why he never expected to fall so madly, clumsily, agonisingly in love with you.

He was like putty in your hands, always deliciously responsive to every little touch or praise you granted him. Even now, as you stood on your knees in front of him- right cheek pressed against his clothed thigh, hand lazily stroking his painfully hard dick, a coy smile stretching the corners of your lips- Akutagawa couldn't help but tense up:

Ragged breath, quivering lips pressed tightly in a futile attempt to contain those sweet sounds you so wanted to hear, fingers digging into the linen couch; this just wouldn't do.

"Relax baby. I'm just tryna make you feel good" you said softly and he immediately complied, as if your silken voice had him under a spell. You finally removed your head from his thigh, scooting closer to his dick and traced your tongue from its base to the leaking tip; earning a helpless groan from your boyfriend.

"You like it hm?" you purred and he nodded weakly. One of his hands came to rest atop your head, lithe fingers threading lightly through your hair as he guided your mouth back to his tip. You gave it a few licks, relishing the high-pitched hiss that rolled past his lips before taking him in your mouth.

Akutagawa's grip on your hair tightened when he felt your mouth around him, trying to refrain himself from pushing your head lower. You went at your own pace for a while, bobbing your head up and down his length as he tried his best to remain quiet, desperately holding on to his last shred of pride.

But soon enough, as always, his composure crumbled; both of his hands coming to rest on the sides of your head as he thrust his hips into your mouth. You gave his thigh a reassuring squeeze and rolled your sweet tongue around his tip, coaxing a needy moan from him. His mindless babbles and whimpers got louder and louder with each sloppy thrust as he pushed himself closer to his high.

Unbeknown to you, fat tears were pooling at his lashline, threatening to spill. Akutagawa knew how pathetic his current state was, shame rooting itself in his core as he choked up thank yous and praises for you. You moaned on his dick at the sound of his quivering voice and delicious pants- the last drop in his cocktail of pleasure- and he spilled in your mouth, painting it white with his cum.

The fierce grip on your hair finally loosened and you rose your head only to be met with his teary expression. A chuckle escaped your lips as you rested your head back on his thigh, smiling up at him.

"Ryuu you ok?" you asked softly to which he simply nodded, trembling fingers wiping the dried tears at the corner of his eyes.

"Yea I just..." he sighed, averting his gaze. Frankly, there was nothing he wanted more than to lock himself in the bathroom and remain hidden for the rest of eternity.

"You just what baby? Felt so good you ended up crying?" you pressed teasingly but he remained silent. Noting his lack of response you rose to standing and seized his chin as you leaned over his frame, forcing him to face you. And oh, how you loved the sight: eyes glistening with tears, brows scrunched up in disdainful expression, lips slightly parted as he tried to produce any sound except choked up babbles.

"Yea it felt that good" he eventually spoke up in a pleading voice. Akutagawa really didn't know what has gotten into him. It felt as if his brain had short-circuited and he was suffocating in desire. He was also aware of how hard he still was, tear stained cheeks flushing lightly as he took a deep breath in.

And then you lowered your gaze and noticed his throbbing erection, eyes gleaming with mischief as you tut disapprovingly.

"You're so needy, you know that baby?" you cooed while straddling his lap, earning a low hum from your boyfriend. Akutagawa's hands rested on your hips, drawing idle circles as he gazed up at you with those glassy eyes.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his in a tender kiss which he eagerly returned, pulling you flush against his chest and in that moment, between welling tears and burning desire Akutagawa knew he was irredeemably, hopelessly infautated with you.

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

I can't for the life of my find any Mystic Flour fic. Not romantic, not platonic, nothing. I crave some nature destroying cookie content.

So *crawls out of the darkest corner of your closet* may I have this:

The reader is like one of the forest spirits that protects the forest and helps it grow.

I'd like to imagine before corruption that Mystic Four found peace in the forest, maybe the magic of the spirit attracting Mystic Flour. So they meet.

And after corruption (because maybe Mystic Four stopped visiting the forest) she forgot about The Reader and started destroying forests for fun.

The reader feels the disturbance/the death of the forest and goes to confront the cause of the problem and you can write the rest! :)

You can write this as headcanons or a short story, do as you please.

You can add or change anything, and don't feel pressured into writing this.

Thank you and have fun!

You were the guardian of the forests on Beast-Yeast. Anything that dwelled within was under your protection, and it was well known.

Mystic Flour Cookie was one of your most frequent visitors. They would often come merely to meditate or talk, and you soon grew a bond with them. You would often times make beautiful floral decorations for them, and they in return would tell you about their day.

Since you didn't leave the forest often, you never noticed Mystic Flour Cookie's changing behavior. They were sure to keep it hidden from you, as they didn't want to scare you off. You were such a good potential ally. But, soon, those feelings and thoughts changed as the corruption took complete hold.

Mystic Flour Cookie forgot about you completely. The forests, the trees, the little critters inside? None of them matter, it was all in their way.

When you felt the arces of forest being destroyed, it pained you. You were confused to see the birds and reptiles alike fleeing from whatever was destroying their home. You decided to confront it head on.

Upon seeing your old friend, the one you hadn't seen in so long, you were nearly reduced to tears. But you knew what had to be done.

You thankfully didn't crumble, and neither did Mystic Flour Cookie, as they were soon imprisoned. However, you were deeply injured, and as such retreated to the last of the forests not touched by the corruption.

A cookie grown from a white rose, known only to the creatures as Melancholic Rose Cookie, guards the flowerbed in which you rest. His final task to make sure you can never have your heart broken again.

[thornedrose44]

There are so many good ones in the 100 dialogue writing prompts!

But I'll choose: 67. "What if we make a deal?" For supercorp if you will!

I love your writing so much! And hope you have a brilliant day😘

(Angst ahead, with a hopeful end)

“What if we make a deal?”

Kara turned round slowly, back pressing against the balcony balustrade as she watched Lena approach tentatively.  “What kind of deal?”

“With clear terms, if I do X that means Y. We can have a standard deal in place when you need my assistance.” Lena explained, clasping her hands in front of herself, pale skin glowing as she was backlit by the bright glow of monitors through the window. “I gain access to the tower’s laboratory and it’s resources, provide consultancy on the approach to dealing with the alien but no vote in how it is handled unless I provide a key element then I get an equal stake vote to the other Superfriend team members.”

Kara’s gaze narrowed as she accused, “You want to turn ‘helping’ into a transaction?”

There was a flicker of hurt that flashed through green eyes but Lena blinked it away quickly enough, expression returning to the blank one she sported whenever she was called upon to assist Supergirll and her team. “No.” Lena said simply, the syllable shaking under the weight of all the emotion it was holding back. “I want to help. But I don’t know the parameters that I’m allowed to operate in.”

“Look,” Kara’s jaw clenched, stomach swirling with regret and shame, head dipping low, “I know things are awkward-“

“Awkward is an understatement.” Lena corrected, with a harsh chuckle that Kara didn’t bother to deny. “I feel actively unwelcome, Kara. I try to help and give an opinion and I am met with silence and you actively choosing the option in opposition to mine.”

Kara shifted her weight from foot to foot, “I just don’t agree with you.”

“No, you just don’t want to.”

“That’s not-“

Lena’s expression hardened for the first time then, a flash of Luthor might that she had buried since coming to Kara with an apology and a request for aid with her brother. “I know you were all for using a containment method rather than risking Alex’s chemical compound on that last alien until I put forward a way to do that. Then you switched because I suggested it.” 

Kara winced, wanting to argue back and deny the accusation but she was trying to get better with the instinct to lie to Lena - an ingrained reaction that initially grew from a place of sincere good intentions but became twisted with each betrayal on either side.

 “This isn’t working because you don’t trust me.” Lena said, shaking her head mournfully, “And I… I understand that. So… let’s remove trust from the equation.”

“With a deal.” Kara guessed.

“Exactly. With parameters and terms and conditions.” Lena asserted, taking a shy step closer - Kara leaned ever so slightly further back over the balustrade, prompting Lena to shuffle backwards in response. “You know what lines I have to operate in and I don't need to tread on eggshells since I know what I’m allowed to do and what the response to my actions will be.”

Kara sighed, glancing away and staring out over the city skyline as she admitted, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She knew how difficult it was for Lena, knew that when she came to the tower everyone stayed away - a bubble of distance to keep her isolated, knew that Lena pre-emptively flinched when offering a countering opinion because she knew it would be met by Kara instantly digging in her heels. Brainy and Kelly bridged the gap, doing what they could to keep the tension low and make it so Lena wasn’t without any allies. Kara knew that Lena was doing them a favour by jumping to their aid, and the least they should do was recognise that. .

“Yes, you do.” Lena whispered, shattering the rose-tinted glasses Kara had tried to wear. “I know because I was doing it not long ago and you’re doing it for the same reason I did.”

“Which is?”

“I hurt you and seeing me hurts all over again.”

Kara absorbed this, her heart shriveling up into something tiny as if by being smaller it couldn’t contain as much hurt and love as it currently did. She cleared her throat, finally looking back to her once best friend, “And this will help?”

“I don’t know.” Lena confessed. “But it’s different and right now it’s all I have. If it doesn’t…” She paused, gaze going far away as she considered her options before saying, “I’ll go.”

“Go? Go where?” Kara asked, the sharp tang of adrenaline and fear flooding her system.

“Away from here. Away from you.” Lena murmured, and Kara could see Lena’s throat bob as she swallowed back a lump of emotion. “I know I’ve done wrong but I don’t think I should make myself miserable as penitence…” Lena’s brow furrowed and she added in a mutter, “at least that’s what Kelly said. And you don’t deserve to be miserable either.”

Kara’s hands shifted to her hips, fingers digging in tightly, her head feeling suddenly light like she was floating above all this - she was instead watching the events play out, a version of the future where Lena wasn’t there at all. 

“Okay, then let’s make a deal.” Kara said quickly, words spilling out in an eager bid to extinguish the nightmarish vision she was seeing.

Lena looked surprised but didn’t question Kara’s decision, “I will draft a contract and send it to you for editing?”

“Okay.” Kara breathed, turning away and back to the city, unable to bear watching Lena leave. She could hear Lena’s heartbeat, and knew Lena waited a couple of seconds before making her move. “Lena?” Kara called out before she had a chance to stop herself.

“Yes?” Lena replied, her heartbeat rising in tempo to match the pounding beat of Kara’s own.

Kara licked her lips, eyes slipping closed as she whispered, “You leaving would make me miserable too.”

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Choose Nerrocan (BE 1)

Well... yeah. You guys did that :') Then again, I am actually happy we got this bad end since it'll work quite nicely into the rest of the story as an ironic butterfly effect. Thank you for the experience! It was a challenge to write what I wanted to portrait, but I am glad to have had the chance and... good luck re-voting xD

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Mermen x GN!Reader   Warnings: Yandere, Monsters, Violence (Scratching, Ripping off a leg, Blood loss, Lunging for the reader, Mention of biting their throat), Non-consensual touches, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Hinting at death

"Nerrocan," you voiced your decision, trying to sound determined as you directed your gaze at the merman to your left.

He perked up, muscles tensing as he stretched his back, meeting your eyes over his shoulder with a mix of surprise and disdain swirling in his. However, your attention was drawn away by the other two, hissing and snarling, teeth bared at their own kind while Nerrocan had his gaze fixed on you. Only you. 

You realized your mistake too late, your gaze being blocked by a mess of black and white as Nerrocan sprung into action, lunging at you.

"Wait! Stop!" you yelled, your voice bouncing off the walls, never to be echoed between the treasures and the bodies. 

The splashing intensified, the merman needing less than a split second to reach you. Panic set in before you could reason with yourself. Come to terms with what you had agreed upon and why you didn't need to fear it. But how could you believe that, even just for a second? The claws reaching for you were against everything 'human' about them. They had the faces of allies, but everything else about them was wrong and unsettling. The way Nerrocan pounced for you activated ancient instincts in your head. The ones where cavemen fought against predators, the possibility of being eaten at every corner keeping them on high alert and constantly looking over their shoulder. It reminded you not to trust. To be careful. With those instincts rose the underlying fears that had been erased by the rise of humanity as the supreme race on this planet and the safety it promised. 

But in the ocean, you weren't safe. Humanity never had been. 

"Fucking Nerrocan," you heard Lyr spit, his voice only scratching at the edge of your awareness, unable to take hold as all your focus was directed at the hands wrapped around your legs, squeezing your flesh so unbearably tight in their grip. Lyr sounded displeased and disgusted as he had to watch Nerrocan claim what Lyr would have liked to have just as much, his tailfin thrashing against the water angrily. Yet, you had no time to avert your eyes from the glowing amber ones that shoved themselves into your face. 

"I hope you don't regret that, Human," Krill added, their bodies disappearing from the corners of your eyes as they entirely vanished in the pool. Their voices were just a nick at your attention, hardly registering as your legs were pulled out from under you, your upper body crashing to the ground with pebbles puncturing your back through the fabric of your clothes. 

All you could do was scream as claws dug into your thighs, ripping and shredding your pants, as well as too many layers of skin to count. You couldn't see Nerrocan's reaction to the high-pitched sound through your blurry visions, tears being the only indication of pain as your brain tried to ignore the bleeding and burning scratches along your legs. 

"Impossible," you heard Nerrocan whisper in between your own sobs. His grip briefly loosened as he held your leg, weighing it in his palm before clasping his fingers around it again. 

"Please, stop," you whimpered, unsure how you'd ever recover trust with any of these mermen after this. Nerrocan had been so quiet and composed until this moment, you didn't think he'd go about this whole 'exploring' thing with such uncaring force. Didn't these creatures know about gentleness? Softness? Were there only animalistic instincts to be found behind their intelligent eyes and heads held high? 

"It hurts," you added, his gaze briefly darting to you. Blinking away the tears, you tried to read his thoughts, the amber giving nothing away that you could make sense of. All you could see was less and less sympathy in them as the seconds passed. The exact opposite of what you needed. His hands wrapped around your left leg, tighter and tighter. One on your thigh, the other on your shin. Nerrocan closed your leg, pressing shin to your thigh, never even pretending to test your flexibility as he forced your muscles to bend. Your knee began to strain, tightened with friction to the point of your joints screaming, the same exact sound you let out through your mouth. 

"This is already enough to make you scream? I can't believe I let myself get caught by something so weak." 

Every word he uttered dripped from his lips with hatred. Had you not been in so much pain, hearing his contempt would have made you shiver. You were in no place to judge him for his feelings, not knowing him or what he had been through. But you couldn't help but push through your pain, reaching forward. Your hand could barely wrap around two of his fingers, but you still tried to pry them off, one by one, if you had to. He might feel slighted about something, but repaying his pain with yours was not going to make this easier for him. 

"Look at you, constricted and breakable at the same time. Nothing to protect you. Nothing to actually come close to our strength," Nerrocan sneered, sliding his hand down to press your foot upwards, almost flat against your shin. Rigid from the cold environment, your tendons now threatened to rip if the strain didn't subside. With all your power, you lurched your upper body forward, digging your fingers into his arm. There was no time to admire the muscles under the taut skin, not when you were desperate to get him off you, fearing him actually breaking or ripping something that would be hard to heal without access to modern medicine if he continued. 

"You're going to break it!" you pressed out through clenched teeth, hoping to make him snap out of it audibly. "I need my legs! Stop it!"

"Or what?" he asked, directing his gaze back at you, his focus drilling into you. Suddenly, he emitted such calm, but one look at his eyes, and you found the storm brewing inside him. At least for the moment, he stopped squeezing. "What are you going to do? Catch me again? Drag me into some weird cave full of sounds and people of your kind? Shoot me with your weapons again before dumping me back into the water, bleeding, and with more of your weird machines attached to my body?"

"I didn't do that!" you tried to defend yourself, finally realizing what had this creature so agitated. You never considered how they got the trackers, only focusing on the fact that the mermen could lead you back to where those came from. But now that you had a few seconds to think about it, every one of those seconds causing Nerrocan's grip to tighten around your leg again, you realized that there was no way these mermen would have agreed to the trackers, not even understanding what they were.

"No, you didn't," he agreed, and a small moment of relief washed over you, knowing he realized that. Somewhere inside him was a reasonable person to talk to. Someone who'd understood if you explained yourself. Someone you could trust.

But the relief was short-lived.

Suddenly, Nerrocan straightened your leg, pulling it further and further away from you by your ankle, his other hand wandering up to your hips. "But what says you won't in the future? What if we help you survive here while you play helpless, and then you catch us and hurt us again? Can't have that, can we?"

The sound of your own scream could barely be heard in your own ears over the sound of your blood rushing through your body, your heart working twice as fast as your bone began to detach from your hips. You knew that if Nerrocan wanted, he could have ripped your leg off fast and efficiently, barely breaking a sweat. But he didn't. Instead, he reveled in the sight of your pain, the panic, and the mind-breaking feeling of your leg being pulled from your body. In the middle of your skin ripping, flesh separating in the most gruesome of ways, he briefly stopped, your body going limb from the trauma and pain, your vision blurred with spots as you took a deep breath, the pain having yet to register. And then, with one swift pull, not fast enough to make it quick, but with less patience than before, your whole life came crashing down before your eyes.

You still felt the phantom of your left leg, the nerves twitching and receiving signals from your brain to move and work. But the loss of blood, a large red puddle disgracing the cave floor as you gurgled in shock, made you lose your conscience faster than you wanted. You tried to focus your gaze on Nerrocan, watching him lick off the blood on his fingers with just as much contempt as he had shown you the last few minutes, making you realize his anger wasn't stilled. It had done nothing for him and neither for you. 

Could you have done something different? Would it have helped him if you had the time to talk and explain these things he mistrusted and feared? Could you have done anything to avoid this act of raw violence? Something went wrong, but you couldn't pinpoint where your fault started and where it ended. All you knew was that your choice hadn't been the right one, your trust misguided by these strange creatures before you even had a chance to understand them. 

Before you had to watch Nerrocan lunge forward, feel his sharp, bone-breaking teeth bite into your throat like the killer he was, you passed out. It was an act of kindness from your body, and you were welcomed by darkness. It flooded all your senses, all your perception of time and self, enveloping you like a warm pool that you kept sinking further and further into with no strength left to swim. 

Your eyes never opened again, for better or for worse.

Seems like you didn't make it… What a shame. And I was so rooting for you, too! Isn't there a way to capture the heart of these creatures? Don't you think you can do better than this? Maybe if you tried again, we could find out… 

Hmm… interesting. I look forward to what you will do from here on out. 

[areyoudreaminof]

Future Rust and Future Dust: Chapter 6

I'm back. Kind of.

I'd like to give my most heartfelt thanks and dedication to @secret-third-thing for reading this and giving me the boost I needed to post this.

Feyre,

By the time you read this, I’ll be heading for the continent. 

I wish I had more time to explain everything to you and Nesta but time is running out. You should have all of Lucien’s reports on Beron and the human armies. Things are moving much faster and becoming much more dire than we thought. We need to get to the lake. I hope you’ll forgive me and understand that this was not a rash decision. Our human allies have procured us a ship, when we reach Rask safely, I will write to you again.

Please give Nyx a kiss every night from me. Please-

The pen stopped suddenly in Elain’s fingers, leaving a small pool of ink idling under the brass tip. No matter how many times she wrote it, the letters to her sisters sounded wrong, like she had something to hide. But she wasn’t hiding, she told herself, just keeping some things personal. Elain supposed it was a form of guilt that ate at her. After all, she did leave the house almost a year ago, in the middle of the night to come down to the manor. She hadn’t been up to Velaris since, but her sisters came down to visit once, Nyx on Feyre’s hip and a closed off expression on Nesta’s face. 

She and Lucien had fallen in love with each other by then, and she had hoped her sisters would be happy for her. They assured her they were, but something unspoken hung in the air, something that none of the sisters could put into words. Elain hoped that by holding off on a mating ceremony until her sisters could be there would smooth things over. She was ready to accept the bond, but she felt another twinge of guilt at the idea of not having her sisters there for a ceremony. Ever the gentleman, Lucien assured her they could have a small ceremony in the spring with her sisters. With a sigh, Elain finished the letter as best as she could, quickly folding and sealing it as she threw it into the small stack of envelopes. With a stretch, Elain rose from the desk, her eyes drifting to the window. 

Snow was falling outside, softly, almost silently. Only the wind whistled a lonely ballad, one of sorrow and change. Elain had seen the steel clouds on the horizon and had felt the bite of cold in the air, but she was so focused on packing clothes, writing letters, hoping that they could get onto a ship before morning that she had missed the first flakes falling. Quickly, she walked through the kitchen to the back door, sparing a glance at the clock. It was nearing sunset and Vassa would be home. They could finish packing and Jurian and Lucien would be ready with a carriage to take them to the coast, where a merchant ship with black sails waited, she reminded herself as she swung the back door open. 

She reached up to touch the snowflakes that flurried and whirled around her as she stepped outside. Each flake kissed her fingertips and cheeks lightly, while her breath whirled in clouded puffs from her lips. Elain remembered her first snow, she supposed she must have been three or four years old. The naked rose bushes in the garden froze in the night, while snow dusted the twisting branches like white blooms. She was hypnotized by the beauty of it all, hardly looking away from the window as her governess wrapped her in mittens and scarves. Her next memory was being angry about how wet and filthy her shoes and stockings got after she came inside.

I suppose I’ll have to get used to wet stockings, she thought. The continent was colder and wetter this time of year, at least, if her old atlases were right. Visions of ice on the lake flickered through her memory as she breathed in the sharp and muddied air. 

Blue light filtered in through the night sky, an echo of the full moon behind the clouds, though the manor grounds were cloaked in darkness. Only the warm glow of the kitchen illuminated Elain’s path, the copse of ash trees were a snarled shadow in the distance. 

A wolf began to howl, far off into the tree line. 

The pitch of the howl was wrong, too sharp for the wolves that prowled the wall line, too nasal. As the howl echoed through the limbs of ash trees, static fear crept through Elain’s throat. She couldn’t spot Vassa in the darkness, if the howling got a hold of her-

DONG! DONG! 

The continental wooden clock in the kitchen announced the Vassa hour and the wolf howled again. Elain launched into the snow, her shoes sliding along the tightly packed ice, her breath sharpening with cold as she pumped her legs toward the soft firelight in the trees. The wolf-thing howled again, this time closer to the south, nearing the manor. Elain cut through the ash grove and into the clearing where Vassa usually landed, ignoring the hiss of ash branches along her skin as she ran. 

She could not say the words, admit what she knew had finally come. 

But she could run. 

TAGLIST: @secret-third-thing @asnowfern @foundress0fnothing @born-to-riot @bunburyahoy @c-e-d-dreamer @cowboylament @cupiddoe @dawneternal @goghwilde @itsthedoodle @jamborina @kataravimes-of-the-shire @moonpatroclus @octobers-veryown @popjunkie42 @queercontrarian @rosanna-writer @separatist-apologist @sassyhobbits @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @velidewrites @witch-and-her-witcher @wilde-knight @xtaketwox @melting-houses-of-gold @reverie-tales @striving4mikey @iftheshoef1tz @chunkypossum @jamborina @fieldofdaisiies @crazy-ache @works-of-heart @luciensdefenseattorney @jules-writes-stories @acourtofladydeath @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 2 Horizon

(Endwalker 6.0, in a specific named place on the final zone map. Uses lines of NPC & player dialogue. 350ish words.)

She had given up everyone and everything to get here—and it still wasn’t enough.

The whispers of her family, friends, allies, swirled in her head, their hopes and prayers, encouragement and urging. She couldn’t disappoint them, even as tears stung her eyes.

She had thought herself drained of tears by this point.

She could almost imagine the steady presence of Ardbert at her back, the weight of his hands on her shoulders. That part of him inside her soul kept fighting, cheering, pushing her forward.

All she could see were stars.

Broken and burning, dimming and darkened, they filled the twisted skies and far distances of space.

And above the egg loomed. Just out of reach.

No one remained but her. The others' determined hopes swirled in the air around her, formed the very ground under her feet. What she could use was their council, their ideas.

Them.

But only Meteion waited, her slim form breaking the barren line of this absolute horizon.

“Come, let me relieve you of your burden. You have suffered enough.”

Azem’s crystal was in her hand. It was all she had left. Her ancestor’s magic, and what remained of Hydaelyn’s. Yet if she used it to call her friends back, then it would undo all their progress to even reach this point and they would be further away…

“...and another who may yet have a part to play. Though that will depend on you.”

Among the many words she recalled, Hydaelyn’s in Labyrinthos came, segueing into memories of Elpis itself, that first flower leading there, to the revelations of this beginning, to Kairos…

The thing about horizons was they only seemed to be a definitive line. But in the common language, the word also meant a range of perceptions and experiences, about attaining something previously thought to be out of reach.

“I won’t forsake our cause.”

She still had the crystal. She had her experiences, her knowledge, her memories of her comrades.

“I’ll reach you! I’ll find a way!”

She was not out of options.

Light rose over that final horizon.

[justrainandcoffee]

Alfie x Rose: Timeline.

I really wanted to do something like this. At least to give the stories an order because it was mess. Considering they're independent one shots, when I write I don't follow a chronological order. But here, finally, they are ordered.

General masterlist || Modern!timeline || Alternate Universe

Spam-likers will be block. You too 🫵.

• Childhood (1888-1902)

From the moment they were born in 1888 to their first kiss when they were 14, in 1902.

Six months old

Tommy, the teddy the bear

Storks and chimneys

Childhood, shenanigans moodboard

The cat is (not) under the table

A manual of good behaviour

Rose (here's written their first kiss in 1902, despite the rest is a fic of their adult version)

• Adolescence (1902-1906)

From their first kiss until their forced separation. Including their first time.

The brown waistcoat

Unsurely sure

Paradise

The moon

To the end of the world

When they were 18

Why

• Adulthood (1911-1963)

From their reunion to Rose's death in 1963. Including their marriage and them adopting Allie, their daughter.

A window to the past

Puzzles

The Solomons

Mr. Coldwell

Just another test

Criminal

Pater noster

The ghost of a Rose

Inner demons

Healing

Home

Heart vs Mind

How to train your wife

Deal

Rose

Devil

Relax

The end of the journey

For a better future

Happy chaotic birthday

Unexpected: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Alfie's daughter

"When you wear nothing at all"

Princess

Breakfast

Good people die in their bed

Tell her

Bonus: 1645

A/N: Their story is still going on! More fics are coming. Also, there are plenty moodboards that complete these fics. Or add more details. And I'm not counting the spin-off about their pets, the different AUs or their modern versions.

[mewpangxin]

“ Scarlet That Dyed Your White Roses ”

FT. Riddle Rosehearts X GN! Reader.

Tags: Yandere behavior and threats of violence.

⤷ Riddle’s Letter: Happy Birthday to you, Riddle!

Summary: It's a day that's dedicated to him, so he sent an envelope to your doorstep at Ramshackle.

To My Respected Prefect Of Ramshackle.

Greetings, I am the housewarden of Heartslabyul dormitory, my house based from the strictness on The Queen Of Hearts spirit.

I'll have you know that it is no joke, I am writing and confessing through this notation as a means of propagation to you.

When did I begin liking you? Well, I suppose if you were to be inquisitive, an appointment must be made, shouldn't we?

I already informed Trey of your arrival, the sweets was baked by myself and his aid for the sake of splendid outcome in mind.

Please come and I insist that you do.

Trappola and Spade are members under my wing, if they were to disappear.. the fault is yours and you can accuse no one else.

You may call me however it be, wicked, dissolute, scurvy.

I would gladly walk to the inferno to incur you.

Until death do us apart?

I will not capitulate to that frivolous saying!

Cry as you might, I'll always find you. I'll engrave this out and have YOU learn what disobedience shall be for bearish students.

Everlastingly I am yours as you ‘belong’ to me.

Aren't you smiling?

I am who I am because of my assiduity, why should I back off? Restless nights because of you, have you no compunction?!

I, Riddle Rosehearts, will undeniably have you, prefect.

You are to stay. With me. No matter how you feel about me.

And what if you're frightened by me?

Have you forgotten that I am no different to you? We are rapacious one way or another, major or small, and that is a normalcy for us.

Between the two of us, who will the headmaster be inclined to trust? A dorm leader or an outsider who has nothing to show?

You have no allies in Night Raven College.

That is something that you should note down, isn't it?

So why? Why would you run away?! From me?!!

How shoddily are you? It's unthinkable!

..Can't you see it, my precious? The choice is to requite. I am capable of hurting those around you — even if I couldn't harm you.

Tell me your response. Say it that you'll wed to me.

Signed, Riddle Rosehearts.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 2: Dusk]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 4.0k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @ipostwhatifeel​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @quartzs-posts​ @tclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @chainsawsangel​ @itsabby15​ @serrhaewin​ @padfooteyes​ @arcielee​ @travelingmypassion​ @what-is-originality​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @blackdreamspeaks​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @jvpit3rs​ @sarcastic-halfling-princess​ @flowerpotmage​ @ladylannisterxo​ @thelittleswanao3​ @elsolario​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @minttea07​​

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

The girl is from Milan, and Daeron is enamored with her: bright-eyed, beaming, blood rosy in his cheeks. Her name is Nicolosa, though she is adamant that everyone should call her Nico. She is one of those effortlessly informal people. She laughs too loudly and says all the wrong things, too-honest observations that would be offensive if the person breathing life into them was anyone but her. She spins around the hall as violins and lutes play, swinging from the willing arms of chuckling noblemen, an aisle of light in a goldenrod gown, the sun made flesh. She has the luxury of dancing until breathless, until she glows with the sheen of exertion. She could not possibly be carrying a child; she will not be wedded and bedded for another year.

This is a great triumph for Otto the Duke of Hightower. Milan under the House of Sforza is an enviable ally, wealthy and sophisticated, and eager for friends who will one day be willing to assist them in resisting French encroachment. This is the deal that the Duke of Hightower has struck. True, Daeron is still rather young to take a bride. True, Nico’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Milan, were insistent that they would concede to the match only if the marriage and consummation was postponed until next August. True, this does not resolve the immediate concern of Aegon’s lack of an heir. But it is another tile of a mosaic, another thread in the patchwork of the Greens’ objectives, another brick in a castle wall from which boiling oil could be poured down upon invaders.

The Duke of Hightower is accepting warm congratulations from the nobility of Southern England: Norfolk, Gloucester, Somerset, Buckingham, Suffolk, Clarence, Exeter. Those of the North—Lancaster, York, Stark—shun him. They stand instead with Rhaenyra, admiring her two eldest sons, pretending not to notice how little they resemble the late Laenor Velaryon. The Crown Princess is wearing black accented with maroon, as she almost always is. She sends a small, reassurance-seeking smile to where Daemon sits at the high table, and he raises his cup to her, his face sly, arrogant, proud. They love each other, this is clear; it may not be an especially conventional love, and it may be a love that emboldens rather than tames, but it is love nonetheless. This does not make your resignation to your own fate any easier. Queen Alicent, laughing as she joins Daeron and Nico dancing, is dressed in dark green to match her father and her children. You often wear purple, the color of royalty…just to remind people that you still deserve to be here.

You are at the high table too, albeit on the opposite side from Daemon; the Blacks are always seated to King Viserys’ right, while the Greens are on his left. Aemond doesn’t dance, you aren’t permitted to, Aegon is too drunk. He’s apparently not too drunk to leer, however; his bleary storm-blue eyes follow Lady Joanna Montford as she glides across the floor like a shark through surf, flashing luring eyes and flirtatious simpers. You’re a better dancer than she is, but of course that doesn’t matter, because no one ever gets to see you do it. Aegon won’t go so far as to touch her in public—he would consider that discourteous, you think—but he’s sleeping with her, and everyone knows he’s sleeping with her, and you can’t even truly wish he’d stop because you don’t want him in your bed anyway. But the humiliation of it…the hopelessness…that is more difficult to come to terms with.

“Portugal,” Daemon tells Aegon nonchalantly. “You could have married some princess from Portugal.”

Aegon guzzles his wine and says nothing. Aemond—scribbling messy lines of black ink onto parchment at the end of the table—glances up at you and then back down again.

Daemon continues: “The Infanta Maria was wed around the same time you were, and she’s produced a more than satisfactory son for her husband. Hugely fat, practically hoglike, I’ve seen portraits.”

“Daemon, please,” King Viserys scolds mildly, smiling as he watches Rhaenyra mingle with nobles who wouldn’t mind burning you alive if it meant the Blacks would ascend more seamlessly to the throne. The king has her son Joffrey in the chair next to him and has enthralled the boy with stories of jousts, hunts, feasts, Christmases and May Days. You wonder if he’s ever shown such interest in any of his children with Alicent. If he has, you aren’t aware of it.

“Or Savoy,” Daemon says. “Not as cultured as Milan, this cannot be denied, but of great strategic significance geographically. One foot in France, the other in Italy. I’ve heard wonderful things about Princess Louise. Very athletic, very…” He smirks, biting into a pomegranate. Ruptured seeds spurt juice like the gleam of rubies. “Flexible.”

“Oh, look, Prince Daemon.” You point into the crowded hall. “I think your wife is beckoning you to join her. Your third wife, I mean, the most recent one. The one who also happens to be your niece.”

“Or Naples!” Daemon exclaims, as if it has just occurred to him, as if he hasn’t been waiting to torment you like a wolf shadows a wounded stag, saliva filling up its mouth, fangs bared and dripping. Southerners detest Daemon because they fear he is mad; but that’s exactly what the North likes about him. “Or perhaps even—would we dare to hope?—a princess of France! Think of it! The poor Duke of Hightower would not know what to do with himself, he would be so delighted. At his age, the shock might just kill him.”

“Daemon,” King Viserys warns again.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be giving us so many ideas,” Aegon says, slurping his wine. “Aemond is still unspoken for, and now we have a tidy list of candidates to consider. How thoughtful of you.”

“Or you simply could have made the same arrangement that you did but in reverse,” Daemon goes on as if no one else has spoken at all. “You could have taken a Castilian bride, and Helaena could have been shipped off to the Pyrenees, and your circumstances would be wildly different than they are now. Princess Lucia would have been the right age for you. Do you want to know what she gave to her new husband this past Christmas?”

“I surely don’t,” Aegon replies.

Daemon grins beneath glinting eyes. “Twins.”

“Enough,” Aemond says, dark and quiet like midnight.

Now Daemon addresses you, resting his elbows on the table. “How many more chances do you think they’ll give you, Navarre, before some providential technicality that voids your marriage contract is discovered and you are discarded of in a nunnery?” Another bite of the pomegranate; another freckling of bloodlike red across the tablecloth. “The globe is crawling with royal women, they’re fish in a barrel, why would anyone jeopardize their dynastic ambitions for you?”

“My wife belongs where I am,” Aegon says: a fact, a dare. “And I will hear no more of it.”

You look at him, grateful but a little stunned. He does this sometimes. He will choose a seemingly arbitrary moment to make a show of loyalty, and then he will never mention it again. He doesn’t return your glance. Instead, he picks apart a roasted chicken carcass with his fingers and resumes staring at Lady Joanna Montford with his dazed, watery eyes. Aemond, engrossed in his writing, hasn’t eaten much tonight. Neither have you; but there’s a reason for that.

“Where you are,” Daemon muses, raising his strange white eyebrows. “Well, I hope she enjoys brothels.”

You fling back: “Like the one you fondled the Crown Princess in?”

“A baseless rumor,” Daemon replies, but he can’t smother the flare of wicked pride in his eyes.

“Will you stop it?!” the king roars at both of you. Joffrey gazes up at him with awe, like he’s seen a falling star or a dragon or the face of God. “This is supposed to be a joyous occasion, a royal betrothal, and you can’t conduct yourselves appropriately for one night—?!”

“What are they squabbling about?” the Duke of Hightower asks as he approaches the table. He can summon nothing more condemnatory than half-serious annoyance; his mood is too lofty, his victory too fresh. Behind him in the festive ruckus, Queen Alicent and Rhaenyra are exchanging awkward compliments and trying to ignore all the enmity that has stacked up between them since the king married his daughter’s lifelong companion and started producing white-haired children with her. Jace is dancing with Baela, Luke with Rhaena; Daeron and Nico have found themselves alone in a corner, giggling as candlelight glows hot and golden on their flushed cheeks.

Rather than answering, the king merely rolls his eyes and sighs, exasperated.

“You must be overjoyed, Otto,” Daemon says. “Another friend on the Continent. And yet, they are awfully far away, don’t you think?”

The Duke of Hightower smiles tightly. “Ships travel fast.”

“Ah, perhaps, though not faster than word from here to the Scottish border.”

“The Milanese girl will make a lovely bride for young Daeron, Otto,” King Viserys praises. He has either successfully deluded himself into believing that the whole of the realm will miraculously coalesce behind Rhaenyra upon his death, or he is determined to ignore the catastrophe that will ensue once he slips, gleefully ignorant, off into the afterlife.

Daemon nods. “Yes. Buxom, vivacious, amiable, she will be a fine mother someday. Unlike certain other people among us.”

Aegon says around a mouthful of chicken: “Grandsire, Prince Daemon was kind enough to point out all the other advantageous matches still at our disposal. Since we haven’t monopolized our bloodline by marrying exclusively immediate relatives.”

The Duke of Hightower chuckles. “Yes, I do sincerely hope that Jace and Luke’s offspring don’t all end up with fifteen fingers or gills or some such thing.”

“Fortunately, Harwin Strong’s blood should dilute the lineage,” you say.

Daemon turns towards you, twisting in his chair, grinning cruelly. “Gills or not, at least they’ll have children.”

You can’t think of anything to say back. Perhaps there is nothing to say. The Duke of Hightower and Aegon both avert their eyes. King Viserys has returned his attention to young Joffrey and is teaching him a prayer to invoke the protection of Saint George. Only Daemon looks at you; and Aemond watches him, quill hovering in midair, his sole blue eye a blaze of cold fire. You push out your chair and rise from the table, fleeing to one of the rooms adjacent to the exuberant, cheerful hall. You’re happy for Daeron and Nico, truly you are. But pain has a way of feeling heavier than joy, doesn’t it? It grips onto your ankles and drags you down into depths that nobody else can see.

The room is small and empty, the music muffled by the walls. Through the stained glass windows trickle in beams of pink-lavender light as dusk falls over Westminster Palace. And you stand there alone in the twilight, thinking of the past and the future and time itself, a ghost that will always be made of more secrets than answers.

You hear the door open behind you. “I’ll return to the festivities in a moment,” you say to the intruder, trying to keep the emotion from your voice.

“No need,” Aemond replies softly.

You wheel, and there he is, walking to meet you in the vanishing daylight. He takes your left hand in his and settles his right lightly, modestly, on your waist. “What—?” And then you understand.

Dancing. Here, where no one can see to forbid or ridicule. He’s come to take me dancing.

You smile up at him. “I’m not supposed to be doing this.”

“We’ll go very slowly.”

And slowly would be an understatement: you and Aemond move together in dawdling, careful steps, rotating like seasons, like the phases of the moon. He smells like he always does, of work and effort: smoke, leather, that scent he wears that is dark and woodsy and with an edge like a knife. His hands are calloused from sword sparring. Yours feel soft and helpless in his; they weren’t always so fragile, but they are now. “I thought you hated me,” you tell him.

“I’ve never hated you.”

“But you ignored me. For an entire year after I arrived in England, you ignored me.”

“I kept my distance. That’s very different from ignoring.”

“Alright, but why keep your distance at all?”

Aemond hesitates. “I am not in the habit of allowing myself to be noticed.”

“Because you fear people will see through the armor you’re wearing?” And when he abruptly stops dancing, you add: “I don’t mean that unkindly. I’m the same way. I wear all sorts of masks.”

He studies you in the lilac light. His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips to your throat. And then he resumes the unhurried dance. “There’s nothing about you worth hiding.”

You spin away from him and then return to be caught. “And you think you are a trove of scandalous secrets, Prince Aemond? Is that what’s in all those poems you won’t let me read?”

“If they were any good, I’d let you read them.”

“But you have the disposition of a genuine poet. Enigmatic, perceptive…” Alluring. Beautiful. You cast those thoughts away like coins into a wishing well. “Graceful.”

“So the dancing isn’t too terrible. I don’t do it often, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t do it ever to my knowledge. And no, not terrible at all.”

“I move best when holding a sword, not a princess.”

“I used to have callouses like yours, you know,” you say. “My palms and fingers were covered in them.”

“Because you sparred with your brothers,” Aemond remembers.

“For hours and hours. Especially with Alonzo. He’s the exact opposite of you, short and stocky and loud, with dark curls and heavy feet. And his poetry would send a lady sprinting in the other direction.”

“Do you miss it? Terrorizing men with swords?”

“Of course. I was almost somewhat good at that, unlike everything I’m tasked with here.”

Aemond grins, broad and mischievous. “Let’s have a demonstration then.” He releases your hand, goes to the door that leads to a stairwell, and waits patiently for you to join him.

This is improper. This is disobedient. But what has being obedient gotten you lately?

You follow Aemond through the doorway, down the stone steps, and out into the courtyard illuminated by dusk like amber, tiger’s eye, amethyst, rose quartz. It is empty except for the two of you; the rest of the palace is thoroughly occupied with drinking, dancing, and murderous scheming. It is a wonder with as lethal as the world is that women are meant to be so powerless. Aemond trots across the grass towards the blacksmith’s forge at the far end of the courtyard, then returns with two swords. He passes you the lighter one.

“How does it feel?” he asks you.

You twirl the sword a few times, admittedly rather inexpertly. “Wonderful. But I’m very out of practice.”

“Fear not. We’ll take this slow as well.” He taps his blade against yours, so tenderly it’s laughable; the sound it makes is blunt and low. Still, you’re both smiling as you circle each other, striking out with intentionally ineffectual thrusts and lunges, blocking, parrying. “Your footwork is excellent,” Aemond notes.

“It used to be better. But I appreciate your compliment. You’re more talented than Alonzo. Then again, you probably spend much less time skipping lessons to chase women around.”

“Undoubtedly,” Aemond says in a tone you can’t decipher. Then he asks, interest piqued: “What sorts of masks do you wear?”

You shrug, your blade skating down the length of his. “All sorts.”

Aemond parries. “I’d be interested to know.”

“A genuine poet would be astute enough to sift out the truth from the lies.”

“So lie to me,” Aemond says, his stare direct and bold, his sword balanced in one hand and pointed at your ribs, your heart. “And we shall find out if I can tell.”

You side-step him, thinking of frivolous diversions. “I love English ale and drink it all the time.”

“Lie. Apple cider.”

The blades clang. “My favorite color is, dutifully, green.”

“Lie. Red, like the flag of Navarre.”

And like blood. “It’s beginning to lose its charm,” you confide in Aemond.

“Don’t do that,” he says severely. “Don’t let them take something you’re proud of away from you.”

You consider him as stars rise in a violet sky. “Why are you encouraging my rebellious inclinations? You don’t give the impression of being much of a rule breaker.”

“I don’t see what good can come from you being denied any source of happiness,” he says simply. “Go on. Let’s have another attempt at a lie.”

You block Aemond’s benign, cautious swing as you circle him. “I’m pregnant again.”

Aemond halts; every muscle in his body goes still and inflexible. And he knows immediately that you’re telling the truth. “I’m…I’m very glad to hear that,” he manages at last.

You laugh fleetingly, cynically. “You can’t even properly congratulate me. No one can. Because everything’s gone so horribly thus far, people don’t want to get their hopes up.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Not yet. But I can recognize the first signs by now.” Constant low-level nausea, difficulty waking in the morning, dull cramping. You force a thin smile. “At least your brother won’t need to visit my bed for a while.”

“You don’t find pleasure with him? Is Aegon not…” Aemond searches for the right word, nervous, bashful. Hot blooms of blood appear in his cheeks. “Attentive to you?”

“It’s not his fault. He tries, really. He’s never been selfish or rough. It is entirely my own deficiency. I’m just not…at ease with him, I suppose. I can’t relax enough. I can’t reach…well…” Euphoria? A climax? A peak? You know what euphemisms others use, but it’s difficult to describe something you’ve never experienced before.

Aemond nods, meaning that he understands, that you don’t have to wrench the words out of you like entrails from a slaughtered animal.

“I know that other women can,” you say, tapping your blade against his. “That their husbands are well-matched with them and that they enjoy great pleasure. It’s difficult for me to accept that isn’t something I’ll ever get to have myself. At least…I don’t believe I’ve ever had it.”

“I think you’d know if you had.”

“Oh, and you’re an expert in a woman’s pleasure, are you? As an unmarried prince?” Your voice is casual and teasing; but the thought of him with a lover is like a bolt of lightning. It pains you, it paralyzes you, it hits you without any warning.

“Years ago, Aegon paid for a woman to…initiate me,” he explains. “Several times. He meant it as an act of compassion, I think. I was speechless around anyone I found desirable.”

Your nausea swells from a ripple to a wave. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s not something that I especially wanted at the time, and it’s not something that I have cared to repeat since. But it was very…informative.”

He gives you an infinitesimal little half-smile, and something passes between you as the last threads of dusk are unwoven from the sky and night engulfs Westminster Palace, something like a promise, a note, a whisper. The queasiness in your belly vanishes and is replaced by something else: a sensation like falling, like wanting. You are overcome by an ache to say something, though you don’t know what.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the Duke of Hightower bellows, striding out into the courtyard. Aemond takes several swift steps away from you and hurls his sword to the ground. You toss yours away as well.

“Grandsire, the princess and I were just—”

“You!” the Duke of Hightower shouts, turning on you first. “You should be in a chair or in bed, you should be resting, you should be thinking only of your health and of the wellbeing of the heirs you will produce with Aegon, not gallivanting around in the darkness and playing with swords, of all things! What would your husband say? What would your parents say?! Are you what we were promised when we signed that godforsaken contract?! Surely, princess, at this very moment you are not.”

Aemond begins: “Grandsire, it wasn’t her idea—”

“And you,” the Duke of Hightower growls at him. “You will immediately rid yourself of your baffling aversion to marriage, because you’re next, Aemond. Be prepared to discuss the candidates tomorrow and decide upon your preferred bride. Your brothers and sister are spoken for. We have one last card to play, and it cannot wait any longer. Not with this enduring…” He glances bitterly at you. “Uncertainty.”

Since you arrived in England, there have been innumerable discussions of who Aemond will marry, and he has staunchly evaded every proposed match. His rationale has wavered from needing to focus on his studies to committing himself to training as a warrior to interrogating the strategic wisdom of each potential alliance. This is strange for a man who is otherwise so constrained by familial loyalty, so devoted to the advancement of the Greens. “I won’t even get to meet her first?”

“You’ll learn to like her. Daeron met his betrothed today and he is happy.”

“Daeron is lucky,” Aemond objects. “I might just as easily not be.”

“You will marry,” the Duke of Hightower insists. “Without protest and without further delay.”

Aemond looks down at his empty hands—lines and callouses, fresh scars and ancient heritage—and he says quietly: “Do you care nothing for love?”

“Have you ever wondered why the old put so little stock in love, Aemond?” the Duke replies. “It’s not because we don’t believe it’s real. It’s because we know it doesn’t last. Women die in childbirth. Men die at war. Thousands die of Plague or the bloody flux. People who once would have killed for you grow to hate you, or worse, feel nothing for you at all. Love is transient and painful and changeable and destructive. Best to skip over such things and think of legacy instead. That’s all any of us are left with in the end.”

And then the Duke of Hightower clasps your wrist and leads you back inside the palace, gently, as if you are made of glass.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is several hours later when Aegon staggers noisily into your bedchamber, knocking over a Florentine vase by the door. Shards of it tumble across the floorboards like wounded men littering a battlefield.

“Sorry,” he slurs, pulling off his tunic and then the plain white shirt underneath. “I’m very drunk, wife, I cannot deny it, but there’s only one part of me that you’re in need of and I think that I can still get it up—”

“Aegon.” You’re lying in bed and sipping a cup of apple cider. “You don’t need to stay. Your part is done.”

He stops cold and blinks at you, comprehending it sluggishly. His eyes flick down to your belly, covered by a blanket decorated with green roses. “Oh.”

“It’s alright. You can go now. You have other places to be, and I know that’s what you want.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? To make it easier?”

Be a different sort of man. Be more like Aemond. “No, I’m fine. But it’s very sweet of you to ask.”

“Okay.” He lurches away, stepping on pieces of the shattered vase. His bare feet leave stains of blood on the floor. And then he pauses under the doorframe, gripping it so he doesn’t fall over. “Wife?”

“Yes?”

“It’s not that there’s anything wrong with you, you know,” he says. “It’s the pressure of it all. It’s the responsibility. I don’t have to feel that when I’m with anyone else.”

I don’t wish he was more like Aemond. I wish he WAS Aemond. “I understand, Aegon.”

He gives you a pitiful, off-kilter, childish smile. “Goodnight,” he says just before he leaves, clutching the doorframe with clawed hands. And then: “Goodnight to both of you.”

[mgnifique-tion]

— december 31st.

summary || ``out in the cold with a god, the historian never expected how great the next year would turn out to be.``

pairing: tva!loki x fem!historian!reader song recommendations: where the sea sleeps (day 6 – even of day) lowercase is intended…

— themes and warning/s: fluff, friendly bickering, friends (allies)-to-lovers, cozy, very minimal swearing (literally just one), this is very soft pls my heart–

— a/n: somebody got into loki again (me) and it’s been a while since i’ve written a marvel au (like probably 6 years ago HELP) and just for some backstory, my writer buddy (@yourstrulyksm) got me into this because she wanted me to write a christmas special but uh, the idea came in late……. and also, brainrot for loki……….. so here’s a short, teeny tiny winter special to end the year with! let’s welcome 2024 with a warm embrace (and perhaps a kiss…? maybe ship yourself with the upcoming year??? i’m def going insane)

[ total words: 1.2k ]

support me on ko-fi! ☕

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“are you alright?”

oh, you were pissed off, and not in a healthy amount. you were unhealthily pissed off. him asking you that question while you both stood in the middle of the wilderness clearly was not a great way to have a brand new conversation that opened with him doubting your mental state in some way. a loose nightdress was the only thing keeping you warm and as much as it looked so good on you, you were now beginning to hate it with all of your soul. 

that and the god who dragged you out of your home to fulfill a mission, loki.

“it’s almost twelve o'clock and you’re expecting me to be okay out here, in the cold, outside of my damn apartment, dressed in this sleeveless, thin cotton dress– are you that dense!?” anger was just inching closer with each second that passed as the god looked you from top to bottom, keeping his lower lip under his front teeth as he tilted his head.

‘right, he was a front giant. i forgot,’ you thought, huffing as you crossed your arms in both the burning annoyance and in the cold. to your surprise, that ticking bomb inside your head wasn’t really going to do much to keep you warm. 

“why didn’t you bring a jacket, then?” he questioned again. “you showed up at my doorstep panicking! i didn’t have time to get one!” you complained.

and then, there was silence, a moment of clarity which was later interrupted by the god once again. this time, he laughed, shaking his head at the supposed funny moment that took place earlier. “... oh, my friend, i do apologize–”

“you should,” you quickly snapped back, walking next to him as you followed his directions as if you weren’t familiar with the location. “now, i’m freezing like shit here– what are you doing?”

without thinking twice, the thick, dark blazer he wore was slipping off of his shoulders and arms as he gave you a state, later offering it to you by nudging your arm with his knuckles. “come on, wear it. the cold never bothered me anyway,” he said, both of his eyebrows raised as his eyes glimmered, hoping that you’d just take the blazer from him.

“... thanks a lot, elsa.” you still spoke in that grumbling tone you always had when it came to him but deep down, it was all for the humor… and the never-ending stage of denial. 

yes.

it’s been a while since those feelings for him bloomed like a flower on a spring’s day.

and now, you’re stuck with him like a pine tree on a winter’s night. “what are you even doing here? didn’t you tell me that we’re just supposed to see each other throughout time like… periodical visits?” you questioned, still wondering why he was now standing next to you. 

although he and mobius did need the help of a licensed historian, it was clear that you weren’t like the two of them. you had an entirely different role and just like what they both would say, you should play your role in the timeline. 

“why? isn’t this just like one of those periodical visits as well?” his shoulders slowly rose throughout the question as you sighed. 

3 days ago. it’s been 3 days since loki and mobius left…  and now, one of them is back again and it didn’t seem like he’s in trouble as you assumed.

“yeah, but like, i thought you’d come see me a few months after the last visit,” you muttered, taking steps with him slower this time, clearly diving deep into the talk. “you know? like the last time… for you, only a week passed but for me, it took six and a half months. is there another problem we have to fix or is this gonna be your thing?”

in return, he chuckled and asked back, “can’t i just pay my favourite historian a visit?”

“... but i’m the only historian you know–” “shut up.”

though it sounded bitter, both of you still smiled over the friendly banter and somehow, it was nice to know that loki traveled through time again just to meet up with you.

as a busy historian constantly checking if the two tva employees or sylvie herself made any of those rewrites in the many pages of history, you never really had a chance to go out with friends… you weren’t even sure if you still had contact with those old friends of yours.

in some way, you were lonely. 

you’d never admit it to yourself or to anyone around you but it was undeniable that you still were. “so, what you’re telling me is that you probably got bored and thought to yourself that you should seek me out just so you could take me here in the middle of the night? for fun? is this your brilliant idea of fun?” you questioned, syncing your pace with him as leaves and snow rustled beneath your boots. 

again, he chuckled. “well… it’s not exactly boredom,” the god answered, taking a deep breath right after. “... i did have plans to see you tonight.”

‘... what?’ that one word danced around your mind in circles because not once did you think of that possibility.

he just said he wanted to see you exactly tonight, how could that happen?

“and it’s getting late, i know. i’m sorry for dragging you out here but this one…” he trailed off, taking another deep breath as he suddenly stopped walking… and of course you did the same, choosing to face the trees instead of him. 

“this one’s important.”

then, he raised his hand mid-air, just above his own shoulder as his fingers fluttered, emitting vibrant sparks in every color you could think of. he had a genuine smile on his face, his emerald eyes staring back at you while you focused on how the sparks flew and twirled around his palm. once you looked at him, you held in your breath, absolutely overwhelmed by the situation. “... loki.”

“i’m in love with you,” he said softly, his eyes turning glossy, admitting to it all wholeheartedly. no more secrets now. “and it’s killing me to keep these words to myself for longer so nothing’s stopping me from saying them now. i am so in love with you, y/n… i can’t imagine not seeing you every single minute.”

with the sparks from his own palm flying into the air, syncing with the fireworks that blasted into the dawn skies, he pulled you close, the lips you’ve dreamed of every night brushing against yours soothingly as you started forgetting about how cold it was… the kiss he was giving you was enough to keep you warm.

even too warm, perhaps…

“whoa– hey, wait a second.” you pulled away from him, your palms touching his chest, grazing a little bit against the fabric of his ironed as if it was to restrict you from letting the kiss get deeper than expected. “... we just kissed? is this for real? or are you enchanting me? loki, i swear–,” you were then cut-off by quick peck on your cheek, his hands touching the back of yours so delicately as he looked at you with relief, shaking his head.

“this is for real, trust me.” he smirked, smothering his lips against yours once again as your eyelids closed shut, indulging everything he’s been giving you right at that moment.

well, isn’t this such a great way to start the year?

[destiny-in-the-universe]

Pride Headcanons

It’s June 1, y’all which means I can write about my silly little blorbos being under the rainbow all I want! Not that the headcanons were somehow different before hahaha but anyway!

I’m going to be using the Secret Quartet because I can- and honestly they are my biggest comfort and hyperfixation right now, so why wouldn’t I write with them?

Danny Phantom;

👻 Danny is trans. I mean look at him- but no, this just fits with his character. Honestly I could talk about this in a completely separate post but genuinely he would be FtM

👻 In canon, he seems to prefer women more than men, but Danny is somewhere in the non-het umbrella. He gives me pan vibes, like it’s genuinely the last thing he cares about and it’s more about chemistry than anything else

👻 Danny’s parents are 100% supportive if he ever chose to come out. There is no homophobia in this household, you cannot convince me otherwise

👻 Overall, Amity Park is accepting. In no universe would they ever turn someone away for being not-cishet

👻 Danny used to bind using ace bandages and completely forget he was wearing them- based on an old comic I found, I like to imagine that if Vlad were to find out, he would immediately pay for Danny to at least have a comfortable binder. You also cannot tell me he wouldn’t try to offer paying for Danny’s bottom surgery (with a price of course)

👻 None of the ghosts would ever deadname Danny. Ever. Not even Dash would-

👻 Much like Danny, Jazz is definitely non-het; she’s bisexual- gender is the least of her concerns when it canes to romance, but she also seems to be a bit more sapphic leaning. I said what I said /lh

👻 Danny would never forget someone’s preferred name. He makes it an entire point to remember them and use it correctly- let alone pronouns

American Dragon: Jake Long;

🐲 Jake is cis- i don’t see him as being anything other than cisgender unfortunately but he’s an ally and I will stand by this until I disappear from this earth-

🐲 He doesn’t really care for labels and will never use them, but Jake isn’t exactly heterosexual. Gender is the last thing on his mind when he’s dating, but he’s only really dated Rose so I think he’s ever so slightly confused at the moment on his preferences

🐲 Jake would attend Pride. 100%

🐲 If Jake ever came out to his family, they would 100% be understanding- they’re many things but assholes isn’t one of them. They would likely sit him down and make sure to know how to most make him feel comfortable but other than that, neither Jonathan nor Susan would ever make Jake unhappy

I honestly don’t have as many headcanons for American Dragon, but- this is the best I could come up with!

Miraculous Ladybug;

🐞 Marinette is more than likely cisgender- she’s still an ally; that would never change. She makes sure to protect trans folk and everyone in between

🐞 I like to think Marinette doesn’t care for labels, and just dates depending on personality and compatibility than attempting to assess it on gender

🐞 She would never forget someone’s pronouns or preferred name. Sometimes there are accidental slip-ups because, well- it’s Marinette with ADHD (I will talk neurodivergent headcanons in a separate post) but she always apologizes if she messes up!

🐞 Marinette has attended Pride events as both her civilian persona and heroine identity to help support those who need it- this is canon now

🐈‍⬛ Adrien is trans. This is not up for negotiation (/lh). There is just something about him that screams trans

🐈‍⬛ He has no idea if he likes men, women, both or anything in between. Adrien is a little bit sheltered, give him time he’ll come around

🐈‍⬛ Honestly, Adrien would be an ally first before realizing he’s trans or non-het. He would be allowed to attend Pride events because Gabriel isn’t that much of a horrible person- at least not with Pride. Gabriel is not the type, in this essay I will-

🐈‍⬛ Adrien finds being Chat Noir completely freeing- it’s almost like binding in a way,

🐈‍⬛ Adrien was given his first binder buy Nino. He eventually received a second one from Marinette, and he cherishes both dearly- but sometimes he forgets to take them off

Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja;

🧣Randy is trans-coded. I can’t explain why, but there is no way that boy is cis- (Howard likely knew before he did, I was there obviously. I was uh, Randy’s coat /lh)

🧣He’s unlabeled when it comes to sexuality and romantic orientation. Randy doesn’t know because he has only ever crushed on girls so far but he also keeps smiling like an idiot at Howard and gets ridiculously flustered. He doesn’t know what to make of it-

🧣Randy has never attended a Pride event- at least not yet. He hopes to one day

🧣Randy binds- he does use a binder as Howard actually bought one for him as a birthday present; before that he used to wear ace bandages which wasn’t ideal in the slightest but he was dealing with horrible dysphoria at the time and didn’t want to accept he was only a kid

🧣Being the Ninja somehow helps him cope with his dysphoria

🥷 Finja- is he cishet? Hahahah no, absolutely not. Cis? Maybe. Heterosexual? This man gives asexual vibes! This is canon now ~ a fellow ace

🥷 I don’t think Finja would have used labels in his youth. Especially if it wasn’t entirely the norm back then but if he were in present times- he might’ve, though I think he would just vibe

🥷 Finja honestly might be on the aromantic spectrum, but more so demiromantic or grayaromantic than not dating at all!

🥷 Oh you can bet Finja would be completely accepting of Randy being trans

(author’s cut: more will be written for Finja later! I simply have words stuck in my brain that won’t fully come out!)

📕Nomicon - or “Nomi” - is agender! They do not associate themself with a gender and use literally any pronoun- including neopronouns

📕Nomi would be completely accepting of gender and sexuality- and anything in between- they are completely supportive of Randy coming out

📕Nomi is however, asexual! I do think Nomi would be aroace but you can headcanon whatever you want- though when you’re a centuries old sentient book, well, things change

📕If Nomi was human, they would 100% be attending Pride- this is not up for debate. They would

📕Nomi is fiercely protective of Randy- in my human AU’s, it is 100% guaranteed anyone who displayed transphobia or any other form of bigotry toward him would immediately be roundhouse kicked in the face

📕Human! Nomi would give zero fucks and decide to wear dresses- but honestly, they wear outfits that reference the book version of herself. They wear whatever the hell they want, do not care in the slightest

Additional Headcanons;

Howard doesn’t openly seem to care about Pride because he’s a stubborn little shit, but everyone knows better than to mess with Randy- because those who do are met with a fiercely protective, homosexual totally-cis Howard Weinerman

Whatever the fuck McFist and Viceroy have going on isn’t straight-

McFist would host Pride themed events specifically during June and seemingly forget about it for the rest of the year- does he do this to be homophobic? Nope! He just genuinely doesn’t flaunt being not straight that he also isn’t aware of

Viceroy is bi. This is not up for negotiation

Mort is straight but completely supports his children in whatever they want to do with their life

Sam Manson is completely unlabeled. She doesn’t care

Tucker? You can’t tell me that boy is cis

Alya makes blogs in support of Pride and does make them year-round because she is an ally and I will stand by this until the day I cease to exist (which is never)

Gabriel does do Pride events but much like McFist, he doesn’t them 24/7 or year-round- the only difference is I’m pretty sure Gabriel’s cishet

I can’t think of anything else tbh! Enjoy the mess that is these headcanons-

[doublehex]

Powers Greater Than Hatred

There are two passages that are often quoted of Daenerys from A Game of Thrones. The first, and most popular, are the final sentences in the novel.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

It’s easy to see why these final lines are so often quoted within the fandom. They are poetically powerful; this is an impactful arrangement of words that have an emotional punch. The final chapter stands as some of George’s most poetic writing he has ever done. It is filled with mythology that has been lacking in the novel up to this point; for most of A Game of Thrones, the supernatural is related to long dead legends or psychedelic visions that make it hard to grasp exactly what they were meant to entail. The final chapter, the return of the dragons, turns the supernatural from vision quest into a tangible, real thing. And most importantly, this passage uplifts the book; it showcases that there is a reason to hope, that the dark turn after Eddard Stark’s execution is not what the series is about. Instead of leaving on a melancholic note, the novel ends with hope and wonder for what the future will bring.

I am not going to talk about that passage today. I want to talk about the second passage, one that I feel speaks much more closely to the themes that George is trying to hit with the series. This is from one of the final paragraphs of Daenerys IX, in the moments that build up to when Daenerys must euthanize Khal Drogo. Even when Daenerys is so full of despair, George still give us reason to hold onto hope:

She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai.

The second half of the passage is directly rooted in the emotional context of the scene. Mirri Mazz Dur had used shadow magic to both rob Khal Drogo of all sentience and intelligence, as well as killing Daenerys’ son Rhaego in the womb. Most of Khal Drogo’s khalatar, his army of warriors that was the mightiest and largest in all of Dothraki recent history, had splintered and broken apart under a dozen different warlords. Daenerys is lost and alone for allies save for the exiled Westerosi knight Jorah Mormont, who has his own selfish wants in staying close to her. 

It is the first half that George establishes an important thread that he weaves throughout the series. Evil has its limits. Hatred, corruption, all of the sins of the world, there is a point where they are undone. This theme is manifested in the fourth book of the series, A Feast for Crows. Tywin Lannister has been murdered by the son he has abused for all of his life, and the Lannister regime that he betrayed and murdered to build is falling apart. The book is not just a reference to all those that have died over the course of The War of the Five Kings, but to the Lannisters. House Lannister itself is the feast for crows. It is a tower of dominos and it has started to crumble. All of the petty evils of that house is finally crashing down. Evil has limits. Evil is undone. There are powers greater than hatred. 

Paint that contrast with the Starks and the Targaryens. The swords of the North are riding to rescue “Ned’s precious little girl”. They don’t know that the little girl is not Arya Stark but Jeyne Poole who has been forced to masquerade as her to preserve her life, but that doesn’t matter. The fact that the Northern lords, even after being decimated at the Red Wedding, even after being forced to submit, will ride and fight and die in memory of Eddard Stark, that matters. Even after Daenerys flies away from Meereen on Drogon, her people are fighting against the masters in her name. It matters that they believe in her cause. It matters that the freemen will fight and die to make sure their children will never know what it means to be a slave. 

A Song of Ice and Fire is often painted as a cynical, bitter response to fantasy. It is the forefather of the grimdark subgenre. That is an erroneous attribution. The books remind us that there are powers stronger than hatred. Of course there are scenes that have grit to it, and it can be bitter at times, but the saga is never cynical. It doesn’t say that there is no meaning to the good fight.

If watching the fall of House Lannister should say anything, it would be that evil will always devour itself in time, and eventually, good and decent people will pick up the pieces. 

[vintageshanny]

Play Something For Me - Part 7 - Over the Rainbow

Content: Ruby and Elvis enjoy a sweet and smutty Thanksgiving in 1973 that involves a leather suit with rainbow fringe. 18+

Thank you to @peaceloveelvis for inspiring me with this pic of leather rainbow fringe pants that I didn’t know existed. And eternal gratitude to my lovely friends who’ve cheered me on in writing this series! 😘 @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @thatbanditqueen @lookingforrainbows @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @powerofelvis @arrolyn1114

If you need to catch up, here’s the series page:

Play Something For Me

Wednesday, November 21st, 1973

“But mom, I wanna go with you! It’s not fair!” Ella’s chocolate-brown eyes glazed over with tears as she pleaded her case. “Oh, honey, I know. There’s nothing I can do, it’s your father’s turn for Thanksgiving this year. But Elvis was very insistent that we both come for Christmas, so you’ll get to see Graceland then.” Ruby rubbed Ella’s back as she embraced her, soothing away the tears while she tried to hold her own nerves at bay.

After the week Elvis had spent in St. Louis at Halloween, he’d had to go back to Memphis to “take care of some business,” as he put it. The times they’d spent together so far had been in a sort of cocoon of love. Now she’d be entering his home and his normal daily life, whatever that entailed. After his comment about wanting her to move in, she felt a little terrified at how the visit would go.

A car horn honked outside, and Ruby gave Ella one last reassuring squeeze. “I love you, Ella-bella,” she murmured. “I’ll tell you all about Graceland when you come home on Sunday.” “You better,” Ella said with a small smile, trying to will herself into a better mood. “And I love you too.”

With Ella safely picked up, Ruby turned her attention back to her closet so she could finish packing for the long weekend. “What exactly does one wear for Thanksgiving at Graceland?” she muttered under her breath as she surveyed what looked to her like a bunch of frumpy “mom” dresses. “I wonder if I have time to alter anything…” she continued her one-way conversation when the phone interrupted her thoughts with its shrill tone.

“Hey, sweet red Ruby,” the unmistakable timbre sent butterflies swarming through her belly. “Elvis! It’s you!” Ruby squeaked out nervously. “Course it’s me baby, ya got another man callin’ ya?” he asked with a hint of suspicion in his voice. “No, no, sorry, I’m just…nervous about tomorrow,” Ruby admitted. Elvis’ tone softened instantly. “W-w-why ya nervous honey? It’s jus’ me. You ain’t never gotta be nervous or scared ‘round me.” Ruby cleared her throat a little bit. “Yeah, I know, I just hope I fit in there with you, in your home,” she said with an anxious sigh. “Ruby honey, ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that. Ya already know we fit together perfectly. In every way,” he added, and Ruby could almost see his cheeky grin right through the phone line as a flush rose on her face and a strained little whimper escaped her lips. Elvis laughed and teased, “Red Ruby, wait til ya get here so I can see the look on your face when ya make those noises.” Then he added more seriously, “I can’t wait ta see ya, honey. I miss ya so much.” Ruby’s heart melted right down and warmed her entire body. “Me too, baby.”

**************************************************************************************************

Ruby landed at the airport in Memphis at 11:18 Thursday morning with all the other last-minute Thanksgiving travelers. She bit down on her lip nervously as she looked around for Charlie, who she knew Elvis was sending to pick her up. She’d met Charlie in Las Vegas and he was sweet enough, although maybe a little desperate for Elvis’ approval. She inwardly chuckled, thinking how Elvis’ entourage probably thought the same about her. Charlie was polite but quiet on the drive to Graceland, as if he sensed her nerves and didn’t want to say anything that might escalate them.

Ruby gasped a little bit as they pulled up to the famed music note gate. She’d seen pictures of the house in magazines, but it was even more beautiful in person. She somehow felt Elvis’ aura and energy the moment they started up the driveway, and the nerves and excitement intensified as they parked and headed for the door. “We’ll go in the back ‘cuz he’s probably in the den waitin’ for ya,” Charlie explained. Ruby nodded anxiously and followed.

As she walked through the door and into a room filled with interesting furniture and an actual waterfall along the wall, she only had eyes for her beautiful man, who was sitting in a high-backed chair, holding court with his loyal subjects. He was talking and laughing, and his warm energy called to her. As soon as he laid eyes on her, he jumped to his feet and swooped her up in a big hug. “Ever’one, this is my sweet red Ruby,” he declared proudly, showing her off like a shiny new car. Most of the guys she recognized from Las Vegas, but she was introduced to some girlfriends and wives, plus a couple other employees. “Imma take Ruby on a tour,” Elvis said with a little wink as he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the basement steps. As they walked away, she could swear she heard someone remark, “It’s nice to see someone closer to his age.” Elvis must have heard it too because his grip tightened slightly, but he chose to ignore it for now.

“Will I get to meet Lisa?” Ruby asked as they walked down the stairs and turned right. She could see Elvis’ jaw tighten and his eyes turn stormy. “Naw, baby, Cilla is bein’ a –” Elvis caught himself and blinked slowly, trying to calm down. “Cilla won’t let her come home til Christmas,” he said, his eyes dropping sadly. Ruby wrapped her arms around him in a comforting embrace. “I’m sorry, Elvis,” she said softly. “I know how hard it is to be without your baby at the holidays. I guess the silver lining for us is that we have some time alone right now.” Elvis glanced up at her face quickly, his sad expression turning playful. “And what did ya have in mind for the alone time, Miss Ruby? Hmm?” he questioned teasingly.

“Well,” Ruby murmured with a deep blush, “I did notice the first stop on the tour is this big couch.” She nodded toward the long couch right behind Elvis. “And you’re here looking so sexy like this,” she added as she fully took in his outfit for the first time. Along with his usual assortment of rings and necklaces, he was wearing a brown leather jacket with long rainbow-colored fringe over a green button-down shirt. His leather pants matched the jacket, rainbow fringe and all. “Ya like it? I thought it felt like a Thanksgiving thing,” he said, his crooked grin lighting up his face. Ruby had to hold back a giggle at how cute he was to try to dress on theme for the holiday. “I love it, Elvis, there’s no one quite like you,” Ruby said, letting her hands drop and her fingers run ever so lightly over the soft bulge in his leather pants, causing a shiver to run though him. “I should hope not,” he said, smiling, resting one large hand on her shoulder, his warm fingers gently brushing the bare skin of her neck.

“You look very beautiful yourself, sweet Ruby,” Elvis said as he took her in, his eyelids seeming to grow heavy with lust. Ruby beamed, happy that she had chosen the right thing to wear - a burgundy sweater dress with a short flared skirt and a scoop neckline with a drawstring bow. Elvis’ fingers’ moved a little lower down her neck until they were tracing the neckline of her dress, running gently over her cleavage. The mixture of the warmth of his hand and the cool metal of his rings raised goosebumps on her skin. “This little dress is giving me some thoughts,” he whispered lowly as he gave the drawstring a little tug, the bow coming undone and the fabric gaping open a little bit. Elvis bent down and started pressing wet kisses to the exposed area of her chest, little moans coming from both of them. “Oh, baby, you’re makin’ me weak in the knees,” Elvis chuckled. “Let’s sit down for a minute.”

Sitting was the last thing on either of their minds though as Elvis pulled Ruby onto his lap on the couch and explored her mouth, her ear, her neck, and her chest with his tongue. He pulled the front of her dress and the cup of her lacy bra down a little more until one of her breasts was exposed. As he grazed his teeth lightly over her nipple and then sucked it into his warm mouth, flicking it with his tongue, Ruby couldn’t help but instinctually grind down onto his package that had grown so hard she wasn’t sure how it hadn’t burst right through the leather. She hoped the breathy moans from the two of them weren’t wafting up the stairs, but Elvis didn’t seem worried. “Goddamn, baby, I’ve missed ya,” he moaned out as Ruby leaned in and bit softly on his lower lip, then ran her tongue over it. She reached down between them and rubbed her hand back and forth over his bulge, the friction becoming too much for him to bear. “Oh, damn, Ruby, I-I-I love ya baby,” he said with a shudder as she suddenly felt a damp warmth beneath her hand. “I love you too, Elvis,” Ruby whispered as she laid her hand over his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat trying to return to its normal rhythm.

“EP, it’s almost turkey time!” a voice shouted down from upstairs. “Shoot, what am I gonna do ‘bout my pants?” Elvis muttered, looking down at where a sticky wet spot had soaked right through the leather. “I’ll have ta sneak up and change. Baby, can you go up and tell ever’one to wait for me in the dining room?” “Of course,” Ruby smiled as she stood up and straightened out her dress, re-tying the neckline and leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek before going back upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, everyone had gathered in the dining room for a Thanksgiving feast and Elvis appeared wearing the same jacket but with some black pants. Nancy, one of the cooks who Ruby had been briefly introduced to earlier, brought in a platter of food and looked at Elvis in surprise. “Mr. Elvis, you were so excited about your outfit! Why’d ya change your pants?” Elvis’ face turned red as he stumbled for an answer. Joe started snickering. “I think Elvis needs to know how to get something sticky out of leather. Any tips, Nancy?” Elvis gave Joe a glare that could freeze hell over, but all the guys seemed to have trouble holding back their laughter. Especially when Nancy chimed in with, “You didn’t get syrup on your pants again, did ya?”

Sitting at Elvis’ side, Ruby could feel her face burning red as she realized everyone probably could hear them in the basement. Elvis looked a bit embarrassed too, but Ruby’s presence had a way of lightening his mood. He just leaned in and whispered loudly, “Ignore these assholes Ruby.” Then he dropped his voice so only she could hear. “We’ll go up to my soundproof bedroom later and do whatever you want.” Ruby blushed again and smiled broadly at him as he winked at her. He always made her feel comfortable and protected.

After a delicious dinner, some of the guys went to the basement to play pool, but Elvis sat down and started playing gospel songs on the piano. A few others joined in singing, and Ruby leaned at the edge of the piano, watching Elvis’ passionate face as memories from long ago washed over her. As he started playing “If I Loved You,” he looked up and caught her eye with a big grin, causing her to blush and look away. She knew they were both picturing her kneeling between his legs at the piano bench fifteen years ago. Ruby could feel her pulse quicken at the thought. If only no one else was around, she’d do it all again. She thought about how soft and smooth he felt when she rolled his foreskin up and down, the inviting way his head peeked out when he was fully hard, how sensitive it was when she touched her tongue to it…her chest was starting to heave with all these fantasies racing through her mind, all while staring at this most perfect of faces. As if sensing her desire, Elvis announced they were going to turn in for the night and thanked everyone for celebrating with him. He grabbed Ruby’s hand and showed her the way to the master bedroom.

“I know what you were thinkin’ ‘bout red Ruby,” Elvis teased once they were alone. “You were thinking the same thing!” Ruby protested, swatting at his arm. Elvis smiled so big that his cute dimple flashed at her. “Maybe,” he said. “I was thinkin’ of somethin’ else though, too.” “What’s that?” Ruby asked. “I was thinkin,” Elvis said as he ran his hands down her sides and gently squeezed her waist, “that I wanna lick your pretty little kitty again. I like knowin’ I’m the first man that ever did that to ya.” “You’re the only man,” Ruby corrected as she reached up and stroked his cheek softly. “I have a few firsts with you, but I don’t think you have any with me,” she said, her voice sounding a little bit sad. Elvis looked at her in surprise. He gave her forehead a tender kiss before he spoke.

“Baby, you’re the first woman I’ve been with where I feel like ya want to spend time with me just as much as I do with you. Not spend money or get your name in the papers or any of that, but just spend time with me and and enjoy me and love me for who I am. You’re interested when I talk to ya, you’re affectionate with me all the time, ya never say ya need a break from me, you accept me completely. That’s a first for me, and probably the most important first there is.” Ruby looked up at him, her eyes misty with emotion. “Well, any woman who doesn’t see what a special person you are, even without the money and fame, must be crazy. But that’s okay, because now I get to be the lucky one.”

“You sure do, baby, and let me show ya just how lucky.” Ruby squealed with delight as Elvis tossed her on the bed so he could get to work worshipping her with his tongue.