#and now she’s married to someone completely different (thank God)

[thesingingrevolution]

going through people’s privs from 2016-2017 and i cannot believe that it’s all real. and there. and that i had the genius foresight to never unfollow them because now i can look back and laugh so hard (not that i wasn’t laughing back then)

[luvyeni]

❛PRIVATE DANCE❜ (h. hyunjin )

💬nia's note: not sure why but his solo songs gives male stripper vibes to me.

p. malestripper!hyunjin x shy!reader w. 1.9k

warnings? fem!reader, oral (fem. receiving), unprotected sex, missionary, dirty talk, vanilla sex

— 𖦹 ( hyunjin meets alot of girls , but none are quite like you ) !

"it's just a strip club (name)." your friends drags you to the front of the club. "unclench , it's my wedding party and you promised to do everything i wanted to do." you pouted , you made that promise unaware that she wanted to go to a strip club. "i know but- no buts." your other friend said. "we're here to get you out this shell , your young and hot , it's time to show it."

you wanted to protest , you did, but your friends are right. growing up , your parents really sheltered you. when it came to sex , you learned everything from the internet , which was the worst thing you could ever do so when it came time to lose your virginity finally in college , it was horrible , you felt no pleasure. ever since then you've completely shut the idea of having sex or anything sexual out of your brain.

"look i come here all the time." your friend said. "the dancer dancing tonight is amazing , he doesn't get on the in like a male thong or anything." she said. "although- shut up (friends name) , i promise, he's cool , and he's hot so that's a plus."

you thought about it for a second before nodding. "o-okay fine." they both clapped. "amazing , here." your friends handed you a few bills. "when he comes around , give it to him." you took the bills into your shaking hands. "good , ah! the shows about to start."

the room lights turned off , being replaced by a dark purple lights. "here he comes." you friends squealed along with the rest of the girls in the bar , just from silhouette alone as he stepped on to the stage. "good evening beautiful ladies." he spoke through the mic , everyone go even crazier. "i hope you enjoy the show."

the dark purple lights replaced with a lighter purple light , giving you a better look of his face — and he was absolutely beautiful , like handcrafted by god himself.

the music starts and hyunjin began dancing , swaying his hips , his eyes low as he looks at different women in the crowd , smirking when they'd scream his name. hyunjin loved this , he loved that he could get many people to worship him scream his name like he was some sort of god. "you ladies are looking good tonight."

"he is so hot." your friend jumped around in her seat. "i know right , isn't he?" your friends turned to you. "y-yeah." you stuttered , flustered out of your mind , you had been quiet the entire time , your eyes on him the entire time.

the way he danced , moving to the beat in such a sexual way did something to your body , his dark eyes made you clench your thighs together. "oh shit , here he comes." you friend slapped your leg , breaking your thoughts. "(name) , get the money ready."

hyunjin made is way to the crowd , bending down , collecting the money , allowing the women to get a touch of his body , before moving on. "ah seems like someone is getting married soon." he bent down to your friend. "maybe after the show you could come get a personal wedding present from me." he smirked , your friend smiled , handing him the money.

"i may up leaving my husband so not me." she said , turning to you , then to your other friend , who seemed to understand her. "but my friend here has never had a private dance before , maybe you could be the one to show her how fun it is." your eyes widened. "w-what!" hyunjin's eyes moved to yours , smirking when you tried to avoid eye contact. "hello."

you realised you were still holding the money. "oh , h-here." you shyly handed him the money. "thank you beautiful." he kissed your hand. "see you after the show." he backed up , eyes still locked with yours. "w-why did you guys do that?" you stressed. "i didn't want a solo dance from him." you friend held your shoulders. "well now you do , a wedding gift from me." she said. "i hate both of you."

after the dance , hyunjin said his goodbyes , making his way to the back , while you and your friends stay for drinks. "did you like it?" you nodded. "i-it was okay." you took a sip of your drink. "i'm still pissed that you guys did that though." you said. "(name) , it's just a private dance , it will be over just like that." the bride to be said. "you'll be fine."

hyunjin sat in his chair , his mind full of you , it had only been a spilt second , but he couldn't help but think about how shy you were , the way you could barely look at him , hyunjin met a lot of girls , but you were different , you were cute and just his type. "hyunjin , it's time for the private dance , should i go get her?" the bouncer came to the back.

"no it's fine changbin , i'll go get her myself." he said. "hyune , you know chan doesn't like it when you go to the floor when you're on the clock." he listened to his friend nag. "she seemed nervous , i feel like she'd be much better if i personally came and got her." he came up with an excuse. "chan will be fine." changbin agreed , hyunjin stood up. "jeongin got the room you wanted together." he thanked his buff friend , making his way out.

he found your table , making his way over to were you were watching one of your friends get drunk. "hello ladies." he smiled. "ah (name) there he is." your friend squealed. "isn't he hotter up close?" your friend slurred. "st-stop it." you whined , pulling her off you. "thank you pretty lady." she blushed , he turned to you. "you ready?" he held his hand out. "you seemed pretty nervous , so to ease your nerves by coming to get you." he said. "(name) , go have fun for once."

you grabbed his hand , and he helped you up. "follow me." he guided you throughout the bar , smiling when he felt you squeezing his hand. "i-i'm sorry." your realized what you were doing. "it's okay pretty girl." your heart was beating like crazy.

he stopped at brown door , opening it allowing you to walk into the room , taking a look around the red room with a red heart sofa. "this is a special room." he said closing the door. "i've only been in here maybe once since i've been here." he said turning on music , a really sexual song played from the speakers. "w-why?" you said , gaspin when you felt him come up behind you. "only for really special girls." he said against your ear.

your heart was beating like it was about to beat out of your chest. "sp-special." you said , he hummed. "yeah special." he moved his body to the music against you. "you're so tense princess." his hands to your shoulders , massaging. "relax for me."

he pressed a particular spot that made a soft moan slip from your mouth , slapping your hand over your mouth. "i-i'm sorry." you said. "don't apologize , especially when you're making such pretty noises." he released your shoulders. "you know i can pull more of those pretty noises from you." he whispered. "all you have to do is give me the permission."

you could hear your friends voices 'you need to have fun'. you bit your lip , nodding , he grabbed your cheek. "i need words , i need to know you want this." he said. "ye-yes." he smiled , caressing your cheek. "good girl." he pulled you into a kiss , he could sense you didn't know what you were doing , so he took lead , guiding you.

he backed you up , until you hit the couch , he gently pushed you down. "so pretty." he crouched down in between your legs. "i'll take care of you baby." he lifted your skirt above your hips , your panties on display. "hy-hyunjin." you covered your face. "uh-uh." he grabbed your hands. "let me see that pretty face , my shy baby."

he was killing you , slowly pulling your panties down your legs. "so messy baby , i barely did anything." he chuckled. "you're so worked up." he kissed your thighs , close to your heat , you whined. "you smell like heaven baby." he kissed even closer. "pl-please."

your whiny please was all he needed , he gave your clit a little lick , then licking a long stripe up your cunt. "o-oh my god." you moaned , he smirked against your cunt , repeating his motions over and over.

your hand came to his hair , grabbing it gently tugging it , making him moan against your heat. "fu-fuck , hyun-hyunjin more." he made eye contact with you , before bringing his plump lips around your clit sucking on it. "ngh , m'gonna cum."

he kept sucking your clit , your tugs at his hair making his cock harder and harder. "i want you to cum in my mouth princess." you mumbled against your clit. "cum for me." your mouth dropped open , as he sucked harder , forcing your orgasm out of you , your juices flooding his mouth. "so fucking good."

he kissed your clit one last time , smiling at your fucked out face. "so fucking pretty." you covered your face again. "no no no , what have i told you about hiding that pretty face." he said pulling your hands from your face. "i-i c-can't help it." he chuckled. "i know baby , that's what's so cute about you." he said.

he layed you down on the couch , hovering over your body , leaving little kisses on your neck. "w-wait." you stopped him. "you okay love?" he asked concern in his voice. "i-i only did this once." you said as he undid his slacks , his cock straining in his underwear. "and it wasn't really good , so im not sure what to do , but i want to do it."

he nodded , freeing himself from his underwear. "i'll take care of you love." the tip of his cock kissed your hole. "make sure you feel real good." he slowly slid into your hole , the stretch was painful , but it wasn't unbearable. "fu-fuck baby you're so tight." he groaned. "just relax for me , let me in."

he finally bottom out , giving you a chance to grow accustomed to his size. "gonna move now love , is that okay." you whimpered , nodding. "words love." you moaned out a yes , and he pulled out , pushing himself back into you , moving his hips , thrusting inside of you. "hyunjin , fu-fuck."

"s-so good." you looked so pretty laid out for him , your hair all messy , sweat dripping from body , moaning his name loudly as he fucked into you. "yeah?" he moaned. "you feeling good princess, i told you i could make you feel good." he rubbed your clit. "gonna make you cum on my cock."

as soon as you said that , you felt it , the band in your stomach snapping. "oh fuck "im cumming!" you screamed , clenching hard around him as you came. "sh-shit." he rubbed your waist , soothing you as he pulled out of your cunt. "you did so well."

he tucked his still hard cock back into his pants. he smiled, helping you get cleaned up , putting your underwear on. "b-but you didn't- i know." he said.

"that just means you have to go out with me as a pay back."

©️LUVYENI

[bl00dsuccker]

beginning, middle, end - e-42!miles

100% based of the iconic A Different World wedding scene

if you haven’t watched it, what are you doing with your life??

posting another ver for e-1610!miles because i love both of my bookies 😚

warning: google translated spanish

got spiderverse themed divider from @//saradika

even though it’s not implied, this was written with a black!reader in place so take that as you will <3

this is the song the title is based off of, you don’t have to listen to it but i love it

what were you doing? why were you doing this ?

you’d bullshitted your way into a relationship that served more harm than it did good. it was just supposed to be a placeholder, it was supposed to make him jealous, make him come to his senses instead of the usual, you going to him. you wanted it differently, but when 1 month turned into 1 year and that turned into 3…you knew he wasn’t going to come to you. he didn’t care as much as you thought or maybe his ego

the walk down the aisle was heart wrenching, and agonizingly slow. the big dress you wore felt like one hundred bricks and the eyes of everyone on you in the altar made it all the more worse. you had to force yourself to control your breathing as you neared your groom.

you want this. you want this. you want this.

you do not want this.

you want something completely different. you want someone completely different.

“you look beautiful, my love.” your groom said as he smiled. the name sounded so much different in english.

you gave him a small smile, not wanting to use your voice.

the preacher went on and on, the usual stuff about weddings and holy matrimony, but all you could think about was the man that you were not marrying, the man who had too much pride to right his wrongs, the man who gave you a goddamn headache, the man you wanted to just strangle until he got his sense returned to him, the man whose smile was very rare to see but when you did see it, you wanted to cherish it forever.

goddamnit, you weren’t supposed to be thinking about him at your own wedding! you weren’t supposed to be thinking about any man at your wedding.

“i do.” your groom answered the preacher.

shiiiit.

the preacher turned to you and began to talk about sickness and in health for richer for poor the who spiel and all you could hear was your beating heart and then silence, complete silence. no preacher talking, no talking of the vows, just eerie silence.

“baby?” the groom asked as he looked at his fiancée.

you snapped out of your trance to look at him, “hm?” you asked.

“are you okay?” he muttered.

no, you weren’t okay, but how could you tell your groom that? what could you even blame it on? cold feet? wedding day jitters? miles? no. you couldn’t blame it on anything. anything but being in love with someone other than your fiancée.

the more you went on being silent, the congregation started to murmur amongst themselves. whispers of ‘will she, won’t she’ and many other murmurs that were driving you crazy.

“what’s going on?”

“yeah!”

“are you gonna marry the guy or what?!”

the voices made you more anxious, the thought of speaking right now sent shockwaves through your body and you felt your mind start to race—

“will you, ma?”

a voice louder than the rest spoke out. the voice you’d been waiting to hear for 3 years, the voice you’d heard in your dreams, the voice you had reminisced about, daydreamed about. you turned around to make sure you weren’t dreaming him, and thank god you weren’t.

even at a wedding, he still donned his limited edition jordan’s he never looked finer in a suit and tie.

“te amo, hermosa y si me tienes, quiero que seas mi esposa. sé que no estuve allí, lo siento por no venir, antes era demasiado orgullosa pero no puedo vivir sin ti, hermosa, estaré mejor—” (i love you, beautiful and if you'll have me, i want you to be my wife. i know i wasn't there, i'm sorry for not coming around, i was too prideful before but i can't live without you, hermosa, i'll be better—)

“what is he even saying? get him out of here!” your groom yelled as a bunch of his groomsmen went to go grab miles.

“i’m telling her she don’t need to be with your ugly ass—get the hell off me!” miles yelled out and a slur or curses in spanish. you were so far in your mind that you hadn’t noticed miles’ uncle, aaron, getting up to defend his nephew.

miles had yelled your name as they all pushed him backwards, towards the door.

“will you have me, miles, as your lawfully wedded husband from this day forth? to have and to hold in richer for poorer? baby please, please!”

“i do!” you blurted out, not even needing time to think about your answer. the whole congregation gasped.

“what?” your groom looked at you, wide eyes. he tugged your arm so that you’d focus on him instead of miles who was no longer being pushed toward the door but instead he was breathing heavy and staring at you while the men that had tried to drag him out had stopped to look at you, all eyes were on you and this time, and it didn’t feel anxiety inducing.

“she said ‘i do’!” someone from the congregation yelled.

“but who the hell to?” someone else replied

“i…i’m sorry. i can’t marry you.” the emphasis on ‘you’ should have told him everything you need to know. you looked back at miles and tugged your arm away from your wilted groom.

miles had tugged himself away from the groomsmen & stared at you. you practically ran to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and locked your lips together. he’d wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up and turning you around.

to your surprise, most of the congregation applauded in celebration while the others left with the groom.

“well, is someone getting married or what?!” the preacher questioned.

“we are.” miles responded back as pulled away from you and set you down, grabbing your hand & making your way to the altar.

“by the power vested in me i now pronounce you man and wife you—“ miles had already leaned you over to kiss you before the preacher could finish his sentence. “—may now kiss the bride.” the preacher finished quickly. everyone clapped and cheered, you could see the cameras flash behind your closed eyes.

now this is what you wanted.

miles pulled you back up & looked at you with such love and affection.

“mi esposa.” he said to you before picking you up bridal style, causing you to giggle, and taking off down the altar.

this is definitely what you wanted.

©️ 2023 BL00DSUCCKER

[f1bordeaux]

Can you do one with Lando and the quotes, “We were supposed to get married” + “Wake up please I can’t do this without you” + “Everything I do I do in memory of her” thank u:)

What I Desire The Most | ln4

How do you cope? He isn't sure. None of us are really sure. Warnings: Angst, character death Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (y/n never mentioned) Word Count: 1189 Story Style | Poetry Style A/n:I wanted to write something small for this one, something with less dialogue and more story? It's sad, i suppose, so for that I'm sorry. But that's what you wanted, isn't it? ;)

There comes a time at the end of a party, after everyone has drunk their fill, when you know it’s time to leave.

Perhaps death is the same way.

Maybe the crowd has thinned, at least of those you knew. The front door is constantly opening and closing, conversation going with it. Everybody has an equal understanding that this is it, this is the end. There will be no more lingering, no more drinking, no more festivities. Time is up. Slowly, everyone will go, leaving behind an empty house with trash in the corners. Someone’s clothes are floating in the pool. The beer pong table is still set up in the dining room. You never got to finish that chat you started hours ago. But everybody is gone now. It’s time for you to go, too. Things will be left unsaid, stories will go untold. But you had fun. You laughed and cried and danced and sang. It’s time to start over.

Maybe the party is still in full swing when you decide to leave. Nobody has crossed the ‘too drunk’ line yet. Bodies sway to the music, heat is passed on from person to person, the fridge is full, there is somebody naked coming in from the back porch. And although you’re having fun, you realize that you need to go. You’ve had your share, you’ve shown your face, you’ve come for some laughs and now, it is time to depart. Your friends will be upset, wishing that you had stayed just a little longer. Your presence will become nothing more than a photograph strung on the wall. People will speak of you in conversations like so; “Remember her? Remember how amazing she was?” But you will not be there to listen. You’ll be out the door, walking down the street with a smile on your face. You’ll be content. The party was good, you’ll tell yourself. But it’s time to start over. Time to find better.

In this circumstance, the party is in full swing. You’re leaving too soon.

His hand is intertwined with yours, the temperature difference enough to send a chill through his spine. Somewhere in the crash, you lost your bracelet. He still wears his, though. It’s orange and white, the letter beads spelling out your name. You made it for him oh so long ago. At least, it feels like that. All of a sudden, it feels like he’s known you for his whole life. It feels like you two met decades ago, bodies so familiar that you knew they had been together in another life. Your body is cold now, however. It feels different to him. It feels empty.

“We were supposed to get married.” He whispered no louder than the beeping of the machine attached to your paling skin. The engagement ring on your finger has cracked in half. It’s somewhere in a plastic baggie with your phone, wallet, clothes, shoes. It’s somewhere you are not. Nobody really knows where you are to be honest. Maybe your soul is already gone. Maybe it’s not. Lando doesn’t know, either. He hopes you’re still here, listening to him beg. God he hopes you’re still here. “Wake up please. I can’t do this without you.”

Four years, he thinks. Four years was not nearly enough time with you. He needed at least a million more.

He knew that if you left him, leaving him alone on this cruel planet, that life would never be the same. He’d look for your body in each paddock he visited. Although nobody laughed like you, he would still turn around at the slight similarities other girls had in their laughs hoping, praying, that you’d be there. Never again would a race weekend feel complete. Never again would a podium feel right without your lips waiting for a congratulatory kiss. He’d have to move houses, too. There was no way he’d be able to walk in the front door of your Monegasque home and see all of your belongings next to his. Your shoes, your closet full of clothes, your blankets draped on the couch, your makeup on the bathroom counter. No, he would have to move.

He’d never swim in a pool again, too busy thinking about you and him swimming in your pool at late hours of the night. He’d never visit the beach, being reminded too often that the shoreline of Monaco was where you two met. He’d never eat pizza again-it was your favorite food. He’d never watch a Disney movie, that was what Tuesday night date nights were for. Life would become so dull, so colorless.

“I need you, baby. Please.” He spoke to nobody. He was alone in the hospital room. Sadly enough, he already knew it. “I love you.”

The weeks would pass, the days would drag on. There would never come a moment where he got over you. Sure enough, every girl who passed him in the paddock with your hair color caught his attention. He’d smile to himself, amused at how he predicted his own actions. His heart would pound, his hands would shake. It wasn’t you. It would never be you again.

He would be jealous of his fellow drivers who brought their girlfriends to the race. They opted to not speak about love, romance, date nights, their sex life or anything of the sorts in front of him anymore. A few of the boys took him to a music concert in Belgium. They followed it up with a trip to Ibiza. He refused to go to the beach, however. “Let’s just stay in the city.” He’d say. “I’m not a beach guy. I hate the beach.”

The nights were cold and lonely, the days were hot and blank. But, he raced. He pushed the limits of his car and of his body. He shocked everyone with his new aggressive, dominant and unforgiving driving style. “You’re going to kill yourself driving like that, Lando.” His race engineer would tell him.

“I know.” Is all he would respond with.

A tattoo, the first on his tanned skin, would pop up. Roman numerals-how typical, fans would say. But they would stop teasing when they realized the date, hidden on his ribcage, was your birthday.

A trophy-no, a slew of trophies would be dedicated to you; the most impressive one coming in Abu Dhabi two years after your passing. They’d begin to call him a World Champion. He’d continue to call you his reason. “Everything I do,” He’d say on the podium, tears staining his cheeks. He was a World Champion, he had a right to cry. “I do in memory of her.”

And in another life, when your body met his once more, when the heat returned to your skin, when the enjoyment of life returned to his, he would pull you close, saying with a smile; “I’ve been waiting for you.”

To which you would respond, “You’ve come so far, you’ve done so much.”

“You are better than all of that combined. You are what I desire the most. And at last, I finally can say I have it back.”

[fairysluna]

SINNERS — Prologue.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Maegor I Targaryen x FemOC!Targaryen.

Summary: After Maegor finds out his beloved niece is to be wed with her own brother, he absolutely loses his mind. He can't just let her go.

Tags/TW: incest (niece/uncle), age gap (9 years), slight obsession towards oc, violence, cursing, profanity, basically rhaenyra and daemon / jaehaerys and alyssanne story combined.

Author's Note: so this is an idea that came to my mind after reading Fire and Blood, bc there's no many fics of Maegor in this app, so there it is! enjoy&lt;3

Word Count: 1.5k

NEXT PART

A year after their wedding, Prince Aenys and Lady Alyssa were blessed with the birth of their first child; a beautiful little girl whom they named Aenelys and who would become the new heir of the Iron Throne. 

When Aenelys Targaryen was born, Maegor and Visenya were the only people in the realm who did not celebrate. The bitterness in their faces was quite hard to hide as the eldest son of Aegon the Conqueror introduced the sweet princess in the family. 

Aenelys was born a healthy little girl. Many people claimed that the small princess has been blessed with the features of a true Valyrian; her eyes were lilac, her skin pale and soft, and her hair was white as snow. Others said that the Gods had given her the gift of beauty, as everyone would drool over her even as a newborn. 

Maegor, of nine years of age, was completely mad with the birth of his niece, for now he was a step further from the Iron Throne. He was consumed by jealousy, same as his mother Visenya, because even her grandsire, Aegon, was leaving Maegor aside for her. Thanks to that, Aenelys grew up being a little spoiled. Even when her brother, Aegon, was born three years later, they still would give her everything she asked. 

As the years passed, Aenelys prove herself as a wise and delicate young lady, and her beauty was claimed to be out of this world. By the time she turned twelve, she was loved by all, including the small folk, who would celebrate her name day every year. Maegor saw this as a threat. He would grow jealous of her with every year that passes. 

Until he decided that he was going to break her. He wanted to ruin that little girl.

His plan started as soon as she turned thirteen, the age he had when he was forced to marry Lady Ceryse Hightower. Maegor was twenty-and-two years of age when he first caught his niece’s eye. He showed himself as someone approachable, as someone she could trust. And it was easier than he thought. 

Aenelys soon would run towards him to talk about her problems, to find comfort in his strong arms. She, of course, had no idea what his intentions truly were, as she was too innocent to even think the worst of him. Her parents, the now King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had warned her about the dubious intentions of her beloved uncle but she just pretended to listen… She was growing fond of him. 

Then Aenelys turned fourteen, and Maegor called her to the Council Room where he was seated on the chair where her father usually sat. Aenelys ignored that detail and immediately smiled when she saw him, her doe eyes staring at him while the blush in her cheeks were proof of her shyness around him. She knew she was starting to see him as a man, and her body was reacting to it without her mind’s consent. 

“Uncle…” She softly spoke, walking towards him. Maegor smirked seeing her blushed cheeks, he had her right where he wanted. “Did you ask for me?”

“I did, my sweet dove.” He stood up from his chair and grabbed her hands. 

The size difference was quite obvious. Maegor, who has been training and gaining muscles since the tender age of seven, was notoriously bigger than his niece in every sense of the word. Aenelys was just like her father, thin and small… weak. 

“I have a gift for you.” He claimed, softly pinching her cheek. 

“A gift?” Her eyes lit up with excitement as he said those words. Maegor smiled with malice as he saw her reaction. 

“Yes, dove.” He nodded. 

He shows her a necklace, one that matched with the Conqueror’s crown perfectly. It was black, of Valyrian steel, and with a pendant that carried a small red jewel that shone bright as fire. It was beautiful.

“Oh, Gods, uncle…” She mutters, touching the ruby in the necklace, “it’s gorgeous!”

“Turn it around,” he said.

And she obeyed immediately. Aenelys looked at it with glistening eyes, if she wasn’t in love with him, now she certainly was. On the back there were his initials, a small ‘MT’ graved on the metal. She couldn’t help but smile, seeing it as something innocent; as a kind gesture. But Maegor saw it as if he was claiming her. That necklace would say to everyone that she was his, his property.

It was a way to say to everyone that she belonged to him.

“This is too much, uncle…” She sighed, “thank you so much.”

“No need for that, dove,” he spoke with an odd soft voice. “Now turn around.”

She couldn’t hide her nervousness anymore. As she turned around, holding her silver white hair up some butterflies appeared on her belly, which became even worse as she felt his hands touching her skin. The shivers down her spine were visibly obvious, and Maegor smiled pleased at her reaction.

“There you go, let me see,” he commanded after he finished. Aenelys turned around and bit her lip shyly. “It looks perfect on you, dove,” he claimed.

He leaned forward towards her, a slow movement that made her hold her breath. He kisses her forehead as he caresses her cheeks with a gentle touch. It felt oddly soft, so careful and delicate. Aenelys giggled in response.

After that day, no one ever saw her without that necklace around her neck. Her father, the King, would suspect that necklace. He never saw the side of it that had Maegor’s initials, for when she showed the present to her parents she decided to omit that part of the gift. Something inside of her told her that it wasn’t a good idea.

Two years later, Aenelys became her uncle’s loyal companion. 

Lady Ceryse would be long forgotten by him as his attention was all over his niece at this point. They would spend entire days together, doing races with their dragons, Maegor teaching her how to fight with a sword or just the two of them walking through the gardens. And that caused many rumors about the nature of their relationship around the Red Keep.

When those words reached the Queen’s ears, she was disgusted by it. Her daughter was still a maiden, but everyone thought otherwise thanks to how close she was with her uncle, and how much time they would spend together… and by themselves. She needed to do something before it became worse. 

So she ran to speak with her husband. 

“We must wed her… is either that or send your brother to Oldtown, to his wife’s hometown.” She demanded to her husband. “People are saying she lost her maidenhead with Maegor! We must do something before it is too late.”

“Wed her to whom?” Aenys asked, calm and serene as always.

“She is the princess… if we announce that she is looking for someone to marry, we will have a line with Lords that would be pleased to take her hand.” 

“Aenelys might not like that idea…” Aenys warned her, “we know our daughter, she is sweet but when she’s not given what she’s asking, she can be a nightmare.”

“Then what do we do, huh?” Queen Alyssa looked at him with despair. “If we keep waiting, mayhaps your brother will actually deflower our child!”

“Maegor is many things, he might be impulsive and reckless… but he would never do harm to her, he loves her.” He justified.

“I see the way that man looks at my sweet Aenelys, he’s a menace.” Alyssa muttered, “If we are in a hurry we can marry her to Aegon.”

“Our son?”

“Aegon the Conqueror married his two sisters, we shall keep the tradition and marry Aenelys with our Aegon.” Alyssa proposed. “She is a dutiful girl, she will not complain, and she loves her brother.”

“It’s a nice match, wife… I might give you that.” Aenys accepted. “If you want her to be married, then let her get married. She’s out of age, it is time.”

Queen Alyssa nodded, satisfied with her husband’s final word. But even though they thought their conversation was private, they were terribly wrong. 

Maegor had suspected of the Queen’s intentions for a long time, so he would take advantage of his mother’s spiders to spy the conversations of Alyssa, knowing that she had the intention of getting Aenelys away from him. 

When the small child came to his side in order to inform him what he had heard, Maegor froze. His jaw clenched and his hands became fists. An odd feeling appeared on his gut as his eyes darkened and the anger took over his body, he was soon fuming while his mind traveled at the speed of light trying to come up with an idea to know what he was supposed to do now. 

There was something certain, though; he would not allow this. Aenelys was his, the necklace around her neck was proof enough of that. 

No one would steal her away from him.

[sillybucket]

“Warm in the cold” { Haley x g/n reader }

I know there are many different opinions about Haley but I honestly really like her , especially her character development : I love the way she becomes a better person the more the player gets close to her , so I eventually felt inspired to write something for her :D

As always I apologize for possible ooc moments , and if someone already wrote about something similar know it’s not my intention to copy anyone !

🍃 Warnings 🍃 : none , this is just pure fluff featuring Haley keeping company to the Farmer on a winter day … oh by the way , in this story they’ve been married for a few years :) ❤️

❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ .

(Y/n) took a deep breath , staring at the snowflakes dancing in the cold winter breeze :

they had decided to spend the day fishing at the Cindersap Forest just below the Farm , however after spending so many hours out there they were starting to feel tired , a bit sleepy even , and the calming silence of the woods , interrupted only by the sound of the river’s water , didn’t help much .

The Farmer shook their head , trying to stay focused , but right when they were about to use the fishing pole to catch one more fish they heard a familiar voice behind them …

“There you are honey , I was wondering where you went !”

(Y/n) turned around to see Haley with two cups of hot chocolate in her hand , her long blonde hair fluttering in the wind . They knew how much she couldn’t stand the cold , and the fact that she decided to walk all the way there just to see them made them smile …

“Hi sweetie , sorry , I was just finishing some work and ended up staying here longer than expected …

How has your day been ? I remember you told me you wanted to spend some time with Emily today .”

, they replied while putting away the fishing pole .

“Oh that’s right , Em wanted to show me some new outfit ideas she had during the week , she even offered me to help her sew a dress , it was fun !”

While enthusiastically explaining all that she and her sister had done Haley stepped forward , handing one of the warm cups to (y/n) who gladly accepted the offer .

They looked at their wife with a loving smile , listening to her every word while occasionally taking little sips of hot chocolate …

The first time they had arrived in Pelican Town (y/n) and Haley didn’t exactly get along right away , given just how different they were from each other : actually Haley considered them to be quite a strange individual , and she just couldn’t help but wonder how could they possibly enjoy working on a boring farm all day .

But the more time she spent with them the more fascinated she was by them , and whenever she saw (y/n) walking towards her with a gift meant just for her Haley could feel her heart beating faster and an inexplicable joy that made her long to be by their side . Now that two years had passed and they were happily married , the love they felt for each other had only continued to grow more and more as the days went by …

When she finished talking Haley shivered , looking at the now almost completely dark sky .

“God , it’s so cold out here at this hour … maybe we should go home .”

(Y/n) nodded in agreement , and before their wife could say anything they gently picked her up and started walking on the path while holding her in their arms , the snowflakes still falling down all around them .

“Wh - (y/n) ?”

, Haley exclaimed , surprised by the sudden gesture .

“I have to keep you warm Haley , can’t risk to have you get sick because you chose to come see me … it’s really the least I could do for my sweetheart .”

As they leaned forward to kiss her forehead Haley let out a giggle , a little blush appearing on her cheeks …

“You’re always so corny …”

She sighed , not even feeling cold anymore as she stared into her partner’s beautiful eyes …

“… I really love that about you .”

❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ . ❄️ .

Thank you so much for reading this little story until the end ! :D

Feel free to leave some feedback if you want :) ❤️

( btw I don’t think hot chocolate is even an existing item in-game , but since it’s my favorite winter beverage I wanted to insert it somewhere ;c;👍 )

[pjohoo-reclists]

hi! do you have any percico fic recommendations? i’m sure you do but i couldn’t find them, lol

Actually I dont have any posted yet!! Here you go. Thanks for the request. Enjoy!!

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo Fic Recs

A list of fics featuring the romantic relationship between Percy Jackson and Nico di Angelo.

Dog Sled Racing by robindrake93

T | 600 words | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Puppies, Fluff, Short One Shot

Percy and Nico try to train Mrs. O'Leary's puppies.

To Give Yourself To Someone by cabin13 (friendlypeach) 

T | 1.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo, Nico di Angelo & Grover Underwood, Percy Jackson & Grover Underwood

Wedding Fluff, Speeches, Married Couple

Percy laughs, watching one of his closest friends stand up, almost bringing the tablecloth with him. “You’re being ridiculous!” Nico yells as Grover runs to the centre of the room. Eyes alight, slightly shadowed by black curls, a smile pushing insistently at his lips even as he tries to tamp it down – Nico is glowing with happiness. They’ve come a long way. And there's longer to go, still. Percy grabs his husband’s hand, warmth blooming in his chest.

a well-known fact about feelings by nlieco (madin456)

G | 1.3k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Angst with a Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia

The thing about being a boy and liking another boy is: it’s not supposed to happen.

A Happy Ending by HK44

G | 1.5k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Fluff, Happy Ending, Domesticity

People make jokes that Percy would never handle domesticity. That he attracts danger like Hazel attracts cursed metals. He laughs along because they’re not wrong.

Something Bitter by sulucandles

G | 1.9k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Canon Compliant, One sided, Coming Out

Percy's not as oblivious as everyone thinks he is. Or an examination into Nico and Percy's relationship through PJO and HoO

It's a Seal! by Takara_Phoenix

G | 1.9k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

AU - No gods, Merman Percy, Selkie Percy

Nico loves the aquarium, especially the turles and one marine biologist in particular.

My College Boyfriend by Takara_Phoenix

T | 3.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Good boyfriend Percy Jackson, Fluff, Age Difference

Nico is seventeen and the best damn thing that has ever happened to him is his five years older boyfriend, Percy Jackson. Now if only Nico's friends would believe him that gloomy, anti-social Nico could land a gorgeous college student... Something always came up when Nico wanted to introduce them and at this point, Percy is known as Nico's imaginary boyfriend. Good thing Percy is awesome and knows how to change that though.

Pass the Eggs by DancingInTheSliverGlow

G | 3.1k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Nico di Angelo, Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Canon Compliant, Protective Percy Jackson, Gay disaster Nico di Angelo

“Yes.” Percy says. “You don’t have to befriend everyone in Camp Half Blood. I just want you to have somewhere you feel safe and welcome. Okay?” A lump forms in his throat, and Nico looks away. It’s been a long time since anyone has looked out for him, the way Percy is doing now. He nods. “Great!” Percy grins, ear to ear, and Nico thinks that it’s a bit like looking in the sun. Beautiful in small quantities, but overwhelming and blinding in too much. Percy speeds off to his room to get changed and to get his skateboards, and Nico leans back against the wall in the hallway, head in his hands. He’s so, so far in over his head. Aka. Post BotL Nico visits Percy. They talk about how Nico's powers are perceived, and about how camp half blood treats children of the big three.

Perspective by chiiyo86

T | 6.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Outsider POV

Sally knows her son, knows that something isn't right. She just isn't sure what he could be hiding from her.

A Bat in the Hand by Takara_Phoenix 

G | 8.9k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Fluff, AU - Supernatural Elements, Vet Percy

Percy is a hard-working student, on his way to become a vet, because he loves animals. And then a cute, little bat crash-lands on his balcony. Of course he has to take the little guy in and nurse him back to health. Nico is a dangerous and powerful vampire lord. And then he has a run-in with vampire hunters and, in his bat-form, loses conscience and crashes on a balcony.

Some of Them by betsib

M | 11k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Abuse

Percy haven't seen Nico di Angelo in five years, then he suddenly turns up in Percy's living room in the middle of the night, injured and asking for help. At first Percy thinks it's a fight gone wrong, but he soon realizes the truth is far worse than that.

you're never lost at sea by kat777

M | 20k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Acceptance, Suicidal Thoughts

The second time he tries to kill himself, Percy doesn’t talk his ear off, just gives him an ultimatum—he can either come live with Percy and Annabeth in their apartment in New Rome, or Percy will tell Hazel what he’s done. Nico pictures the devastated look on her face, the tears welling up in her eyes, her lips trembling and pressed in a thin line. Percy says he has a choice, and it makes Nico laugh for the first time since the battle at the House of Hades, because it’s no choice at all. OR, Nico attempts suicide, Percy saves him, and years pass before either of them are even remotely all right.

Kiss a Boy in Tokyo Town by antistar_e (kaikamahine)

T | 57k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Novella, Infidelity

You know what they say, Percy Jackson. If you can't stand the heat, get out of hell.

Enriched By Envy by HK44

M | 63k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Magic, Protectiveness, Dark Percy Jackson

Waking up at the bottom of the ocean was not on Nico's bucket list. Trying to figure out why Percy was suddenly so clingy and possessive of him wasn't on there either.

The Case of the Dying Flower by chiiyo86

E | 72k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo

Murder Mystery, Slow burn, Soul Bond

It's not that Nico has been avoiding Percy for the past two years, of course not. It's just that he doesn't like to be reminded of the stupid crush he had on him when he was younger. So when Percy seeks him out with the message that the goddess Aphrodite wants to see both of them, Nico is less than enthusiastic. Before he knows it, he finds himself forcibly bonded to Percy and they're sent on a strange quest: solving a murder that happened thousands of years ago and whose primary suspects are gods.

[gaslysainz]

Lost (PG10) pt4

Summary: The world is utterly unfair. He was her most prized possession, her life, her first ever commitment of love. But to him, she was just a mere person lost in his big world.

warnings: ; unrequited feelings; Pierre is a douche , arrange marriage, angst, explicit scenes and languages.

Author's Note~ Heya guys! I present to you the 4th part of my fanfic. I'm overwhelmed by the response ❤️ Really Thanks a lot to everyone who had liked the story so far. Something's have started to cook. Hope you look forward to it. Love You All 😘 Here's my first ever story for you guys. As soon as I finish this one, I'll start taking requests maybe! Till then please show your love and support for "LOST".

This one's a filler chapter, so please bear with me.

Something completely different happened today. A knock at my door woke me up from my 1 hour nap which has unfortunately turned into a 3 hour nap. I stood up from the bed and opened the door only to find my husband standing there and running a hand through his curls. Oh! What a sight! He looks like a Greek God.

"Hey! Did you need something? I'm sorry I fell asleep, also you can come inside"

He thanked me and entered my room, this is completely new. But nonetheless, I had to take a chance. He was looking around the room and the pictures hanging on the walls. His eyes stuck to one picture in particular. A picture captured by Pierre's mom of Isaac, Pierre and myself. It was Halloween and Isaac wanted to be a Vampire and on the other hand Pierre and Me were Romeo and Juliet. He was 6 and I was 4! We did not even know who Romeo and Juliet were! It was because of the elders who had insisted on these costumes! Oh! What I'd give to have those days back.

"You need something?"

"Ah! No, um actually yes, I have to attend an event with the rest of grid tomorrow. And you have to come with me. So be ready by 7pm tomorrow, will you? Wear something nice. I'll send someone with dresses for you to choose today in the evening. Just pick something from there."

There it is! Like I've mentioned before, he only remembers me when he needs something or needs to go somewhere to show off the world our so called amazing married life. *Scoff* But I'm not mad, at least I'll be able to meet HIM after so many days. The only person who happens to care even a little bit for me. Who always greets me with a beautiful smile on his face. A friend? Nope, he's like an angel for me.

I really hope everyone gets a friend like him!

" *Cough* *cough* You there?"

" Oh yea! I'm sorry, I was a bit distracted. Umm, Why don't you take Julia with you? I'm sure she would love to accompany you and also I'm sure she has several dresses in her wardrobe already. Won't even have to buy a dress last minute"

The look Pierre gave me after I mentioned Julia simply yelled 'ARE YOU CRAZY'. I mean I knew why he wouldn't take Julia, but I just find a different kind of satisfaction by reminding it to him.

"Um, I'll be ready tomorrow. Don't worry. By the way, where's Julia?"

"I sent her home, no need for her to stay here for these two days, either way we'd be busy. It'll only distract us."

Oh well! That was odd! Distract us from what exactly? Sometimes this man leaves no tables unturned to confuse me to no end. Anyways. I know better now than to crack my brain over these things. It's actually useless cause I won't get anymore clear answers from him than this.

"Any specific colour that I need to keep in mind while choosing the dress?"

"Not that I'm aware of, just keep it a bit formal. I'll get going. If Julia calls or comes asking for me, just tell her I've been out for a meeting since morning."

And then he rushed out the door, not before checking our childhood photo once again. Okay! That was highly confusing! I mean why was he avoiding Julia? Or am I reading too much between the lines? No one knows. I better go eat something until then.

But still, I'm a bit lost here.

LOST in confusion.

PS - Please lemme know what do you think about LOST and also let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list ❤️

@peachiicherries @crimeshowjunkie @oblomovissad @torossosebs @janeholt3

[sw33ts444]

frozen crown

pairing: prince!leon x fem!reader x knight!wesker

synopsis: this marriage was something you were not looking forward to. your kingdom was struggling to maintain afloat, so you, the eldest and most demure of all your sisters, were arranged to be married of to the crown prince of the most successful, powerful empire on the continent. having to leave behind your whole life, your native kingdom, and have to marry someone who was not the knight who had stolen your heart was quite possibly your worst nightmare. but... this was for the good of your people...

content warnings: very sexual content

wc: 3358

an: this series is the first that i've tried my hand at smut i'm NGL. has me nervie.

previous chapters: 1

2: arduous path

The journey north was a long and arduous one, and though your carriage was one of the more luxurious ones, the bumpy roads were still causing you immense amounts of discomfort. The carriage days spent riding were lonely, too. It was against social etiquette for your ladies-in-waiting to ride in the same carriage. Your only comfort was looking outside the carriage window, staring mainly at Wesker's broad back as he rode ahead. The scenery was slowly changing as you rode further and further north; from dead, yellowed grass from the southern warmth, to dead grey grass as they moved further into northern climates. Travelling in the dead of winter was terrible. Cold. It's been a couple weeks now, with still many more to go.

The nights, however, were far better. Your entourage had brought a luxurious tent befitting your status. It was much more comfortable in there; the oil lamps filled your tent with warmth and the multiple furs and blankets kept you from freezing to death. But the best thing was your nighttime visitor—Wesker. Every night he would come and warm your bed, warm your body with his, but never going beyond the boundaries you had placed. His passionate kisses and the desire that burned in your abdomen and soaked your undergarments was more than sufficient to stave off the cold. The first night he snuck in came as a complete surprise—it was incredibly risky for him to be coming into your tent at night. What if he was seen by the others? But his touch was so easy to give into. You were sure your night in the palace would be your last. Thank god you were wrong.

Aside from your nights of passion and love you had with Wesker, you enjoyed mealtimes. Sitting with your ladies-in-waiting was another piece of your travels that brought you comfort. Abigail, the daughter of a Marquis, was closest to you in age and perhaps the most spunky of your companions. She was loud but she was diligent, someone you considered a close friend. The second lady-in-waiting was Clarisse, recently married to Count Richard Alveston. She was stricter, more lady-like than Abigail, and her council was one you could always count on. She was like an older sister to you. Communing with them over dinner, bathing (although you pushed to bathe yourself since they were also tired, they insisted it was their duty until they left your side), was taking your mind off of the whole situation.

The days and nights bore on, the cold becoming more and more piercing the closer you got to your destination. But tonight would be different. Tonight you would be staying in an inn, finally having reached the outskirts of the empire. The carriages and horses were taken into the care of the inn's stablemaster as Wesker led you and your company into the cozy inn. The innkeeper looked astonished to see such a large amount of guests arriving all at once.

"Oh! Hello! We weren't expecting this many people," she gasped.

"Good evening, miss," you step forward to speak, "We're looking for food and board for a night for fourteen people."

"Ah, yes miss," Wesker stepped forward to correct the way you were addressed, but you put a hand out to stop him. The innkeeper looked nervously at his intimidating expression and build, but turned to you to continue speaking. "Lucky for you, we're pretty slow this time of the year, so we have lots of rooms available!" The plump, rosy-cheeked woman gave you a wide smile, "We're having cheddar broccoli soup tonight! Please, take a seat," she gestured towards the seating area before heading back to the kitchen.

You led the way to sitting at table with your ladies-in-waiting, the knights following suit and seating themselves in tables around you. Except Wesker. Ever so vigilant, he stood by your side, at full attention. "Please, sit, Wesker. You need to eat."

"Thank you, Your Highness, but I'll dine later." He responded, stiff as ever.

"Nonsense," you patted the spot next to you, "You'll only draw attention from the innkeeper like that." Wesker frowned, but followed your directions.

"Captain Wesker only ever listens to you, Your Highness!" Abigail smiled at you, "When we ask him for anything, he'll only do it when it's for you!" Clarisse gave her a piercing look.

You blushed a little at the statement and smiled. Wesker was sitting tensely beside you. He didn't like how casual this setting was, how casual the barmaid was being with you, it was clear. "I would hope he listened to me!" The knights seated at the table to your right were beginning to get loud, rowdy with the joy that they would be sleeping in a real bed. Wesker gave them a sharp look. The innkeeper and some of her help began to come out with bowls of soup for everyone, the knights almost immediately tearing into the bowls. You slowly stirred the creamy soup, taking in its delicious smells, yet you couldn't quite focus on your meal. "Do you think Lucy will be alright?" It was about the thousandth time you've asked that to your company.

"Of course," Clarisse reassured. "That girl is as strong and smart as she is stubborn. The other princesses won't have an easy time with her." You nodded, taking the first bite of your meal. Wesker hadn't touched his yet, he was simply staring down at his bowl. He'd been doing that a lot lately, staring off into space, distracted for seemingly no reason. You understood though.

"Are you going to eat that?" Abigail asked, pointing towards his soup, covering her mouth that still had broccoli in it. The inquiry snapped Wesker back to reality, his eyes shooting up to meet hers.

"Abbie!" Clarisse scolded, "Where are your manners! You are a lady-in-waiting for Her Highness, act like it!"

"I agree with Countess Alveston," Wesker's voice was low, "You represent Her Highness. Mind yourself." With that, he began to eat his soup.

"Please, I don't mind!" You smiled at Abbie, "No one knows I'm a princess here, so let's allow ourselves the space to relax!"

"Ohh thank you, Your Highness!" Abbie cried out in joy. Clarisse looked absolutely scandalised.

The rest of the evening passed without much incident. Everyone finished their bowls of soup, some asked for seconds and even thirds before they all groggily went off to their beds. Clarisse and Abbie had joined you to your room and bathed you before allowing you to rest alone.

The small room you were in was cozy, quaint. There wasn't much to the room; a small bed, a tiny table, and a dresser. There were oil lamps and a fireplace to help keep the room warm. You breathed in the wooden smell of the room; it was calming, the room was so different than what you were used to. If you focused hard enough you could almost trick yourself into thinking you were just going on a trip, a vacation.

Groggy, but not wanting to sleep just yet, you walked over to the window, gazing down at the stables below. To your surprise, Wesker was there. Basking in the moonlight. You opened your window to call out to him, but he seemed so lost in thought you couldn't bring yourself to. Instead, you took to resting your arms and head on the windowsill, having brought a chair over, and just simply watching him. Eventually, he would come up to your room. But it was still far too soon; many would not yet be actually asleep.

The gentle breeze that blew through the window, rustling the leaves of the pines that held steadfast in the cold, slowly lulled you into a deep sleep. When next you woke, Wesker had carried you to the bed, closed the window, and lit a small fire in the fireplace. Your eyes opened to the man you so loved laying beside you, propped up on one elbow as he stroked your hair. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," you broke the silence.

"What? Laying in bed?" He smirked. "I could think of better things we could be doing than just laying here." You gave him a reprimanding look, in which he responded with a peck on your lips.

"No, you pervert, I mean spending time together, like this. Imagine this quaint room was our little cabin in the woods," you sighed wistfully, grabbing his hand and playing with his fingers. "We would make our living off lumber, making enough to feed ourselves and maybe even a little family. Just us, in our own little world." Wesker stayed silent as you rambled. But you knew he shared these sentiments. "...Should we elope?" You looked him in the eyes.

His silence continued for a moment longer as he struggled to respond. "If I said yes, would you?" Biting your lip, you looked away. He sighed, "I know you, dearheart. This deal, this arranged marriage, is far too important for your family, for our homeland."

"I wish... I wish things were different," you breathed. You'd grieved enough over your situation, and by this point your eyes seem to have run dry of any tears you could produce. The lump in your throat never seemed to dissipate though. "But, who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and get to keep you as my guard," a wistful smile rested on your lips as you brought your eyes back to his.

"But things would never be the same," his tone was cold, this sentence holding all the truth that you didn't want to come to terms with. You rolled over on top of Wesker, who hardly seemed surprised by this action, and you bent down to kiss him, hard. You didn't want to think anymore. All you wanted in your mind was Wesker, his kisses, his touch, his skin on yours.

The nights passed by in similar fashion as you approached the capital. Whether it was in inns or your tent, every night you'd explore almost every inch of Wesker's body. You knew every part of his body, except his cock. But boy, did you want it. Despite your insistence on never going beyond what your undergarments hid, you'd taken to grinding down and getting off on his bulge. The way his hard-on rubbed against your clothed clit drove you crazy, left you wanting more on a deeper, carnal level. Wesker was left feeling the same way, each night you took to dry humping, his abdomen would wind up covered in both his own pre and cum. Whilst his underwear would be covered in your juices. The way he looked after your little sessions, flushed, eyes darkened with lust, tip poking out of his underwear, made you want to feel him stretch out your walls, feel his cock buried so deep within you, and have him fuck you so hard that he leaves you raw.

There's even been days where you would opt for masturbating in front of him, with your panties on, as if it made any difference. You'd finger-fuck yourself, imagining it was his dick that your wet little hole was clenching around, as you watched him stroke himself. And after you finished, sometimes you'd stick your fingers in his mouth, letting him suck and lick every bit of your juices off to get a little taste. But the tender nights together are coming to an end as you and your entourage have finally arrived in the capital.

The sights of the capital robbed you of your breath as you looked out of the window of your carriage. The buildings were so tall, so large, and the architecture was like pure art. Each pillar, doorway, trim, every part of every building was made as if they were a sculptor's magnum opus. The snow that slowly drifted down covered bushes and pines and rooves and made the scene look all the more fantastical. There were wreathes on the doors of restaurants, stores, inns, and other places of business. The streets were bustling, full of curious rich commoners and nobility, staring and whispering at the carriages as they shopped and went about their business. The holidays were right around the corner and the air was thick with merriment and joy—but all the awe and amazement and contagious happiness that was fluttering around in your stomach ceased when the palace came into view. And was instead replaced with dread.

It felt like the end of the world when you stepped down from your carriage. A pit of anxiety and fear and anger and so many different emotions ravaged your stomach. But as a princess, it was second nature to not let it show. There were hundreds of staff standing bowed in welcoming, which was intimidating enough by itself. But the palace that you've arrived at surpassed the staff in their intimidation factor. It was massive, with multiple buildings, floor-to-ceiling windows, stained glass, giant pillars; it was jaw-dropping. As you did your best to stay calm, taking in the sights of the palace, a tall, grey-haired man stepped forward and grabbed your attention.

He bowed, "Welcome, Your Highness. My name is Alfred, His Majesty's attendant and aide. I've come to guide you to the council chambers to speak with His Majesty before I show you to your room."

"Thank you, Alfred." He bowed, and you gestured for him to lead the way. Wesker and your ladies-in-waiting quickly fell into step behind you, the other knights trailing in two organized single-file lines as everyone made their way through the palace. While you walked, you took in your surroundings, doing your best to not seem shocked by the sheer extravagance of the palace. The ceilings were high, painted cherubs and angels smiling down and dancing amongst clouds. The trim of every doorway, ceiling, and floor was lined with gold, even the marble floors had hints of gold.

God, did everything have to have gold? You thought a little bitterly. Perhaps this palace was just to make a show of the Northern Empire's wealth, to intimidate delegates and visits from smaller kingdoms and countries like your own. Or perhaps you were looking for some small outlet for the emotions you had to keep silent under a mask of calm. A couple of servants dragged the heavy oaken doors of the reception chambers open once you finally arrived in front of them. The chambers were what you'd expect, with a regal red carpet leading to the door, seats on both sides for when nobility must attend receptions, and at the end of the room were steps leading up to three tall, imposing chairs where the royal figures sat. Knights were stationed in entrances to the room and to the sides of the royalty observing you and your entourage.

The aide led you to near the foot of your stairs, where you curtsied, your ladies-in-waiting joining you as the knights took a knee. "Greetings to the Sun, Moon, and Star of the Empire. May Glory shine down upon the Empire for all eternity."

"You may rise," The emperor stated, his voice was deep and authoritative, fitting for a ruler. You obeyed and stood, getting a good look at the Northern Empire's royalty. His Majesty was getting on in years, with a salt and pepper beard and greys growing from his temples, slicked back and tucked beneath a heavy golden crown, laden with diamonds. His attire was decked out with all the expensive silks and golds and intricate patterns one might expect the royal family to wear, but the tight fit of his clothes revealed a hidden tone of muscle. The empress was a lot warmer and kinder looking than he was. She wore an extravagant purple gown made of beautiful tulle and it was covered in all sorts of different gemstones, glimmering brightly at the slightest movement.

And the crown prince, your intended, was dressed in a similar extravagant fashion, though quite a bit more toned down. What caught your eye though was not his clothes, but his striking blue eyes. He was not bad to look at, on the contrary he was incredibly handsome. So handsome that his face alone, ignoring his status, would making him the most eligible bachelor in the Empire.

"Welcome to the Northern Empire, Princess. We've waited for the day of your arrival eagerly," the emperor gave you a welcoming smile. "We've heard of your accomplishments in the Southern Kingdom and we're all eager to see what you can do here in the Empire, with so many new tools at your disposal."

"Thank you for the praise, Your Majesty," you bowed a little as a gesture in gratitude, "but all I've done was work for my people. I hope I can live up to your expectations and do good by the people here in the Empire."

"Beautiful and humble!" The empress finally spoke. "I knew you would be the best choice!" You hid a grimace at her choice in words. You knew you specifically were chosen for your exploits in your homeland. "We saw records of the different foundations you did for peasants and the poor, helping children and the ill. Your efforts in increasing crop yield during harvesting season were impressive as well!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty. But the truth is, my efforts were not enough. My family and I are eternally grateful and in your debt for your assistance, and I will do my best to assist the Empire in any way I can." The empress smiled down at you. It felt unpleasant, having to bend so far for these people whom you hardly knew. You were determined to help your kingdom, but the price of your whole life and future really soured your whole efforts, making it feel a lot less like your honour-bound duty and more of a death sentence.

"Well then," the emperor looked over to his son, who made no movement to speak, "I believe that is enough pleasantries. We shall see you again tomorrow. I assume you are all tired from your travels. We have rooms ready for you and yours, Alfred will lead everyone to the right places and dinner will be served in your chambers. Tomorrow, we shall begin to dine together. Please, Princess, make yourself comfortable." After bowing and thanking the Imperial family once more, Alfred led you all out of the room. Before you turned, you managed to sneak one last glance at the prince. And as you made eye contact with him, it occured to you that you don't even know his name.

Once Alfred had the knights led to the barracks elsewhere, including Wesker much to your dismay, he deposited you in your own chambers. He'd apologised for the size—though it was ginormous—and promised you better habitations once you wed. As he left with your ladies-in-waiting, other maids came in, not giving you a second to breathe as they whisked you away to the bathing chambers of the room. They lathered you in expensive smelling soaps and oils, thoroughly massaging your body that was sore from sitting in a carriage for so long. And once they finally left, you were finally given time to relax. The chambers felt like the size of a large cabin. There were dressers that you didn't care to explore, sofas, coffee tables, a chess table, a large fireplace, a tea-preparation area, and even a terrace for your enjoyment. But all that mattered to you was that luxurious bed. Throwing yourself onto the bed, landing with a whump, made the new reality feel all the more damning. It was finally hitting you. You're in the Imperial palace. You've seen your future husband. And soon, you'll have to say goodbye to the knights, Clarisse, Abbie, and most important of all, Wesker. As your heavy eyes fluttered closed, all you could think about was how much you'd miss his warm embrace. Your journey north has ended, and yet it somehow feels like you've just embarked on an even more arduous one yet.

2024 sw33ts444© All rights reserved.

please don't rewrite, repost, translate, or submit my work to ai 💜

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[mvybanks]

can we learn more about that semi-honeymoon 🥵

okay i don’t really feel like writing a whole fic about this but i’m gonna write a quick headcanon ‘cause i knew someone was gonna ask about that and to be honest i was waiting for it👀

series masterlist my masterlist

warnings: NSFW, 18+, just smut, oral (fem & m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (sorry, it’s for the plot), overstimulation; i wrote this really fast so there might be lots of mistakes sorry

alright, bear with me

once you and jj got married, everyone was asking you why you had decided on not going on a honeymoon. i mean, who wouldn’t like that?

let’s just say that it was obvious that you needed time alone. you two were always all over each and you looked like teenagers, but hey you had made the decision that you didn’t want to spend money on that too

until sarah offered you this little chateau she owned, in the middle of nowhere, but perfect for the two of you. she even said that she would babysit adam with john b

it would’ve been impossible to say no to that

now, you find yourself in the car with your new husband as you’re driving up to that cabin, where you’re going to stay for five days

his hand stays on your thigh the whole time and you have to thank sarah in your head for what she’s done because you don’t know how long you’ll last without his hands on you

you two barely make it into the house before jj is literally all over you, his lips on yours as he grabs your thighs, making you jump and wrap them around his torso

he doesn’t even know where he’s going as he carries you to a room, which turns out to be the bathroom. you both laugh and he starts to walk towards another room which has thankfully a bed in it

he doesn’t waste a second and throws you on the bed. you giggle at his eagerness and watch as he takes his shirt off and bends down to kiss you again.

“finally!” he groans getting rid of your pants while you do the same with his your sweatshirt. he’s pleasantly surprised when he realizes that you are wearing that lingerie that makes him go feral

“god i’ve missed this,” you say when he takes your nipple in his mouth, not even taking the time to take your bra off, so you do that yourself. his moans and growls against your skin are driving you insane and you can only beg him to give you more

and that he does

you swear you’ve never seen him take his clothes off so fast. when he’s completely naked in front of you, ready to give you what you’ve been craving for weeks, you pull him down to kiss him again.

you finally feel the head of his cock tease your entrance and you have to moan in his mouth.

“don’t tease me, j, please. can’t take it anymore.”

and then he thrusts into your wet hole. you moan loudly and the sound earns you another hard thrust.

“so fucking wet,” he moans in your neck.

the movements of his hips are hard and fast, you’re both chasing that high you’ve been waiting for too long. your loud moans are making him even harder and he can barely fit inside you with how much you’re squeezing him.

suddenly, he pulls out of you completely, at which you whine and look at him with eyes full of lust and confusion. he flips you on your stomach, manhandling you. you squeal as you feel the bed dip behind you, his hands are already on your hips lifting your ass up. he lets his head fall in your neck from behind and wraps an arm around your waist before thrusting into you again.

you both moan at the different angle as he gets deeper with each movement. his other hand wraps around your neck and you swear you see stars at the overwhelming feeling.

“you feel so good, baby. you love it when i fuck you like this, don’t you?” he mumbles in your ear and you can only nod at his words, not really trusting your voice right now.

“you want me to make you cum like this? mh? tell me.”

“yes,” you almost scream and his thrusts become so fast, hitting that spot that drives you mad repeatedly, that your whole body start shaking with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

“fuck, baby, just like that. give it to me,” he all but growls as he can feel himself going over the edge as well. you grab his head from behind and twist your neck to kiss him while his cum shoots inside you. you’re now moaning messes but he never stops his movements.

you spend the rest of the day making each other feel good.

you suck his cock until he cums down your throat.

“doing so good for me, sweetheart, don’t stop. FUCK!”

as he thrusts up into your mouth.

he eats you out as if you are his last meal. your eyes crossing from how many times he makes you cum on his tongue and fingers.

“j, ‘s too much, can’t do it,” you whine after the third orgasm.

“one more for me, baby, just one more.”

until you squirt all over his face with a silent scream.

after the first day, you spend the rest of your ‘honeymoon’ between sweet and slow morning sex, talks about your future and taking warm baths together. you forget what taking a shower alone means in those five days but you won’t complain.

you obviously have sex in front of the fireplace. blankets and pillows all over the floor as you lie on them, jj’s body on top of yours while you moan in his ear.

you hold each other close at night, naked and warm.

“i love you so much. i can’t believe you’re my wife,” he whispers into the cold air one night as you two lie on your sides with your limbs intertwined.

“i love you, j,” you answered kissing his chest.

when you go back home, you’re kind of sad that you have to leave your little bubble but you’re also excited to spend the rest of your life with your best friend.

i got carried away🧍🏼‍♀️

[the-lonelybarricade]

We Bleed the Same - (4/?)

Summary: The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice... The beginning to a story we know, unfolded a little bit differently.

A gift for my darling @belabellissima💝

Also huge thank you to @popjunkie42 for her super helpful feedback on this chapter 💕

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

The ring, at the very least, served as a useful projectile to launch at Rhysand’s head.

Feyre’s mind was whirring like a spindle, producing one thread of thought that twined around and around and around her chest. Wife.

Rhys caught the ring from the air with infuriating ease. She wished she could have seen it crash into his monstrously beautiful face. “It’s too late to return this, I’m afraid.”

He had lied, but why? When?

“I’m not your wife!” She hissed.

Rhys mockingly clutched his chest. “Oh, how the words of a loved one cut deeper than any blade.”

Nevermind what Nesta would say about her improper attire. Feyre pushed the sheets of the infirmary bed aside, scrambling to her feet. Her boots had been removed at some point in the night, and she might have been able to find them if she spared a moment to glance around the room. But a flood of anger carried her across the stone floor, allowing Feyre to ignore the bite of cold leaching through her threadbare socks. She stopped close enough that she would have been nose-to-nose with Rhysand if he wasn’t so gods-damned tall.

She needed to angle her head to meet his eyes, and he looked so amused that someone a fraction of his height was ready to pick a fight that she couldn’t resist jamming a finger into his chest.

“You had no right,” she said, seething. “Word of something like that in this village…”

A rumor like that would travel quickly. Feyre Archeron, the wild daughter of the fallen Archeron family, married to a mercenary. Dark brown eyes flashed through her mind. And for a completely foolish moment, she wondered what Isaac would think of the news. She shook the sad, useless thought away, reminding herself that Isaac would be married by the summer.

“You said you dream of being a spinster,” Rhys said. “Now you get to enjoy that lifestyle with none of the scorn. When my contract ends, I’ll move on from this town and you can claim to be a widow.”

“Why?” She demanded, shaking her head like that might clear away this strange reality. “What’s the point in all of this? What do you gain?”

He smirked. “Besides a pretty wife?”

Feyre felt her entire body flush with anger. Rhysand was the only person who’d ever called her such a thing, and somehow he managed to wield the compliment to get under her skin more effectively than years of Nesta’s hurled insults. She wanted to scream, or find a firepoker she could use to prod at him in turn.

But that’s what he wanted. She could tell, by the way his maddening smile grew with every ounce of her temper. “You’ve already figured out what I want, Feyre. There’s history between me and that High Lord. And now that you’ve fixed his interest, I need you here. Having you as my wife is just a delightful bonus.”

“I’m not—”

Rhys pressed a finger to her lips to smother the protest before Feyre could form it in full. He said, soft as a lover’s whisper, “Don’t let Lord Nolan hear you say such horrible things, sweet wife. If you want your family to be able to stay here, safely tucked behind fortified walls, then I’m going to need you to pretend to be the open-minded, adaptable woman that I know you can be.”

She pushed his hand away. “If you think my sisters are going to put up with this ruse—”

“Then you better convince them it’s not a ruse,” Rhys said.

“How?” Feyre threw her hands up in exasperation. “We just met yesterday. They know that.”

Like he couldn’t resist, his finger returned to her lips, tracing the outline with a fixation that had her sucking in a breath. “Why don’t you tell them,” he mused, “that all those times you were sneaking out to fuck the farmboy, you were actually seeing me? I guarantee I would have shown you a better time.”

Feyre tilted her chin higher as she stared him down. She refused to feel shame for her trysts with Isaac, even if he was only a farmboy, if their encounters had been brisk and clumsy and inexperienced. That touch of humanity had kept her sane, kept her alive, through these last cruel years.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” she said.

“Do they?”

It was meant to be cutting, but the challenge drew a much bleaker thought forward. What even was there to know?

For years she had operated on one single-minded goal: keep her family alive and together. It was a vow she’d made on her mother’s deathbed eight years ago and without it, she was little more than the winter frost, drifting aimless day after day. The only true ambition she had was painting, a passion she hadn’t touched since that summer Elain had been able to afford three small pots of paint as a gift.

They could try to flee, try to hire a boat and make a new life for themselves on the continent, but without Rhysand’s protection it would be a gamble to try to get on a ship without being tracked by the High Lord. And a small voice, worn-out piece of her wondered… what would it feel like to surrender? Who could she become if she didn’t have to fight and barter and scrape for every meal? If they could stay here and be safe from the fae, fed and comfortable… it was beyond anything she’d ever dared hope for. A marriage to a handsome—if not infuriating—man seemed a meager price to pay in the end, if she could finally fulfill that vow to her mother.

“So we’re to be married,” she said in a single breath. “And live together on this estate, acting as a married couple, presumably sharing a room together…” He nodded in confirmation. “We’re not sharing a bed,” she said, flatly.

His eyes brightened, the very picture of triumph. “Consider it done,” he said. “I’ll be on guard duty most nights, anyhow.”

A relief, and yet… she felt oddly disappointed to think she’d be alone most nights. Of all the complicated affairs of marriage, there was only one aspect she truly had any experience with. She’d always known she was too wild and too sharp to be someone’s bride, but there had been moments in the barn with Isaac when Feyre had learned she could be soft, too.

With Isaac to be married, she didn’t see why she couldn’t seek that comfort elsewhere. If she had to put up with Rhysand’s company, she thought she could at least indulge the flirty remarks and bedroom eyes, if only as a distraction. Those perfect lips had to be good for something besides kindling her temper. And at least between her legs, she wouldn’t have to hear all his rakish commentary.

I guarantee I would have shown you a better time…

Feyre steeled her nerves to continue, “And if we fuck…” Rhys stiffened. She had to clamp her lips together to smother a laugh at his expression. Clearly despite his teasing, he hadn’t considered that sex would be on the table. But there was no denying he was beautiful, and if she was going to go along with this scheme she could at least glean some measure of enjoyment from it. “No kissing.”

That wasn’t a rule she’d used with Isaac. But with Rhys, and the attention he was already paying to her mouth, she thought it would be too dangerous to let him kiss her. Dangerous to be humoring this harebrained plan at all.

“No kissing,” he repeated, sounding a bit strained. “Understood.”

He was so close that she could watch his chest rise with his next breath. She felt oddly tempted to flatten her palm over his heart, like she’d done last night, just to measure how fast his heart was beating. Did this phase him at all? From his endless look of amusement, it didn’t seem like it.

Rhys drew the ring from its velvet cushion. Despite her better judgment, Feyre held her hand out, watching his face as he delicately took her hand in his and slid the ring onto her finger without hesitation. His eyelashes skimmed his high cheekbones as he surveyed the diamond adorning her hand. For a moment so fleeting she thought she might have been imagining it, a crease formed between his brows in the faintest glimpse of anguish. It vanished before she could even hope to speculate its meaning.

Then he was smiling at her like he’d never been more pleased with himself.

“Since I’m here, wife—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

He continued as if she said nothing at all, “Would you like help getting dressed?”

Feyre resisted the urge to fidget under Rhysand’s slow, unhurried surveillance. A gentleman would have averted their eyes, or pretended they hadn’t noticed her state of undress. His eyes lingered everywhere they shouldn’t, heavy with something she couldn’t quite label as desire. But she didn’t have the sense he was displeased by what he saw, either.

“It isn’t as if the beast took my arms,” she said, turning away from him in dismissal. “It’s just a scratch.”

A scratch that could have easily found her bleeding out in the woods, were it not for the mercenary who huffed under his breath, likely thinking the same. Feyre ignored him, sweeping her eyes over the infirmary in search of something to cover herself. A wicker chair was situated in the corner of her bedside, a familiar cloak strewn over its back.

It would have to do. Her sisters likely hadn’t had the foresight to bring many clothes with them when they’d fled the cottage. She hoped Nesta had at least taken the coin Feyre stowed away, but she would need to return to sweep the cottage and see what was left behind. That was… If they were even permitted to leave. Would they be hunted the moment they stepped outside the walls of the estate?

Feyre could ask Rhys to accompany her, though her stomach curdled at the prospect of asking him any more favors. A man like him kept a meticulous ledger, and as she lifted his cloak from the chair, she knew even its use would be added to her list of debts. But she would argue if they were to act married, then what belonged to him also belonged to her.

Footsteps sounded at her back. She didn’t turn, not yet ready to subject herself to that piercing stare, and whatever smart comment he had prepared. Rhys stopped once he was close enough for his heat to warm her back, not saying a word as he reached around her to take the cloak from her hands. She allowed him, feeling him step away and for a moment believing he was taking it back, denying her from covering herself with it.

Then, slow as if not to startle her, Rhysand held the front straps open and pulled the cloak over her head. Its weight fell across her shoulders, tickling her neck with its soft fur. He pressed a palm into her uninjured shoulder, prompting her to turn so that he could wordlessly adjust the straps to her much slighter frame. Careful, all the while, not to jostle or brush against her injury.

So he had the capacity for decency. It wasn’t as if Feyre would give him a medal for it—and certainly not the thank you he was trying to tempt with his raised brow.

“There,” he said once he had finished with the straps. He gave a small laugh as he assessed her. “It practically swallows you.”

It wasn’t hard. All of her soft edges became sharper in the winter.

She shifted the cape, hating the way Rhys stared like he could see through the fur and cloth, straight to the ridges of her ribs underneath. He didn’t know they’d become more defined in the last three weeks, and she knew he was only making a light hearted comment. Heat itched along her cheeks all the same, and she couldn’t find it in herself to laugh—wasn’t convinced that it was something she was still capable of.

Silence sawed between them as Rhys waited for her to say something and she only blinked, fighting the wild thing inside her that wanted to snap and claw and bite for the insult he didn’t truly mean to inflict. When the fight had nowhere to go, she felt it sink down, draining out along with all of her energy.

Feyre sagged a bit into herself, and the next thing she knew Rhys was herding her back into that wicker chair.

“Seems like that tonic might be wearing off,” he said mildly. “Do you want more?”

“No,” she said, breathing through her teeth.

The pain in her arm hadn’t returned, but she did feel heavier. Was that the tonic wearing off, or had the world always been this heavy, and it was only now settling over her?

Rhys hummed in what sounded vaguely like agreement, helping himself to the task of lacing her boots. It was odd to watch him drop to his knees before her. Odder still, to feel his steady hand curve behind her calf and coax her leg upward so he could slide her worn boot onto her foot. He paid no mind to his miraculously clean trousers, seemingly content to muddy them by propping her heel against his thigh.

Watching those quick, nimble fingers move and pull against her laces lodged something free inside her, something she didn’t dare inspect. “I haven’t lost my arm,” she reminded him, though it lacked the sharpness she’d been aiming for.

He glanced up, pleased that she was speaking again. “Yes. But stretching those stitches is going to burn like Hell.”

Boot now laced, he set her foot down and gestured for the other. Feyre obliged, lifting her foot so he could slide the second shoe on. She supposed if anyone walked in on them, they would have looked rather… intimate.

“See?” Rhys purred, clearly sharing her line of thought. “We’re good at this.”

He looked up, both boots now laced. His hand was still curved around her calf, not quite prepared to let go. And because of the precious warmth spreading under her skin, she was willing to let him linger for just a moment longer.

“Which do you need first,” he asked. “Food or a bath?”

“I supposed this is where you offer to bathe me yourself.”

The devilish glint in his eye said he was already entertaining the idea. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Her mouth felt dry.

“Food,” she said. “I’ll bathe once I know you’re somewhere far, far away.”

-

Food, it turned out, meant leaving the infirmary to join Lord Nolan and his family for lunch in their impressive dining room.

Unlike the small, splintering table from their cottage, Lord Nolan boasted a broad dining table, hewn from rich, polished black ebony. More impressive than its size were the countless dishes of food laden atop its surface, all wafting decadent steam that drifted towards Feyre, twisting her aching stomach until she worried she might collapse.

Feyre willed her body upright as she swept her eyes over the generous spread. She flinched when her gaze unexpectedly landed on a pair of emerald eyes, staring back at her through the face of a snarling beast that was carved into each leg of the table. It looked enough like the beast she’d encountered the night before to curb some of her appetite, and she frowned, examining the rest of the carvings. Ward marking decorated the table’s apron—similar to the ones her father had spent the last of his fortune to have etched into the cottage exterior. She didn’t want to imagine how much the useless engraving had cost Lord Nolan.

Identical markings were carved into the backs of the chairs that Nesta, Elain, and her father were already seated in. They faced an elderly man hunched at the head of the table, dressed enough finery that there would be no mistaking him for anyone other than Lord Nolan. To his right was a handsome, much younger man—brown-haired and blue-eyed and already sneaking mooning glances towards a giggling Elain. The Lord’s son, if she had to wager a guess.

All conversation halted the second Rhys and Feyre stepped through the large, cherrywood doors. Nesta, stiff-backed from before they’d come in, set her silverware down hard enough to make Elain flinch.

“Feyre,” her father said, reaching for his cane like he intended to stand to greet her.

“I’m okay,” she said, with enough edge that her father dropped his hand back into his lap. Nesta snorted—either from the less than favorable first impression Feyre was already making, or simply because she enjoyed anything that displeased their father.

Ignoring them, and Elain’s wide-eyed stare, Feyre turned towards the Lord and offered a clumsy curtsey, which earned another thinly disguised laugh from Nesta. “Thank you for your generosity towards my family, Lord Nolan.”

Feyre hadn’t been given the same upbringing as her sisters. If she’d ever learned the proper etiquette for meeting nobility, she’d been too young to remember it. A curtsey seemed sufficient—though Nesta’s mocking sneer was quickly faltering her confidence in even that small gesture. If it wasn’t for Rhys, placing a steadying palm of Feyre’s back as he bowed, subtly, from the waist, she might have turned and darted straight out the doors.

“Thank you again,” Rhys echoed, with none of her wavering uncertainty. His voice dipped lower than it’d been a second ago. And from his tone, it sounded less like he was thanking them for a favor and more as if they’d fulfilled an obligation he was owed. As if he was the Lord. There was glee in his voice as he added, “My wife and I appreciate your kindness.”

Well now he’d done it. Feyre suppressed a sigh, her attention darting to Nesta, who’s blue eyes turned to slits. Elain’s mouth parted open, and she quickly grabbed for her wine to duck her face into the goblet, artfully evading any fighting she feared might ensue. And their father… he simply nodded to himself, eyes clouding with a sort of melancholy that caused Feyre to grit her teeth. As if this was some outcome he’d suspected, but was disappointed by. Just last night, they had all watched her walk out of the cottage, prepared for that beast to take her life. They should be grateful that she was even here. Alive.

The Lord, hawk-nosed and gray-eyed, nodded and said to Rhys, “I am pleased to see that your wife has recovered.”

His tone was bland enough that there was no mistaking his words as sincere. But he was being charitable to offer them at all. Feyre nodded her thanks, but Rhys… he just stared. Eyes narrowed slightly.

“Please, sit,” the Lord added, gesturing towards two of the unoccupied chairs, across from Nesta and their father.

Rhysand, either a fool or an unconventional strategist, claimed the chair facing Nesta. And smirked. In front of their hosts, Feyre prayed she could trust Nesta to keep her nastier comments to herself, or at least until she’d managed to corner Feyre in private. But it wasn’t helping that Rhys raised his brows at Nesta, as if daring her to say something.

“I’m relieved you’re okay, Feyre,” Elain chimed in after swallowing a large mouthful of wine.

Feyre couldn’t tell if it was said to cut the tension, or because Elain truly meant it. She glanced towards her middle sister, beautiful despite the marks of poverty. Her face was sharp and angular where it had once been full and round and flushed with life. But Elain’s eyes hadn't changed. Not in any of the years they’d been in that cottage. They were still bright and gentle, in a way that was rare to encounter in their village.

Last night, Elain’s eyes had been so wide her pupils nearly swallowed all of the brown, not a trace of the warm, honeyed tones that Feyre could see now. She could still hear how Elain sobbed, too terror-stricken for words, frozen like a doe. And when Elain spoke just then, there’d been a residual scrap to her usual lovely, lilted sing-song—from how loudly she’d been screaming.

One moment she’d been giggling over boys with Nesta and the next, their door was broken down by a terrifying, unexpected faerie beast. Feyre could forgive her sister for not trying to help. For being frightened. It was enough to know that she cared, that there was grief shining in her eyes as Elain’s lips stretched into a strained smile.

A hand wrapped over Feyre’s. She tensed, but Rhysand’s words swam over her. “It was very brave of you to offer your life to protect your family.” She turned, meeting his eyes, searching them and finding none of that amusement. Rhys leaned closer, pitching his next words just for her benefit. “Stupid,” he added, the breath of his whisper brushing along the shell of her ear. She tried not to shiver—not with Nesta watching them so closely. “Utterly reckless. And braver than perhaps anything I’ve ever done.”

She doubted that.

“Yes,” Nesta said, drawing their attention away from each other. “Well done, Feyre. It was so heroic of you to lure away the faerie that you brought to our door.”

Rhysand stilled, his fingers tightening over Feyre’s. The tone Nesta used, dripping in venom and outright contempt… It was nothing new. Though, knowing that she’d been moments away from death, it cut into Feyre nearly as viciously as the beast’s claws.

She sucked on her teeth, ruminating in the sting. What was it that elicited Nesta’s ire? Was it because of the praise, or Rhysand’s subtle prodding, or did her eldest sister truly despise Feyre so much that she didn't care that she was almost killed? Did she resent that Feyre had lived? No… no. Nesta could be cruel, but there had been grief in her eyes, too. They had looked at each other, and understood. Understood in a way that was perhaps too difficult to acknowledge in the aftermath.

Words lapped at Feyre’s tongue, too sharp or bitter or not quite right. What could she say that wouldn’t sound defensive, or self-important, or worst of all… hurt. Elain opened her mouth, prepared to mediate so they didn’t make a scene in front of their hosts.

But it was Rhys who said levelly, “A life debt is a very heavy burden, isn’t it? It can rest uncomfortably on the soul.”

Nesta’s eyes flicked between them, and she raised a cool brow. “Is that why my sister married you, because of a debt?”

“Nesta,” Feyre chided, sneaking a nervous glance towards Lord Nolan.

At most, the elderly Lord appeared bored with the theatrics, but his son was monitoring them—particularly Elain, now stiff and withdrawn from the demure lady who’d been giggling moments ago.

“What happened to Isaac?” Nesta pushed, causing even Rhysand’s casual posture to straighten, just enough that she worried the blade strapped to his back might find itself embedded in the dining table, or worse.

Their father reached towards Nesta, like he might put a hand on her shoulder to chide her for making a scene, but all it took was one cutting glance from his eldest daughter for his hand to immediately fall back into his lap. He lowered his chin.

No one was touching the food in the center of the table—hot, glorious food that would finally cure the ravenous hunger she knew was raging inside each of them.

Nesta kept her glare fixed on Rhys, challenging him to answer. He only laughed, leaning in to brush some of Feyre’s hair from her face, a gesture of casual intimacy that scorched her cheek where his fingers brushed.

He crooned, “Why don’t you tell your family how we met?”

“In the woods,” she lied. It was never something she’d been very talented at—she’d never really had a reason to, when her sister was critical of even the barest truths. Feyre wracked her mind for details that might convince them. “Four months ago, he got caught in one of my snares.”

Rhys’s lips twitched. She could practically read in the look he shot her, That’s what you’re going with?

“You would expect a mercenary to be more aware of their surroundings,” Nesta said, thoroughly unconvinced.

“Maybe I wanted to get caught,” Rhys said, flashing Feyre a grin. Then, paying no mind to the empty plates in front of everyone else, he reached across for the platter of chicken and began piling it onto Feyre’s plate.

“You must be a talented huntress,” the Lord’s son complimented. “Especially if you managed to kill a faerie.”

“She’s remarkable,” Rhys agreed. Feyre marveled at the pride in his voice. How did he manage to lie so convincingly?

When he was done with the chicken, Rhys handed the platter to Elain, who accepted it with a wary glance towards their host’s empty plate. Lord Nolan nodded in subdued approval, and that was all Elain needed to begin serving herself as well.

Rhysand continued picking up plates of various steaming dishes—vegetables, bread, sauces, even a decanter of wine that he poured into the goblet in front of her. She noticed he didn’t load his own plate nearly so generously, but when he nudged a fork into her hands, she didn’t think to question it.

She thought she might prefer to do away with the fork entirely and shovel the food into her mouth by the handful. Manners were a distant, faraway concern, but she was able to exact enough control to shovel an appropriate-sized bite into her mouth. It was an effort to chew slowly, to swallow, to look as if this wasn’t the first proper meal she’d had at least since autumn ended.

And the spices… she shut her eyes. She’d forgotten that eating could be something more than a means of keeping her body functioning. That flavor could dance on her tongue, evoking stories of the faraway lands they’d traveled across to get to this dining room. Her family had fallen quiet, equally absorbed in this rare chance to fill their empty stomachs. Rhys—thank the forgotten gods—kept the situation from being unbearably mortifying by making polite conversation with Lord Nolan and his son to fill the silence.

She learned a bit about them in the moments she could piece together between mouthfuls of decadent food. Graysen—the son—was a year older than Nesta, and he’d been training with the guards at the same age that Nesta and Elain began learning the pianoforte. From the gleam in his eye as asked after Rhys’s own training, she knew he had listless questions about their encounter with the beast last night. Thankfully, he was a gentleman as much as he was a warrior, and he reserved such questions until the last of their plates were empty.

Once the servants carried them away, he leaned forward, “Did you manage to kill it?”

Feyre wasn’t the only one who flinched.

“No,” Rhys said, jaw tight. “Thanks to Feyre, I was able to catch him with an ash bolt, but he’ll be back.”

“Great,” Nesta said, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “So—what? We can’t leave this estate without worrying about being hunted?”

It was never a problem before, Feyre wanted to snap. You never bothered to leave the house most days, anyway.

With a deep breath, Feyre said, “It’s only temporary, Nesta.”

Another lie. If the High Lord’s words were to be trusted, then the terms of the Treaty meant she would always owe a life debt to Prythian. The fae couldn’t lie, and his wording had been fairly clear.

A life debt is a very heavy burden, isn’t it?

Rhys, oblivious to his sharp words that were digging beneath her skin, nodded in agreement. “We’re putting together patrols to search for the beast and protect this estate—if he comes back, we’ll be ready for him.”

“Some of us have lives,” Nesta said. “Tomas was about to propose!”

Good. Feyre privately hoped that Tomas would fix his interest elsewhere. Out loud, she said, “If he loved you, Nesta, he would wait.”

“Not if he goes to our cottage and thinks we’re dead.”

“Write him a letter,” she said, patience thinning.

Graysen cleared his throat, his eyes wandering to Elain, as if seeking her approval as he intervened. “If you must go into town, one of our men could always escort you.”

Elain beamed at him. Graysen smiled back with an endearing, boyish sort of relief. They might have been a good match if the Archerons had managed to maintain their fortune. But without a dowry, or so much as two coins to rub together, Feyre wondered what Lord Nolan would think of a romance between his son and Elain. He didn’t seem to take any notice of his son’s budding interest—in fact, as Feyre studied the Lord she thought his eyes looked a bit glazed, his awareness drifting like a thick morning fog, not quite pinned on any one thing.

She fought the temptation to wave her fingers in front of his face. It was likely his age. People in the village tended to die long before age could claim them, and she supposed she didn’t have much exposure to the elderly—but with his wealth, and his abundant access to food and warmth and medicine, he could outlive the average human expiration.

Maybe that’s how Rhys had managed to get away with the lies. The old Lord was senile and his son—he seemed kind, though a bit too eager to find a faerie on the other side of his sword. Having killed that wolf, she supposed she didn’t have any room to judge, but… Feyre shuddered, now, to think that the creature she’d skinned had been as sentient as the beast she’d encountered last night.

“I’m tired,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. Her stomach hadn’t felt this heavy in years, and with the tonic wearing off she thought she could do with a bath, and a nap, and some method of putting this whole ordeal with the wolf and beast far, far behind her. “I think I’d like to retire, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Rhys said, as if he had any right to dismiss a guest.

Lord Nolan only nodded, unnervingly silent. Something tightened in Feyre’s gut.

She didn’t look towards Nesta or her father as she got to her feet. Elain offered another tight smile, but they all said nothing as Feyre slipped toward the door, Rhys trailing at her back like a new extension of her shadow.

It was only once Feyre rounded the corner and froze at the sight of a long stretch of corridor, flanked by rows of doors, that she realized she hadn’t the slightest clue where she was going. She’d been operating on a single directive: flee. Just as well Rhys had followed her, and had now stopped a healthy distance from her back, leaning against the nearest wall as he waited for her to process her next move.

Feyre sighed. “Just show me where it is, you asshole.”

He barked a short laugh before pushing off the wall, striding in front of her with more fluid grace than any man ought to possess. Maybe he’d been a cat in a previous life, and that was why his booted feet made hardly any sound as they strode down the hardwood floors, through halls mounted with weapons and hunting trophies. Though Feyre suspected they were wealthy enough to flaunt silver and gold, it was iron that decorated most of their fortress—iron sconces on the walls, iron latches on window sills, intricate iron handles on every door.

Rhys curled his fingers around one such handle, smiling at her as he stepped through the iron threshold. “Here you are—a room fit for a mercenary and his new, lovely wife.”

She could have laughed. Or wept. The room was likely plain by a lord’s standards, roughly the size of the cottage she’d shared with her family. Two rich velvet settees were settled beside a low wooden table in front of the fireplace, big enough that she wouldn’t feel too guilty making Rhys sleep on one. The large fur rug, likely won from one of the Lord’s many hunts, looked like it would make a pleasant place to nap as well.

And then there was the bed, about as large as the one she and her sisters slept on, but now she had it all to herself. That was a strange thing to come to terms with.

“I have to go soon.” His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to run you a bath?”

“I can manage,” she said, but he was walking into the attached bathing room anyway. She followed, feeling a bit lost. How was any of this real, how had her life changed so quickly, so drastically?

The iron handle squeaked as it turned, and a moment later the faucet rumbled, pouring steaming water into the large porcelain tub. Steaming. Now she was weeping, and she turned, not wanting Rhys to see. It was stupid—so utterly stupid, and pathetic, to be crying over a warm bath.

Footsteps sounded at her back as Rhys approached. Given how silently he’d walked before, she knew it’d been intentional, so she didn’t jump when she felt his hand on her shoulder. Feyre resisted his first attempt to make her face him. It was obvious she was crying and that was bad enough. But when it was clear she wouldn’t obey, he moved around her anyway.

They stared at each other for a moment, and she waited for him to say something about the tears streaming down her face. He didn’t. He just silently took to unlatching the cloak, until its weight dropped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet along with the weight of eight years of survival, of being solely responsible for keeping her family alive.

A sob ratcheted up her spine. Rhys gently grabbed the elbow of her injured arm, holding it steady as he unwrapped her bandages. Her eyes fell to the raw, angry skin freshly sewn together with dark, jutting sutures. She winced at the sight.

“You should be careful getting them wet,” he said. “Let me help.”

His voice held enough concern that she trusted he would be professional about it, but Feyre shook her head. “You said you need to go.”

“I can stay.”

The moment she was encased in that warm water, she knew there would be no holding back the floodgates. Nevermind that she wasn’t prepared for Rhys to see her naked—not yet, not while she was still bony and sharp and her arm looked like that.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

Rhys pressed a hand to her cheek. It was only then that he swiped away her errant tears with his thumb. “The patrol might last a few days,” he said. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

She nearly pointed out that staying out of trouble meant staying as far away from him as she could get. But she wasn’t quite in the mood for jokes, and hearing that he would be gone for potentially days… she hadn’t realized how comforting she found his presence, until that moment.

“Enjoy your bath,” he said. “Try to eat and rest and get stronger.”

A goal. She was good at working with those.

Feyre decided she could give him one, too. “Try not to die.”

Rhys laughed. “Believe me when I say I’m very, very hard to kill.”

[mentally-ill-for-bes]

Blue Eye Samurai Analysis Episode 2

I published this post half-finished and I don't even remember when I did it, sorry everybody!! If you're reading this, the analysis is already complete, talking about the whole episode.

Thank you all for the reposts and likes!!

You can read the analysis of the first episode here.

The episode starts with the Four Fangs searching for Mizu at the petition of Heichi, however; what I like from this episode is:

Ringo, the episode serves to show the characteristics of the character, he wants to be great, he's kind and funny but mostly, he knows he's useful. It's not like he wants to be useful, he knows he's, the only person who has to see it too is Mizu.

And Mizu isn't even setting him aside because she thinks he's useless, she does it because he's kind, kind, and friendly enough to distract her from her purpose. That's why Ringo won't seek what he wants at her side.

I wonder if in these first moments between them Mizu sees Ringo's friendliness as a weakness, of the way she hides her own feelings from all the people while Ringo wears his heart on his sleeve. But the fact they're different doesn't mean Ringo is strongless than her, in the end:

"My whole life has been a battle"

Just like hers.

When Akemi and Taigen are shown, they are both in a yellowish and warm ambient, contrasting that Ringo and Mizu are both in the snow, cold and blueish.

The scene gives us more about Akemi and Taigen's character and their current priorities:

"— Why didn't he just kill me?

— The Gods have shown you a longer path

— Ugh

— You still have me, we'll be married-

— Your father will never allow it now.

— I can convince my father

— And have everyone to mock me?"

While Akemi's priority is marrying (since finally, her father allowed it), for Taigen marriage isn't enough. He's losing the status and prestige he's gained by his own hand, he was the son of a poor fisherman to the champion of the Dojo and fiancé of a princess; any kind of honor that will come with marrying her will be null, because as Taigen as Akemi's love for each other comes from the opportunity they offer to the other.

For Taigen, Akemi is some kind of "prize", he came from being no one to being someone good enough to deserve the love of a princess, as Akemi's father said, his rise reminded him of his own.

While for Akemi, I guess Taigen offers an opportunity to be in control of (at least) her marriage, he's someone she already knows, when she talks to him, she never lilts her voice since he's not in a situation of power as her father is; if she married to a lord, she would have to live with him, while if Taigen married with her, is he the one changing his home for hers (which also adds ro Taigen's estatus). In some way, with Taigen being poorer and Akemi having a royalty status, the power he could have on her is lesser than the one a lord would have being her husband where she loses power for being a women despiste being a princess.

But even when she doesn't lilt her voice to Taigen, she does have sex for him as a way of returning him the power he lost in his duel with Mizu. Also, I guess that in some way, consuming the "marriage" would also be a way to make Taigen stay in a moment where he refuses to marry due to what others will think of him.

The fact that in the sex is she who takes the initiative, basically serving him, not enjoying it, and narrating something that serves his sole fantasies; will make a clear contrast with the next sex scenes where Akemi is involved, where instead of being the one who serves, it's the men serving her, the men talking to her.

"I can see it now. You challenge him.

And like a dog, he comes running.

He faces you.

An onryo. His demon eyes.

But your courage drives him back like a squall against the sea.

You unsheathe your magnificent sword.

He lunges at you, but his sword is no match for yours.

You strike with your blade.

You draw his blood.

His eyes are like two angry waves in a storm.

They try to suck you in, but you're too strong.

You thrust your sword into him again.

And again. And again.

A final cut, you feel the hot spray of blood.

Glory!"

The whole recitation, besides having a clear gay sex background with all the swords stuff. It's also useful to keep relating Mizu with water "drives him back like a squall against the sea", and "his eyes like two angry waves in a storm" and it also relates Taigen with getting lost in it "they try to suck you in, but you're too strong" which defines pretty well Taigen's obsession with getting a duel with Mizu.

But this scene will start Akemi's arc; after saying this Taigen goes away, she loses the power she's gained over her life and fights to get that back.

Going back to Mizu and Ringo, they're walking through a cliff.

At first, I thought Mizu was being way too optimistic here, planning to kill a whole army and Frowler in one day. But considering she's already killed Violet, I wonder if she indeed killed him in 1 day (ending up mortally wounded).

When they try getting a boat, everybody is focused on drinking due to the Hadaka Matsuri. All the scenes establish how different Mizu is from the rest of Japanese society, blinded for her own revenge; probably, but still outcasting of it, while everybody drinks, everybody's happy, she never drinks, and she never smiles in this episode; besides this being a characteristic of the character, I think it's also how the show is constantly reaffirming how Mizu's doesn't entirely belong to Japanese society due to her identity of a mixed-person; just as Mizu won't entirely belong to English society in season 2.

For Mizu, there's no shame in making a home except if she's the one doing a home. As it's said in the first episode during her prayer, she lost direction in what, we'll know in episode 5; making a home. Mizu's constantly putting aside Ringo from getting closer to her, not because she considers him useless or something, but because she won't open her heart and affections to somebody who can betray her ever again. Not when this will cause her pain and will distract her from his purpose, when it's her purpose the only stable thing in her life.

In other matters, we're presented to Heiji Shindo and the white man he protects:

In episode 1, the four white men are presented surrounded by blue, here Frowley's color palette is red/orange, opposite to blue, his coat is red, his hair is orange, and even the paint he does is filled with red.

It's not just contrary to the first shot of the white men, but also to the whole Mizu's, her hair is black, his is orange; her clothes are blue, his are red, she's smaller and thin, he's taller and much bigger. While the demon Mizu's features are related to blue, the white man in person is related to red. He's not close to her, he's not even similar to her, but they're both considered demons.

But there's a difference in why they're both demons, while Mizu is one for the color of her eyes, Frowler is one for his violence, for his hunger for destruction and power, his brutality. While the reason of Mizu is considered a demon is blue, her eyes, the reason Frowler is considered one is red, like the blood he spills, like the fire that will keep following him for the rest of the season.

So, while our first shot of Mizu is in the snow, cold; the first shot of his enemy is at the side of the fire, with a corpse at his side.

While it is shown the story about the broken sword made by Mizu, some phrases about sword-making are dropped.

"Your fire" Until this moment Mizu's has been water, but she's also fire, just as she said in episode one, she has an ember, but isn't an ember a glowing wood in a dying fire?

What will see through the season is her ember becoming the greatest of fires.

But for now, let's focus on sword-making.

Through the season, both swords made by Mizu will break, as Swordfather says:

"The yaki-ire is when metal is reborn,

and the soul enters the sword.

All must be pure for the sword to be pure.

The metal, the maker, the one to wield it."

It's clearly explained, that the sword doesn't break because Mizu's a woman or because she isn't pure; it breaks because it was made for an assassin who lied to both of them. Later, Mizu's blue sword breaks, not because it was made by her hand, but because of the change in her soul.

"A soul like that is drowned in blood.

There is no stopping them.

They will always find their broken blade.

We can only mind our own soul, Mizu."

After this memory and a cold water bath, Mizu can cut a whole tree.

Because water is her peace, her "safe place" To put it into simpler terms, she's at peace with the water she's; she goes to water to cure herself after the duel with Taigen, and she goes to water when she wants calm and re-focus; she doesn't need to come in terms with water, she'll need to come in terms with the fire inside her, the fire that she ignores.

First, he's incredibly delusional and I find it hilarious. Second, he does it because he sees Mizu cutting a tree and he wants to put himself at the same level as she. But he isn't, Mizu's better than him and his arc goes through learning from her and improving his beliefs and point of view by meeting her. By admiting he can learn from her.

In a quick change, we see Akumi again being surrendered with golden lights, dressed in red and warm colors, the show just keeps reaffirming her as red and golden.

When she's presented to the lords to see the arranged marriage:

Akemi's dad has already been dressed in the same yellow and purple the lords are. For Akemi, they both mean the same, men who will make her lose her autonomy and freedom. Same as her father.

Blaking her teeth is so traumatic for her because it represents how much autonomy over herself she's losing, Taigen should black her teeth like a norm for being a bride, but with Shougon's son, she blackes her teeth as a way to please him, as even her teeth are for his enjoyment.

The Lord smiling with all his white teeth at the same time the ladies smile with their black teeth just reaffirm for Akemi the loss of power and domain women have over their own life. While Lords can do whatever they want with teeth.

And, the first time Akemi is under blue lights is in this scene.

When she's finally under the snow, under blue lights is in the moment where she lost it, she lost hope, and she's in an arranged marriage with someone she doesn't know. This is so opposite to her whole identity, which is golden lights and warm ambient, now she's in the cold, outside her domain and the things she knows and it's related to. I guess in some way she's thrown to the cold, a thing that looked unknown to her until now.

And the moment when she decides she'll run away is when she's again under golden light, in her domain, but under the water; just like Mizu.

When she's running away, she abandons the red kimono for a purple one, purple is closer to blue in the color wheel.

In other news, the Four Fangs find Mizu and:

Parallel my beloved! In episode one as in episode two Mizu is being persecuted, while in the first one, she gets cornered on a cliff resulting in Taigen saying "Go ahead. Just jump" In episode two she indeed jumps to the cliff. Using it as a strength.

Another thing I want to point up is that all the fights of Mizu are generally surrounded by red or yellow, opposite colors to her characteristic blue, in the Shindo Dojo the uniforms were yellow and all the ambient was illuminated by yellow lights; with the Four Fangs the fights occur during sunset, the sea literally looks like blood.

But water is water, and Mizu at the end is water, looking blue or red, she's water. As she's some fire at the same time. Japanese and white, water and fire, and red and blue, both exist at the same time.

In the town, Ringo is fighting for the sticks that the priestess throws, and, as Mizu, it's in the water where they can be reborn. Sure, under the hope of getting their fondest wishes, but it's still just as Mizu, getting in the water every time she needs to focus on getting her fondest wish, to kill the four white men.

She doesn't entirely fit in Japanese society, not like everyone else, but that doesn't mean she's entirely and totally different. Just like any mixed person, one never entirely fits but that doesn't mean there aren't places of meeting between one and the culture.

[roostersmustache]

Songs of Silence, One

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Author's Note: Hello guys! This is totally different, as most of you are used to my Rooster fics! But, I've gotta be honest. I've been a Loki fan far longer than I've been a Bradley Bradshaw fan, and with season two of Loki out and about (I've watched it three times), I'm hyper fixating on the God of Mischief right now! So, I hope you guys enjoy, and I hope I can reach some more Loki fans out there!

Synopsis: Ingrid was born the goddess of song. Her voice was unmatched in talent. When using her voice one evening, her voice suddenly leaves her, leaving her completely mute. Seeking out help in finding her voice, she's led to a fortune teller, who offers her more than she initially bargained for.

Warnings: None of this is accurate, Swearing, adult themes, angst, possible MCU spoilers, possible Loki spoilers.

Word Count: 5.4k

Masterlist

Being born a goddess in Asgard came with lots of fabulous parties, countless gowns and jewels, and lots of mingling with the other Gods and Goddesses Asgard housed. Ingrid had been born the goddess of song, her musicality bringing peace and prosperity to Asgardians. She could heal broken hearts with her songs, put one to sleep with her songs, and compel those to her will with her songs.

She was a kind and beautiful goddess, her name even meaning "beautiful woman." Because of her kindness, she never used her compelling voice to lure those to their deaths, or have them do as she pleased. She only used her voice for good, and it brought so much harmony to Asgard.

Her talent was unmatched on every level, and Asgardians were willing to pay her thousands to teach their offspring even a sliver of what it meant to sing like her.

But she never shared the secrets of her voice.

There weren't any secrets to be shared. She was born with her gift, and never had to work to make it better. It was the epitome of a perfect voice.

So perfect that many wanted it for themselves.

Ingrid had to be cautious of who she trusted enough to get close to her. The wrong person with the right spell could take her voice from her. While no such spell was easy, magic was a well practiced craft in Asgard, and someone highly skilled in magic could, with the right research, take her voice from her.

Her talent was mystical, and she most often used it for healing purposes. For example, when a family member passed away, people would come to her and ask for a song to ease their pain. She had a way of letting the spirits sing through her, and her songs were able to make grief easier.

Ingrid was the youngest of the Gods. She was only nineteen in Midgardian years, the sons of Odin beating her by a miniscule two years.

Ingrid lived in the castle, and she saw the royals as her second family. When she was a young girl, her parents, also Gods, were killed by the Dark Elves, so she was left orphaned. Odin and Frigga took her in, and she grew up alongside Thor and Loki.

She grew up knowing her and Thor were to be married once she reached the age of twenty. Her and Thor had grew up close, but she knew, deep down, she'd never be able to love him like she was supposed to. They say everyone has their person, and she knew Thor wasn't hers. She did love him, just in a friendly way. But she knew she'd have to bear his children, so she tried to be attracted to him, but it never worked the way it was supposed to.

"You look beautiful today, my darling," Thor said as Ingrid grabbed his arm.

They were headed to a feast to celebrate their marriage, as the wedding was set to be a month away.

"Thank you, Thor," she replied, smiling at him.

When the couple entered the grand dining room, they were greeted by cheers from all the Asgardian people in attendance. Ingrid smiled, waving at her friends, and following Thor before the two took a seat at the head of the table.

"Thank you, to all my lovely people," Thor boomed, the room going quiet. "And thank you," he started, gazing over to his fiance. "To my beautiful bride-to-be for everything. I'm the luckiest man in the nine realms to get to marry you."

Everyone at the table swooned, Ingrid looking over and giving Thor a smile. He raised his glass and everyone followed suit, a toast in order.

"To love!" Thor cheered.

"To love!" Everyone else cheered.

Ingrid just raised her glass, she didn't say anything else. A part of her mourned the fact that she'd never be able to find her true love. She only hoped that one day her heart would come to love Thor the way that a lover should.

She took leisurely sips of her wine, laughing at someones joke every once and awhile. She loved the people of Asgard, and she knew it was the highest honor to become their queen, but her heart longed to love. It longed to be loved by an all consuming love, one that challenged her and thrilled her, excited her in ways she never even knew possible.

But she'd never get the chance to find it.

"What about a song from the lady?" A man said, standing up and motioning his glass towards Ingrid.

"Oh," she stuttered, caught off guard by the request.

"Yes," another man piped up. "A song from the goddess to bless her marriage!"

"I mean," she blushed. "I don't have anything prepared."

"What could the goddess of song not have prepared? Sing us something!" Another man boomed.

"I don't know, I mean, I don't really think I have it in me to sing right now," she sheepishly replied.

"Oh come on, darling," Thor smiled. "Sing us something."

"I don't really want to," she said to Thor, giving him a tight smile.

Ingrid never liked to be put on the spot, and Thor knew that. But she also couldn't deal with disappointing people, so saying no wasn't something she was good at. Thor also knew this.

"Aw how come?" Thor boomed, obviously a bit drunk, as he smiled down at her. "Bless us and our marriage with a song!"

"I don't- Thor, I didn't prepare to sing anything," she said, silently pleading with him to let it go.

"You're the goddess of song," he emphasized. "You don't need to prepare anything," he smiled.

Ingrid often had anxiety around being put on the spot, as she liked to have a sort of mental preparation. Ingrid suffered from a severe case of PTSD, which contributed to her severe anxiety.

When she lost her parents, she was ten years old. She watched as the dark elves stormed into her home and brutally murdered both of her parents in front of her. They only missed her because she hid in her parents closet.

The images of her parents being killed stayed with her, haunting her.

It's safe to say her anxiety was prominent in her life.

"Thor," she started whispering. "Everyone is looking at me, I don't think I should sing right now."

"C'mon darling, everyone loves your voice! I mean look at them," Thor said, gesturing to the group of people in the dining room, looking excitedly at their goddess of song.

"I don't want to," she said.

"Ingrid, you're the goddess of song, I don't understand-"

"The lady said she didn't want to sing, therefore she won't," a voice said from the back of the dining hall.

The voice in question came from none other than Thor's brother, Loki. Ingrid and Loki had always gotten along. He understood her traumas, since he had found out he was adopted a couple years back.

Her and Loki had grown up never too close, but never distant either. They would often just sit with each other and read in the library. He always kept to himself, but he always tried to be out of his brothers shadow as well. Ingrid had always found Loki fascinating, his magic so strong yet himself so quiet. But when he did have something to say, it was always well worded and intelligent.

When Loki spoke up, the entire dining hall went silent, and all eyes gazed to him. He was dressed in his more casual Asgardian leather, yet nevertheless eye catching. His hair was slicked back as it always was, his black curls resting on his shoulders.

"Ah, brother!" Thor announced. "How wonderful of you to join us!"

"How could I ever miss such an occasion?" He sarcastically remarked, his hand landing over his heart.

As he walked to the table to take a seat, he made eye contact with Ingrid, who mouthed a 'thank you' to him. He just nodded and smiled back at her.

The rest of the party went on as they all do; they ate, Thor and his friends had too many beers to count, and the others mingled together. Ingrid felt overwhelmed by the noise and commotion in the room, so she wandered out to the garden. The gardens were her favorite place in the castle, the flowers and plants always having a way of soothing her. Freyr always did wonders for the gardens.

Her favorite was the Dreamshade plant, an Asgard specialty. It was beautiful when it bloomed. Next to the Dreamshade plot of the garden was a beautiful wooden, white swing next to it, hung by a tree. Ingrid would often find herself out there reading.

She sat down on the swing and started to rock back and forth. She sipped on the wine she had carried with her, the liquid making her warm with each sip she took. The breeze encapsulated her, sending a chill down her spine.

She heard the boom of Thor's laughter from inside and took another swig of her wine. She was supposed to be Asgard's blushing bride, they're grateful queen to be. But instead, she's sitting in the garden, away from her own party for her own marriage, fighting back tears. She was orphaned at ten, and months after she had been taken in by the king and queen, she was betrothed to Thor. Her future had been written for her before she was old enough to fully harness the concept of true love and marriage.

And she did, she did love Thor. They had grown up together. Just as she loved Loki. But Thor never made her feel the way her friends' partners made them feel. They'd all talk about butterflies, feeling giddy. All she felt was a longing for something she didn't have.

She wished her voice could cure her own sadness.

"Ingrid?" Came the voice of Loki. He had found his way out to her at the gardens, slowly walking up to her as to not wake her.

"Loki," she gasped, breaking out of her trance. She then noticed the tears that had fallen down her face, quickly wiping them away.

"Why are you crying?" He asked, coming to sit next to her.

"I don't know," she said. "I didn't even realize I was."

"Is everything alright?"

"Nothings alright," she whispered. "I just, I feel hopeless and, I don't know. I'm sorry, I've had too much wine," she hiccuped.

"It's okay, we've all had too much wine," he grinned.

"It's good wine."

"It is indeed."

Her and Loki sat in silence. They let the breeze wash over them, and they let the smell of the flowers consume them. Ingrid was drunk, and she knew this because she felt like she could go up to Thor and tell him she didn't want to get married to him. At the end of the day, she'd never do such a thing, but the fact that it was even a thought she had confirmed the wine had done it's job.

The wine was also making her think things she shouldn't be thinking at all.

Looking over to Loki, she let her eyes wander over his smooth features, and the sharp curve of his jaw. He was sculpted perfectly, and on Midgard, they liked to say handsome men looked like "Greek Gods." Loki wasn't a Greek God, but he was a God.

Ingrid had always had a crush on Loki. He was charismatic yet smart. Funny yet serious, and mischievous at the same time. He always excited her, made her stomach knot when he teased her. He made a blush arise to her cheeks that never appeared for anyone else.

But she never let this crush get the best of her or distract her from what she was supposed to be focused on.

The wine allowed these thoughts to push through, though.

"I don't think," she started. "I don't think I wish to marry Thor."

"What?" Loki asked, his head snapping to her.

"I don't love him like that."

"I don't understand," Loki said, his brow furrowing. "You two have always been in love."

"It's been fake," she said, taking another gulp of her wine. "For me, at least."

"Ingrid-"

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all of this. I should," she hiccups. "I should get to bed."

As she tries to stand, Ingrid's wine glass falls out of her hands, smashing on the ground. Her legs start to wobble, and before she knows it, she too is falling to the ground. Loki is at her side in an instant, catching her before her head hits the grass.

"Ingrid, darling," he gasped at her. "You've got to be more careful."

"I'm sleepy," is all that she mumbles, her eyes rolling shut.

"Okay," Loki says, hoisting her into his arms. "Lets get you to bed then."

Loki proceeded to carry her out of the garden and around the side of the castle to a side entrance, wanting to keep people from seeing them in this state together to prevent gossip. Through the corridors and up the stairs leading to her room, Ingrid was giggling at random things that she saw.

Once Loki got upstairs to her room, he carried her inside and gently placed her on the bed. She sighed contentedly when she felt her plush covers beneath her, melting into her mattress. She slowly blinked her eyes open, grinning when she noticed Loki looking down at her.

"Comfortable?" He asked.

"Yes," she sighed. "Thank you for bringing me up here."

"Of course."

"Loki?" She piped up, sitting up on her elbows. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he replied, taking a seat on her bed.

"Will everyone despise me if I don't say yes to Thor at the altar?"

She watched as Loki's expression softened, his head tilting to the side. She didn't want to cause a fuss, but she couldn't see herself living a long and prosperous life with Thor.

"Ingrid," he started. "Where is this coming from? Everyone thinks the two of you are in love."

"I've never gotten to explore any romantic interests of any kind because i've always been promised to him. But I don't love him like that. I've tried, Loki. He's not the one for me."

"I don't know if you have much of a choice, darling," Loki says, his lips flattening into a disappointed straight line. "What Odin wants, Odin gets."

"He's not the one that I want," she whispered, staring at Loki intently.

His brows furrowed and then relaxed again. Ingrid knew that her remark was suggestive, and would definitely be something she regretted saying the following afternoon. But as per the wine, it felt very appropriate to say.

"I suppose if your suitor of choice is as high of rank as a God to be king, Odin might not have as many complaints."

"He's something like that," she sighed.

Loki began to respond to her, but he was stopped by two sharp knocks on her door. She gave Loki a puzzled look, and he gave her a puzzled look back, neither one of them knowing who could be at the door.

Loki stood and went to the door to open it, and when he did, it was revealed to be Thor on the other side. Loki moved aside to let his brother in, and Thor's eyes immediately went to Ingrid.

"There you are, darling. Are you alright?"

"Yes, just sleepy," she replied, her eyes blinking slowly.

"Why did you escort my lady to her bed chambers without letting me know?" Thor asked, turning to his brother who stood silently in the corner.

"Because she was passing out in the gardens and I didn't want anyone seeing her in such a vulnerable state," Loki replied.

"Passing out in the gardens?" Thor said, whipping around to look at his bride lying on the bed, still in her evening gown.

"I've had a bit too much wine," she said, pinching her fingers in the air as an example of how much wine she's had.

"Why did you even leave to the gardens in the first place?" Thor asks.

"It was loud," she sighs.

"I'm sorry, darling. I know me and my friends can be loud at times."

"Very loud," she annunciated.

Ingrid pushed herself up off of her bed and stumbled into her closet and grabbed one of her silk nightgowns, walking back out and throwing it down on her bed. She started undoing the pins in her hair, feeling immediate relief at the release of tension in her head. The two brothers stood there watching her, and she stopped her motions to give them both a quizzical look.

"What?" She asked. "Have neither of you seen a lady get ready for bed?"

They both stuttered out sorries as they started to exit the room. Thor crossed over to Ingrid and kissed her cheek, whispering a goodnight to her. She caught Loki's eye by her door, and she gave him a small smile. He nodded back to her. The two brothers exited her room, and once she heard the door click she brushed her dress off of her shoulders.

Once she was ready, Ingrid slipped under her covers. She could still feel the alcohol coursing through her veins.

Before her parents passed away, her mother would sing her a song before bed every night. It stuck with her, and sometimes the goddess would sing it to herself before bed, just to imagine her mother there with her. Tonight was one of those nights.

Ingrid felt helpless, her marriage to Thor was rapidly approaching, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She needed her mothers advice more than anything. So Ingrid sang her song.

Nuku, nuku nurmilintu, Väsy, väsy, västäräkki Nuku nurmelle hyvälle Vaivu maalle valkialle. Lintu tuopi liinahapaijan Haapana hyvän hamehen Kaskeloinen korvatyynyn Pääskynen peäalusen Nuku, nuku nurmilintu Väsy, väsy, västäräkki Nuku nurmelle hyvälle Vaivu maalle valkialle.

Ingrid sang her song louder than she's ever sang it before. Usually she would sing it as a whisper, only to keep for herself. But she felt (probably because of the wine) that everyone needed to hear it. And everyone did hear it. Everyone in Asgard heard their goddesses song, and they heard the pain and longing in her voice as she sang. It was vulnerable, and it was beautiful.

And it lulled her and the entire kingdom to sleep.

~~

Ingrid woke the next morning to being shook by her shoulders.

As she opened her eyes, she saw Thor, Frigga, Loki, and a few castle healers surrounding her on her bed. Thor was shaking her awake, concern written all over his face. Everyone looked worried, and Ingrid looked quizzically back at them.

"What?" She asked, worried as to why everyone was so concerned about her.

"Ingrid," Thor said. "Ingrid, are you alright? We've been trying to wake you for an hour. It's one in the afternoon."

Ingrid shot up at that, looking to her clock to confirm the time. She had never slept that long. Wine wouldn't do that to her either, as she's had her fair share of drunken nights far worse than the one she had last night.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure why I did that," she said, but the people surrounding her just looked more confused.

"Ingrid, darling, what are you saying?" Frigga asked, taking a step closer to her."

"I'm asking-," She started, but she realized that not a single sound was coming out. "Can you not hear me?"

"Darling, we can't hear you," Thor said. "You're just moving your mouth."

All of the blood drained from Ingrid's face as it hit her all at once.

Her song.

She sang her lullaby last night in a very drunk and vulnerable state, making her an easy target. And she was loud. Everyone in the kingdom heard her sing. And someone had done the one thing she had feared.

They had taken her voice.

As soon as it clicked in her mind, her eyes locked to Loki's, and she could tell that he had made the same observation.

"Someone took her voice," he stated, his eyes never leaving hers.

"That's impossible," Thor said, standing up.

"Oh no, it's quite possible, brother," Loki stated, his hands clasped behind his back. "A strong sorcerer heard her song last night, and the vulnerability behind it, and used the right spell. Her voice is gone."

"That cannot be!" Thor boomed, pacing around the room. "Who dare strip my bride of her Godly power?"

"Thor," Frigga said, walking over and comforting her son. "Whoever did this to dear Ingrid will be punished. We will find them."

"What are we supposed to do, mother? She's a goddess, and she's lost her ability. People need her," Thor said.

"She is more than just her gift, my son. She will help her people in incredible ways without her voice."

"Mother, she is the goddess of song. Not the goddess of kindness. She is not a goddess without her voice," Thor stated, blankly.

To hear Thor say this about her, in her bedroom, made her mouth run dry. It was as if she wasn't in the room to him. It was hurtful, and she had never heard Thor speak of her in this way.

"Thor," Frigga scolded. "You know better than that."

"She is not worthy of Asgard's throne if she cannot serve her people like she so promised!" He yelled.

The room fell silent, and Ingrid drew her knees up to her chest to hug them, tears freely falling from her eyes. The only thing that could be heard throughout the room were Ingrid's quiet sniffles, and everyones eyes turned to her when they started.

Thor's eyes immediately softened when he met her teary ones, guilt racing across his face.

"Ingrid, my darling," he started, walking up to her. "I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry-"

But he was cut off by Ingrid's hand shooting up to stop him. He bounced back, hurt flashing across his eyes.

"Ingrid," he pleaded.

She shook her head in response, as no sound would leave her vocals.

"You should go," Frigga said.

"Mother," he said, looking over to Frigga.

"No, Thor. You've done enough damage, it's best for you to go."

With a sigh, and one last regretful look at Ingrid, Thor walked out of her room. Once he left, Ingrid's shoulders started to heave, sobs wracking through her body. She had just woken up, and it was so much to process. She hadn't even gotten the chance to full realize her voice had been stolen from her before the man she considered one of her best friends and was supposed to marry started hurling insults about her in her own bedroom.

Frigga sat down on her bed and pulled her into her. She combed through her hair and whispered sweet words to her to calm her down. Frigga was the closest thing Ingrid had to a mother, and she made her feel better when she needed a mom.

"We will overcome this, my darling," Frigga said. "We'll find whoever took your voice from you. You are no less of a goddess this morning than you were last night. I'm truly sorry for my sons words."

"It's okay," Ingrid said, or tried to say. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and just nodded back at Frigga instead.

"Loki," Frigga said, motioning for her other son. "Why don't you entertain our girl with some of your magic? Or perhaps a card game? You two used to love to play together."

Loki gave his mother a small smile and nodded his head at her.

"Of course, mother," he replied.

"Thank you, my boy. She is in need of a friend."

Frigga exited the room, along with the healers, leaving Ingrid alone with Loki. She sighed before looking at him, his eyes swiftly meeting hers. The silence was uncomfortable. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. She wanted to apologize for her actions and words last night, she wanted to confide in him about her tumultuous love life, and she wanted to tell him he was the one that she wanted. But everything would have to be left unsaid.

When they were children, Loki would often put on 'magic shows' for Ingrid. Once, Odin asked for one, and Loki told his father that they were 'only for Ingrid.' His magic entertained her, and he knew this, so each time he'd put on a show for her, he made sure he was showing his favorite tricks.

"So," Loki started, carefully taking a seat next to her on the bed. "I've been working on a new trick."

Ingrid sat up a bit at that, her interest showing. Loki took this as her go ahead.

He raised his hand in the air, palm face up, and mini fireworks started coming out of thin air in the palm of his hand. Ingrid let a smile grace her features, a laugh wanting to escape her so badly.

"It's nothing huge," the God said. "But it's pretty."

Ingrid nodded her head at him, her smile widening. He let out an airy laugh, smiling back at her. He closed his hand, making the fireworks disappear. Ingrid let her smile settle, and his did too. She felt his hand creep to hers, grabbing it in his large hand and giving it a squeeze. Loki's hands were soft. Silky smooth. Just like his voice. Ingrid looked down at their hands, and then looked back to him, her gaze questioning.

"I'm sorry for what my brother said," he started, his gaze soft upon her. "And I'm sorry for the predicament you're in."

Her gaze hardened, a blush forming on her cheeks. She had hoped she had dreamt about telling Loki about her true desires regarding her marriage, but it was evident she had confided in him.

"I've not forgotten our little talk last night," he confirmed, making the girl look away from him. "And I want to help you. I know how it feels to be burdened with something you don't want."

"How can you help?" Ingrid so badly wanted to ask. She wasn't used to not having her voice, and she didn't like it.

"And I'm sorry that you lost your voice," he continued. "You're still a goddess, Ingrid. You always will be. No one can strip you of that."

She gave him a faint smile in return, squeezing his hand back. His hands were ice cold, yet she didn't shiver away from his touch. In fact, she wanted more of his touch. Loki had always brought her comfort, but her hand in his gave her a sense of being grounded no touch had ever given her before.

Everyone knew Loki and Ingrid had a connection deeper than they understood. Loki had never been one to open up, but he had always told Ingrid everything. She too, told him her deepest secrets. They had both seen each other in their most vulnerable states, therefore creating a bond no one could understand.

She had always had feelings for the prince, but she felt naughty when she thought of acting on them. After all, she was engaged to his brother, the future king. She should be fawning over Thor, the future king of Asgard. But instead, Ingrid often found herself lusting over Loki in the shadows.

"Ingrid," Loki's voice said, but this time in her head, his silky voice sending chills down her spine. She gave him a startled look, his telepathic abilities something she wasn't used to. "You can speak back," he continued.

"This is oddly frightening," she said back, not really sure if he could hear her say that or not.

"But now you have someone to speak to," Loki's voice said, confirming he had heard her.

"I can't believe that worked," she said, looking at him wide eyed. They had never communicated telepathically to one another. She knew that he could, but she couldn't. He had obviously made it to where she could communicate back with him. She hoped he couldn't read her mind.

"I can," he said. When she looked at him, mortified, he had a small smirk playing on his lips. "I can hear everything you're thinking."

"Loki stop," she threatened. "I'm more than happy to speak with you because I need it, but I can't have you reading my mind."

"Why? Something naughty you don't want me to know?" He smirked.

Her face heated up, and at the mention of naughty thoughts, images of Loki popped into her head. She quickly willed those thoughts away, her face turning bright red out of fear he saw her thoughts of him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, grinning at her.

"Loki, get out of my head," she warned.

"But I'm curious as to why you think of me so much," he replied.

If her face wasn't red before, it was cherry red now. She looked at him mortified, and put her head in her hands, shaking it. She was hoping that her actions were enough to get the God out of her head. His laughter rumbled throughout the room as he watched the girl in front of him, clearly in distress.

He moved to sit closer to her on the bed, and her breath hitched. She peeked an eye at him, and she saw him smirking down at her. She was feeling hot, her hands clammy and her forehead sweaty. Loki being this close to her in this state was making her feel fuzzy, and she couldn't tell if she wanted away from him or if she wanted closer to him.

"Who do you desire, my dear?" His voice still in her head, making goosebumps break out all over her body. "Who were you speaking of last night when you said you wanted someone other than Thor?"

"Loki," she said sternly, a warning. If he kept on, she didn't know how long she'd be able to hold her resolve.

"Tell me," he growled, his hand finding purchase on her thigh.

She lightly jumped at the contact, her mouth parting, the air leaving her lungs. She didn't think he felt the same about her, and the realization that he did was both thrilling and terrifying. It excited her because she had always had feelings for him, and it terrified her because of Thor.

"Of course I feel the same, Ingrid," he said, and she took in a sharp breath of air. "How could I not?"

"Because I'm marrying Thor," she said.

"I don't care. You clearly don't want to marry him."

She was at a loss for words, literally and figuratively. Loki was her greatest friend, and she worried what this would do to their relationship. She didn't know how they would go forward. She was to be married in a month and that terrified her.

"This is not how I expected my day to go," she said to him.

"Mine either," Loki chuckled, this time out loud. "I should let you rest, dear. I'm going to assist Odin in finding who stole your voice."

She just nodded at him as he stood up off the bed. She bent back down, however, caging Ingrid in between his arms, causing her to lean back onto her elbows. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and he smirked back at her. One of his hands came up and settled under her jaw, cupping her cheek. She instinctively leaned into his touch, her cheeks bright red again. He leaned forward and took his thumb across her lips, huffing out a laugh as her lips parted.

"Don't think I'll forget this talk," he drawled, his voice deep and smooth like chocolate.

She nodded back at him, swallowing the lump in her throat. He pulled her forward by the neck, and she stopped breathing as she expected his lips upon hers, her eyes fluttering shut. But instead of his lips finding hers, she felt them firmly press on her forehead.

"See you later, darling," he smirked, pulling away from her and laughing as she sat on the bed dazed and wide eyed.

She watched as he sauntered out of her room, and she let out the breath she had been holding. Her hand found her chest, and she placed it there as she slowed her rapid heartbeat. She flopped back on her bed, a small smile forming on her lips.

Maybe this month wouldn't be so bad after all.

~~

A/N: Yaaas! It's done! Lemme know what you think! Definitely more parts to come! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series!

[derxwnakapsyla]

Derxwna's Insane Ramblings - The Hakurei God "Headcanon"

So, this is the "Headcanon" I've come up with in regards to the identity of the Hakurei God. It utilizes some of the concepts that have been brought up in Touhou media. Not a whole lot, but there is one key concept that I've latched onto as a sort of "crux" for this insane concept.

I will warn you now: this has holes in it. In no way is this a stable "theory". It's the product of coming up with how I wanted to handle certain aspects of Touhoumon Asteria's story to make it less... depressing. And also to avoid a specific trope that the old draft made. Anyway!

By the time this headcanon takes place, Maribel is experimenting with the abilities she showcased during Trojan Green Asteroid, and they have reached a point where she can more consciously manipulate boundaries. Renko and Maribel take frequent adventures through her use of these abilities. It isn't perfect though, and this is reflected as such on one adventure where Maribel ends up, albeit unintentionally, manipulating the boundaries between past and present, leaving both her and Renko stranded an indeterminate time in the past, long before modern era.

The two of them eventually come across a shrine, and are taken in by the head priest of said shrine. For free room and board, Renko and Maribel offer to assist around the shrine, lending aid where they can. While this is going on, Maribel continues to practice with her own powers.

Both Renko and Maribel are trained in the practice of being shrine maidens for the shrine they were living at, offering services in place of the head priest of the shrine. People took a shine toward Renko the most, as she was able to help them with her modern knowledge, which people of this era considered to be "miracles". In turn, the amount of faith they were pouring into Renko specifically began to change her from a normal human into an Arahitogami- a Living God.

Maribel's experimentations with her abilities also began to warp her from being a normal human. Traditionally, she would be referred to as a "Magician". But a human who becomes a magician is just one step removed from losing their humanity entirely and becoming something else- in her specific case, a Youkai.

(I think you're starting to see where this is all going.)

Both Renko and Maribel noticed that, while the head priest and their children were getting older, they themselves were not. They did not age any further, did not look any older. Time effectively stopped for the both of them. Both had transcended their humanity, in very different ways. Renko, becoming effectively the de-facto god of the shrine they were staying at, and Maribel, who separated herself from her humanity and became a Youkai with the ability to manipulate boundaries.

The two of them knew that there was no way their future-past selves could learn about this- they themselves didn't know after all. Using the newfound control of her powers, Maribel manipulated the boundary between the Known and Unknown to completely erase hers and Renko's name from history. In order to seal their fate, Maribel adopted a new name- Yukari Yakumo.

Eventually, the shrine the two of them stayed at was merged with another clan when the priests from one married into another family. A clan of powerful Youkai Hunters, with the surname "Hakurei". The shrine was then renamed to the Hakurei Shrine, with its patron, god, a girl flung far from her time, residing in the shadows. And a Youkai, someone who should be vehemently opposed to the concept of Youkai Hunters, acting as its guardian, offering to train its Priests and Priestesses.

BUT THATS JUST A THEORY

A GAME THEORY

THANKS FOR READING

[runnning-outof-time]

A Call For Help… | Tommy Shelby (written through letters)

Request: no - part of @raincoffeeandfandoms ‘s Peaky letter writing event

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC (written in form of letters)

Summary: Tommy tries to find a way to better an old flame’s current situation while also hoping to make her aware of the fact that things have changed since they last saw each other.

Warnings: mentions of abuse, starvation and isolation, mentions of an arranged marriage

Word Count: 1413

A/N: this is unlike anything I’ve ever written before…thank you Flor for creating this super unique event, and Aimee ( @dandelionprints ) for writing the first letter - it was so fun to respond to…I hope it’s ok that I took a bit of an angsty route, and I hope that it makes sense. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: the woman mentioned at the end of the second letter is not Grace (or at least I did not imagine it to be as I was writing). She doesn’t have a name though, so it could be her if you want.

— letter writtten by @dandelionprints —

Dear Tommy,

I'm sorry if it comes as a surprise that I'm writing you this letter, I'll completely understand if you decide to read no further than this part, throw it into a fire and scatter the ashes as if ridding yourself of me for good.

I fear you were not told the truth about why I went away. I'm sure my father told you that I'd had a change of heart, that I could never truly love someone who called themselves a 'Peaky Blinder'. Oh how wrong that could be.

The truth is that it was not my choice to be parted from you, in fact I kicked and screamed with all my might to stay but it did no good. I was still manhandled into a car and driven off to Scotland to wed a man that I cannot stand, a man who knows nothing of loyalty or love. A man who is nothing like you.

My father told me that it had been agreed between himself and my now husband's father that I were to be married into their family, all to settle a debt that my father created by drinking and gambling his way through his wages. If I married this man then his father would rid mine of his debts and make sure that my parents would live a comfortable life.

Why they wanted me of all people, I don't know. I have no money to give them, only services that I'm forced to do against my will, otherwise a beating is in order. Sometimes I take the beating, I'd rather that than to do the things they want me to. All I do know is that I wish it could be different, wish that I could have stayed back in Birmingham with you...

Anyway, I'm sorry. You probably don't need to know about that and also probably don't care. It's been two years since you last heard from me so I completely understand if you want nothing to do with me. You might even have a new love now, I wouldn't blame you if you do.

They stopped me from sending letters to anyone but my parents, I have to be chaperoned everywhere I go.

I've lied and said I don't feel well today and the man whose job it is to make sure I don't do anything I shouldn't has left me in my room to sleep though I fear he will be back soon. I knew I had to use the time wisely and write to the person I've wanted to speak to since the moment I was dragged from my house by the arms all that time ago. You.

I'm planning an escape soon, I can't take much more of this life. The beatings, the withholding of food to the point that my clothes hang off my frame, the feeling that there is not a soul around that I can turn to for comfort.

I don't know where I will go but I won't be able to leave this God forsaken place for at least another month. If you write a letter in response to this then please find a way to get it here without having to go past other people in this house first, I'll never get the chance to read it if it does.

As I said before, I'll understand if you have a new love or if you just want nothing to do with me, time has passed now and feelings change. I'll leave it up to you to decide what to do.

Yours, always,

Aimee

— letter written by myself —

Aimee,

I'm sorry.

I haven't a clue of how long your letter has sat on my desk. A lengthy trip to America took me away from Birmingham for some time and I've just finally gotten back to my office now.

It's been too long, Aimee. Since I've seen you; since I've heard from you. And the reason behind it makes sense now, but it was a struggle to figure it out in the interim.

I hate to know what has happened to you; what the reason behind the silence was. I would have fought against it had I known what type of situation you'd be taken into. I wish this letter would have found me sooner. Maybe if it had, things could have been resolved before they got to their current point.

I looked for you around Small Heath, and when it turned up empty; I widened the search to the whole of Birmingham. The decision to write this letter came when those efforts returned unsuccessful. I write it with the hope that you have not since left this address, and that you will receive it when I send it out.

Help will come, Aimee. I cannot give all of the details here for fear of interception, but know that I will do all that I can in order to improve your situation.

The man that your father struck a deal with is easily influenced, as I am sure you might have already figured out. I have spoken to him and have managed to get him to switch some of his operations around. He has hired some of my men onto his payroll, and they will allow us to trade correspondence in the future; if you feel inclined to, that is. When the time comes, you will be able to leave, and if things go according to how I have planned them, that time will arrive sooner than later.

As for the man you were made to marry...the things he does are worse than anything I have ever carried out. How your parents cannot see that perplexes me and makes me wonder if there was more than the debt that needed to be paid back. I could have helped, Aimee. I could have made your father's situation disappear; I could have changed your entire family's life for the better. How can he be wary of me but yet sell his daughter to a man who so clearly resembles the devil in all of his doings? I never understood how he conducted things; how he could be so scornful at times, but I withstood that to continue to be with you.

I was told that you moved away. That you had dreams bigger than Small Heath and you were finally going to work towards achieving them. I should have recognized the dullness in your mother's eyes when she told me these things, but I was not one to over-analyze what was put forth as the truth then. I understood what it was, and is, like to hold dreams that others think are too big to become reality. I've worked hard to make the Shelby Company Limited into what it is today, and I guess a part of myself was content with thinking that you were off wherever it was that you went, also working hard to make your dreams a reality. Had I known what your actual reality was…

So much has changed over the years we’ve been apart from each other, but I cannot deny the fact that reading your words allowed me to escape back to a time when things were easier. When there wasn’t much else other than you and I. I often think of those times; of you in the summer, sitting under a blue sky with not a care in the world. You always felt much better outside, and thinking of those times makes me feel better…like the weight of the world is lifted off of my shoulders, even if only for a moment.

But like I said, things have changed since then. I’ve found someone whom I love. She has become my wife and has given me a son. They ground me in a way that you used to.

I couldn’t wait for you, Aimee. I had to allow myself to continue on with my life while thinking that you were bettering yours. I thought I’d never hear from you again. I needed to move on.

I want to help you though, and things will get better. They just may not get better in the way that you’d hoped upon writing your letter.

I hope to hear from you again,

Tommy

Tagged: @zablife @call-sign-shark @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @cljordan-imperium @there-goes-thefighter

MASTERLIST

[tarotoftheendless]

Sandman Ships

Ok, so since the first season dropped on Netflix there as been a lot of Dream of the Endless love especially with how absolutely gorgeous they made him look thanks to Tom Sturridge already being a beautiful man. And Tom has knack for coming into his projects and serving absolute cunt... and depending on the project, he comes in, serves cunt, has sexual chemistry with everyone, and then either leaves or even just straight up dies. That's Tom for you.

And it wasn't any different in The Sandman. He comes in, serves cunt, looks hella tortured and sad, and then tries to be all dominating when he is in fact just an absolute cinnamon roll that needs a hug and or a decent fuck. Over a hundred years in a glass bowl will make one both touch adverse but also touch starved, so...

Anyway, there are a couple ships that I do get, one ship that I get but is controversial and then a ship I don't get at all because they had no chemistry at all.

First and foremost, Hob Gadling and Dream. This whole friendship is queer-coded. They have a meet cute, a curiosity about one another, flirting, denial, reconnection... it was so romantic it's ridiculous. So, yeah, I am on the Dreamling train for sure. The way they look at each other, the way Hob was super jealous when Dream left him to go fuck Shakespeare (you absolutely know that Dream fucked Shakespeare to "inspire" him), the way Hob came to Dream's defense when 1789 Johanna Constantine came with her men with demands, the way Hob tried to bring up the fact that Dream is lonely, the way Hob looked so sad when he realized he got stood up, the way his eyes lit up when Dream finally came. Yeah, Hob is head over heals in love with Dream. Dream might need some convincing, but he is intrigued and curious about Hob in a way that he can't quite put his finger on but it is not just friendship.

I am still mad that because Dream was captured that we lost out on seeing 1989 Dream... he would've been so goth and hot it would've been criminal. I hope they do an 1980's thing in the show at some point so we can see Tom go all out in a 1980's look and the goth/metal look from that era. Tom would look so good and Hob would just die for it like the rest of us.

The other ship I see with Dream is actually modern Johanna Constantine. I don't see many people talk about their chemistry here on Tumblr but I have seen a few fanfics on AO3, so, some people agree with me. Just the way they spoke to each other, how close they stood to each other, some lingering looks. Johanna is bisexual too, so, I see it. Their chemistry was off the charts. Also, he actually listens to her when she calls him out on his bullshit. She actually gets through to him a bit, it seems, you know. A sign of respect, which all good relationships need, romantic/sexual or not, to be a halfway decent relationship.

Now the controversial one; Dream and Desire. Yeah, yeah. They're siblings. I know. They still had chemistry. Dream pulling their head back? Yeah, that was hot. And they are literally more than gods. If the gods of mythology and lore are always marrying family members, why would more than gods beings not sometimes partake in relations with their own relations? They aren't human and therefore are not bound by the same laws and rules and morals as us humans are. I am not trying to make a case or an excuse for incest as a whole, because I am not, incest is bad, but I am saying that beings that aren't human might not view incest the same as we do when it comes to other beings that are like them.

I have not read the comics fully, but apparently Desire used to be Dream's favorite, like they used to be close, whatever that looked like... and then Dream got with someone and Desire started to fuck with Dream's love life... as far as I know the comics never say how Desire was Dream's favorite, but would it be completely out of left field if they had been romantic at one time? Dreams and desires have very similar functions, they as concepts work well with one another, so, it wouldn't surprise me is Dream and Desire had been intimate once upon a time... and that would explain why Dream and Desire had a falling out after Dream started to pull away and explore other romantic interests. It is just a thought. Like I said, I have not read all the comics yet.

The one ship I do not see and will never see is The Corinthian and Dream. Yes, Dream is a dark and brooding goth twink (I know the term is outdated, but if there is another term I could use to describe him better, please let me know) and then we have our charismatic Southern hospitable gay serial killer man that is one of Dream's own creations, a nightmare... and Dream is the Dreaming and if the dreams and nightmares are Dream's creations and of the Dreaming and Dream is the Dreaming... then this would be narcissistic... though we all know Dream is sort of self important... and Cori (I'm just gonna call him that for simplicity sake), is also very much in his "but what about what I want?" era... so, both have those narcissistic tendencies, but Cori is so fed up with Dream I don't see this ever being romantic or sexual. I didn't see the chemistry, it wasn't there. It is more of a parent child relationship. And whereas I don't agree with Cori going out and inspiring a literally army of serial killers, he is very much like a millennial older child trying to talk to their boomer parent about their own toxicity. Cori is disillusioned with Dream and the way he runs things in the Dreaming. Dream is cold, unfeeling, too focused on the status quo and Cori wants to change all that. This relationship never came off as sexual or romantic, I'm sorry. All the Corintheus shippers out there, I'm sorry, but I don't buy it or see it. maybe the comics it was more prominent but Tom and Boyd didn't play it like that. I know Tom tends to have sexual chemistry with almost every costar he has ever had, but Boyd was/is not one of them.

Anyway, that's all the ships that I have seen in The Sandman show and then the one that other people saw that I just don't see at all. What do ya'll think?