#silk 2.6

[morsesnotes]

[icterid-rubus]

I attended the Handweavers Guild showcase and sale and I am feeling the Crafting Itch. I desire this ability. Mmmmm textiles.

[targaryen-dynasty]

GUILELESS.

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

The streets of Flea Bottom most definitely were not the place a noblewoman like you should seek out at night, but tonight marked one of the last nights you got to enjoy your freedom for you were to wed in four days.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; CNC, DUB-CON, p in v, roleplay, profanity, tiddy fucking, degrading, punishing, humiliating, public sex, slight oral (m receiving) and overstimulation, blink and you‘ll miss the breeding and size kink, vague description of fem!Martell!Reader (dark hair, dark eyes, small body)

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: Killing two birds with one stone with this thing. Written for this and this request.

The streets of Flea Bottom were in an uproar with hundreds of gold cloaks roaming around to restore law and order in the foulest and most lawless district of the Westerosi capital. It most definitely was not the place a noblewoman like you should seek out, but tonight marked one of the last nights you got to enjoy your freedom for you were to wed in four days.

Your reddish gown had been replaced by the clothes of a boy. A wide, black tunic and gray breeches hid your body, and your long, brown curls were covered by a black cloak. The boots you wore were surprisingly more comfortable than the sandals you wore around court, yet they were not at all appropriate to be paired to the finest, dornish silk you usually donned.

On your way through the dimly lit alleyways, you bumped shoulders with more than one commoner that fled the scene you were too eager to see. Coming closer to the source of the agonizing screams, you stopped just short of the crowd, barely out of the alleyway.

To your left was a pillow house, the ornate lamp of gilded metal and scarlet glass swung over the door casting you in a red light. You tried to move further and squeeze past the wall of curious bystanders, before your wrist was seized by something firm that caused you to gasp.

“A lady like you should be careful wandering the streets alone at such hour,” a deep voice drawled out. As you turned around, you immediately noticed who had you in a tight hold, the long, silver strands of hair peeking from beneath the helmet a dead giveaway–just like the surcoat depicting the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen that none of the other gold cloaks around you wore. Daemon Targaryen, Lord Commander of the City Watch.

You straightened your back, and decided not to show any of your emotions. Especially not the nervousness that soared through your veins. “I shall have you know that I am no lady,” you replied sternly, though there was a slight tremble in your smooth voice, “I am to be a princess soon.”

That seemed to amuse the man, your intimidation tactic clearly not working. “Oh, you most certainly are,” he replied with a mocking tone, “that is why I have found you in Flea Bottom, hm, dressed like what… a little boy?” Now there was a slight hint of uneasiness accompanying his words and presence, which had a shiver running up your spine. “As your princess, I command you to let go of me,” you pressed, trying to tug your arm back – but to no avail.

“You are a feisty little thing,” the gold cloak murmured with a sly smile. “It is a shame you are nothing more than a pretender. You would have made an excellent wife.” He didn’t even allow you to give him a reply, before his hand found the back of your neck to shove you into the pillow house to your left you had examined not long before.

Upon stumbling inside, you noticed that it was no pillow house but a simple brothel instead. Older wenches with more flesh to their hips and a used appearance did not hone the low quality the common room presented itself in. Considering the size of the crowd in front of the etablissement, it was surprising to spot not so many patrons inside.

“I–What–”

“I shall have you punished for those treacherous antics,” he barked, effectively cutting you off. The light tap he gave your rear caught you off guard, however, it was solely a ruse meant to distract you from both his hands grabbing the waistband of your breeches and undergarments to rather forcefully tug them down your body. It was nothing else than luck that the tunic you wore was long enough to cover your cunt for anyone that dared to catch a glimpse.

You gasped, and seized his hand on your hip that threatened to dive forwards between your legs. “My lord,” you protested, pretending that you did not know whose chest was pressed flush to your back, “you should not– I–”

Before you could protest even more, he had hauled you up against the breastplate of his armor, and you could merely look at him from over your shoulder, your dark eyes filled with lust. You started to struggle against his hold, yet his muscular arms snaked around your frame made it obvious you didn't stand a chance.

“Please, no,” you whimpered.

“Silence,” he bellowed, carrying you through the common room of the brothel to an alcove that granted you just some more privacy. While you were dropped unceremoniously on a chaise standing nearby, he brought a large hand up to the back of your neck, applying a good bit of pressure so you were kneeling on the chaise with your arse up and face down.

From behind you, you could hear a satisfied groan, no doubt spotting the glistening shimmer on your cunt from how aroused you were. When his calloused finger dragged through your soaked mound, you could not stifle a moan to leave your lips.

“Please, stop, my lord, I am still a maiden,” you whimpered, trying to get back up only to be pushed down again forceful enough to have you grunting just once. “Stay,” he warned, and you were foolish to not obey his command. You could faintly hear his hands fumbling with the buckles along the breastplate of his armor, your heartbeat pounding in your ears loud enough to almost drown out every other sound, removing them and allowing the steel to fall to the ground – piece after piece following in its wake. “I am betrothed,” you tried to reason.

You gasped as his hand served a firmer slap to your arse this time, the gentle rubbing of his palm not at all mending the stinging pain. “And you still will be once I am done with you,” came his stern reply. He dragged two fingers through your mound, from your entrance to the little bud, retorting to rubbing mindless patterns over it that had you pushing your hips against his fingers for a moment to chase the friction. Despite the moans that left your lips, you tried to snake your hand between your thighs to cover your cunt and arse, but he was quick enough to capture both your hands, bringing them together behind you to pin them to your back with one hand.

The gold cloak was skilled enough to unlace his breeches one-handed, freeing his cock out of its confines. “I shall refrain from spending my seed inside of your cunt for I do not desire to dishonor your betrothed,” he mumbled, his voice taking on a rougher edge.

“Do not do this, please,” you released a shaky breath, and every protest that threatened to follow caught in your throat the moment he dragged the tip of his cock through your swollen folds, resuming the movements he had previously made with his fingers.

The attempt to resist him was cut short when his cock breached your core, pushing into you at a teasingly slow pace that had you drawing in a sharp breath. “Your betrothed might get to breed you, but I took your maidenhead. You do best to remember that when he lays his filthy hands on you,” he groaned. The moment you stretched around him, all you could choke out was ‘yes, yes, yes,’ being in a stupor because of his cock.

With his hand still around your wrists, he pulled you onto his cock until his hips pressed against your rear, taking his time to adjust to your tightness. The ‘Gods’ he muttered under his breath didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it appeared that he didn’t know where to place his free hand as it squeezed your arse, tugged on your hair and eventually settled in the curve of your waist.

He pounded into you with reckless abandon, the tip of his cock brushing the spot inside of you that had your vision grow blurry over and over again. With your face pressed into a pillow resting on the chaise, you were not able to spot the feigned anger and jealousy blazing in his eyes. The only thing that made you aware of the amusement he found in that situation was the tone of his husky voice, making it more than clear that he had a smirk on his lips. “When I am done with you,” he rasped, bowing forward to put more of his weight on your small frame beneath his. “You shall desire no one else’s cock but mine.”

“Yes–” he interrupted your answer with a hard, percussive thrust, and then another, and another, until you couldn't focus on anything else but the delicious pressure inside your cunt. You pushed your hips back against him, and he reared up to pull you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfway which resulted in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin bouncing off the walls. The position you were in, with your face pressed into the pillow, granted you some sense of feigned privacy, because otherwise you would have noticed some curious eyes lingering on you two whenever one of the customers or whores decided to prowl the scene unfolding.

“Let’s see how much you desire your betrothed’s cock after this.”

When his hips stilled, and the pleasure in the pit of your belly eased, you propped yourself up on your hands with his vice-like grip suddenly gone. You looked at him from over your shoulder, and if you were not so lost in the sight of him behind you, you would have pouted when he gripped the neckline of your tunic to rip the linen to shreds as if it was nothing, exposing the last bit of your body to the sticky air of the brothel.

His skin was glistening in the dim light the candles granted, small beads of sweat highlighting his muscles. His upper body was defined by numerous cuts and scars, a testament to the dangers he had survived in his short life already. As he glanced down to where his clock disappeared inside of you, strands of his silver hair fell into his face, framing his chiseled features. You were so focused on enjoying the view that you did not immediately catch on to what he had said to you, the words not registering in your mind.

It seemed that his patience was not infinite as he grabbed your waist and hoisted you up as if you weighed nothing, settling you down on the cold floor so you sat on your haunches. He sat down on the chaise with his legs spread, his thick cock flush against his lower stomach, and straining as he leaned back, hands resting on his muscular thighs. You tilted your head, affecting a look of defiance. His eyes flickered over your frame, taking in every exposed inch of skin, and he couldn't help but smirk. “I said I shall not dishonor your betrothed, did I not?” he said, and almost dismissively waved his hand in order for you to continue.

You took that as your cue to use your hands and mouth to coax him towards his peak, however, when you reached to grasp the base of his member, the dragon in front of you merely tsked. Without saying a word, he bowed forwards and brought his paw-like hands to the sides of your breasts, squeezing them together. At the realization of what he had in mind, your eyes widened in surprise, and when he raised an eyebrow with a slight tilt of his head, you knew what was expected of you.

While his hands merely released your breasts to allow you to lean forwards, it was your hand that fisted the base of his cock, still thoroughly lubricated with your arousal. You positioned yourself so his cock rested in the Vale between your breasts, only for him to squeeze them together around it again. “Good girl,“ he praised, and you craned your neck to give a teasing lick along the slit at the tip of his cock, which prompted the prince to take in a sharp breath.

He replied by bucking his hips up, his cock bumping against your slightly parted lips. While he smirked at you in a smug manner, you released a surprised gasp, your eyes flickering between his violet ones and his cock. With his hands on your breasts, he kept them pressed tightly around his member, using the crevice between them to race for completion. You raised and lowered your body in rhythm with his hips, licking and kissing the tip of his cock whenever it came close enough to your lips.

His fingers pinched and brushed the perky buds of your breasts, causing you to release one whimper after the other. It was a titillating sight, watching how your expression shifted to a more focused one as you moved your body for his pleasure, ignoring the throbbing at the apex of your legs as best as you could.

“What an obedient, little wench I have found on the streets of Flea Bottom,” he groaned, his voice raspier, indicating that he was close to reaching his peak. “So willing to please the Lord Commander of the City Watch. Do you like watching me fuck those perfect teats of yours?” You couldn't help but whine, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words like they were the most embarrassing thing you had ever heard. Dornish people were known for their sexual licentiousness, but that man in front of you seemed to top just that.

“Will you claim me, my lord?” you asked, innocently batting your eyelashes at him. But with his peak approaching him rather quickly, the last threads of his patience seemed to snap as he growled a ‘Tis husband for you’ in return, the thoughts of your well-schemed ploy long forgotten at the aspect of spending himself all over you, claiming you. With a strangled groan, Daemon reached his completion, his cock spurting between your breasts and onto your chest, throat, lips and even your tongue. The pinch on your perky buds turned painfully tight with the pleasure soaring through his veins, causing you to squirm a bit, and it took a moment for the tension to slowly subside.

He watched with hooded eyes as you licked his seed off the skin your tongue could reach, and when your hands came up to peel him off of you, there didn’t come any objection from him. You wrapped your lips around his cock, and took as much of him down your throat as possible. He breathed heavily as he bowed forwards, looming over you as he took in the debauched sight in front of him.

Daemon shivered and grunted as you cleaned him up, the overstimulation making him sensitive to your touch, and he fisted your hair to pull you off of him. With the remnants of his seed still on your chin, you smiled up at him, and you could see his flaccid cock slowly growing hard again. You rested your cheek on his thigh, staring up at him as you lazily tugged him to full hardness again

“Gods,” he groaned, the bump in his throat bobbing in anticipation. “I love you, t–,” you replied, the last word catching in your throat as he hoisted you up to straddle his hips. His hard cock was nestled between your bodies, and your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, fingers entangling in the strands of his silver hair.

“I am going to make you peak, and then I am fucking you until you can no longer walk and you are carrying my child,” he mumbled into the curve of your neck, sucking in your skin to leave some faint marks. “Just to show you how much I love you, wife.”

General Taglist: @aemondx @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1

[stardustbarbarians]

Too Pretty For War

Chapter 2 (ch. 1 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 8 | ch. 9)

A Samuel Kiszka / fem!reader fic

Summary: The only way for Prince Sam to end a war is by marrying the enemy.

Tags: Prince!Sam, war, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers

A/N: I bet you weren't expecting this, were ya. I am overwhelmed by the response this is getting! Truly I can't thank you guys enough <3 Your admiration keeps me going! It's finals right now so I imagine this will be updated a lot as I tend to use fics as my outlet for stress, however I can't make any promises. As always, this series is dedicated to @safety-sam. Without any further ado, enjoy! <3

Words: 2.6 k

+++

Nightfall had befallen Athens. The world was sheathed in a dark shroud save for the few specks of starlight fighting the dark. The fire of torches also joined in the star’s rebellion, their soft glow casting dim light in the prince’s room. As the flames danced along to the song of the ocean breeze, they projected shadows that moved along to the beat of the tune. It was a calming scene to behold. It would’ve been, had it not been for the worried royal injecting the air with his anxiety. 

“All you are achieving is creating a trench in your floor.” The prince snapped his gaze over to his advisor, noting how he seemed unaware of the crushing weight Sam felt. 

“Forgive me, Daniel. But the entire fate of thousands of men’s lives rests upon my ability to secure a marriage with this woman! So, pardon me if I seem a little tense!” Sam snapped, only halting his pacing to look the scholar in the eyes. He continued again right after he finished his outburst, feeling as if he could scratch all of his skin off. 

Daniel remained quiet. There was no arguing with Sam on that; he held the fate of his country on his shoulders and that was not an easy weight to bear. 

“I feel like a gift pony,” Samuel lamented, his hands pulling at his silken toga as well as tanging his fingers in his intricately dressed hair. He gazed longingly at the ocean, hearing her call him to her waters.

“Well, you are one, in a way,” Daniel asserted, taking in how his best friend looked. He wore his finest sandals, the straps crossing across his toned calves and stopping below his knee. His mulberry toga kept him modest above the knee, the silk draping from his right shoulder while his left was fitted with an intricate gold piece of shoulder armor that was very clearly decorative rather than practical on his left that coiled down his bicep. His hair, before Sam had ruined it, had been pulled up into an intricate and entrancing coil of skill, but now half of it was hanging down onto the back of his neck. 

“Thank you, Daniel.” If looks could kill, Samuel’s best friend would’ve dropped dead then and there. 

Chuckling to himself, Daniel stood up from his seat and gently guided the prince to take his place. Sam did so without protest, collapsing into the chair as the scholar stood behind him. 

“Let’s see if we can salvage this,” Daniel muttered, carefully removing the golden wreath adorning his best friend’s head. Samuel winced as a few strands of hair were pulled by the crown, but he didn’t get angry. 

“This is doomed. I was not made for this. I will cause Athens’ demise,” the prince groaned, feeling as if he could cry. He was sitting forward resting his elbows on his knees before the scholar placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him so that he was sitting upright. 

“Please, calm your worries. I will be right beside you the whole time,” his best friend soothed, his fingers running through Sam’s hair helping quell some of his anxiety. 

The room went silent once again as Samuel got lost in his thoughts, the gentle brush of Daniel’s fingers calming him by each passing second. This wasn’t supposed to be his job. Samuel was supposed to take on a small area to govern and otherwise just stand there and look pretty. 

“Alright. It is by no means what Ronnie’s maid was able to achieve, but I believe it’s passable,” the scholar declared, a note of pride in his voice as he admired his handiwork. Hearing it brought a tiny smile to the prince’s lips. 

Samuel’s crown was placed back onto his head, the leaves gouging into his skin. There was a moment where it felt as if the scholar was drinking in the prince’s appearance, documenting each detail. Samuel wrote it off as him attempting to see anything he could possibly fix that was askew. However, it was hard for him to explain the hitch in his best friend’s breath as Sam looked over his shoulder at him. 

“Are you ready?” 

“No,” the prince instantly admitted, his head bowing. He was by no means ready for what was to come. 

Now standing in front of his best friend, the scholar held out his hand. Sam regarded it before exhaling a deep sigh and placing his hand in Daniel’s. He was pulled up from his chair rather reluctantly, Daniel patting Sam on the shoulder before dropping his hand slowly. 

“Remember, I’ll be right by your side. You have nothing to fear,” Daniel reassured, opening the door for his prince. 

Staring at the gaping hole of the open door, Sam steeled himself and transformed into the royal he was required to be. Setting his shoulders back, he strode out of the safety of his bedroom and into the uncertainty of the future. 

+++

Just as had been discussed, Samuel was to meet his family in the throne room. The Spartan princess had arrived the night prior but wouldn’t be properly introduced to the prince until the next night. Walking into that symbolic room, he found comfort in the gaze of his mother. She was clothed in black, still mourning the loss of her second son weeks after she had learned of his demise. 

Just as promised, Daniel stuck to his best friend’s side as he made towards the front of the room. He stood front and center, on display for their guests. Daniel was off to the side but would be directly next to the prince within a moment should he need it. 

“You’re a brave boy, swan,” Samuel’s mother whispered to him after wrapping her arms around him. Swan. He hadn’t heard that nickname in some time. 

Before he knew it, horns blared as the arrival of the princess and her court was announced. The sound made the prince freeze up. It was too soon. He was snapped out of his panic by a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t have to look to know it was Daniel’s. 

The door burst open. Samuel’s gaze fell upon the visage of a beautiful, strong woman clad in bronze armor. He was at first taken aback by the sight of a woman in armor, but he then recalled that all Spartans were trained to be warriors regardless of their status or gender. Getting over the initial shock, Sam found himself liking the idea. He knew plenty of women who could fend for themselves and some who could even best him in sparring. 

Sam just wished he knew what she thought of him. 

“Princess, I thank you for making the trip,” Sam’s father greeted, taking her hand in his and placing a kiss on the back. 

“I extend gratitude towards you as well for the invitation,” she responded, her eyes quickly glancing at the prince before flashing a diplomatic smile that Sam could see through. 

“Allow me to introduce my son: Samuel, Prince of Athens.” All attention was shifted onto the young prince. He forced himself not to buckle under their eyes, choosing to smile rather than fidget. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, princess,” he politely greeted, mirroring his father’s action of kissing her hand. He could tell she was not pleased by his touch, her smile straining. 

“I’m sure,” she replied, all but ripping her hand out of his. All of the sudden everything culminated to the surface again. It had only been a few seconds and Sam was already ruining their chance at peace. 

Samuel’s ears began to ring, his heart racing inside his chest. He felt cold, his energy being drained right out of him. The only thing that was keeping him upright was his royal training. He couldn’t show vulnerability he couldn’t show vulnerability he couldn’t show vulnerability-

“Samuel?” 

Ripping him out of his thoughts was the sound of his mother’s voice. He blinked, glancing around the room to see all eyes once again on him. He missed something, but what it was he wasn’t sure. They were expecting something from him. 

“My apologies,” Sam instinctively uttered, his voice sounding weak and catching in his throat. It caused him to clear it, using it as a reprise to compose himself. 

“You were asked if you would wish to take Princess Y/N on a stroll through the grounds,” Daniel whispered into his ear. He had to have noticed the prince’s breakdown, knowing Sam like the back of his hand. 

“Of course. Princess?” He offered his arm, intending for her to loop hers through it. However, she merely glanced down at it before walking past him towards the door. 

Taken off guard once again, Sam quickly glanced at Daniel in confusion before following after her. She was already out of the room, Sam having to pick up his pace in order to follow. 

“Princess, wait!” he called out, finally able to catch up to her after her stride slowed. 

She wore a face that was stern, no readable emotion that Sam could detect. If anything, there was an air of annoyance wafting off her as her lips held the tiniest sneer on them. In the name of diplomacy and peace, Samuel let it go. Perhaps the customs were different in Sparta. 

“You are quite fast,” Sam noted, flashing what he hoped was a charming smile. 

“Or you are just simply slow,” she retorted, refusing to look at him and keep her eyes forward. 

The prince was at an impasse. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him but they needed to make this work in order to achieve peace. Normally, Sam knew when to take the hint and back off, but in this instance he simply couldn’t. 

So, Samuel continued to attempt small talk. Each attempt was met with icy and stunted responses. After so many times, Sam snapped. 

“What is your quarrel, princess?!” he demanded, halting in front of her so that she finally had to look at him. Frustratingly, she looked straight through him and refused to respond. 

She had made moves to walk around him, but he stepped in front of her each time. Finally, that made her look him in the eyes. 

“The whole reason you are here is that we both want peace. The least you could do is try! There are lives that depend on this matrimony; for both of our kingdoms!” His hands balled into fists at his sides. To say he was furious with her behavior was an understatement. 

“You are mistaken, your majesty. You are the one who wishes for peace, not I!” She cried, a fire in her eyes that Sam could only label as hatred. 

The prince stood flabbergasted. Then why was she here?? What was her motive??

“Then pray, tell! What is your business here if you do not wish to end this pointless bloodshed?!” 

At his question, a cruel and bitter smile slithered across her lips. Her eyes darkened, their true nature being exposed in the moon’s light. 

“I can tell why you so desperately wish for peace. A face like yours… it’s far too pretty for war.” 

With that final statement, Sam watched the rival princess disappear into the shadows of his palace. He remained frozen in place, truly taken aback by her words. Sam didn’t know what to do. He was doomed. 

+++

Sam was able to locate Daniel on his favorite balcony, his raven curls floating on the breeze of the ocean. He looked content, staring out at the darkened horizon. He smiled warmly as he turned his gaze onto his best friend approaching him. 

“How did it go?” the scholar asked, his chin resting on his hand as he leaned on the railing of the balcony. Samuel picked out the stars reflecting in Daniel’s dark eyes. 

“The war will continue to rage, I’m afraid,” the prince sighed, ripping his crown from his hair. Some of his strands traveled with the gold leaves, swaying in the wind. 

Daniel moved over to make room for Sam to stand by his side. “Recount what transpired to me.” 

Rubbing his free hand over his face, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose before launching into the events of his stroll with the Spartan princess. He explained how she was nothing but rude and stand-offish towards him despite his efforts. 

“I find that usually people are quite enamored with my charm.” 

Daniel let out a knowing huff of laughter, his head ducking as he smiled. Looking back out at the sea once again, the scholar tucked his curls behind his ear to show off his dangling pearl earring. “You won’t find me denying such a claim.” 

The pair smiled at one another momentarily, silence befalling them companionably. 

“She told me my face was ‘too pretty for war’. I believe she called me a coward,” Sam recounted, his mood turning sour. 

“Pretty, you are. A coward you are not,” Daniel immediately reassured, his gaze sliding to his prince’s face once more. 

The prince remained silent. He didn’t believe his best friend for a moment. There was no way around it, Samuel was a coward. 

“I failed my people before I even had the chance to build confidence in them.” Samuel wasn’t a buffoon. He knew what the peasants thought of him. That’s why they were all so incredibly nervous when Jacob was sent off to the war. 

“None of that, now. The princess has not yet given her answer. There is still time to turn the tides in your favor,” the scholar sagely advised. Samuel often forgot just who his best friend was - a brilliant man. It was easy when this was the man who would help him attempt to tame dangerous beasts and steal for sport. 

Silence fell once again. However, there was a clear tension lacing the air that made it uncomfortable. 

“Sam, hear me,” Daniel began, standing to his full height to look him in the eye, “keep your wits about you when she is near.” 

Samuel absorbed his best friend’s words, turning them over in his mind to pull the meaning out of the statement. 

“You believe her to be a snake?” 

“I believe she has something to hide. I say this only in concern for your safety, but please do not allow my words to sway you away from peace,” the scholar extrapolated, grabbing hold of one of the prince’s hands. 

Sam trusted this man with his life. Anything that made him weary was cause enough for Samuel’s concern. Squeezing his best friend’s hand, he nodded. He would take Daniel’s words to heart. 

“Your majesty,” a servant called, interrupting the moment. Caught by surprise, the men dropped hands. 

“Here,” the prince responded, running a hand over the front of his tunic as a spike of anxiety surged in his body. “State your business.” 

“I send word from the princess. She accepts your proposal,” the servant relayed, keeping his head lowered in the presence of royalty. 

I did not fail.

He couldn’t help it. Sam whipped his head towards Daniel to find that he was looking right back at him. His best friend wore an expression of triumph and pride, his smile mirroring those emotions. However, Samuel could not be fooled. There was a negative emotion buried deep beneath the positive, but he couldn’t place what it was. 

“Alert the king. Request that preparations will begin at sunrise,” the prince ordered, sending away the servant. He bowed before running off to fulfill his task. 

Samuel fell against the railing of the balcony, relief crashing into him like a titanic wave. He hadn’t failed after all. 

+++

Taglist:

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[isnt-it-pretty]

For the ask meme: I can't decide so 9, 7, 4? (also hard pity!! i hope you get kazuha, heizou or thoma) (also also i am now even MORE excited for venti and love the xiao hair headcannons)

4. What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Gosh. This is a hard one. I find that most of my powerful lines of writing aren't diagloue.

Venti has some truly hilarious banter with Zhongli in coming chapters. But of what's posted, I think all of my favourites come from ch6.

“This is the most pleasant dream I have had in- in I do not know how long,” Xiao said before taking a deep, shaky breath. “That you are here, that your touch and words are kind, is a gift. I am so used to your scorn, the- the hatred of you and the others for my weakness-”

And,

“It is said,” he began, “that when the god Morax met the gentle deity Guizhong, the stars twinkled in the sky above them. That Celestia itself was a witness to the pact that would one day define a nation. They stood in an open plain that would be named after them, that would flourish for over a thousand years despite the havoc surrounding it. It is said that glaze lilies bloomed, giving off their sweet scent, as every word the Goddess of Dust spoke sounded like music, soft and melodic. Only part of that story is true.

“The truth is that when Morax first met Guizhong, the sun beat down upon the earth. Celestia cared not for the pact, and it was not fate or destiny that led them to each other, only luck. The truth is that Morax was covered in blood and dirt, his most trusted Adepti by his side. Guizhong wore not silks of white and indigo but armour of steel, forged by the humans she loved so dearly. She stood among the glaze lilies carrying a sword stained red with rusted blood. Weak and gentle as she was, the Goddess of Dust would defend her people until her dying breath.”

7. Where did the title come from?

I am terrible at titling things. It is the hardest oart of a new story. Intriguing concepts and summaries are easy, writing it is difficult, and naming it is impossible. I scrolled through a document I have with interesting lyrics and phrases and took a look at what I had. I think there were three other prespective titles? But I can't remenber then anymore. I'll see if I can dig them up and post them in the notes of Sunday's chapter.

Anyway, I liked Into Darkness and Howling because I felt it fit both the Chasm and Xiao's Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (existence). The lyrics themselves come from the song King by The Amazing Devil.

Here's a link to it on spotify

And here's one on youtube

9. Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Sort of. I'm a relatively new player, so I joined during 2.6. I didn't know that a yaksha fought at the chasm at first (it wasn't on the wiki then), but I did know that Bosacius left (since he left his belongings behind). I guess you could say that an original version was the flickering idea of Xiao growing weary with the fighting, and leaving, while Bosacius stayed to continue serving Rex Lapis. Then 2.7 dropped like a week later and the fic as it is cemented.

[angleberry]

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belle âme | alou | trial 2.6

It was strange to be admonished by Micah.

And stranger still to see new emotions, new facets, from all the people he'd been coming to know. The anger and hurt just underlines how much trust there had been in the first place-- there could not be disappointment without something to be disappointed in.

He says nothing while Cu speaks his peace-- just glad that it's a defense of the action and not the person, because Cu is too young to continue making himself a pariah by defending the wrong people. As Cu slides down to the floor, Alou's heart begins to slide down with it, weary.

It's Cedric that startles him out of the settling resignation. He hates how his moniker sounds in the other's mouth-- spoken with confident derision, not fear or awe or appreciation.

And for the first time, he feels not the longing to be known, but the terror of being understood. Every consequence he'd put aside as something to deal with later, Cedric chews up and spins into silk with his poisonous tongue. Every thread he'd painstakingly tied for building tenuous bridges, Cedric snaps without discrimination.

His breath cuts short because he can already feel Poppy's hands around his throat. His fingers dig into his braid just to try to hold onto something. His love wasn't worth that much-- not to Poppy and Wakako-- and their love for him was never that strong, so he can't even find the faith or the words to argue.

'You are bemoaning about it being unenjoyable? We are considering killing several of them, Alou.. it hardly matters if you hurt their feelings as we do so...'

'It matters a little. I'm the one who is going to be stuck in eternal damnation with them all. And also, they don't deserve it. Out of necessity, I will, but I need that to be said.'

'... You can make amends later. I do not care how you do it, that is your problem. You have eternal damnation to sort it out, do you not?'

Even eternal damnation might not be enough.

His knees shake but he refuses to let them buckle. He drags his hands from his hair, the braid falling loose as he places both hands on the podium to stay upright. His head tilts slightly in Nike's direction.

"You can't talk to me about idealism..."

The words are soft and restrained as they hiss out to Nike-- he tries to bite back the edge of it and ends up choking on his own breath, on his own blood from how his teeth clench on his tongue. And as he holds it all in, it's somehow Touji's words that strike a chord. An invitation to wrath.

'Did it feel good to say that? You should do it more often. Makes for less misunderstandings and shit, you know?'

"I. Am. Better."

He spits onto the podium, a small smear of red left on his lips when he wipes the ichor away with his palm. He would laugh if he wasn't so genuinely furious.

"I'm better than all of you who are too jaded to think it's even worth it to try to be good. I'm better than all of you who are too good to see where there's rot. All I hear, every day, is people thinking about themselves. Even when they're thinking about others, it's in self-interest. Survival. Fuck! Is humanity about survival? If life is only about living, what's the fucking point!"

"What's the fucking point, when it's too late! You should have been kinder to her. You should have helped her, been her friend, been her family. She should have had other options, but all she was left with was me. Now that she's dead you feel bad for her, but only because it could have been you."

"... And I'm worse than all of you, too. I'm the worst. Nobody else can do what I'm willing to do, or will see what I'm willing to see. You're all sick. You don't-- you would watch the world burn to survive, but you don't even love the person you're doing it for. You don't even love yourselves."

His anger twists with his grief.

"Everyone is a monster. To be human is to be a monster. Everyone deserves to go to hell. But that's okay. I hope all of your deaths are beautiful, as you are beautiful."

[whereareroo]

DAY ONE OF CAMINO

WF UPDATE (6/28/23): DAY ONE

Our first day on El Camino was smooth as silk. No problemas.

We hit the trail at 7:15 a.m. and we finished at 2:15 p.m. That includes multiple stops and multiple photo opportunities. We covered 13.64 miles.

The entire route was flat. The day was sunny. The temperature started at 75 and climbed to 85. We could have used a bit of a breeze.

Today, the trail gave us a little bit of everything.

For the first three miles, we were still in Leon. We walked on city sidewalks.

For the next three miles, we walked through much smaller suburban towns. That stretch also included some industrial sections.

For the next five miles, we were on a dirt road in the middle of farmlands. Some of the fields looked abandoned. Others were full of wheat or soybeans.

At the end of the farm road, there was a little town. From that town, for our final 2.6 miles, we walked a little country road to Villar de Mazarife. That’s our home for the night.

We were up at 6:15 a.m. to get ready and eat. We had stocked the refrigerator in our room. I had yogurt. GC1 is fixated on baguettes, and he had about 6 inches left from yesterday. He cut it into slices and ate it with cream cheese. He also had a slice of cheesecake that was leftover from yesterday.

Along the way we stopped at three cafes for snacks and drinks. We stopped at a picnic table in a park for lunch. We had ham and cheese that we were carrying in our packs.

We’ve seen a handful of fellow Pilgrims today. In different groups, we met three Californians. We also met a lady from Germany who was in rough shape. She had fallen and she’s badly bruised, including a big black eye.

We’re staying at a place called Tio Pepe. It is a Pilgrim dormitory (called an “albergue” in Spanish) that houses dozens of Pilgrims in various group settings with group bathrooms. It also has private rooms. Of course, we’re in our own private room with our own bathroom. As I’m starting this post, at 3:53 p.m., I can hear a large group downstairs singing American songs. Either somebody has hiked with a guitar, or they’ve borrowed one from the albergue. I’m going to take a break now to experience that scene. Before I go, I’ll rotate the clothes that are hanging in the window to dry. I washed the clothes in our bathtub as soon as we got here.

I’m back, and it’s 8:22 p.m.

The music stopped as soon as we started to go downstairs. Instead, we chilled in the room for another hour. “Chilled” is not the appropriate word. Albergues generally lack A/C. This one is not an exception. The room is HOT.

At 5:OO, when the siesta ends, we explored this little town. There is nothing to see. Except for the two albergues, the town is basically empty. There’s a pretty Church, but it’s locked. The guidebook says that there are two grocery stores, but a local kid told me that one of them has been closed for years. We visited the only available store. GC1 grabbed an ice cream, and I grabbed a soda, and we sat outside in the shade. Then we replenished our snacks and our breakfast food.

The albergues were the only two dinner options in town. Instead of walking down the block, we had dinner here at Tio Pepe. The menu was limited. GC1 had a big paella (a rice dish), mixed with seafood and vegetables. I played it safe and went for pasta. The food was good.

The eating area was filled with Pilgrims. The adjoining tables were occupied by folks from Germany, Colorado, California, and Brazil.

It will be “lights out” soon. We’re on a roll now. We’re ready for another day. It is supposed to be cooler. We’ll see you on the trail.

[blogaarti]

Oat Milk Market Would Touch a Whopping US$2.6 Bn by the End of 2026

Exhibiting an estimated CAGR of 11.5%, global oat milk market value is likely to surpass US$2.6 Bn by the end of 2026. As suggested by the latest Fairfield Market Research report, oat milk sales will gain significantly from the thriving plant-based F&B trend. With plant-based, lactose-free, and gluten-free trend waves gathering momentum over the recent past, the nutrition profile of oat milk will continue to drive its demand at household, as well as commercial facilities. Growing prevalence of lactose intolerance, and celiac disease that continues to fuel the dairy-free segment will also remain one of the key factors upholding the expansion of oat milk market. 

For More Industry Insights Read: https://www.fairfieldmarketresearch.com/report/oat-milk-market

NPDs by Globally Leading Brands Offer an Impetus to Oat Milk Sales

The flourishing café culture and increasing appearance of dairy alternatives on restaurant menus are likely to benefit oat milk market. With brands like Starbucks launching oat milk-based coffee line-ups that have been witnessing exceptional consumer response, popularity of oat milk shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon. Cadbury’s Mondelez International also recently introduced an oat-based milk chocolate brand HiP (Happiness in Plants). Such frequent new launches in trending retail segments will remain the important push factors for oat milk market. 

Oat Milk Sales Upbeat in Europe, and North America

The developed western world has been at the forefront of adopting oat milk as a daily alternative in routine diet practices. The market in Europe, and North America will continue to benefit from greater consumer knowledge and awareness about lactose intolerance. Both are collectively expected to represent a revenue share of over 65% in the global oat milk market by the end of 2026. While widespread availability of vegan, dairy-free dietary products will continue to work to the advantage of these regional markets, the overall normalised consumer attitude regarding packaged food consumption is also expected to stimulate the growth of oat milk market further. 

To leverage strong product penetration across the US, and key European nations, brands have been bringing in innovative oat milk flavours to retail shelves. The raging veganism wave is likely to retain its influence on oat milk sales in future. Shifting lifestyle and dietary trends across Asian region are projected to encourage sales of oat milk in economies like Japan, China, and India.

 Leading Market Players in Global Oat Milk Space

Danone SA, WhiteWave Services, SunOpta Inc, Oatly AB, Sanitarium Health & Wellbeing, Inc. (Silk), Pureharvest, Otis Oat M!lk, HP HOOD LLC (Planet Oat), Vitasoy International Holdings Limited, and Califia Farms, LLC are some of the most prominent players that will continue to drive competition in the global oat milk landscape. The report offers insights into some of these key companies to reveal their strategic, as well as financial profiles. 

Get the Sample Copy of Report at: https://www.fairfieldmarketresearch.com/report/oat-milk-market/request-sample

 About Us 

Fairfield Market Research is a UK-based market research provider. Fairfield offers a wide spectrum of services, ranging from customized reports to consulting solutions. With a strong European footprint, Fairfield operates globally and helps businesses navigate through business cycles, with quick responses and multi-pronged approaches. The company values an eye for insightful take on global matters, ably backed by a team of exceptionally experienced researchers. With a strong repository of syndicated market research reports that are continuously published & updated to ensure the ever-changing needs of customers are met with absolute promptness.

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[bryce-schiff-macro-economics]

Ch. 3 Reflection

1. A few things came to mind while reading chapter 3. When reading about global trade and its basic operations, I just thought about how impactful that was to communities and global cultures. Trade completely changed how ideas and products flowed through various continents. In some ways, the ability to trade on a large scale unified many nations. But again, there are always trade-offs and in some cases, trade has negatively impacted countries. I decided to research how long trade has been happening. According to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, humans began sharing resources around 2.6-1.8 million years ago (Smithsonian). This shows that humans have been sharing resources for almost the entirety of our species' lifespan. However, sharing resources with groups from afar wasn’t realized until around 130,000 years, according to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History (Smithsonian). Apparently, groups that were living 180 miles away were exchanging resources, so this is when trade started to begin (Smithsonian). Going even further, the wine trade began in Georgia around the 6th millennium BC, according to BBC (BBC). Since then, trade has skyrocketed globally with various epochs such as the spice and silk trade (BBC). I enjoyed researching further into the history of trade. It’s an aspect of human behavior that has allowed us to develop into such complex and diverse communities.  

Usually, I do a quick Google search about my inquiries and then scope out the most reliable sources. I picked the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History as a source because I know that the information has been peer-reviewed by esteemed scientists. In addition, I use the BBC for a lot of my information. It is a reliable source with tons of good information. It’s important to note that articles on BBC are sometimes opinionated and biased, but history information is good. 

2. Trade with China and Wyoming are on two different scales with other complexities. Trade between Colorado and Wyoming is only a few hundred miles, which could take a day to deliver a product. Moreover, trade within the United States doesn’t have any tariffs on trading between states. In addition, the same currencies are used and there are no exchange rates. There are no scanning procedures either for trade in the U.S. In contrast, trade between the U.S. and China is a bit more complicated. It is a much farther distance and imports or exports usually travel by sea or air, so products can be delayed significantly. Adding on, there is an exchange rate between currencies and there are usually multiple laws and tariffs that must be followed for trade between China and the U.S. 

3. I just bought some hardware made in Taiwan for my mountain bike brakes this weekend. Unfortunately, there are not many local options for the product I purchased since the hardware is brand and model specific. Since I have a brand of brakes that are made in Taiwan, it is nearly impossible to get hardware made in the U.S. However, there are some smaller companies that make hardware in the U.S. for many different brands. It just takes a little digging. A local product can have many different meanings in my opinion. It is a very relative term. To me, local food means that it’s made in the region that the buyer lives in. So this could be in the same county or maybe even state to be considered local. For other products like outerwear, I am usually pretty psyched when it’s made somewhere in the U.S. To me, that’s local.

[beeksphotos]

Venice is a city in northeastern Italy and the capital of the Veneto region. It is built on a group of 118 small islands that are separated by canals and linked by over 400 bridges. The islands are in the shallow Venetian Lagoon, an enclosed bay lying between the mouths of the Po and the Piave rivers (more exactly between the Brenta and the Sile). In 2020, around 258,685 people resided in greater Venice or the Comune di Venezia, of whom around 55,000 live in the historical island city of Venice (centro storico) and the rest on the mainland (terraferma). Together with the cities of Padua and Treviso, Venice is included in the Padua-Treviso-Venice Metropolitan Area (PATREVE), which is considered a statistical metropolitan area, with a total population of 2.6 million. The name is derived from the ancient Veneti people who inhabited the region by the 10th century BC. The city was historically the capital of the Republic of Venice for over a millennium, from 697 to 1797. It was a major financial and maritime power during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, and a staging area for the Crusades and the Battle of Lepanto, as well as an important centre of commerce—especially silk, grain, and spice, and of art from the 13th century to the end of the 17th. The city-state of Venice is considered to have been the first real international financial centre, emerging in the 9th century and reaching its greatest prominence in the 14th century. This made Venice a wealthy city throughout most of its history. The sovereignty of Venice came to an end in 1797, at the hands of Napoleon. Subsequently, in 1866, the city became part of the Kingdom of Italy. Although the city is facing some challenges (including an excessive number of tourists and problems caused by pollution, tide peaks and cruise ships sailing too close to buildings), Venice remains a very popular tourist destination, a major cultural centre, and has been ranked many times the most beautiful city in the world. It has been described by The Times as one of Europe's most romantic cities and by The New York Times as "undoubtedly the most beautiful city built by man". • • www.beeksphotos.sx • • #veniceitaly #beeksphotos (at Venice, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmTZWWKu_6C/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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