#with all of that no wonder she tries to earn the sisters forgiveness. with all of that no wonder the sisters forgive her

[separatist-apologist]

Promise To Be Dazzling

Summary: Only a fool would expect a god to uphold their promises.

Elain Archeron is no fool

Note: This started as feysand filth and when I mentioned it to @velidewrites, she very big-brained suggested I switch it to koschlain.

TW for dubious consent. If you read it, thats on you. | Read on AO3

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Breathing hard, Elain Archeron tried not to think about her predicament.

Naked.

Tied to what felt like a rather hard stone surface, her legs splayed wide, arms tied up over her head. She’d struggled for what felt like hours—until her wrists were bloodied and her body chafed. It did no good. Her restraints were magic and unless the person who’d created them willed her free, Elain was stuck as she was. 

She couldn’t even ask. Her mouth was bound in cloth, her eyes covered so she couldn’t see. Terrified as she was, Elain couldn’t pretend her predicament wasn’t of her own making. She’d made a deal with the wind days after coming out of the cauldron.

It had whispered so sweetly in her ear, promising to make her human if only she was their eyes and ears. Listen to private conversations, whisper it back when no one was around. Elain had done as she was told and this was what she’d gotten for her trouble.

The sound of boots echoing around her stilled her heart. The steps were deliberately slow to draw out her fear, her torment. Against her better judgment, Elain began writhing again which earned her a dark chuckle in response.

“Prettier than I imagined,” the dark, disembodied voice murmured. 

What did you imagine? She couldn’t ask. Elain didn’t realize he was close enough to touch her until she felt a leather gloved finger slide up her thigh. Elain shivered, jerking once again for all the good it did. She barely moved an inch at all. That finger was, just like everything else, torturously slow as it made its way further up her leg.

It paused at the seam of her thigh.

“I can hear your heart,” the dark voice whispered, “beating through stone.”

Elain screamed through the fabric, the sound muffled. He only chuckled. 

“I like the sound of that,” he admitted, taking what felt like a truly massive hand to push her legs wider. Her scream became a whimper as she wondered what he was going to do to her. She knew, of course—knew the intent behind stripping her to nothing and spreading her out—but there were so many things he could do in between having his way with her.

The not knowing only heightened her fear. 

“I hope you’ll forgive me for this, in time,” he continued, squeezing her flesh lightly. Her body responded to the closeness of his fingers, the whispered air that ghosted over her exposed cunt. Elain swallowed hard, leaning her head back until it touched the stone slab she was resting atop of. 

I’ll never forgive you.

He chuckled again.

“I’ve been watching you, Elain Archeron. I admit, you were nothing but a convenient little pawn to me. At first. But you’ve become so much more. They trust you. I trust you.”

Elain squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the way his hands were sliding up her thighs, closer and closer to meeting in the middle. Hadn’t she wanted him to trust her? 

Hadn’t she worked harder than she needed to, slipping into spaces she didn’t belong, making friends with servants who gossiped, ingratiating herself with Rhys’ inner circle until they trusted her implicitly? 

And she knew who was touching her, though Elain didn’t want to admit it. She’d kept her whispered bargain a secret from everyone—even her sister, who could read her mind—including herself in some ways. Elain had never let herself truly think about what she was doing or who she was betraying.

In that way, she could still hold on to being a good person. 

“Your human remarried,” the dark voice murmured just as one of those gloved fingers spread her cunt open wider. “Did you know that?”

Elain turned her head. She hadn’t known. It had all been for nothing, then. She'd made a bargain with a death god for a man who wouldn't even wait. Who'd left her behind like garbage. Anger pooled in her gut.

“It's been three years. He’s forgotten you…but you still cling to him. I mean to make you forget.”

Take my memories, she pleaded silently, trying not to think about what was happening between her legs. There was some sort of excruciatingly slow exploration happening from a creature that knew it had all the time in the world. 

“Your anger is potent,” he sighed. Was it his thumb drawing indolent circles against her cunt. Elain felt the shallow dip of a leather finger into her body, drawing forth slick heat that humiliated her. She didn’t want to enjoy this—her body was its own animal, acting outside of her control. “I want to taste it.”

No! 

There was nothing but that whispering wind, too cold to feel comfortable as it trailed over her breasts, teasing sensitive, exposed nipples. Elain struggled vainly, though she and the man between her legs both knew it was fruitless. 

“I mean to make you my queen,” he whispered, his breath warm against her thigh. Elain jerked, again, for nothing. His tongue pressed flat against her skin, licking up, up, up—

“Don’t you want revenge?”

Elain didn’t know what she wanted. Sometimes she indulged herself in dark fantasies—begging Nesta to drag Hybern from the grave so she could make him suffer as she had. Of watching everyone around her get the life they’d always dreamed of while she was trapped in a body that she hadn’t chosen. She wanted to feel safe in her skin again, wanted to feel alive as she must have once. She'd forgotten how that felt. Everything had been ripped from her. 

Stripped of the life she’d wanted so desperately.

It’s unfair, she thought, a tear sliding from the corner of her eye. What did it say about her that the first time she cried since she’d been unceremoniously stolen from her bed was when she thought about how her sisters were getting the lives they’d always wanted? And not about the creature kneeling between her legs, breathing on her cunt? Surely there was some other way. Some other path.

“It is unfair,” he murmured, proving he could hear her thoughts. “They treat you so abhorrently…like an afterthought. Like you’re nothing but an ornament. But you’re not…are you?”

No, she thought, another tear slipping down her cheek.

“They use you and then discard you,” he continued, kissing the very bottom of her cunt. Elain shivered from the intimacy of the touch. “I would unleash you.” How? 

He didn’t respond, that tongue that had once teased over her cold skin now finding a home between her legs. His mouth was hot, like flames licking over her as he took his time. It was languid the way he licked up the center of her body, swirling over her clit before returning down the same path.

Elain whimpered, unsure if she hated it or she liked it. It was wrong—so, so wrong. Was he making her want it? Elain thrashed, trying to extend her legs so she could kick him in the face. He only laughed, that tongue dipping into her body with a heady groan. 

“That rage…it’s potent,” he murmured, sliding his tongue into her body a second time. “The taste is divine.”

Elain couldn’t move, was pinned to that slab and forced to endure the slow torment of his mouth. He was unhurried, teasing around her clit without touching, or using his fingers to press against her entrance as if he’d go further only to draw back. The cold air blew against the heat of his mouth, keeping Elain confused and off balanced.

She couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t get used to the sensations so she could block them out. As consequence, her mind traced every little touch which seemed to only heighten the pleasure she didn’t want to feel, which she suspected was the point. 

He pulled back, using his thumb to draw lazy circles over her clit as arousal flared bright in her lower belly.

“Why are you fighting me?” he asked, his voice breathless with excitement. “You know who I am…what I am.”

Elain shook her head back and forth, still blinded to everything around her, still rendered mute by the cloth pressed tight over her mouth. She didn’t want to know anything.

He sighed, clearly disappointed if the click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth was any indication. He returned to her body, though all the slowness was gone. He was determined, it seemed, to pull the reaction from her that he wanted. To hold her strings like his puppet and make her dance.

Just like everyone else. Elain felt her anger building just as surely as her arousal, drawing her higher and higher as his teeth scraped against delicate skin. There was nothing nice, nothing polite about what he was doing now. It was a show of force, of dominance. Fingers plunged into her body, one after the other until Elain was stretched so painfully around him it made her ache. His tongue stayed on her clit, swirling and sucking loud enough she could hear the obscene sounds echoing from the stone.

The pain was its own distraction. When he began pumping those three fingers into her body, Elain hissed as she arched her hips into the air to try and escape the onslaught.

“Take it,” he ordered, his voice edged roughly. “This is what you like.”

I hate you!

He only laughed, sucking her clit into his mouth so roughly that Elain screamed around the cloth again. 

He laughed again. 

Elain didn’t enjoy it—she repeated it over and over in her mind, even as her hips jerked of their own accord, rolling into the rhythmic thrusting of his fingers and the heady warmth of his tongue. This wasn’t what Graysen had done. He’d been soft, he’d been kind, he’d—

“He didn’t make you feel anything,” the creature between her legs all but snarled. “He chose someone else. You mean nothing to him.”

Elain tried to kick again, despite how her legs were bent, feet flailing helplessly in the air. She’d done everything for Gray, and where had it gotten her. Tied spread eagle in a madman’s palace while he licked her cunt. 

His tongue moved faster, up and down the length of her as he fucked her with his fingers. Elain was barreling toward release and nothing was stopping it. Her mind might not love what he did, but her body was desperate, moving of its own accord even when she forced herself to stop. He knew it, licking and sucking until Elain couldn’t keep it to herself.

She’d told herself she’d just come quietly. That she’d swallow the scream clawing at her throat, that she wouldn’t let herself clench around him.

She screamed anyway. Loud enough it felt like there was nothing covering her mouth, the sound echoing through the whole world. It felt primal—she heard the rage. He heard it, too, drinking it down as Elain lost herself to the unspooling pleasure.

She’d only ever finished around her own fingers, hidden beneath blankets in the dead of the night. Elain had wanted to with Gray, but she’d been so nervous and he’d been so quick that there hadn’t been time. 

They’d never had the chance to try again. 

For a moment, the bliss of shattering silenced the screaming in her mind. She forgot who was touching her or why, forgot that she was tied up. The pleasure was so intense it nearly drew forth a vision—Elain felt the magic crowding against her vision, desperate to show her some terrible glimpse of the future she didn’t want to see.

Reality came crashing back all too soon. He was still at it, as if determined to take as much as he could get. Elain’s body liked the onslaught, cresting immediately toward that precipice before she’d managed to catch her breath. She wiggled against him—everything was painfully sensitive, though not so sensitive she couldn’t come again.

And she did, this time with a strangled cry that seemed to please him because finally he pulled back.

“Your cunt is the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, sounding as though he’d run a marathon. She felt him wipe his wet fingers over her thighs before turning to lick it right back up. “I’ll have a dress made for you.”

Elain jerked her whole body like a child throwing a temper tantrum. She hadn’t realized he’d waved away the gag until her voice exploded, hoarse and unused, from her throat. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“My pretty little liar,” he murmured, rising to his feet. Those same gloved hands slid up her body, twisting her nipples painfully before they reached for the edge of the blindfold. “This is part of the game, isn’t it?”

“There is no game,” she informed him, hating how she could still feel the aftershocks of two orgasms rocking through her body.

She hated more how her cunt was mourning the loss of his fingers. 

He pulled at the blindfold, allowing her to see both her surroundings and himself for the first time. Their eyes locked—his a solid black, devoid of the familiar white that would have made him look human.

He was otherworldly, his dark hair falling over his face to drape against his shoulders. A spiking, onyx crown gleamed like vicious knives in the flickering torchlight hanging overhead. Beautiful in a way no human or faerie could ever be. Power radiated from his powerful form, swirling around her in the form of that cold wind.

“You’re the sweet little lady, are you not?” he questioned, cocking his head as his lips pulled upward with an amused smile. “Ever prim, ever proper. Little Elain would never ever hurt someone's feelings.”

His words mocked her. 

Elain glared, drinking in the pale skin that looked as if it hadn’t seen the sun in a milenia, the cut of his cheekbones that gave him such an imperious look, the power of his jaw, the largeness of his body.

Koschei the deathless. 

“We had a deal,” Elain whispered. This had never been part of it.

He shrugged. “I am not bound by the rules of the fae. I can lie,” he said, wrinkling his nose as if the thought of honoring his word was distasteful. “Why would I destroy perfection?”

“Please,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything.”

“Careful,” he replied before snapping her fingers. The wind around her contorted her body in a rush of air, pressing against her ribs as the restraints around her forced her to the ground, kneeling before him. Her hands were restrained behind her back, tied to her ankles so there was no escape save for just falling on her side. 

He reached for her chin, holding it gently. “Please,” she whispered again.

“It is I who will do anything you ask,” he informed her, pushing her face away as he reached for the dark trousers he wore. “And you who will give the commands. I who will lead our armies while you tell me where to place them. And together, we will bring ruin to this world.”

Elain turned her head when he pulled out his cock, well aware of what he expected her to do. He only laughed, as if the entire thing amused him, but she was determined she would not do anything before he agreed to make her human again.

He turned her head forcefully, making her look at the thick, large appendage staring her down. “Open.”

“I—”

She lacked the experience to know better than to try and talk back. He forced himself through her lips, gripping the top of her head to keep her from rearing back. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispered, the words punctuated by a groan. “I want to serve you. It pains me to see you on your knees, debased in this way.” Elain had no experience doing this sort of thing. Graysen had merely penetrated her in the ways she expected, and Elain’s knowledge around sucking came from conversations she overheard and from some of the books she’d read. It didn’t seem hard, save for how far back he pushed. Elain drooled around him as she adjusted her jaw to fit him.

She knew what he was doing. He was trying to break her down. To make her beg. Elain gagged softly around him, which only seemed to frenzy him. His grip in her hair tightened as he thrust, using her as though she were nothing of consequence. Just long enough she was growing a little frightened he’d forget she was a living thing at all.

He pulled back, withdrawing himself so strings of saliva connected them. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, snapping his fingers. Elain’s restraints vanished, as did the small dungeon she realized she’d been held in. Blinking as she scrambled to her feet, Elain found herself standing in a bedroom a mere second later. 

“You make me feel alive again,” he informed her, pants pulled back up over his hips. Had that been magic, too? Elain didn’t move as he prowled toward her, grabbing her face roughly between long, still-gloved fingers. Lowering his face, he placed a vicious, claiming kiss against her lips.

Elain reached for the tops of his arms to shove him away, fingers curling over muscle. She didn’t shove, though. She merely held him there, nails digging through the black fabric until he groaned.

“That’s what I want,” he whispered, dropping his forehead against her own. “Use me as you wish.” She slapped him hard, the ring on her pointer finger cutting across his lip. Their eyes met as he realized what she’d done. It had only just caught up with Elain, too. She’d slapped a death god across the face.

He could snap his fingers and end her life if he wanted to. He reached forward, faster than her eyes could track, to grip her by the throat.

“Did that feel good?”

“Yes,” she whispered, half scared, half aroused. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he replied, lips ghosting over hers as his fingers squeezed tighter. She could still breathe, but he controlled it. He controlled everything. 

Using his hold on her neck, Koschei shoved Elain to the bed before prowling toward her. She managed to scramble back just a little before he grabbed her ankle and dragged her back. 

“You asked me to remake you,” he snarled, using magic to hold her still so she could watch him undress. Elain didn’t bother trying to fight him, too curious about his word. “Begged me to and yet you would reject immortality?”

Elain couldn’t even argue his point. What was she holding on to? “Immortality?” she asked softly as he revealed a sculpted chest inch by inch. “You’ve lied about everything else.” “Not this,” he breathed, pants falling to the ground. He was wholly naked—wonderfully so—and Elain was still lying there, propped up only by her elbows.

“Prove it,” she demanded. “You’re a liar.”

That amused him. Crawling onto the bed so he could kneel between her thighs, he cocked his head so all that dark hair spilled to one broad shoulder. “Immortality hurts.”

“So did the cauldron,” she replied with more fierceness than she felt. “I survived.”

“That you did,” he murmured, caressing her face. “I could make it pleasurable. Could unmake you while you screamed around my cock.”

Elain only stared at him, ignoring his fingers that caressed her bared breasts. “In exchange for what?”

He chuckled. “Why are you fighting me?”

“You stole me out of my bed,” she reminded him. “Tied me up—”

“Gave you pleasure beyond your wildest imagination,” he finished, triumph gleaming in those lightless eyes. “Swore to make you my queen.”

“Queen,” she repeated slowly as those fingers made their way toward her neck. “Not queen consort.”

“Your vengeance is mine,” he breathed, squeezing again as he lowered his body against her own. “Your will, my will.”

“Swear it,” she ordered, holding his gaze. "Make me your equal."

“Even though I lie?” “

Swear anyway,” she said, knowing full well trusting a liar was a mistake. 

“In this, you can trust me. I swear,” he said, cock lined up against her cunt. Elain didn’t have time to take a breath before he plunged himself into her, causing her to cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. At the same time, air poured through her nose, chilling her body from the inside out.

Elain’s body jerked upward, unable to cope with the onslaught of sensations. Balanced on the edge of a knife, Elain could feel him thrusting into her as the magic worked its way through her blood just as the magic of the cauldron had once done.

Only this time, Elain wasn’t alone. She wasn’t drowning—she wasn’t drying. It felt like living. Every feeling was intensified—like falling in love, like a broken heart. Elain laughed breathlessly as her sharp senses intensified and vision after vision flitted behind her eyes. The wind picked up, warm and soft to drive away the chill. The images were fleeting—of flames and shadows, of fear, and death, and life, and rebirth. 

Koschei the Deathless would wreck destruction but Elain…Elain would remake life itself. Elain looked up through hazy eyes, her vision strangely clouded.

“Beautiful,” Koschei murmured, a triumphant smile crowning his face. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“I feel…” Elain exhaled as the pain subsided, reminding her of the pleasure that had faded to the background. Whatever magic he wove—or, perhaps he was simply good with his cock—had

Elain panting before she could truly come to grips with the body she found herself in. “I feel alive.”

“You are alive,” he breathed, pressing his mouth to her neck. Sharp teeth scraped delicate skin, drawing a soft moan from her throat. “No one can take anything from you ever again. Do you feel it? Feel your power?”

“I do,” she agreed, fingers fisting the silken black sheets beneath her. “The power to restart.”

“Revenge, first, my dark queen,” he murmured, licking up the column of her throat. “They don’t deserve to live in your paradise.”

“No,” she agreed, dragging her nails down the muscular ridges of his back. 

“Tell me you hate me,” he demanded.

“No.”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, those fingers back around her neck. 

“I’m yours,” Elain managed, pleasure washing over her. She was so close—close to everything she’d ever wanted. And as her new power began to slip through her blood, mending all the cracked parts of her soul, Elain felt peace for the first time maybe in her life. No more pretending, no more showing everyone what they wanted to see. No more making herself small, letting herself be touched by those who would harm her.

“There you are,” Koschei whispered, when their eyes met. “I have been waiting centuries for you.”

Elain reached for the crown atop his head, held by some kind of absurd magic, and tossed it across the room. The deathless god threw his head back and laughed, rising upward while pulling her into his lap. They were still connected, his cock still lodged in her body as his thrusting slowed. 

Fisting his hair, Elain kissed him. Not as his victim, or his captive, but as his ruination. He groaned, gripping her hips to bounce her over his cock until he was breathless and desperate. He didn’t know, too lost to his own pleasure, his own plans, to realize he no longer held any power. Not over her. He’d made her his equal.

In Elain’s perfect world, there was no death. Only beautiful, everlasting, incandescent life. 

Koschei pulled back to look at her. “You have given me everything,” she whispered, wondering if he knew that one day, she’d step over his lifeless body with a smile.

He didn’t know. Her own magic pulled, telling her the truth of the matter. She could see his rotting face smiling at her with bleached bones and hollow, bird-picked eyes. The future was clear to her now. No longer a puzzle but a complete picture. 

He slammed her against him roughly, and Elain came with a cry. Her nails dug sharply into his shoulder, though no blood welled from the wounds. He was immortal—and for now, she couldn’t hurt him.

He came, too, filling her with come that dripped down her thighs to pool between them. He couldn’t speak, could scarcely breathe, tucking her against him like she was precious. Like she was fragile.

Like she wasn’t a knife in the dark.

 Elain sighed, wind ruffling her hair. From across the room, she saw her own beautiful face staring back at her, reflected in a large mirror. Her once brown eyes had become a whiteless gray, clouded like a storm over the sea. 

No light. No dark. No death. 

Did he know, she wondered? Did he know what she'd seen all those years before? The means to destroying him kept secret from everyone but her own tightly guarded mind. Her careful planning, the betrayal of her friends, her family, her very world. Would he guess, someday? Would he ever to stop to think how easy it was to pull her from her once carefully guarded existence? How he'd seen only what he wanted, just like the rest of them? 

Did he think he'd broken her, bent her to his will? Or would he realize when his bones turned to ash, and the same wind she'd been whispering to carried him away. It was her favorite fantasy, lulling her to sleep night after night- and had ever since she'd emerged from the Cauldron.

Elain smiled.

[the-desilittle-bird]

Greens win AU are my favorite ones and honestly the story intrigues me and I liked the fact you made the reader realistic-tired and numb(who can blame her) and Aemond is so cocky about himself that I want to slap him, grovel for reader's forgiveness.

I wouldn't mind a part 2 of Crimson Lady—where she rules beside Aemond, challenging the patriarchal norms and ensures the peace her mother wanted:she proves she's a good ruler much to the Green's dismay and tries to change the law of succession to allow also girls to rule.

Aemond would be supportive because she has never seen her and any other woman less.

A thing I notice is that she never smiled, a perfect parallel to Aegon III from Fire and Blood-I can see Aemond fighting desperately to earn her forgiveness, to see her smile again ignoring Otto's advices and attempts to manipulate him.

He tries to be a good husband, but to no avail, her attitute doesn't change but she seems only happy with her brother so Aemond decided to bring Baela and Rhaena at court annnd to find her baby brother Viserys and bring him to her.

Would be kinda tragic if before the war the reader tries to remain Aemond's friend but he's cold and unforgiving and now the roles have switched.

The reader doesn't smile, she only wears black and never calls him on his first name but your majesty.

Just my thoughts,eh, I like this Au, kinda depressing😪

Author's Note- Thanks for the request. I had been thinking of a way of moving the story forward but was a bit clueless at first, but after your request, I had a clear idea. Hope you like it and it is upto your expectations. Do not fret to leave another request if you wish for. And I decided to make the end a bit less disappointing since I wished for (Y/N) and Aemond to be happy after all they have been through.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

The Crimson Queen

Summary- The war had it impacts and the acts of horrors had to be put aside to move on in their lives...

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666 , @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26 , @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy , @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon, @stargaryenx, @hukio, @saraelizabeth26, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @eudximoniakr, @themaze13

GIF Credits to @bobahwrites

Two long moons had passed and the realm as well as the council had suffered several drastic changes. Most of the council members were changed; taxes reduced to the half of what the people had to pay; new trade alliances were made with the Free Cities. And the biggest of them was the allowance of a female heir. All under the reign of Aemond Targaryen and (Y/N) Targaryen.

Wed for almost two moons, the couple were yet to have a real conversation. While Aemond had tried to make amends with the former princess, (Y/N) had only replied with curt replies.

Aemond only found her softening in the presence of the common people and her younger brother Aegon, flashing an occasional smile when he wasn't in her sight.

The people called her the Blessed Queen, much to Aemond's mother and grandfather's dismay. He had always let her take the charge of the realm, letting her give the final verdicts and decide.

Aemond liked how (Y/N) would command the attention of each and every person in the room without even uttering a single word. But the distances in between them only pained him even more.

"I was wondering if we could bring Rhaena and Baela to court," Aemond said, sitting in the chair beside the fireplace. His eye carefully studied his wife's face as she glanced up from her book. "They are safe where they are," she replied strictly.

Aemond hummed, leaning in a bit. "They are, but I was thinking that they should be here, in the court, as they are the Queen's half-sister," Aemond tried to reason. (Y/N) looked up, setting her book aside. "Is it a part of your mother's plan? Or perhaps of your grandfather?" (Y/N) asked, standing up and walking to the balcony.

"Let me assure you, (Y/N). I am part of no plan of theirs," Aemond said, standing up and joining her on the balcony. (Y/N) sighed, her eyes casted down at her hands. "How can I trust you, your grace?" The Crimson Lady asked, her voice monotone with no feelings.

"You can leave the formalities aside, (Y/N)," Aemond said softly, placing a hand on her back. (Y/N) jerked back as his hand touched her back, eyes wide in paranoia. "Our very marriage is a formality, your grace," she said, wrapping her hands around herself.

Aemond swallowed down the lump in his throat, head slowly lowering as his mind processed the silent resignation. "I will be in my chambers, if you need me, my lady." With the words hanging in the silence of the room, Aemond left the queen with a single glance over his shoulder.

The council room was yet again in a fit of chaos as everyone seemed to shout and cut each other. Only the silent ones were Aemond, (Y/N) and their new hand, Cregan Stark.

Aemond watched as (Y/N) shared a glance with Cregan, before slamming her fist on the table, making everyone stop abruptly. "My Queen?" The master of laws asked, his eyes wide. "I would say that the taxes which are leveled on the common people are just fine."

"But what of the treasury, my queen? How are you thinking to pay the extravagant cost of maintaining the court?" Otto hissed, trying to disguise his frustration. "The extravagant cost of the court, along with other things can be afforded with the amount of taxes we are receiving currently, my lord. I recommend you and the council try to remove the corrupt middle men to avoid the shortage of money."

Otto and Alicent, along with the Lannister representative of the West, looked at (Y/N) with disapproving gaze while the others present in the room nodded understandingly. Everyone were aware of the corrupted middle men who seemingly took a part of the taxes for themselves and gave only the remaining to the royalty.

"Master of coins, will the suggestion made by the Queen work?" Aemond asked, his eye trained on the man who calculated something in his notebook before looking up with a smile. "If my calculations are accurate, my king, then almost 16% of the taxes are missing and if we are able to get the complete percent of the common people's taxes, then everything will work perfectly."

This only fueled the growing frown on the Greens' faces, which seemed to make Corlys Velaryon and the Wolf Lord smirk wider, as they looked at their queen with pride.

"Then, we know what you are supposed to do," Aemond said, his words laced with finality. The men nodded before (Y/N) respectfully dismissed them, before following them out; leaving Otto, Alicent and Aemond in the room.

"Poison her like you poisoned Aegon," Alicent broke the silence, making Aemond's jaw drop to the floor. "She is my lady wife, mother," Aemond replied, his gaze moving to the Valyrian ring in his ring finger. "Your and the bastard Queen's marriage is yet to be consummated. Poison her and marry someone of your choice, son. Perhaps, that Alys River."

Aemond's body stiffened as his former lover's name slipped out from his mother's mouth. "She is my wife and I shall do no such thing, mother. You should be aware of it," Aemond said, glaring at his mother and standing up. "Where do you think you are going, grandson? We are not done yet," Otto said with authority as he watched Aemond move towards the exit.

"But this conversation is over for me, Lord Hightower." Aemond slammed the door shut behind him, leaving a stunned Otto and a tear-filled Alicent sitting in the council chamber.

"Sister!" (Y/N) heard someone yell from behind her as she walked in the garden. The Dragon Queen turned to find herself engulfed in a hug. She felt the strong smell of salty sea water and books fill her nostrils. "Rhaena?" She asked in disbelief.

Another pair of hands hugged her from behind, making her head snap back to find Baela, hugging her closely. "Baela? You two are here?" (Y/N) asked, her eyes wide with disbelief, tears brimming in her eyes. "Aemond send for us to be taken to here," Rhaena said with a soft smile.

"Aemond?" (Y/N) let a frown take over her features, but it didn't make home for long as she was reunited with her family. "Yes, but why are you wearing black?" Baela said, as she parted to take her in.

(Y/N) sighed, something she has been doing commonly now. "Sister, you don't seem happy. Is something the matter?" Rhaena said with concern, making (Y/N) let out a breath. "How can I be happy when I am married to the man who killed my brother and father?"

Baela and Rhaena stayed silent as they hugged the warrior-queen again. "He is sorry for what he did, my dear," Rhaena said, caressing (Y/N)'s cheek softly. "Is he? And why should I accept his apology? It is my decision after all," (Y/N) said stubbornly, feeling slightly betrayed as she saw her own sisters take her husband's side.

"Might I remind you that you killed Daeron, his brother," Baela said softly, her hands making their home on her forearms. (Y/N) blinked once, twice, before she nodded. "Then sister? We are aware of everything that happens during the wars, but keep the bad acts aside, now, my dear. Forgive him and yourself," Rhaena said.

(Y/N) only nodded, humming. "I will later this evening. For I wish to spend time with you two," (Y/N) smiled. "Where is little Aegon?" Baela asked, grinning. "Little Aegon is no more little, sister."

(Y/N) felt like the nerves in her entire body were screaming at her to knock at the door to Aemond's chambers but the usually courageous and brave Queen felt too coward to do so.

'Am I doing the right thing, mother?' She thought to herself as she finally knocked on the wooden dragon. She heard shuffling from the other side as the door opened. Surprise painted Aemond's face before melting in a cold look.

"Your grace," he said with a nod. No smile or even a hint of softness. "May we talk for a few moments... Aemond," (Y/N) said nervously, her usual composure fluttering in front of his sharp, penetrative gaze. Aemond only nodded, stepping aside to let her in.

Once the door was closed, (Y/N) took in a deep breath, turning to face a grim Aemond. "If I may ask, your grace, how is it that you have graced me with your presence?" Aemond asked coldly, making tears well up in her deep eyes.

She was aware that she was only getting the taste of the medicine she had forced him to drink, but it only pained her more. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

"I am here to apologize, for my behavior to you, Aemond. I understand that it is important for us to put aside all which happened in the past," (Y/N) said, her eyes watched as Aemond moved to pour himself wine.

"Aemond, I apolo-" "Are we done, your grace?" Aemond interrupted her, making her jaw agape. "Aemond?" (Y/N) asked in disbelief. "If you are then you are free to leave, your grace. Your apology is well heard but not accepted, for I always tried to make amends while you so graciously pushed me away."

The Crimson Queen gulped, nodding her head in agreement. "I am certainly sorry for my behavior, Aemond," (Y/N) could feel her tears spilling down her face. She walked briskly to Aemond, kneeling down in front of him.

Aemond tried not to look at the queen who knelt in front of him. "Stand, your grace. My feet are not your true place," Aemond said, trying to keep his emotions from slipping. "You have done a lot for me, but I... I have always done nothing to appreciate it but only criticized them. Give me whatever punishment you think worthy of me," (Y/N) said, trying to keep her hiccups at bay.

"I should be punished, my queen. For I have killed your dear ones, and you," Aemond kneeled down in front of her, grasping her elbows in his forcefully. "You have not killed my dear brother. Daeron. Do you remember him, your grace, or have you forgotten him altogether?" Aemond asked, hatred laced in his voice only triggered (Y/N)'s tears.

She let herself feel. Feel all the emotions she could see coming towards her way. Her head placed itself on his chest, tears staining his leather tunic. Sobs filled the entire room, echoing around the silent walls. Aemond's heart clenched in the worst ways as he felt her bury herself more and more into him.

"It's alright," Aemond whispered, his fingers caressing her hair. "I am so tired, Aemond. All of the blood and violence. I don't wish it anymore," (Y/N) whispered, hiccups breaking her sentences in between. "I know, my queen, I know."

"Do you... do you forgive me?" (Y/N) whispered, looking up at him with red and puffy eyes. "Truthfully, not now, (Y/N). But soon, very soon," Aemond said, letting a reassuring smile take over his face.

(Y/N) sniffled, parting away from the embrace to study the slightly wet leather tunic of Aemond. "I apologize for that," (Y/N) nodded to that, making Aemond bite down a small smile. "Do you feel light now, (Y/N)?" Aemond asked, his hand still on her back.

"Unexpectedly, yes," (Y/N) said with a small smile, making Aemond's eye tear up a bit. "What happened?" The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms asked, voice filled with concern. "This is the first time you smiled at me," Aemond said with a chuckle, his eye shining with adoration.

(Y/N) blinked, feeling guilty of her behavior directed towards him. "I hope there are more times of it," she whispered, gently placing her head on his shoulder. "I hope the same, dear," Aemond smiled softly, as they sat there in complete silence, basking in each other's presence.

It was in that moment when the story of the One-Eyed King and the Crimson Queen took a right turn and shifted from a story filled of blood and violence to a story of love and peace. A reign so peaceful that the common people called it the Reign of Gold.

[zafirosreverie]

Change the future part 2

first 

___________________

"Mom...do you think it’s gonna be today?" Isabela asked softly as she watched her mother pacing up and down the room, Luisa looking anxiously out the window.

"I don't know mi vida...I hope so"

Julieta wrung her hands nervously and looked at her daughters. It hurt her heart not to have answers for them, but she couldn't lie to them either, she just had to hope and pray that today was the day.

"Do you think they remember us?" Luisa asked, earning a hiss from her older sister.

"Of course they remember us! They didn't leave so little!" Isabela crossed her arms "besides, we sent them letters, and...they surely remember how we look...right mom?"

The healer smiled at her eldest daughter and tried to appear as calm as she could. She truly understood, she knew where Luisa's fear and Isabela's anxiety came from. More than five years had passed since you left, refusing to wait for Bruno and taking your children and Mirabel with you.

Five years since the last time she saw her daughter, since Isabela and Luisa lost their sister, and despite the fact that you had found a way to communicate with her without her mother finding out, the truth is that there was always the doubt if her daughter and nephews remembered them if you missed them as much as they missed you.

“I’m sure they do, Isa” She smiled, hoping she was convincing enough to calm her daughters down a bit.

Things hadn't been easy since you left. The shock lasted only a few hours for Alma, and then she had completely gone mad. Many things were shouted between mother and daughter that afternoon and it hadn't taken long for the family to find out everything. Of course, the reactions were mixed.

Pepa and Félix had looked at her in astonishment and perhaps a little afraid, she didn't blame them, she knew the burden that her mother had put on them after Mirabel's failed ceremony. Agustín could never forgive her for letting you take their youngest daughter and in less than a month she was signing the divorce. She never saw him again. Yes, she understood that it had been a mistake to make that decision without consulting him, but she did not regret it, it had been the best for her baby, and although his absence still hurt her, she had to be strong for her other two daughters.

The children had all been confused. Dolores and Isabela were quick to more or less understand the situation and her eldest daughter was heartbroken when she asked if she had been the reason she had sent her little sister away, if she had been treating her too badly. Luisa and Camilo had not been better. Mirabel had been her nephew’s best friend and Luisa's favorite sister, and it hurt Dolores to have lost Joaquín and María.

Everyone had mourned the loss of the three children, but it seemed that Julieta herself had been the only one to remember that you were gone too. She knew that Pepa wasn't as close to you as she was, but she would have thought that her sister would have at least cared for you, but she didn't. And for a while, your name was strictly forbidden to the whole family, direct orders from Alma.

Her mother hated you as she had never hated anyone before, she didn't miss an opportunity to remind everyone of the horrible crime you had committed against the family and of which her own daughter had been a part of it. She also began to treat her as she once treated her precious Mirabel, and only confirmed to the brunette that she had made the right decision.

The healer didn't care much that she was no longer Alma's golden daughter, if she was being honest. Without the burden of her mother's expectations, she felt freer, lighter, and a little more in control of herself. She had more time to spend with her two remaining daughters, to really get to know the wonderful women they were gradually becoming, and that in turn saved them both.

Isabela never allowed her grandmother to control her life again, not after seeing how she treated her mother and understanding that she had treated her sister just like that. Luisa stopped leading the whole town behind her back and had been quick to learn and recreate her mother’s icy gaze for when someone tried to abuse her kindness.

The problem was when her mother tried to touch her little sister and her niece. No longer having her and Isabela under her orders, Alma needed other puppets, and her gaze had been riveted on Pepa and Dolores. Her poor sister began to break too soon as her mother tried to force her into the very mold the healer and her daughter had escaped from. There was no night that the rain did not fall hard in the town, while the redhead clung to her sister, crying from the pain that the situation caused her.

Pepa cried with fear, not only for her but for her children. Dolores began to be afraid to leave her room and Camilo didn't want anyone to look at him if he was not transformed, Alma's cruel words had done too much damage to their self-esteem and it broke the healer's heart to know that it was partly her fault. She was always stronger than her sister to bear that... maybe if she had continued to do so, everything would have been better.

It wasn't until Felix approached her one night to tell her that her sister was pregnant, that the brunette decided no, it wouldn't have been better. Pepa was afraid that the baby growing in her womb was going to break as soon as it came out of her like Camilo and Dolores were breaking, and Felix felt powerless and unable to protect his family. But Julieta could do it, she could protect her sister, her nephews, and her daughters. She wasn't going to let anyone touch her remaining family.

The next day, she fought another battle with Alma, one for the freedom of Pepa and her children. It had been hard but it didn't come close to what had already happened when you left with the children. She made it clear to her mother that she wasn't going to hurt anyone else, not on her watch. That represented an unexpected but beneficial change for the Madrigals: they began to think of her as the new head of the family instead of Alma, a change that even Casita seemed to accept since it stopped obeying her mother and only followed Julieta's instructions.

It was hard, having to make the tough decisions, teaching the family to fly free while she herself was still learning to let go of people's expectations, helping solve community problems, etc. But at least she wasn't alone, she had you.

There was no time of day when the healer felt happier and safer than she did when she was in her room writing a letter to you, or reading your almost immediate responses. In the end, it turned out that you had not only taken the children, but also a small part of the miracle, and both Joaquín and María had received a gift, even outside of Encanto.

A selfish little part of herself liked to think that the miracle knew she needed you, so she blessed her with a way to keep you close to her, even if you were worlds away. She didn't think it was a coincidence that Joaquín's gift allowed him to teleport objects and that combined with María's (who could bring everything she drew to reality) they had created the blessed box that she kept locked in her room and whose twin was with you.

It was some kind of portal, one too small for her to escape and see her daughter, but big enough for you and the children to send things and messages to her. Letters were the most common and she already had several albums with all the ones that Mirabel had sent her in recent years, it helped a little to alleviate the pain, and allowed her not to miss so much of her baby's life.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before Isabela and Dolores found out. Surprisingly, both of them had been excited and promised to keep it a secret in exchange for allowing them to send their own letters and gifts. She would never forget Isabela's hopeful look when she received her first letter from Mirabel, saying that she missed her and forgave her for everything. After that, it was you who asked her to invite Camilo and Luisa too.

As a consequence, the four of them spent most of their free time in Julieta's room, but she didn't care and the fact that Alma continued to look at them all as traitors, helped no one suspect anything. After all, where would the children feel most protected if not with her?

Also, it kept her sane. Her mother never knew that she still had contact with you, nor did her sister or her brother-in-law (because Pepa was still afraid of Alma and could have revealed it, so she didn't risk telling her), but you knew everything that happened in Encanto. There was nothing she wouldn't tell you, confiding in you her fears, worries, and insecurities, and you always knew what to say to make her feel better and reassure her that she was doing the best she could. It felt like you never left her.

In the end, it was just that, that bubble of love that you had helped her create together with the children, which allowed little Antonio to be born and grow up in a warm, loving home and, most importantly, out of the clutches of his grandmother. Pepa used to say that her boy would see her as a grandmother instead of Alma and she was quite amused when the baby began to follow his aunt everywhere as soon as he learned to walk.

It had been beautiful. A united and happy family (despite the shadow that had settled permanently in her mother's room), where everyone did the best they could and no one tried to fill each other's shoes,  it was close to perfection…until Bruno came back.

The night her brother appeared at Casita’s door will always remain etched in Julieta's memory. She had been washing the dinner dishes when her sister's scream alerted her and she ran into the hall, only to be met by the pair of green eyes she didn't think she'd ever see again. Of course, she had joined Pepa in the crushing hug she had given the youngest triplet and she had cried with happiness, thinking how happy you would be when she told you. But then her brother dropped the bombshell and had broken something in her and in their relationship. He hadn't left.

For Julieta, it was as if someone threw a bucket of cold water on her and the humidity seeped into her bones while Bruno confessed that he was always in the walls. Pepa had been quick to hug him again and tell him that it didn't matter, that he was back and that was what mattered, but for the older triplet, it drove a wedge between her and her brother.

She couldn't forgive him for doing such a thing, because if he really was in the house the whole time, it meant that he had seen them all suffer, that he heard Pepa and her cry, that he witnessed the cruelty with which Alma treated Mirabel and more importantly: he saw you suffer. He knew how much he'd hurt you, he'd seen you cry yourself to sleep, waiting for him…and he hadn't cared.

She had gotten even angrier when Bruno had tried to explain to her the vision he had and how he had tried to protect Mirabel.

“Don't even mention my daughter” she had growled “do you think you protected her? Letting her be treated like dirt by mom? Letting them blame her for your absence? She was a baby, Bruno! And you only made it worse for her! Do you know who truly protected her? Y/N did”

In the end, Isabela and Félix had to get her out of there to prevent her from saying more hurtful things to her younger brother, and she had been quick to tell you everything. Of course, you had reacted just like her. Mirabel wrote her a letter a few days later to tell her that you had been crying every night since Bruno reappeared.

As the new head of the family, the Madrigals had waited for her to make a decision regarding Bruno's stay in the Casita. It hurt her a little that they thought she would leave her own brother out on the street despite how upset she was with him, especially considering that her mother still lived with them, but she supposed it was a fair thought considering her words to him. The healer received him back, but everyone could see that there was a broken link there.

However, her brother's return resulted in a change of dynamics that little by little began to separate the family. On the one hand, Alma had been quick to put her arm around Bruno's shoulders, taking advantage of the tension between the siblings, and Julieta hadn't been able to avoid it, while Pepa had been caught in the crossfire.

The children had not known what to do or where to turn. Isabela and Luisa were firmly by her side at all times, as was little Antonio, who refused to be away from his aunt, but Camilo and Dolores were torn between comforting their mother, re-establishing a relationship with their long-lost uncle, or supporting their aunt.

In the end, the bomb exploded in their faces. Julieta never wanted it to happen, but when her mother insulted Mirabel and tried to curse your name, she snapped. She had responded with the same cruelty as Alma and that had caused the miracle to break. The cracks had appeared quickly and suddenly, without giving them time to react.

She watched in horror as her daughter and her eldest nephew attempted to rescue the candle, only to be stopped by Casita and pushed along with the rest of them outside, preventing the building from collapsing on them. Fortunately, no one had been hurt, but their gifts were gone. It wasn't until later, after settling in a house that someone in town had lent them, that she realized what that meant: if the miracle wasn't there, there was a huge possibility that your children would have lost their gifts too, and with them, all contact with you, with her daughter, would have vanished. All because of her.

The brunette had cried herself to sleep, a huge emptiness growing in her chest and her guilt threatening to consume her. Silently, she had apologized to anyone who would listen. To her family for failing them, to her daughter for losing the only bond that united them, to you, for everything. Her only consolation was a letter Isabela had managed to salvage, one that had arrived just before everything went to hell:

The children and I talked and after a long time, we all agree that maybe it's time to go back. We will leave this afternoon. Mirabel is very excited to see you (although a little nervous too, despite the fact that I told her and that she had nothing to worry about), and Joaquín and María already want to hug you, just like me. I don't know what will happen when I have Bruno in front of me, but I do know that seeing you again, the family, is what keeps me going these days, so here we go. See you soon, Eta <3

                                                                           -Y/N

That letter had been her anchor ever since. The hope of seeing you, of seeing her nephews, her precious Mirabel, of having them all in front of her after so many years, was the only thing that motivated her to get up every day because, like her daughters, she listened to a small voice inside her that always whispered in the back of her mind: maybe today.

"I wish Dolores could hear them" Isabela whispered, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Isa" she said with a warning tone.

"I know, I know, sorry" her daughter sighed "it's just that... it would save us a lot of disappointment"

Julieta looked at her for a moment before sighing and hugging her against her chest. She shared her daughter's feelings, it was too painful to wait all day to see if you and the children would appear on the horizon, only for the night to catch up with no trace of you. She didn't know if her heart would take much more.

"Mamá?" Luisa called

The woman looked at her other daughter, worried by the tone of her voice, and both she and Isabela separated when the muscular girl leaned even more over the frame, almost stepping out of the window.

"Luisa?" she asked carefully "Mi amor, what's wrong?"

"Look" her daughter pointed to something outside "I think... it's them"

Julieta immediately looked where Luisa was pointing, and she felt her heart race and her stomach twist the moment she saw four dots advancing towards the house where they were. She had not seen you in five years, but she could always recognize your figure, no matter how many lifetimes had passed. You were really there, you were really back.

[glassiscompletlyempty]

is it just me or does trolls really suck at redemption stories?

first off creek in the tv show shows up an unappologetic jerk and is forgiven straight away second off barb in world tour she redeems herself off screen inbetween the second movie and the christmas special so we don't actually see her redemption plus in the second movie itself she is just let off the hook for war crimes for no real reason.

crimp she changes sides after velvet and veneer were already beaten and she was still complicit in kidnapping and torturing floyd simply for money but she gets let off scott free in the end beause she cried in a closet.

veneer also totured floyd for fame and money and seemed very glee about it up until the very end when when he and velvet were beaten and he tried to blame everything on her and make out like he was her victim but he still earned a smile from floyd because he stood up to a sister who insulted him a couple of times in the movie

by that logic shouldn't floyd be telling branch to ditch their brothers in the end? given everything they did to branch was way worse.

and finally brozone well they get given 2 second chances because the movie feels being dna with someone entitles you to treat someone however badly you like and still get to be a part of their life when its convenient for you because family is wonderful regardless of how shitty they actually are to you or how little you actually know them.

none of thes redemption stories are all that good imo none of them seem to believe in the person who did wrong actually havin to work to better themselves and instead its always on the victim to forgive them no matter what they did or how many times they did it.

i hope this series stays away from redemption story's in future cause it just is not very good at them.

[elementclangen]

Moon 152-Leaf-fall

After a rainy leaf-fall collapsed most of their dens, badgers attacked ElementClan’s camp.  Maybe it was because they blamed the new water-powered cats on the high rainfall, maybe they wanted the cavern for themselves, or something else entirely.  No cat truly knows what goes on in the head of a badger.  But what is known is that a badger attack is devastating.  The elder Strawberrytrail (140) tried to defend herself, but proved too old and frail to fend off a badger for long and died. Steppemimic (35) was trying to protect Whistlepaw (7) and Rockypaw (7), who had gotten ill after eating a bad rabbit, and all three of them were brutally killed.  Once more, not even powerful magic could save them.  Finally, the badgers attacked the nursery, where the almost apprentice-aged Creekkit (6) and Songkit (6) were the only ones left.  The badger immediately went for the kits and snapped Songkit’s neck before he could do anything.  Gladepatch (28) arrived and leaped onto the badger’s back to try and protect Creekkit, but another badger was coming into the nursery.  Creekkit tried to use just her fire powers to fend them off, but, once she saw the dead body of her brother lying on the ground, she snapped.  With the Clan as spectators, she used her dark-cursed powers to drain both badgers of their life. But somehow spared Gladepatch, who was still in contact with one of the badgers.  Afterwards, she collapsed to the ground.  Yuccastar (131) was furious that Gladepatch and Conegoat (35) had hidden the true nature of the kits from her, but other Clanmates were just glad that the badgers were dead.  Peakspots (121) reminded his mate that his mother, Shadestar, had been a dark-cursed cat, and that she had proven herself in a similar way to Creekkit, albeit when she was a bit older.  With most of the Clan badgering (bad joke?) her to allow Creekkit to stay, Yuccastar relented and granted the young cat the status of proven dark-cursed cat, something that her grandfather, Yellowcreek, had never managed to earn.  She does decide to train the young cat herself once Creekpaw is made an apprentice.   The Clan is grieving from the loss of several beloved members.  Volcanoblossom (79) has lost all three of her kits just three moons after joining the Clan.  If that isn’t a sign that she doesn’t belong, she doesn’t know what would be.  But she’ll give the Clan another chance.  Maybe it has some worth she hasn’t seen yet.  Fry (59) is also reeling from the death of his kit. He feels like he’s living through a nightmare.  Steppemimic can’t really be dead.  As Fry’s clanmates comfort him during the vigil, he can’t help but wonder if things will ever feel normal again without Steppemimic in his life.  Wildcave (35) feels sick to his stomach at the loss of his sister.  The last time he saw her, they had fought, and now all Wildcave can do is beg for forgiveness and hope Steppemimic is watching from StarClan.  Peakspots is also hit hard by Steppemimic’s death and grabs a piece of her fluff to add to his nest.

Meta: I like that Creekpaw proved herself in a similar way to Shadestar (Shadestar killed a group of foxes attacking the camp). And yes, if any of you were wondering, Yellowcreek killing a fox who snuck into the nursery should have been enough to prove him. But Yuccastar is a jerk and refused to, making the argument that he was only protecting himself (he was the only kit in the nursery at the time). In this case, she couldn't do that because Creekpaw protected Gladepatch.

[foodandfolklore]

The Origin of the Sweet Potato

This Weekend is Thanksgiving for my American friends. Or was it Thursday....Regardless, happy Thanksgiving! I'm Canadian, so I already celebrated in October. Our harvest season tends to end earlier than our US counterparts if anyone was wondering why we celebrate early.

I've already tried digging around for turkey themed lore while celebrating my own thanksgiving. Most stories are more modern since turkey is a newer food, though so is Thanksgiving comparatively. So I thought I'd look at foods beloved for the season. I know sweet potatoes are a popular ingredient for many casseroles or pies.

So what is a sweet potato? A lot of people think sweet potato is just another word for Yam. And it can be confusing as some people will use the terms interchangeably. But they are two different foods with different tastes. A yam is a proper tuber with a thicker skin and high starch. A sweet potato is actually a root and can come in many colours. Most yams you buy in North America are imported where as sweet potatoes are home grown.

Sweet potatoes come from North and Central America, and were especially important to the natives of Hawaii. The nutrient dense crop helped keep it's people healthy in times of hardship. There were many different kinds of sweet potato the Hawaiian people could rotate with too, as they understood the importance of crop diversity.

The Sweetness of the Sweet Potato allows us to Invoke energy of Love, Lust, Beauty and Passion. But it also helps us with Stability, Health and Healing. We can also use the Sweet Potato to help Better Connect with a Younger Generation as the sweet potato's orange colour can you adapt and the sweetness of the food will make them more receptive to your attempts. The sweet potato has made it's way around the world, including Asia. I found a story from India that explains the existence of sweet potatoes and how the came to be. Though unlike Pumpkins, we know they came to Indian through the North Atlantic Trade sometime between 1500-1700

How Sweet Potatoes came to exist

Once long ago there lived an old woman who lived alone after the death of her husband. All their children had moved out after marriage. They were all poor and did not have much to share with their mother.

The old woman was also struggling to earn a living. She earned a couple of pennies by selling banana and areca palm(puwak).

One day the mother decided to visit her daughter who lived with her family in a nearby village. She walked all the way with the help of her walking stick. She arrived at her daughter’s home.

Meanwhile the daughter was cooking some rice for her kids. She was also very poor and lived admist many hardships. And when her mother arrived at her home at noon she was not happy about it at all. She invited her mother inside while thinking “If I offer my mother some rice there will not be enough rice for my kids. They haven’t had anything for breakfast either”.So instead of inviting her mother to have some lunch she said “O mother we have been having such a hard time. We couldn’t afford any rice and we haven’t cooked anything today. But if you visit my sister who lives nearby you shall definitely have a good meal”.

The mother replied “O dear then could you please fetch me some water. I wish for all your troubles to go away. May the triple jem bless you”. She drank the water and walked away in the scorching sun.

After her mother left the daughter called her children to have lunch. She went to the rice pot and took off the lid. To her horror she saw that the rice had turned into blood. The entire pot of rice was now a pot of red blood.

“O dear god! Look what happened! This happened because of my wrong doing towards my mother. I should have given her at least a bit of rice. O dear lord please forgive me! I have committed a terrible crime!”. She was very upset and heartbroken. She sat there for hours in grief.

Alast she took the pot and dumped the blood behind her house. She shouted “batha le!”(“the rice is blood”) as the blood flowed across her backyard.

After a few months a red coloured vine started to grow from where she had dumped the blood. This vine was completely red, even its leaves were red. And in a short time this vine grew all across the village it thrived in the surrounding environment. Cattle, goats, rabbits and a lot of other creatures started eating it. The villagers tried to eliminate the vines but they failed it grew everywhere. It bore large red coloured yams.

After sometime the daughter got even poorer to the point that she couldn’t even afford food to feed her kids. Her children were crying in hunger. And finally she decided to eat the red yams which grew in her backyard. She thought “I cannot bear this any longer I will boil it and eat it. Doesn’t matter even if we die at least we would have our stomachs full.” She dug out a few yams and bolied it. She fed it to her children and ate some herself.

The yams were sweet and tasty. They didn’t die. They felt strong and lively. Thereafter they started eating these yams everyday. She told her fellow villagers about the yams and taught them to consume the yams too. She called it “bathale ala”.

Later this bathale ala was grown in many villages and it spread far and wide throughout the country.The people called it “bathale ala” too and afterwards it changed into “bathala”. And as time passed by new varieties of “bathala ala” were created such as “sudupata bathala”(white coloured sweet potatoes), “kahapata bathala”(yellow coloured), “seeni bathala”(sugar like sweet potato) etc. And it remains to this day as a favourite of many.

And that was how “bathala” or sweet potato was created according to Sinhala folklore.

[mushroom-for-art]

Part 3 of Shadow au, Syns making progress! I think! He thinks! We don't know! Also added some extra stuff to this one because I was inspired by the height chart art using Darkness' extra sharp design so woo! Enjoy your boy @seasidemew! This part was actually meant to be bit heavier but lmao I've changed the order of my canon it's fine lmao so you get another relaxing one

Conversations and Progress

The dark hued two delicately landed in the middle of the makeshift camp, the grass was soft and cool under her feet as she glanced wearily to the side, her pink toned brother snuffled in his sleep stretching wiggling made a mrrp and rolling over with an exhale returning to lightly snoring as she let out a faint sigh of relief. He didn't actually know her yet, they'd never met and frankly after what happened she intended to keep it that way.

The orange hued two lifted her head from where she sat leaning against a tree looking at her sister with dark bags forming under her eyes. She stood slowly motioning with her head and stepped out of the campsite walking a small distance before stopping and waiting for her taller sister.

"What has he asked then?" May hugged herself as she asked the question, thumbs rubbing her arms softly in self soothing motions as she turned her head to glance at her sibling.

"This and that, he still wonders how and why we know each other and he's suggested his own theories he thinks we have a truce or blackmail on each other. And he's been asking what we've been saying about him naturally."

The orange one hummed uncomfortably squeezing her own arms, "and are you still being safe? He's not threatened you or followed you back to your nest?"

"No, not yet, he's moved as if to join me on the flight home but I told him I needed my beauty sleep and my privacy and I didn't like a man that disrespected either of those." She shrugged casually, "it seemed to work."

"Citrine… you really must be more careful..if he, I don't know he might turn if he thinks you're just screwing with him or get real nasty if he gets bored of the games."

"I know.." Her tail swayed, "I know. I'm being careful don't worry so much May, you should be thinking of yourself more I mean look at those bags. Are they designer? You could steal a purse with them when did you last get a proper nights' sleep?"

May looked away squeezing herself, "not since I thought I saw him that night… not properly since finding out I was right.." She shook her head looking back at her sister, "But it's my JOB to worry about you and to worry about Matt. I'm the oldest, you're my baby sister and he's my baby brother. I can't just sleep peacefully knowing he might lurk into camp and slaughter either of you."

Darkness grimaced to herself "May.." She felt Mays hands grab her face reaching up with some difficulty for the height difference.

"No, don't you May me, you're family okay? And I care about you a lot so I'm gonna worry."

She sighed, moving to take her sisters' wrists, planning to move her hands off her face, "you're too forgiving all things considering with me you know."

"You've grown and you've changed, I know you feel bad over what happened because you push away any kindness thinking you don't deserve it, but you do. I mean you keep checking in on us and watching that, that guy for us even though he could be a threat to you. AND hush hush ehp not finished close your mouth, and you're trying to change your identity claiming a new name moving on from being Darkness, and I'm really proud of you for it. Maybe I am too forgiving but I think you've earned the forgiveness."

Darkness hummed awkwardly looking away with her eyes, "I mean the whole experimental new names thing is personal because the name was dumb not some, spiritual metaphor." She moved Mays hands to emphasis the denial of self flinching and pulling her hands away when May winced.

"Ah-!" May looked at the bloody little marks on her wrist and frowned before grabbing one of her sisters hands who tried to retract them pulling it close to examine, she squeezed one of her fingers hearing her hiss in discomfort as a jagged crystal protruded from her paw like a claw.

"What did you do…" her voice was soft and deeply concerned as she examined Darkness' hand noticing the spikes protruding from her wrist also, "Citrine…"

"Dont…that names too nice for me.." She sighed softly, "I saw him. During the day fighting a Mega evolved Aggron. It didnt stand a chance… I got, scared, and panicked so I added more to myself to be stronger so if he turns nasty, if I have to fight him it'll give me the edge and extra strength."

"That must hurt.."

"It's not so bad, rather ache now and win then avoid needed pain and lose."

"I don't agree with you doing this to yourself, but it's done now.. If it comes to it you know I'd fight by your side against him."

"You're such a mother sometimes." Darkness chuckled softly, "I suppose I like the sound of those odds." May gently released her hand.

"Just please don't do anything else like this to yourself okay? Cause I don't want it turning into a self punishment thing. I know you because you're like me, you're from me, I am your mother." Though her tone was stern it did end in a playful way as she offered her sister a comforting smile.

"Hm, fine sure whatever mom," Darkness laughed softly, "I should go entertain him then for a bit, don't want him getting too bored or jealous." Moving to step away.

"Please stay." She paused at Mays request, "I, want Matt to meet you and I just, I have a bad feeling tonight. I don't know I feel bad letting you leave to go to him. I worry you won't come back. So, stay? You can have my bed." Darkness swished her tail smiling softly to her sister, usually she'd argue about having to go but to some degree she'd been wanting to meet her little brother too even if she was anxious with his initial negative experience with shadow mewtwo. "and I might actually sleep better tonight with you both nearby and safe!"

"aah fine I guess you've convinced me," smiling casually she watched Mays shoulders drop in relief as they moved to walk back to the camp.

"I think Matt will love you once he gets to know you realize who you are...and I think you're wrong Citrine is a nice name for you you deserve a good name and I think you should get a name that's pretty. Like Crystal or Jewel or uh Diamond or Moonstone." Darkness snorted softly.

"I'm noticing a theme here," smirking as May floundered.

"Well you said Citrine was a gem so like eehh was trying to think of other gem things I thought you liked it for that?"

"Well, it's like a yellow gem and it's kinda pretty..though it was his suggestion before he swapped to Citrus cause I got the two confused."

"Ah yes orange scented," May lightly bumped into her sister playful as they walked into camp, "I mean you're a pretty gem, it's up to you what you choose."

Darkness hesitated for a moment, "I, was thinking of maybe looking at M starting names…since like you and Matt..but that's probably intruding.."

May smiled at her comfortingly, "Hey that'd be nice, or if you pick an A starting name we could become M A M." Darkness lightly hit her face shoving her away as she laughed.

"Never mind I'm never taking suggestions from you ever," but she laughed fondly as May chuckled in mischievous motioning for Darkness to take her bed, a few leaves carefully arranged on the ground for padding against the dirt just as cushioning the best they could do considering they were out in the wilds with no equipment.

Darkness moved to sit but pointed at her in play threat, "you better sleep." With May putting her hands up in surrender before moving to find a spot to sit to sleep as Darkness awkwardly tried to get comfortable. She missed her cot back at her nest but she appreciated the gesture and that her sister wanted her there. She stretched out and then curled up using the middle of her tail as a cushion. May found a tree trunk to lean against, she looked up past the treeline scanning the sky for a moment before taking off her glasses carefully placing them down on the grass besides her before as she brought her knees to her chin crossing her arms over her knees and nuzzling her cheek into her arm crook to sleep.

From far away higher up, Syns tail swayed and thumped aggressively into the tree trunk of the branch he was sitting on. He scanned over the area where the pair had made camp watching the other shadow pokemon join them as his brows furrowed in frustration and confusion, why was she staying there?? What about their chats? His tail thumped the tree trunk in frustration again.

He moved to stand and stepped casually from the branch he was stood on to fly over, if she wasn't going to come see him he'd go see her. He felt the air shifting as he grew closer, a subtle but tangible building of energy as he approached causing him to slow but not stop. The air shimmered and he stopped before he flew right into the shining white dome that materialized feeling the sharp gust caused by its sudden creation. He watched it glisten a shine of white before fading and wondered what that was, he reached a hand out with practiced caution feeling his fingers collide with something solid the white shimmer reappearing where his fingers made impact.

"A protect huh…" He pulled his hand back and the glow faded but as he observed where the dome had originally formed there was a slight haze to indicate it's existence that it wasn't gone just simply blending into its surroundings. He started to wonder how a protect this large and powerful could form as his eyes glanced to the campsite, Mays whited over eyes stared forward without seeing glowing with psychic energy. He should've guessed.

Judging by the size and strength of the protect, he theoretically COULD smash his way through it if he really went for it but watching her eyes roll back and her body slump to the ground gave him the impression it was a subconscious move and breaking it might actually wake her. Besides, there's no way it'd last forever. He'd wager by morning it would've weakened or faded. Sighing just a little annoyed he moved to go find a new perch to watch them more closely he supposed.

——————————————————————

Syn grumbled as rays of light beamed offendingly right into his face, he squinted at the sun with a faint growl lazily moving his hand to shove a cloud over it for five more minutes as he wiggled his shoulders to readjust himself against his tree trunk. As he tried to return to his sleep his brain became aware of the lack of psychic tension that had been present the night before practically dragging his thoughts around to force him into an awake state to which he groaned softly squinting to the side of camp, he blinked his tired eye momentarily mistaking glistening droplets of water as the haze around the protect before realizing it was in fact gone.

Slightly unhappily he sat up to properly peer at the campsite, it was early first light and they were all still asleep. He could've easily approached but also he didn't want to trigger another protect, he'd wait till May was at least conscious deducing she'd be less likely to do anything spontaneously powerful with an awake brain.

The Pinky one, Matt or something had managed to roll off of his makeshift leaf bed in the night and had contorted himself into an obscure position with his head touching his lower back nearly, legs stretched backwards and tail wrapping around the tip resting near his chest. Citrine meanwhile had curled herself up quite small into a ball much like other feline creatures. And May was still flopped out on the floor, chin in the grass body twisted so her legs were still up as she was sat which would probably put an ache on her spine.

The sun won its battle against Syns block cloud and the sunlight gently warmed the leaves and grace dancing over the sleeping lot in the campsite with only May grumbling her legs finally falling in a flop as she rolled over to hide her face from the sun before clumsily sitting up and promptly bashing the side of her head into the tree trunk she'd originally been leant again with clearly no spacial awareness. Syn did a mock flinch to himself quietly chuckling as she quietly groaned rubbing the side of her head with a soft "ow" as she slowly got to her feet grabbing her glasses and waddling off to the side.

Syn contemplated walking into the camp with her gone, maybe he could grab her brother as a bargaining chip or drag Citrus away to find out why she abandoned their usual talks but he knew that wouldn't really help him get closer to his goal. He couldn't force May or Citrus to reveal their secrets, couldn't intimidate or threaten them into wanting to join him because they could attack him and would likely reject him. He had to play it calm and he had to be approachable, he was a charming guy he just had to let May see that like how Citrus did.

He sighed softly collecting himself with an inhale and exhale running a hand past his eye to clear away any sleep and smoothly feeling up his horn, he was quite the specimen after all he's sure they could both see that. He moved casually to glide along to see where May went, he didn't want Citrus mad that he ruined her beauty sleep after all.

He was glad by the lack of energy in the air it meant his theory was correct and it was subconscious otherwise another barrier would have appeared as he passed her siblings. He found her knelt by a small stream, her glasses carefully placed down beside her, her head was currently under the water and making bubbles with her head slightly shaking before she sat up and breathed and shook her head again to shake the water off. She squinted past the water on her eyelashes making opening her eyes and seeing kind of difficult. In her side vision she could make out a darker colored shape before she brought her hands up to rub her eyes to clean the sleep away and to clean her face from the grass and mud stuck under her chin.

"G'morning sis," She yawned past her hands cleaning her face, "sleep well?"

"Oh," the male voice that reached her ears caused her to stiffen in terror, "so she's your sister?" Mays head whipped around as she shoved herself quickly against the floor to half stumble and half throw herself backwards scrambling away from Syn as he drank water collected in his hand from the stream. He turned to look at her as she fell into a sit at a distance from him, he could see her eyes were wide and breathing rapidly.

He couldn't deny feeling a bit disappointed at the reaction, the fight had been a while ago surely she would've gotten over it by now and besides he knows Citrus and her have been talking so he didn't get what the reaction was for. He moved his hand to pick up her forgotten glasses holding them out to her.

"I think you need these, right?" Her eyes were trained on him watching his every move down to the flick of his tail. "Look I don't want to fight, I'm not here to hurt you I just wanna talk." He offered one of his dashing smiles and the sight of his sharp teeth sent a feeling of dread through her.

He could see she was thinking locked in place unable to decide what to do, he in this moment kind of held the glasses over her because she needed them so she couldn't flee safely without them but he could see she didn't feel comfortable staying either. It was frustrating he was hoping for a warmer reception but he kept his face steady letting his brows fall in a sad kind of way rather than displaying frustration, acting sad instead of showing his real emotions.

"I'm sorry, I must have really hurt you huh?" He copied the tone of someone genuinely apologetic quite well, he didn't necessarily feel bad about the fight or aftermath. She was a rival, a meal at the time. How was he to know she was interesting? He lifted the glasses with his purple psychic energy and moved them over to her as a peace offering.

She hesitated before slowly taking them and he watched her at least pause to put them on as she looked at him again rather than immediately bolting. He kept the sad look on his face lowering his head as if ducking in apology or embarrassment as she watched him uncertainly.

She didn't move for a moment watching him as he moved to look at the water as if he was unable to bear looking at her, internally impressed with his acting skills. He heard her quietly shifting but it didn't sound like she was standing, she adjusted from her terrified position into a slightly more comfortable sit making sure it was a position she could easily move from. She watched him blinking a bit in confusion as she observed him.

Darkness had said he was much more civilized when she spoke with him, flirty even but not looking for a fight and not aggressive. She'd assumed he only acted that way because Darkness had a crystal too, but he was acting kind of normal now.

"Uhm," May uncertainly coughed into her hand to clear her throat, "I'm, gonna, go…" She moved to awkwardly stand saying, "enjoy the, water?" then cringing to herself as she turned to return to camp awkwardly. He turned his head to look at her watching her go, part of him having wanted her to stay to be fascinated by his good behavior to want to know all she could and he was a bit annoyed she didn't seem to care. He did also know it was to some degree a win, had she attacked him it meant she still saw him as a threat so clearly she must be somewhat intrigued by him.

"May?" She froze a bit at him knowing her name it felt so strange coming from his mouth uncertainly turning her head to look at him, "I am genuinely sorry for what I did, I'm trying to do better with this," he touched his shoulder around the crystal feigning pain and sorrow, "so I hope I can make it up to you and your brother someday." He gave her a smile that seemed genuine and she almost found herself fully believing him. With a shy smile she nodded unsure how to answer that at all and walked away to camp.

When her back turned Syns smile fell into a disappointed scowl, he put his head in his hand and he wrinkled his nose in frustration knowing no more than he did for trying this. He only hoped that he'd planted the seeds and he'd be able to reap the harvest later, if she did believe him then he could start to worm his way in. If her and Citrus were sisters and had a rocky past he's sure he could work it out with her too.

May walked back to camp feeling confused and anxious, her heart was still thumping despite nothing having happened but she knows it could've. And yet he seemed quite sad… She couldn't deny she did in fact feel a bit bad just abandoning him there on his own lonesome but what could she even say to him? And how could she justify just sitting being friendly with the Pokemon who tried to murder her brother? She sighed a bit to herself and stopped, she should've maybe at least asked his name. Should she go back? Would it be weird to? If he was sorry and did want to fix it wouldn't it be polite to be able to address him by name? Mutually extend the opportunity of healing? If he's just 'that Mewtwo who tried to kill Matt' in her mind isn't that a bit cruel?

She groaned to herself debating and awkwardly walking back, he was still sat by the water and he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, after some more mental debating she cleared her throat making him quickly look towards her, seeming a bit startled which in turn startled her.

"I, uh, sorry, I… never got your name?" She felt awkward just saying it she should've just kept walking. He looked at her and she could only imagine how much he was judging her, meanwhile Syn had to hide the want to break into a victorious smirk, she wanted to know his name and there's no way she'd want to know that if she wasn't thinking about him.

"Syn, you can call me Syn." He smiled at her giving another dashing smile and it weirdly didn't fill her with dread this time, she smiled a bit nodding at him in understanding.

"Syn..well, um nice to officially meet you, you already know my name but uh I'm May." She felt awkward as he looked at her smiling, but it felt a bit weird not introducing herself back. She thought about what to say next until she heard Matt yelling in the distance.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU WHERE'S MAY?!"

She flinched a bit at the volume with an oof, "I gotta go do uh damage control, bye!" She moved to run back to camp, stopping to lean back into view, "Syn." giving a wave before sprinting back to explain everything.

Syns' tail swayed up and down, content with the turn of events. He grinned satisfied to himself as he stood up thinking that May was indeed very interested in him. He'd be back later though it seemed like the pair was becoming a trio and the change in chemistry may cause difficulties. But, he counted this as a win overall. Maybe Citrus had put in a good word for him.

[simpingtmblr]

Having mad durge thoughts atm.

Like.

Idk how to properly put them into text but something something about seeing how they could be civil with Saverok and wanting desperately to have that with Orin.

Reading notes and letters; working more closely with Gortash to get access to the rooms they occupied when with the chosen of Bane - peeking into another side of who they once were.

Seeing why Orin calls them Kin, why she calls them sibling not with mocking disdain as they first assumed but the tired snarl of a woman who has tried to fix and been proven incapable. Realising why Orin feels out of all odds she can trust them to go for Gortash first ; that her muddle minded murderkin won't want her dead first, that she can appeal to them to defeat Gortash.

That even putting their companions life at risk, even giving them every reason to go after her first, to murder her where she stands and simply be done with it; leave her to rot forgotten in the sewers behind a locked door- that her sibling will not kill her.

About how even if you fail your persuasion or performance rolls to convince her that Saverok abused her she still listens, she dismisses it but she LISTENS. How if you pass the checks she believes you, she fights it but quickly accepts that her kin, her ELDER SIBLING would not lie and must turn to Father because her sibling always said Father knew best, they always turned to him and - and she needs to, she needs guidance and God's they aren't even fighting her, even mocking her sounds weak and they are reaching out telling her what was hidden from her, trying to make her better-

And how we get nothing more concrete than that durge was already established as a prophet, as the chosen of Bhaal when Orin was brought to the temple, that durge could have been a teen or a child themselves and that they must have known Saverok and Saverok's daughter, must have known who Saverok's grandchild was fathered by when it came to the butler and their Fathers tainted whispers, and probably still learnt to love that child.

Was so complacent with her that they gave her advice to earn fathers favour, that she was involved with their plans for the grand design and death of Faerun.

We know from the prayer of forgiveness Gortash would be one of if not the last person Durge sacrificed to Bhaal, but Orin is never mentioned. Maybe durge anticipated Orin would sacrifice herself in her fathers name long beforehand. Or maybe, perhaps...

They couldn't imagine a world wherein they outlived their sister.

We know from Volo's book and Jaheria that when more than one potential chosen Bhaalspawn are near each other they are actively trying to kill each other, slayerforms being forced upon them in fact to shut the bloodshed on.

And yet Durge raised Orin an acolyte when it would have been so easy to snap her neck, to crush the little shape-shifting girl underfoot.

Do you think when she was little Orin would practice by imitating their sibling, that ahe would try and mould the muzzle and the horns onto her own murder ridden flesh and copy the perfect form? That after she thought she killed Durge she might have taken their form before a mirror and wonder what they might have said if they knew it was her doing?

That that might be why even in a Tav run it's canon durge was put on a nautaloid as a tadpoled would be corpse? But orin still has them in her room? That she had to hunt them down, had to leave them whole in their just in case father Rose them from the dead, perfectly in tact on the off chance her actions could be reversed?

Orin is PROUD in killing her kin, she artistically displays every kill even her own mother. But she can't bear to destroy her sibling. Maybe she never truly expected to outlive her big sibling.

[narrators-journal]

Persona 4 and 3. Characters: Margaret, Elizabeth and narukami. Kinks: 69, praise link, creampie, breeding, vouyerism. "Plot": Margaret want to see her sister and her good pet in some passionate action. Thank you mate ♥️

Oof life has not been kind to me as of late, lol. I hope you can forgive my slow writing, and I hope this is what you expected! I tried my best with this one.

CW: Voyeurism, breeding, 69, creampies, and praise kink included in this one.

A nice glass of wine, a comfortably stuffed armchair, and a good show was what Margaret considered a good way to enjoy some free time. Her sister taking part in her fun only added to the enjoyment of the show. “Good job, Narukami. Good and slow.” She reminded, smiling as she leaned back in her chair and drank in the sight of her beloved wildcard under her sister. His mouth full of pussy, his well-kept body littered with lipstick stains and bite marks, and his usually neat hair a mess in the flurry of pleasure and lust. Though, saying the sight of mutual oral was a particularly strong turn-on wasn’t quite accurate for the curvy velvet room attendant. She’d watched her wildcard sleep with a few girls and guys, with consent from all involved, of course, so the thrill of it had worn off a tad.

The sight of Narukami’s body though. That never failed to make Margaret’s blood tingle.

Even if the years after his journey had softened him a bit, and he no longer had abs she could wash laundry on, the mere thought of the silver-haired wildcard undressing for her and following her every command had her burning with desire.

And, of course, she was more than willing to share that pleasure with her sister. After all, Margaret’s charge hadn’t needed to give up his life for the world, so it only felt right to share him with her less lucky sister.

Which, was what landed her in her current position. Sitting in a comfortable chair, enjoying the sight of Elizabeth bobbing her head up and down Narukami’s cock, her cheeks crimson and her muffled noises slipping out from Narukami lapping at her pussy at a leisurely pace. Only broken when Elizabeth finally could take no more and raised her head to whine, “N-narukami! God, please fuck me,” Which made Margaret chuckle. But, with a swirl of her wine, the older attendant hummed, “Go ahead, Yu. Give her what she wants.” Which, was the green light the old wildcard needed.

Obediently, the man moved Elizabeth off of himself to reposition her onto her back. Leaning down to kiss and nibble at her neck as a hand slid over her fair skin to massage one of her breasts. “Remember to encourage him, sister.” Margaret reminded, lifting her glass to her lips as she spoke, her golden eyes widening as she watched her wildcard litter his lover with hickeys and love bites while the woman panted out, “G-good boy, Narukami. Good boy.” Rewarded with the wonderful stretch of the quiet man’s cock pushing into her. A recollection that had Margaret’s blood thrumming in her veins as she watched Narukami set a slow pace to start with. Easing Elizabeth onto his length before gliding his hand from her breast, down to her thigh. Lifting one of her legs from his waist to his shoulder as he sped up. “Ah! G-good!” Elizabeth gasped, her back arching and the leg kept at Narukami’s hip tightened around him as best she could manage.

All the while, Margaret found that the lascivious soundtrack, and the third-person perspective of Narukami at work had her squeezing her thighs together. “Come on, Liza, be more specific. He has to know what he’s doing right.” She encouraged, her half drank wine forgotten beside her chair. All of her attention taken up by the view in front of her. “Good, you’re...you’re fucking me really good.” Elizabeth clarified through moans, clutching the bed sheets as Narukami finally spoke in a husky mutter, “Thank you, ma’am.” Which earned a small gasp from their hot and bothered audience. “God, you’re so well-behaved, Yu.” She praised, Elizabeth moaning and nodding in blissed-out agreement while her sister tried not to interrupt to take her place. Instead, compromising with living vicariously through the scene. “Now, do a good job and breed her, honey.”

It was a snap decision. Margaret never minded sharing her wildcard, but if anyone was going to bare his children, it would be her. Yet, it was too fun to watch Narukami hump into someone for her to go ruining it, so she could stomach the risk this one time.

So, she settled for twirling a lock of her light hair around her finger while Narukami switched to a slower, but deeper pace that made Elizabeth whine beneath him. Clawing into the sheets more as the wildcard made sure to thrust into the one spot that made a woman crumble, over and over again. And, at that point, Margaret didn’t even care to tease her younger sister about complimenting him for his skill. All she could think of was riding her partner like a wild stallion after Elizabeth was done. But, for now, she simply sat and watched her sister be unravelled bit by bit with each deep thrust until, finally, Narukami stilled inside of her with a low groan. In response, the attendant arched her back once more with a loud curse as Margaret saw the waves of euphoria rake over her sister and her wildcard.

In the end, Margaret was the only one still in a storm of desires and need. Her pet had done as he was told, pumping Elizabeth with cum, left shakey and tired from the show, but that didn’t stop his personal attendant from pushing herself up from the armchair to wrap her arms around him with a simple demand.

“My turn~”

[bluemoonfantasiesiii]

Vincent was surprised and a bit embarrassed at what he just heard but tried to keep his composure by focusing on the meal saying a bit quieter to his daughter "Lily, she is an important Lady from a big Clan, you can play with her and hear all her stories and even share some of yours with her, yet you can't just call her simply 'big sister' ".

She looked up at him with confusion in her eyes but before she could replay to him, Albedo told her gently about the culture difference between the two nations which she understood now and nodded her head to him "okay~, sorry, Lady Ayaka~.." she said politely bowing her head slightly to the said lady, but there was a hint of sadness she held back before continuing with her last egg roll turning her focus on the stage quietly now.

Vincent let a small sigh knowing this means she is unhappy or more like upset but she has to learn. He went closer to her ear and whispered trying to be as quiet as possible while being clear to her "I know that you don't mean anything bad or harm, but this is just how people here live, sweetie. Don't be upset, please~? How about you draw something with Miss Yoimiya after this~, hm~?" He asked her trying to cheer her which seems slightly working.

"I want to see the Ninja dogs~" she declared to him quietly and he blinked his eyes in surprise not expecting that one as he knew that what will make her forgive him actually "but I don't know where they are and they're supposed to be hidden Ninja" he tried to change her wish from that one "but he is the master of them, right~? I want to see one~" she insisted on her words now ignoring her father completely which got him flustered yet tried to stay put until later so he can figure something else.

He giggled at Nigredo's actions when he caught a glimpse of their conversation "i know, but i did bring you some, Heizou" he said with smile before handing Lily a Tricolor Dango since she was done with her actual meal.

Lily took it slowly and said a small thank you before she quietly eat her sweet prompting a defeated smile from her father not knowing what to do this time as he bite on his treat seemingly pouty about it 'should I ask Mr. Ayato? Not only Lily but even Ruby once mentioned he wanted to be friends them... ugh, how am I going to request such a thing?! It sounds silly and troublesome. Uhh.. this is so hard. Being a parent is so much harder than it looks, but I love her' he thought to himself with warm smile as he gently caresses his daughter's hair making her looking up at him in wonder before ignore him once more to the stage forcing a queit and nervous giggle from him.

It seemed Rubedo had asked his uncle the same thing, as Albedo turned his attention to Ayato.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any of the canine units on duty here right now, would you?” asked the alchemist.

“There are a couple stationed around the area,” said the Commissioner. “Why the sudden inquiry?”

“My nephew was hoping to meet one of them, if that’s alright.”

“Hmm… I suppose Yuki has been working rather diligently all day. She’s earned herself a break.” Ayato stood from his seat. “Let me go fetch her for you. I’ll be right back.”

As he disappeared into the crowd, a bright, cheerful voice pierced through the commotion. “Vinceeeent~! Are you ready?” Yoimiya asked.

[tropes-and-tales]

Of Vipers and Direwolves, Part 1

Oberyn Martell x Stark!Reader

CW:  None that I can think of.  A bit of minor violence, a bit of blood.  There’s an age gap of nine (9) years, but nothing underaged will happen.

Word Count:  2758

AN: Per la bellissima @nuvoleincielo​ 🌻

AN2:  This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I’m breaking it up into a miniseries.

AN3:  This will not have Ellaria in it—either in this part or in future parts.  This is pre-Ellaria, timeline-wise.  Give it a pass if you feel a certain way about that.

When Oberyn Martell was sixteen years old, and when his sister Elia was seventeen years old, their mother, Princess Meria Martell, took them on a tour of Westeros.  The objective was to find Elia a suitable match. Meria hoped for a match that would marry off her beloved, delicate daughter to a man who would cherish her…and strengthen Dorne’s alliances.  An impossible task, perhaps.

There was a secondary objective to find Oberyn a similar match, but Meria despaired at her wild, hot-blooded, hot-tempered son.  He wasn’t quite a man yet, still a slim-built, fresh-faced boy, but he seemed to find himself in dangerous and indelicate situations all the same.  A more impossible task, then:  finding a match for her youngest son.

Still, it was a once-in-a-lifetime journey.  Meria visited old friends, allies.  They traveled across Dorne, to Starfall, then out of Dorne.  To the Arbor, to Oldtown.  A stop at the Shield Islands.  

They traveled north.  They stopped in Casterly Rock which was in mourning for the recent death of the much-beloved Joanna.  It was suggested that perhaps the golden-haired Cersei, a young beauty in the very flush of youth, could be a suitable match for Oberyn…until Lord Tywin sniffed at the suggestion and claimed that his daughter was destined to marry the Targaryen heir.

Northward then to Riverrun, Oldstones.  Moat Caitlin, then all the way to Winterfell.  Princess Meria and Lady Lyarra Stark had only met a few times, but they had been fast friends.  They exchanged ravens all the time, sent each other gifts and tokens of a friendship centered around their mutual love of history.

Winterfell was not as ornate as other castles.  It was built for utility, a grey fortress at the edge of the kingdom.  Still, the welcome was warm:  Lady Lyarra was there to greet the Martell party, along with her three youngest children.  Her eldest two boys were being fostered with bannermen, but her other three remained in Winterfell.  They stood beside their mother as the Martell family arrived.

There was Lyanna Stark, nine years old, a pale, slim girl with dark brown hair who curtseyed nicely and eyed Elia’s gown and diadem.  Eight-year old Benjen, a sharp-featured boy with a hawkish nose that, if he grew into it, could perhaps be striking when he reached manhood.

And you, the youngest Stark.  You were only seven years of age, pale like most Starks with the same cool grey-blue eyes.  You gazed at the Martells in wide-eyed wonder, fascinated by visitors from so far away.  You didn’t curtsey until your brother gave you a sharp elbow to the side, and then it was just a quick bob.

You were not shy.  You peered up at Princess Meria and asked, “did you bring a manticore with you?”

It earned you another sharp elbow to the side, and a slight frown from your mother.  Lyarra reached out a gentle hand, placed it on your head, and Meria smiled to see how you tried to duck away, a scowl on your little face.

“Forgive my youngest, Princess,” she said with a rueful sigh.  “Her septa allows her too much time with the fairy stories and not nearly enough time with her embroidery.”

Meria laughed at how your scowl deepened at that, and even Elia smiled a little.  Oberyn, for his part, had already wandered away, distracted by the bustle of activity in the courtyard.

“There’s time enough for embroidery, little Lady Stark,” Meria said kindly, stooping a bit to look you in your eyes.  Studying you closer, she could see that you were likely a handful for your mother:  there was a constellation of small scrapes along your neck, as if you’d been climbing trees.  Which seemed likely:  your braids were askew, and Meria saw a twig snarled in one.

“I really wanted to see a manticore,” you told her, and you looked so dejected that Meria chuckled again.

*****

You were disappointed by the Martell family.  Yes, they wore bright clothing, yellow like the sun and orange like fire, but you had never met anyone from Dorne before.  You thought they’d be more interesting.  You thought, perhaps, they would have brought something from Dorne, that faraway place so warm and sunny you could barely imagine it.

That afternoon, as they settled into their rooms, you went searching for Maester Walys.  Winterfell’s maester didn’t like you much, was usually irritated by your endless questions, but who else could you even ask?  He had forged almost a full chain at the Citadel and knew everything.

“The Martells didn’t bring a manicore,” you told him once you found him in his study.  “Even though I told mama to ask them for one.”

“Your Lady Mother did no such thing,” Walys replied with his usual heavy sigh.  “A gracious hostess doesn’t ask her guests to bring gifts.”

You hooked your chin on his worktable, poked a finger at the small pile of paper there.  “Do you think maybe they just couldn’t catch one in time?”

Another sigh.  “Manticores aren’t native to Dorne.  If you focused on your lessons with your septa, you would know this.”

You pulled a face at him.  “Her lessons are in sewing and singing, not creatures.”

“A young lady doesn’t need an education in creatures,” Walys pointed out.  “And the Martells aren’t here to bring you gifts of beasts and monsters.”

“I know,” you said.  You hated how much like a baby you sound, how whiny, but you hated it when Walys (or your septa or your father or your elder brothers or sometimes even your mother) acted like you were simple just because you were young.

“The Princess of Dorne and mama are friends,” you continued.  “So that’s why they are here.”

The maester snorted and shook his head at you.  “The Princess wouldn’t travel just for an idle visit, girl.  She’s looking to marry off her two youngest kids, and Winterfell is just the last stop on their tour.”

-----

You knew that marriage was a tool of the great houses of Westeros.  Your father was already plotting betrothals for your two older brothers.  You were a good spy, always sneaking around Winterfell, and so you heard all the gossip from the servants.  Your father had “southron” ambitions, according to some of the servants, and what was the most southern part of Westeros but Dorne?

The Martell girl, Elia, seemed sweet.  She had a shy smile, but she had answered all of your questions about Dorne during their welcome feast.  You had asked so many—so many that your mother tried to stop your mouth, but Elia had only smiled and said that you were no bother at all.

Would Elia marry one of your brothers?  Brandon, maybe, or Ned?  You couldn’t picture the sweet Dornish girl as the Lady of Winterfell.  She seemed like she wouldn’t survive a winter, really.

The Martell boy, Oberyn, seemed just like your older brothers.  Bored and boring.  He had only seemed interested in the Wall to the north, and the land that lay beyond it, but when you tried to talk to him (you were fascinated by the burning-ghosts of Hardhome, and the giants, and the ice-river clans that lived at the foot of the Frostfangs), Benjen had poked you hard in your side and told you to stop talking so much.

If Princess Meria was trying to marry off both of her children, did that mean that Oberyn was intended for Lyanna or you?

The thought made you lose your appetite, and you had a hard time falling asleep that night.

*****

The north had a wild sort of beauty that Oberyn Martell would come to appreciate when he was older and more mature.  Now, though?

He missed Dorne.  He missed the sun and the heat.  The journey had been a long one, and he half-guessed that his mother made him come along to break the romance he had been cultivating with the daughter of Sunspear’s castellan.

Winterfell was worth exploring, at least.  The fortress was warm, and the maester explained the natural hot springs underneath the castle.  Once he got his bearings, Oberyn explored with Elia.  The two visited the glass garden where plants could be coaxed to life despite the cooler climate.  They explored the broken tower that had partially burned down and had never been rebuilt.

The day after their arrival and welcoming feast, they explored the godswood in Winterfell.  It was a serene spot, but Elia shivered beside her brother at the quiet.  The great weirwood stood over a black pool, and the two approached it, studying the ancient face carved into the bone-white trunk.

“It’s spooky,” Elia said as she shivered again, and Oberyn was just opening his mouth to respond when something dropped out of the tree in front of them.

Elia shrieked, and even Oberyn put his hand on the pommel of his dagger.  He almost had unsheathed it before he realized that the something that had fallen out of the tree wasn’t a something.

It was a someone.

And it hadn’t fallen, judging by the spry way it regained it’s feet.  Your feet.  The youngest Stark girl, nimble as a cat, and when you stood up in front of them, you gave them a toothy grin.

“Do you always jump out at your guests?” Elia asked, and though her voice was still shaky, she was smiling too.  Oberyn knew his sister had been charmed by all of your questions the night before, and he had noticed the worshipful way you had gazed at his sister.

“Sorry,” you said.  “Don’t tell mama.”  A pause.  “Or Maester Walys.  I’m not supposed to climb anymore.”

“Why not?” asked Elia.

“I fell off of the broken tower last year.”  You held up an arm, added, “I broke my wrist.”

“Then perhaps you should take your mother’s advice,” Elia said.  She reached out and plucked a weirwood leaf from where it was tangled in your hair.

“But then I wouldn’t get any better at climbing,” you pointed out, and Oberyn couldn’t help but smile at your simple wisdom.

“Why do you like climbing?” Oberyn asked, but his question made your countenance change completely.  No longer smiling at his sister, you turned and scowled at him.

“I just like it,” you muttered.

Oberyn glanced at Elia at the sudden change in your mood.  She shrugged at him, and she tried to gently turn you back into good humor.

“We wanted to see the godswood,” she told you.  “We had never seen one before.”

It seemed to turn your mood—you took Elia’s hand and pulled her closer to the strange tree.  The carved face looked like a grimace from one angle, like a smile from another, but you seemed immune to the strangeness of it.  You only chattered about the tree, about greenseers and green-singers.

“I’ve been told that the Starks take their oaths in front of their weirwood,” Oberyn said, and again your mood seemed to sour, a frown on your face as he spoke.  

“Because one cannot lie in front of such an ancient tree,” Elia added.  “That they marry in front of it, take their vows in front of it.  Is that right, little Lady Stark?”

You narrowed your eyes as you looked at Elia, then Oberyn.  “I’m not going to marry.  I’m going to take an oath to never marry.  Then I won’t have to.  Then no one can make me.”

Both of the Martell siblings laughed at your vehemence.  

“I think you have some time before you have to worry about that,” Elia said gently.

That made you narrow your eyes even more, and you frowned so deeply that you hardly seemed a little girl. You looked like a stern old septa, and Oberyn laughed again.  

Which pulled your fierce glare directly to him.

“That’s why you’re here though.  Your mother wants to marry you off.  Maester Walys says so,” you said.

“We’ve visited many houses,” Elia offered, but your eyes were steady on Oberyn.  If you weren’t a little girl, it might be unsettling:  those grey-blue eyes boring into his face like cold fire.

“I’m not going to marry you,” you finally told him, your hands clenched into fists at your side.  “I’m not going to marry anyone, but definitely not you.”

Oberyn held out his hands in a gesture of peace, even if his pride was a little hurt that a girl who didn’t know him was so intent on not liking him.  He opened his mouth to tell you that it was fine, he didn’t want to marry anyone either, but you were in a high state of emotion.  Twin spots burned high on your face as you got steadily angrier, your face in a furious flush.

“And you shouldn’t marry my sister either.  You should leave Winterfell and go back to Dorne, which is a stupid place to not even have manticores—”

“Little Lady Stark,” Elia tried to interject, but you didn’t hear her.

“—you should leave my sister and I alone, we don’t want to marry you, we don’t want to marry anybody—”

“I never said—” Oberyn tried.

“—because neither of us want to marry because we are going to get a ship in White Harbor once we are grown, and we are going to travel south to the ruins of Valaryia—”

“No one—” Elia started to say.

“—and neither of us will need husbands because we will be explorers, and it doesn’t matter if father has southron ambitions!”  You said that last bit in a shout, breathless with a rage that even Oberyn could see had nothing to do with him.

But Oberyn was still a boy in many ways.  He had no understanding of the passion of a spirited girl who was savvy enough to see how limited her future could be.  He only meant to break the tension of the moment, only meant to cool your temper with a joke.

“Don’t worry, little Lady Stark,” he tried to joke.  “You can explore Sunspear when we marry.  I’ll allow you that much.”

The next part happened so quick that Oberyn would later admire your quickness.  The moment his words registered with you, you pounced on him.  With a snarl, with your teeth bared, you grabbed ahold of Oberyn’s wrist and sank your teeth into him.

It happened so fast that he had no time to react.  He felt the sudden throb of pain, but you had already released him.  Were already running out of the godswood, sobbing, as he looked down at where your teeth had broken his skin.

“Oh, Oberyn,” Elia said.  She took his hand in hers and inspected the wound.  She sighed and pulled the thin scarf from around her neck and wrapped his wrist to stop the slow trickle of blood.  “You shouldn’t have teased her.”

“I was trying to make her laugh.”

“She’s a girl, not one of your sweethearts,” Elia chided gently.  “It would have been wiser to say nothing.”

“No one ever accused me of being wise, sister.”

“No,” she agreed with a smile.  “Which is why you’ve been bitten and are now bleeding.”

“An important lesson,” he said, smiling back at his sister.  “Never tease a wolf-cub lest you want to feel it’s fangs.”

-----

Oberyn only saw you once more, that trip.  Northern justice, even against little ladies like you, was severe:  you had clearly been striped with a birch branch, judging by the stiff way you moved when your mother marched you into the guest quarters.  He would have felt bad for you if it weren’t for his own bandaged wrist, throbbing from where your sharp little teeth had pieced him.

“My daughter has something to say to you, Prince Oberyn,” Lady Lyarra said, and she pushed you forward gently.

You had been crying.  Your eyes were red and swollen, and you sniffled dramatically as you stared at the stone floor in front of you.

“I’m sorry for biting you,” you muttered.

Another gentle shove from your mother.  “And?”

You only scowled at the floor and said nothing.

“Must I send another raven to your father?” you mother asked, and your scowl deepened.  But any threats of further chastisement from Lord Stark didn’t make you speak.  You pressed your lips into a thin line and glared at your feet, your breath huffing out in angry little pants, but you didn’t say another word.  Oberyn couldn’t help but smile at your fierce stubbornness.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   @isvvc-pvscvl​   @mrschiltoncat​  @stillshelbs​   @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics​    @tobealostwanderer​   @nuvoleincielo​  @knivesareout​  @frankie-catfish-morales​    @prostitute-robot-from-the-future  

[skzsauce01]

Clementia

Anniversary Request Special

Description: You’d always had a special place in your heart for Lee Minho even though he gives you countless reasons to hate him. How long will your patience last?

Warning: alcohol, sexual assault

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: fem!reader x Minho

“Y/N—”

“Go away, Minho.”

“Y/N, look at me.”

“I said no!”

“Well I said I’m sorry.”

You snap around to face him. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Lee Minho. You screwed up. You. Screwed. Up. I gave you one request, and you couldn’t even do that.”

“I had my reasons!” he protests.

“Yeah? Well let’s hear them.”

He emits a few noises but can't come up with anything. His face flushes red, but not as red as yours.

“There’s no excuse for breaking someone’s heart ever. Remember that.” You turn on your heels and begin walking away until he says something even more repulsive.

“Why do you care so much? She’s not even your real sister!” he calls after you.

You pause, unable to comprehend how such words could ever enter your ears. You then slowly walk back to him as he stiffens with every step you take.

“Not my real sister?” Your voice is soft, but it is effective.

“I mean—”

“You’re saying the girls at Epsilon Phi aren’t sisters?” Your voice begins to rise. “We’re more sisters than you and I were ever friends, Lee Minho! We love each other more than biological families do, but of course you wouldn’t know how that feels, would you? All you have in your chest is a cold, hard piece of coal!”

You turn away and break off into a run this time. Tears stream down your face from being insulted and betrayed by someone you held with high esteem.

You like Lee Minho. Of course, you’d never admit that. To the world, he is just some kid of your mom’s friend who annoyed you to no end, but through the arguments and time spent trying to prove each other wrong, your feelings grew bit by bit. When he had a relationship with your very own Little, you held in your feelings and wished them both the best. After all, you love both of them, and their happiness together was good enough for you.

That is, until Minho broke things off as nothing but a fling.

Minho has always been a huge flirt, but he’d promised to take her seriously this time. You made him swear it, and you emphasized how much your Little meant to you. Now, because you’re his family friend, your Little won’t even speak to you. Minho had ruined your and her relationship, and evidently yours and his too.

He didn’t used to be like this, all manipulative and amorous. You remember he used to follow you at the heel, caring about nothing more than sticking gum in your hair. It wasn’t until senior year of high school did he start hanging out with random girls and trying daredevilish things. You missed the old Minho, but you thought you’d accept him for all his changes since you did, after all, like him.

Until this moment, that is.

What he did was too much. What he said was too much. You know he is becoming toxic, and if he is going to continue down this path, even your love isn’t going to bring him back to your heart.

Minho watches your waning back then slams his fist against a nearby tree with a curse. You didn’t give him enough time to explain, not that he would have been able to in front of you.

You’d forgive him though, right? You have to. When he messed up before this, Minho could be sure you would. But now, he isn’t so certain. He has never seen you so angry and disappointed before, and he did that to you. Him. Minho lets out another string of curses and trudges back to his room.

He tries making it up to you the very next morning. He shows up to your 8 AM class with a cup of coffee and slides it onto your desk before sitting down himself.

You don’t even look at him. You just take the cup and slam it down in front of him, causing its contents to spill and burn your fingers. He quickly takes your hand in his and begins wiping it with his sleeve, but you recoil your arm and take out your own napkin.

The next place he tries is at your neighboring frat party. He knows you would be there, so he wears his tightest black jeans and a loose button-up. This trick has worked with other girls, so he hopes it would on you.

He takes the dance floor with his powerful dance moves and charisma. He can see you deliberately turned away from him and chatting with someone else, so he dances towards you. The cheering circle that has formed around him moves as well, engulfing you into the crowd.

You finally turn to make sure you don’t bump into anyone. Minho takes this chance to shoot you a wink which draws the crowd’s attention to you. They cheer and push you towards him despite your protests.

Minho takes your arm and leads you in the dance. You used to like dancing with him; your and his flow matches perfectly, and the two of you could revive a dying party just by dancing together. Today though, you just aren’t having it.

Minho puts a hand on your shoulder and scoops his hips low earning a cheer from the crowd. You can hear them calling your name, anticipating your response. You look down at Minho and immediately recognize his choice of clothing.

I wonder who’s going to have her heart broken tomorrow, you think with a dry laugh. Minho flinches, recognizing that sound. You take his falter as a chance to fling his arm off of you before walking away.

A chorus of oohs fills the room, and the crowd splits like the Red Sea for you.

You hear your name from his lips again. “Y/N!” It is more strained now than it was last night. Desperate. Defeated.

You gave him some thought after hearing the sincerity in his tone, but you are glad you did not turn around that night when you see him in class with some other girl on his lap. Whatever. He’s dead to you now, so why should you care what he’s doing?

Minho watches as you walk farther and farther from him. He pushes the girl off and continues to stare with narrowed eyes at you as you greet your new seat neighbors.

This isn’t how he predicted you would react. Truthfully, he kind of knew this attempt wouldn’t work. For one, it hadn’t worked once since he first tried it in high school. He thought hanging out with other girls would make him more attractive, more desirable by competition. At least, that’s what some then-college kids told him. Once he started, he just found himself unable to stop. It was a self-feeding cycle, really. Holding onto other girls and charming them numbs the void in his chest, but you ignore him whenever he acts like this which only further widens the gap. 

What is he to do though? This is the only life he knows, and so, it is the life he leads. Not all love stories can end happily.

And his sure doesn’t seem like it is going to. 

Sirens wail in the background. With the amount of girls he’s fooled around with, he kind of had it coming. Minho stares at his wrists, not daring to think, but one thought keeps recurring in his mind: you. He is going to disappoint you yet again. You already hate him, and now you are going to see him handcuffed too.

The cold wind makes him shiver when you, his emergency contact, open the door and step into the station. Your eyes immediately find him, and you make your way over.

“Y/—”

“Are you hurt?” you ask plainly.

Despite your icy tone, those three simple words fill him with a warmth he hasn’t known for a long time.

“I’m okay.” His hands reach forward, wanting to grab yours and keep you with him, but you’ve already walked away to announce your arrival to an officer.

“Miss L/Y Y/N?” a young official greets a little too enthusiastically. She looks familiar, you note.

“Yes, I am she.”

The officer looks pleased by your annoyed attitude towards the defendant. “Mister Lee is here tonight because of an accusation by Miss Choi of assault,” she informs you coyly.

You look at him. “Minho,” you said with a chilled voice. “Is it true?”

“No! Y/N, I wouldn’t—”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“Excuse me?” the officer sputters.

“I believe him,” you repeat. “He’s been going out with more people than I have fingers, but he never laid a finger on them.”

“But Y/N, that doesn’t mean he can’t start now,” the officer protests. “You’re his contact, but you hate him now. Surely, he’s changed”

“First of all, it’s Miss L/N to you, Officer” —you read her name tag and pieces begin to fall together from her eagerness to convict Minho to the inkling you felt the moment you saw her— “Yoo. And secondly, is it not against the law for you to be working on a case where your cousin’s the accuser?”

“How did you—!”

“Nothing escapes us Epsilon Phi sisters, even news from other sororities. Besides, Minho never plays with the same girl twice. As expected, this report is filed for an incident two months ago. You, Officer Yoo, knew I was his contact and waited for us to get into yet another fight before having your cousin put in the accusation, didn’t you?”

She scoffs in your face. “That’s a bold accusation from yourself towards law enforcement.”

“Where is the accuser right now? Shouldn’t she be here for interrogation as well?”

“Well she—” the officer looks increasingly flustered. “She needs rest after having to relive the memories of what happened. We’ll call her in tomorrow. Anyway, Mr. Lee Minho, I can hear your testimony now in room #3.”

Minho stands obediently.

“Wait. I request someone else interrogate him,” you object.

“We’re busy right now,” Officer Yoo huffs. “We can’t just let you choose who does the job.”

You cross your arms. “Sure. Interrogate him and have the entire case be nulled after I file a conflict of interest.”

Officer Yoo grits her teeth but returns to her station to call for another officer.

In the meantime, you turn to Minho. “Don’t answer anything you don’t want to, especially if they start leading you on with questions. It’s in your rights to remain silent, alright?”

Minho nods numbly at your words, still confused as to why you are so nice to him. Before he can figure it out though, an older man appears from the back and takes him to an interrogation room.

“Mr. Lee Minho?” 

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chief Jeon. I’m just going to ask you a few questions today; is that alright?”

“Yes.”

The chief nods and pulls out some papers. “Would you mind describing what happened with Miss Choi?”

“Well I was with—” he gestures towards the papers with his accuser’s name on it— “and we were hitting it off. She bought me a couple of drinks and at some point leaned in to kiss me. I realized something at that point, and I stopped her. She got angry, saying how she spent all that cash on alcohol for me, and threatened to accuse me of assault if I didn’t do what she said, but I knew I couldn’t do it.”

“Because of what you realized?” the chief repeats.

“... Yes.”

“And what was it you realized?”

“Do I have to say it?”

“According to the law, no, but if it can help you with your case, you might want to.”

Minho fidgets with his cuffs. “They can’t hear me from outside, right?”

“No. They most certainly cannot.”

And so, Minho tells him.

Minho turns around while the metal bars clang shut behind him. The chief thinks he has a pretty good chance, but due to the gravity of the accusation, they still decided to keep Minho in holding to give the accuser more time to make her case.

You stare at him from the other side, arms crossed. Minho takes the fact that you’re still here at two in the morning as a good sign for him.

“Thanks for being here,” he tries to start a conversation.

“I didn’t really have a choice.” So cold.

“I’ll change my emergency contact.”

“Please do.”

He winces. “Look… Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for insulting your sisterhood and for hurting your Little. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

He looks at you with those doe-like eyes of his. For once, you don’t feel anything while looking back at them.

“That’s not why I’m mad anymore. In fact, I’m not even mad,” you tell him. “My Little told me what really happened. She told me that she was actually the one who dumped you after you adamantly refused to kiss her. I asked some other girls you’ve seen and they all said the same thing. That’s why I was so confident with the officer earlier. I guess I owe you an apology for getting angry when you weren’t at fault.”

“Then”—he holds out a hand sheepishly— “truce?”

You look at it but keep your arms crossed. “Taking a step back from you has made me see things I wasn’t able to before, Minho, and that’s made me realize how much you’ve changed. You were my friend, my rival— someone who never failed to get on my nerves but also someone I couldn’t go without. But now” —you drop your arms and shake your head— “I can’t even recognize you anymore.”

You take a step back to leave. You’ve done this many times before, like when he stuck a plastic spider down your shirt or when he called you stupid in front of your crush in fifth grade, but something about this time feels different. Something about this time tells him you aren’t turning back around once you left.

A sudden despair grips Minho and he runs into the bars. “Wait!”

You pause, offering him one last second.

“Your Little,” he gasps, “did she tell you why I wouldn’t kiss her?”

You nod. “The others I asked did too. They said you were thinking about some other girl while you were with them.”

“Not ‘some other’ girl. One other girl.”

“I know.” You begin to walk again.

“Then why are you leaving?” He reaches a hand out, trying to grab any part of you. “Stay with me. Please, Y/N, stay.”

You don’t pause a second time. Out of desperation, he cries out, “Y/N, I love you!”

That makes you stop midstep. He holds his breath as you put one foot back then the other next to it to face him. You are so beautiful when you look at him. He melts under your gaze as you focus on him and only him. He’ll cherish you this time when you give him another chance. He’ll quit this playboy lifestyle. He won’t take advantage of your patience anymore. He’ll give you all that his heart has to offer. He’ll make sure you’re the only one in his eyes. He’ll love you. He loves you.

“Minho.” You relax your shoulders and straighten your back. You tilt your head just slightly forward and erase the edge off your tone. “I loved you.”

[lamelinam]

Can Vi forgive Jinx and can Jinx apologize to Vi?

Lately I’ve been thinking how Jinx reversed the "right answers" she gave Vi and Silco after her two most painful mistakes.

Vi would have preferred to hear "I'm sorry".

Powder’s response to episode 3′s tragedy is “I was saving you... I only wanted to help.... Please, please...” She immediately tries to earn Vi’s forgiveness without taking any responsibility for what happened. Years later, she is still unable to face her guilt (”No... it was a mistake...” in ep5). Just as she has locked all her souvenirs away, undoubtedly because the blame is too painful to bear.

(How much of their childhood tragedy is Jinx’s fault is a whole other subject. However, no matter how you reason and argue around it with a cool head, Vi’s immediate emotional response is perfectly understandable. Sometimes what is has nothing to do with should or shouldn’t be.)

But “this is my fault” and “I’m sorry” are probably closer to the responses that Vi needed to hear.

One glaring detail I’ve noticed in arc 2 and 3 is that the sisters have yet to address the cause of their falling out. While Vi apologizes for leaving her sister, Jinx never apologizes in return for the explosion that destroyed their family, and Vi never says she forgives her either. How can she until Jinx herself says that “sorry”? And how could Jinx choose to make her burden heavier, without the certainty that Vi will give her the forgiveness she needs to bear it?

Silco, on the other hand, would have preferred to hear “It was a mistake”, to know that Jinx did not truly mean the shot that killed him, that she did not truly want to betray him for Vi. Instead he dies thinking that she chose to save Vi over him.

In the end, only one of them didn't care how insufficient the answer Jinx gave or was able to give may have been for them. Only one offered her unconditional forgiveness and accepted her fully.

Which makes me wonder if forgiveness and apologies will not be part of Vi and Jinx’s arcs in season 2, and necessary for any reconciliation to happen, perhaps any redemption.

Question: can Vi come to the point where she can say “I forgive you” or “it wasn’t your fault” before Jinx arrives at a state where regrets and forgiveness don’t mean anything to her anymore?

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios University

Kaeileen tried not to slam the door of her carpool. It wasn’t the driver’s fault that she was tense.

I don’t think I’ll be carpooling to work tomorrow. I have the feeling that I’m about to lose my job.

To her right, Kaeileen’s mother stared into space. Jolanda was probably going to lose her position at the Rivales business too, all because of her daughter. It wasn’t like Jolanda did much at work aside from embezzling from the fund Lucy created to keep her busy, but it was still a reason to get dressed and leave the house every day. It was all Kaeileen’s fault that things were about to change. If she hadn’t been weak or angry, she would never have slept with Nathan. If only she’d seen through Lucy’s lies about the amount of time she spent at work. If only she’d been the one to discover Lucy naked with her boss, she might have earned her grandmother’s respect. Instead Pia now held all the cards and surely was about to be given control over the family business. Pia would merge her inherited corporation with the rival company her husband started, and rule all of Arkhelios’ corporate market. Maybe Kaeileen could plead with Wanda to forbid the merge. It would probably be the only way Kaeileen could find a job in Arkhelios under Pia’s rule.

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about running a company! All you can run is your mouth!”

The scene Kaeileen walked into at the Rivales house was just as tense as she’d thought it would be. Emilia stood with her arms folded, observing the war of words between Pia and Lucy and looking very unimpressed. Pia and Lucy were screaming at each other, barely a few inches apart. Kaeileen had to wonder how long they’d been arguing like this without actual violence.

“You’d be nowhere if you hadn’t slept your way to the top of my father’s company!” Pia snarled, gesturing wildly. “Is that how you passed the bar too? How many demons did you have to seduce to get hired? I mean, I know you’re sleeping with at least one to keep your job.”

“Oh, like how the only way you got hired was by sleeping with your family’s competition?” Lucy shouted back, looking like she was going to lunge at her rival any second.

“Hi Grandma,” Kaeileen said politely. She tried to wave at her grandmother, but Emilia didn’t respond. “How was your day today?”

“The nerve you have showing up here,” Emilia snapped, angrily staring at her granddaughter. Her voice was colder than the few freak snowstorms that Arkhelios sometimes endured. Kaeileen hadn’t seen a look that frightening from her grandmother since the day Pia married into a competing company.

“I live here, Grandma,” Kaeileen replied quietly. “I’m the Rivales heir. This is my home.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Kaeileen gulped and backed away from the elder Rivales. This was all going exactly like it had in her nightmares, but she hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt. Her grandfather had always favoured her, and she had always assumed that her grandmother felt the same. If Emilia hated her oldest two children as much as they all knew she did, and refused to promote Pia within the company, then who exactly did she have in mind to be heir? Unless she had another secret child somewhere, Emilia’s choices for their family heir were either Pia or Kaeileen. Lucy wasn’t a Rivales without a marriage to Kaeileen, and that didn’t look like it was still happening. Lucy had been too busy arguing with Pia and threatening to sue Alex to have a talk with her fiancee, but Kaeileen could assume that things weren’t great between them. You didn’t sleep with your boss if you were happy with the woman you said you wanted to marry, and you didn’t easily forgive the woman who slept with your baby brother. Whenever Lucy finally turned her wrath on her fiancee, Kaeileen was expecting a confrontation even worse than the one in front of her. Lucy had been humiliated by the publishing of Pia’s photos, and a humiliated Lucy always lashed out.

Kaeileen had overheard Abe try to calm his sister down by commiserating about Alex publishing steamy pictures, but Lucy had simply stormed away from him. It was one thing for Abe’s sex life to have been splashed across the gossip blogs. He had been sleeping with his ex-boyfriend who was coming into a lot of money from his dead husband. Every time Lucy’s sex life was brought up in public, everyone just felt sorry for her.

Ulyssa married a princess and doesn’t care about her daughter? Poor Lucy. Lucy’s below average looking fiancee sleeps with her little brother? Poor Lucy. Lucy’s sleeping with her boss? Poor Lucy must not be able to keep her job without it. No matter what she did, Lucy was always someone to be pitied, and she couldn’t stand it.

“I could take over for Kaeileen if you wanted,” Ginevra suggested. “I’m a Rivales after all.”

The looks of pure loathing from every other woman in the room ended that idea before it was even debated, and Ginevra sighed with frustration. Her brother would never have let things get this bad in his family. He had been a strong, capable leader who even Abraham had respected, despite despising him.

“The business has been more profitable under my direction than it’s been in years,” Lucy snarled, ignoring Ginevra in favour of continuing to snap at Pia.

“You’re a lawyer!” Pia shouted, gesturing aggressively at Lucy. “Kaeileen is supposed to be running the business, not you. Where do you even find the time to steal people’s souls while side hustling my family’s business? No wonder you have to sleep with your boss; he probably does most of your work for you!”

“Enough!”

Emilia’s voice rang out, interrupting the two women. Another woman had appeared beside her, angrier than Lucy had ever seen her.

“Mom?” Lucy stared in horror as her mother tried to remain calm beside Emilia. Her face remained cold, and the weak polite smile she was struggling to maintain didn’t reach her eyes. Lucy hadn’t seen her mother this outraged since Abe was in college.

“I expect better from you,” Elaine began frostily. “I expect this level of selfishness from your brother, not you. This will not continue. I have raised you to be better than this and I expect you to act like it. This behaviour is just like your father and just like Abe. I will not endure being humiliated again because my weak and selfish children can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“But Nathan-”

“This isn’t about Nathan!” Elaine snapped, and Lucy immediately fell silent. “I will deal with your brother later. This is about you. You and your inability to respect proper boundaries. What the hell were you thinking? Sleeping with your boss? You didn’t learn that from me! Maybe I shouldn’t have let you spend so much time with Oriana; she’s filled your head with dangerous ideas about the workplace.”

“But Mom, it’s okay,” Lucy tried to insist. “Kaeileen and I can get through this. We can get married tomorrow if you want, and I can transfer departments and-”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Kaeileen interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I...I don’t want to suffer through a loveless marriage and I don’t want to bring any children into this world to suffer with me. I’m sorry Lucy, but I can’t fulfill my duties as heir with you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Oh.”

Lucy was for once at a loss for what to say. Kaeileen couldn’t even bear to look her in the eyes. Lucy had always known that their relationship wasn’t traditional and it wasn’t the most passionate, but there had always been a mutual respect between them. Like her mother often did, Lucy had been thinking solely about their financial partnership and not about how it would feel to go to bed with Kaeileen each night. Of trying to raise children together when they both barely spoke to each other. Of leaving Michael only to go home to a woman she resented. What if Nathan continued whatever game he was playing and she had to see her brother sneak out of her house night after night?

“Oh.”

“So, what are you in for?”

Nathan leaned back towards an extremely aggravated demon hybrid, relishing his discomfort.

“You know why I’m stuck here,” Roman snapped angrily, rolling his eyes. “Your inability to keep it in your pants is suddenly my business as an heir of an Arkhelios family. Trust me, if your mother hadn’t literally dragged me here, I would be at home, minding my own business like you should have. Why on earth would you sleep with Kaeileen? I mean, aside from the fact that your sister was engaged to her. She’s terrible.”

Nathan laughed and leaned closer towards Roman. Instinctively, Roman recoiled from him, only to make Nathan laugh harder.

“I’m not going to be heir anymore,” he whispered theatrically. “Lucy can’t marry into the Rivales heir position, which means that she’s automatically bumped back down to Helios heir. I can do whatever I want now.”

Roman shot him a dirty look.

“You ruined your sister’s life to escape inheriting a mansion? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Nathan shrugged innocently.

“I mean, really I did her a favour. Now she can sleep with her boss guilt free. It really does seem like us Chuns have a preference for demons, doesn’t it?”

Roman immediately stood up, glaring at his future brother in law.

“That’s it! I don’t care what your mother does to me, I’m not listening to this.”

“Don’t you want to know what I found on one of my visits here?” Nathan called out. When Roman continued to walk down the steps, he tried again. “It’s about your mother!”

Roman froze where he stood. There was a decent chance that Nathan was lying to him, but knowing Abe’s psychotic little brother, there was a decent chance he wasn’t.

“What about my mother?” he demanded. “I’m not in the mood for one of your games, Nathan.”

Nathan gave him another maddening shrug of indifference now that he knew that he had Roman’s attention.

“I couldn’t really say,” he laughed. “It’s really more of something that I’ve seen. A secret room that Emilia has blocked off from the renovations. Something no one is supposed to know about. But Dorhack remembers.”

[rarephloxes]

@lucienvanserraweek, free day!

I’m so happy to announce that this is a collab with my dear friend @ratabrasileira!!! Go show the beautiful drawing she did some love!!

rating: G

words: 2.2k

Elain searches the woods for flowers and finds more than she ever expected. Sleeping Beauty Au

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Elain left the cottage barefooted, the soft cushion of the grass comfortable and well known to her feet. The familiar and gratifying feeling of calm earth beneath her, steady and grounding, more than enough reason to forego any sort of shoes.

Roses, Feyre had chanted, the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes persisting ever since her chance encounter with a newcomer guard at the town square, the prettiest ones you can find, please?

Elain had not the courage to tell her younger sister that she had picked fresh flowers just the day before, funny-shaped pink blooms Elain found at the lip of the stream near the border.

So, she had picked her basket - the one Nesta had gifted her on her last birthday, handmade by her older sister herself; a beautiful, intricate thing done with the hard-earned love of the hardest Archeron - and left, a spring to her step and a tune brimming in her throat.

The woods, the townspeople said, were older than the village by unaccounted years, and therefore filled with deep, wondrous and dangerous magic.

Elain, as well as her sisters, was orphaned too soon. A wasting sickness that had scourged their village had taken away both of her parents, one after the other, leaving only a nearly of age Nesta, a doe-eyed Elain, and a tear-stained Feyre.

Many years had passed since, the nebulous, all-consuming pain of the absence of their parents soothed by time. Despite her grieving, it never escaped Elain’s thoughts how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life: her kind neighbors; the quaint, energized people of the village, who never missed a chance for celebration; the old grouch at the square who made wooden figures just as her father once had; Feyre’s laugh, her creativity and Nesta’s attentive strength.

The woods, magical and mysterious, were a source of peace in Elain’s little life, too. A balm made of soft sunlight, fresh, perfumed breeze, and the singing quietness of wildlife.

She walked, shawl hanging on her elbows to ward off the slightest of spring chills. Elain sang to her heart’s content, a lively lyric dancing on her tongue and bouncing on the leaves of the tallest of trees, her heart soaring with each note she presented to her loved woodland.

With Feyre’s wishes in mind, Elain followed a path towards a grove, the humidity at her destination perfect for the birth of deep pink roses which best complimented Feyre’s complexion.

She crossed the sturdy old bridge that allowed passage over the river, her cottage’s mill no longer audible from where she stood.

“Hello, Mister,” Elain greeted the white, wild bunny, its twitching mustache smelling the air twice before hurrying on fast jumps towards her, a cupped palm of berries awaiting the animal’s eager mouth, allowing her to scratch its head “You’re rather famished this morning, aren’t you?” she asked. The bunny agreed with what seemed like and affirmative ear twitch before her furry friend scampered away to a nearby bush.

Then, singing about poets and kings, Elain continued her path through the meandering trees, her basket filling with dark, juicy berries - a few of them already staining her lips red - and multicolored flowers.

A bold, red little bird landed on Elain’s extended finger and enchantingly sung with her. Its melodic chirping lacing and harmonizing to the girl’s sweet voice, their impromptu duet accompanied by the rustling leaves and the gurgling stream.

How wonderful Elain felt, surrounded by nature, connecting to the air around her as if it had birthed her itself, offering it her voice. Respectfully reaping the charming flora, she found on her way, breathing their scent, befriending the forest animals, and spinning on the tip of her toes on the soft soil.

As she stopped dancing, her skirts still swishing around her calves from the last of her twirls, Elain noticed a magnificent shrub of the blooms she had braved the woods for, jewel-bright pink petals shining under sunbeams, as if the tress had organized themselves to create a spot of light for such earthly beauty.

Right then, the strangest of things happened.

With her heart jumping to her throat, beating frenetically against her ribs, Elain noticed a beautiful horse. Saddled, with a gleaming chestnut coat, dark eyes downcast, calmly munching on the grass near its hooves.

It wasn’t unheard of, horses in the woods, wild or otherwise, they were not far from the main road, but that was not what made Elain’s skin prickle with alertness.

A well-taken care horse as such must have a rider nearby.

“Samson,” called a male voice “There’s not much left to go.” The horse shuffled his legs, huffing before turning its nose away, back onto the moss.

“There will be carrots,” the voice tried again, with a tone of simulated indifference.

Caught like a fish on a hook, the horse’s great neck snapped up, looking at its rider, as if expecting the vegetable all at once. Stoic as the pair of them seemed, Elain had the impression Samson was kindly spoiled.

Elain, who could hear the rich sound of the stranger’s voice, had not yet distinguished his form in the shade beyond the grove she entered, but following the stallion’s gaze she finally sighted him.

Oh, but what a beautiful man he was.

Stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with an old, silvery scar marking the side of his face, slitting his brow and narrowly missing his eye - which seemed to be a disconcerting shade of brown. He had the most vibrant shade of red hair she has ever seen, dark like autumn leaves and silky like water.

He was the most beautiful human she has ever seen.

Stranger, however, had yet to notice her.

And as handsome as he was, Elain was clever enough to realize that a quick, silent escape was the safest option.

Slowly, she walked one step back.

The crunch of the branch beneath her foot echoed loudly, too loudly to be confounded by an innocuous wildlife sound.

Elain couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, attention glued to the sword holstered at his hip.

“Be not afraid, lady. I’ll take my leave in a moment,” Stranger said in a placating tone, palms deliberately upraised for her benefit.

The woods turned to music at the exact moment their eyes met.

A world-altering spark of recognition lighted in her mind.

A stranger in the woods, merry music, dancing fireflies, and singing birds, trees being led by the wind as if women in a ballroom, her vision spinning, and her body lighting up like fireworks. A hand on her waist, a choreography her body must have been made for performing, such ease it was to allow it to guide her away.

Dreams, she remembered, wonderful dreams which always kept her under her covers for a moment too long, always ending way too soon, leaving longing as a dent in her pillow.

Now he was right in front of her.

“I know you,” she whispered, words slipping through her lips like birds escaping a cage, her hands shaking.

He was dressed in well-made traveling clothes, dark pants, finely done knee-length boots she had only ever glanced upon whenever wealthier people crossed the town to check on their local businesses, but those deftly dressed gentlemen couldn’t have looked better than the man even with the priciest of fineries. Elain resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, heated and pink from noticing Stranger only wore a thin, unruffled poet’s shirt, - his cape and hat using the nearby trees as hangers - its open laces revealing golden skin and wisps of red hair.

Elain had never felt self-conscious of her looks or clothes, the townspeople dressing similarly to her (even if Elain herself had one of the best sewing hands in their village). Her current outfit was a simple corset with boning made out of prepped hedgehog spikes, the plain fabric embellished with neat seams and picturesque figures Elain had stitched herself; a brown, light skirt - easy to wash and easier to hide soil stains - and, what now she deemed absurd due to the grime on her nails, no slippers.

“And I, you,” he answered as in a daze, hands falling limply at his sides.

“Do you hear it?” Elain made her voice firm, lifting he chin but with her knees slightly bent, ready to run.

“Yes, my lady,” he took a step, then two, until a stretch of his arm would land his hand on her shoulder.

But he didn’t move to touch her.

Elain swallowed, the breeze cooling her body, eyes downcast, legs now motionless and nearly failing her.

“Why won’t you let me see your eyes, my lady?” She couldn’t be sure, for she knew him not, but there was pleading in his tone.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that if I look at you, I’ll awake and leave this dream,” she whispered, surprised, but not fearful, of her words. “And you’ll fly away from my grasp,”

Suddenly shy of her newly found boldness, she turned her back to him.

“I’m-" She started, voice small.

“No, please.” Elain saw a shadow over her shoulder but wouldn’t dare to guess. “Forgive me for my requests, my lady, you need not give me anything, I-”

He sounded... embarrassed.

She found it endearing.

The song of the woods shifted to a village rhythm she knew well.

“Dance with me,” he called.

A gasp fell freely from her mouth, the ghost of a touch on her hand.

Slowly, she turned back to face him and realized her mistake.

His eyes were not brown, but a vibrant russet shade, complimenting his hair better. Elain had heard only the continent bred humans with the most varied and colorful bodies.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her throat no longer functional.

There were callouses on his palms if from holding reins or sword fighting, she couldn’t determine, but they were so gentle against her skin she barely put any mind to it.

A blast of sound surrounded them, as if the song recognized their meeting, rejoicing in their movements, magnifying their volume to ensconce the pair of them in a cloud of magic. Elain allowed her stranger to spin and lead her in the dance of her dreams.

She couldn’t help to laugh and smile and giggle as they swayed in impossibly rehearsed arrangements, his wide, carefree, delighted grin pouring sunshine into her chest.

Time turned to a growing bloom, following the natural, slow, unpreoccupied pace of life. A hundred dances thrummed with them while the small pointer of the square clock circled once.

At that time, the resounding, deep clang of the church’s bell chiming twelve times broke through the magic steering the couple.

Elain ceased her steps, the pang of reality downing on her face, awareness washing the enchanted fog in her mind.

She let go of Stranger’s hand, the melodies dimming to a quiet hum, tempting her as a distance siren song,

“I must go,” she told him, yet unable to move.

“So soon?” he asked earnestly, arms lovingly tightening around her waist, not caging, only a gentle embrace.

“Oh, please, I must have my leave. Your lordship certainly has somewhere to be. I don’t even know what to call you-“ she babbled in a rush.

Stranger pressed his nose to the sliver of skin above her neck line, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if she were a saint and he a devotee. Elain lost the breath in her lungs, head lulling back, her words cutting themselves short.

“It’s yours,” his lips brushed the slope of her neck, “My name, my heart, my soul. It’s all yours. I’m Luc-“

Hurriedly, Elain lifted his head and pressed her pointer and middle finger to his mouth, “You must not tell me your name,”

“I heard your voice,” he admitted, a portrait of hope in his face, gently grasping her wrist “I deviated from the road to look for the angel whose song I was lucky to listen. But the singing stopped, as it was never there in the first place,”

“The woods have a mind of their own” she whispered to herself, eyes roaming around as if searching.

“I found you once I let Samson rest for a moment,” he continued, uninterrupted, as though afraid she would vanish in a poof of light.

“Please, my lady. Can’t you see? One is never to deny a gift from the Gods,”

“Are you a believer, Stranger?”

“Now, I am,” he said, his gaze unfaltering, “Will you allow me to reveal my name to your Ladyship?”

“I’m no lady,” she said, taking her hand from the warmth of his, regretting it immediately, “I must have my leave,” How would she explain her tardiness to Nesta? Oh, how reckless she was acting.

“At least allow me to take you to your home, my lady,”

Elain knew deep in her gut as clearly as she knew the color of the sky and the name of her favorite flowers that he would never hurt her.

But her oldest sister warning echoed in her conscience, coiling its limbs around her, refraining her voice.

The universe, it seemed, understood her decision.

Samson let out a loud neigh, attracting her love’s attention for just long enough.

“I’ll see you in my dreams,” she promised as he turned around to watch his horse.

And ran away, deep into the woods.

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Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments make my day.

Special thanks to @moononastring and @silvergriff for hosting this awesome event, @separatist-apologist for being the kindest and most considerate beta reader I could ever hope for.

I’m building a tag list! If you want to keep up with my writing, let me know :))

I may or may not continue this? I really want to mesh this with a bunch of other ideas I have on my notes!!

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Subtitles: Episode 1, Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: [Y/N] has been living in Westview for more almost a month now and yet to properly put down roots. What they hadn’t been expecting was to work so much, have unpacking be so hard, and for a new couple to move in the other house for sale, directly across the street.

Word count: 8,425

Warnings: Sit down and grab a snack because this one’s a bit long! Otherwise nothing, really. Maybe second-hand embarrassment caused by a thirsty Reader.

~~~

    Ever since you left both home and family behind some years ago, you’ve always felt a little out of place in the world. It was a hard time for you, leaving everything you knew behind and instead branching out and trying to find your place in the world. Actually, not only was it a difficult time in your life, but a confusing one; when you attempted to reflect on those memories, all you get is a head of foggy feelings, including a particularly sick sensation that leaves you out of commission for the rest of the day if you’re not careful.

    When you settled in Westview, it was like a breath of fresh air. Finding a home in a nice neighborhood was easy and the moving was done in a pinch thanks to a local moving company helping you get the boxes to your door, though you couldn’t afford to pay for them to do more. You were even lucky enough to find a street with not one but two open houses to pick from; you chose the smaller, more modest abode, as you had no family in town and no intention of getting married or starting a family any time soon. Despite this lack of them nearby and generally solid memories, though, you knew you had a good relationship with your family because as soon as you found a place, you were receiving housewarming gifts and postcards and letters from not only your family but close and extended relatives alike. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for your new house’s already installed fridge to be covered in pamphlet-worthy pictures of places across the nation and kind words from your mother, grandmother, and cousins. 

    There was still unpacking, now of both the furniture and gift variety, that needed to be done before anything else. Then there was the question of a proper source of income—while the money you received from your relatives would cover a month or two while you got yourself settled, you suspected there wasn’t going to be anything else for a long while and, either way, you wanted to be able to fend for yourself. Finally, after the necessities were dealt with, there was the matter of making your house and the neighborhood your home and by making some connections; while you were perfectly content living alone, it would be nice to not feel like such an outsider, to have friends to go out on the town with or take the occasional trip with on the weekends. These were normal goals, you figured, and, with as easy everything else has been so far, they should be simple enough to complete.

    Right?

    Well, at least getting a job was easy enough, you thought as you sat on the stack of boxes that, over the last month, had become a chair by the door that you used to pull on your shoes before work, as you were doing now. It also functioned as a coat and hat rack, as proven by your growing collection of jackets and headwear piled on it, and the occasional bookshelf after a trip to the local library. It used to be a place to hold your keys but you have yet to make that mistake again after sitting down one day and getting a sharp jab to the backside. 

    You were right that getting a job was easy enough—you received a callback for a secretary job at a computational services company only after a week of job searching—but you had yet to follow through with your other aspirations. It’s not like you haven’t tried, but when it came to unpacking, your job left you with very little energy to do much other than collapse on a couch-shaped collection of boxes when you get home and only a semi-decently decorated bedroom to show for your work. In terms of bonding with the locals and making some friends, let’s just say that Dottie is convinced you purposely spilled red wine on her perfect white parlor gown—who wears white when drinking red wine?—and now all you received from the neighborhood husbands were side-eyes and grumbling after telling them you found their attempts at humor in poor taste. At least you’d managed to charm your boss and his wife when they came over for dinner and now Mr. and Mrs. Hart invited you over for the occasional drink and gossip; Agnes, a woman from across the street and down a house, was also among your few successes, and she was a hoot to be around in a big sister or wine aunt type of way, despite her loudness. 

    Speaking of which—

    “Hey, [Y/N],” Agnes hollered from somewhere outside, “haven’t seen you out of the house yet! Better hurry up, the streets are antsville today! Or, at least, you could come with me to say welcome the other new neighbors!”

    Agnes came knocking on your door the same day you moved in and since then, she’s apparently committed your daily schedule to memory because if you’re not heading to work right on time, you get a holler from across the— Wait. New neighbors? You hopped up from your boxy perch after making sure your shoes were secure and peeked out the nearest window. Sure enough, the other house that you had considered moving into, the one immediately across the street from your own, no longer had a FOR SALE sign stuck in its yard and the yard and curtains appeared to have been decorated. Your heart lept into your throat as you wondered when that had happened; you desperately hoped that it hadn’t happened too long ago because you’ve been on a work rampage for the past few days and haven’t noticed much else. Yet another thing you haven’t done correctly. 

Agnes was also by the front yard, leaning against the fence and chatting with the mailman as he walked by. After he passed, she looked up and caught your eye, grinned, and waved. “Come on, [Y/N], no time like the present!”

You wanted to join her and introduce yourself to the new neighbors, you really did. Unfortunately, you would definitely get to work late if you didn’t get a move on, especially if the streets were as crowded as Agnes mentioned them to be, and you definitely didn’t want to greet the neighbors without a housewarming gift in hand. Perhaps you could stop by a shop on the way home and pick up a plant or a pie and welcome them this evening.

“Now, don’t flip your lid, Agnes,” you teased back with a smile as you walked outside. This response earned you a mock scowl, then Agnes’s smile again; you walked over to your vehicle and tossed your bag into the passenger’s seat. “I wish I could join you but you caught me; I am in fact looking to wind up late and I’ll be cruisin’ for a bruisin’ if I don’t leave now. I’ll try to stop by after work!” 

“Well alright then,” came Agnes’s reply, while you hopped into the driver’s seat and started your chariot up. “I’ll tell them you say hi. Congrats on no longer being the new guy!”

Too bad I still feel like the new guy, you mentally grumbled, rapping your fingers on the steering wheel. You took a breath, checked that your hair was in place and your shirt wasn’t wrinkled in the mirror and headed on your way.

“Oh, hello dear; I’m Agnes, your neighbor to the right! My right, not yours. Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you to the neighborhood. My mother-in-law was in town, so I wasn’t.”

Wanda watched the woman on her doorstep, visibly a bit perplexed but smiling either way. She was confused about what special event she and her husband were supposed to be celebrating tonight after seeing a heart on the calendar but now that she had an unknown woman—no, not unknown; one of her neighbors—here, Wanda couldn’t possibly be a bad hostess and turn her away. 

Not that the woman, Agnes, would have let her do so anyway. She shoved the plant she was holding into Wanda’s arms and walked inside, talking without giving Wanda any space to chime in. “So, what’s your name, where’re you from, and most importantly, how’s your bridge game, hon?”

Wanda quickly shut the door and trotted after the woman. She was newly stressed over the unknown event but now also giddy; this was the first neighborly welcome of many, she was sure of it! She reached Agnes’s side and stretched out a hand with a big smile. “I’m Wanda.”

“Wanda,” Anges repeated as if to see how the same felt on her tongue, before taking Wanda’s hand in a solid shake, “Charmed.” She paused, glancing around the house—Wanda felt an odd pang of anxiety—then continued, “Gol-ly, you settled in fast! Did you use a moving company?”

Wanda struggled momentarily for an answer. Of course, she didn’t; she’d used her powers to unpack and decorate quickly, but she couldn’t say that to this stranger. She decided to go with an affirmative answer as it was the easiest route. She went to reply—

“If you did,” Agnes went on, “I should get the name from you. Our other new neighbor across the way still has a house full of boxes!”

Wanda blinked, her head tilting to one side out of curiosity. “Other new neighbor?”

“Why the house directly to your front!” Without waiting, the other woman walked to the front window and yanked back the curtains; she gestured to the house in question. “[Y/N]. They live on their own, you see, and probably could have done well with the help. Actually, they were going to stop by with me but they were running late for work. I told them I’d tell you hi for them—Hi for them!”

The loud car Wanda had heard a few minutes earlier must have been this other neighbor rushing off to work. It was nice to know that even though it hadn’t happened, there had almost been a party of two to welcome her and her husband to the street; it’s too bad that he had left for his own job only a while earlier.

Wanda made her way over to the window as well and took a look. It was more modest in size and build than Wanda’s own home, much more suited to house a single person. Despite Agnes’s claim of them having not unpacked, a few lawn decorations were set up and a pair of [F/C] curtains hung neatly framing the home’s front window. Wanda could make out various boxes leaning up against the window, evidence to Agnes’s statement, but otherwise, the place seemed well-kept. The yard was taken care of, though Wanda wondered if it was because the person had moved in just as recently as she and her husband did or if they just enjoyed garden work.

Apparently, she’d wondered this aloud because Agnes responded, “They’ve been here for about a month, just been too busy making a good impression at work and making a fool out of themselves to the other neighbors to make their house a little more homely. Poor thing’s a darling but struggling in the social department.”

Wanda continued to watch the house as if this other, slightly older newcomer was about to drive back up the street to home. Consider her interest piqued. Wanda wanted to know more about [Y/N], all of her neighbors really, but more importantly, why there had been multiple houses open and if it was common. She hoped this neighborhood was as friendly as it seemed and that it wasn’t danger or unkindness that had made multiple people move out. She opened her mouth to ask—

However, Agnes had moved on to a different subject, as well as a different part of the house. “So what’s a single gal like you doing rattling around this big house?”

“Oh no,” Wanda, sighing softly, switched gears with her and replied, “I’m not single.”

You gulped down a gasp of air as you tumbled out of the elevator of Computational Services Inc, which earned you a few odd looks from unknown coworkers passing by. You’d bumped into one of them while skidding to a halt and you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks and ears and you stepped away, apologizing profusely. You tried to reach your desk in a quick but professional manner, only stopping briefly to make sure your clothes and hair were still in order in the reflection of an office window. As you got closer to your desk, a small thing in an area separated from other employees, you heard the comforting sounds of typing and radio music. You got to your desk, pulled out your chair, sat your bag down, and began to sit, only for a voice to catch your attention.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Would you be so good as to tell me what exactly we do here?”

A British accent? Not something you hear every day around here. You pushed your chair back into place to prevent another worker from bumping into it and walked over to peer around the corner. You recognized Norm, a kind and well-mannered employee that filled out computational forms in this section of the building, standing and chatting with a taller, paler, glasses-wearing man that you didn’t know.

The British voice spoke again and now, at least, you could put the voice to a face. “Do we make something?”

The British gentleman was very tall indeed and quite handsome. He had light wavy hair in a side part, with a sliver’s worth that looked like it could fall into his eyes at any moment; you felt the strange urge to push it back before the idea of running your hands through a stranger’s hair made you blush again. His suit fit his lanky body well, though you’d expect nothing less as Mr. Hart was very strict about his workers’ appearance. His tie was interesting, a dark color with a simple, lighter print of four spots, two larger ones encased in a rectangle, and his glasses framed his curiosity-ridden face very well. Above his lovely-looking, light-colored eyes, his brows were furrowed as he looked animatedly around, as though his workplace was a puzzle he was trying to solve. You noticed he talked with his hands quite a bit and you also noticed that his large, long-fingered hands seemed slightly out of place compared to the rest of his body. They seemed like nice hands, though, and they probably did their job well.

Goodness, [Y/N], now you’re just being ridiculous. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your head against the wall you were hiding around. No, not hiding, because that would make your creeping seem even more bizarre. Definitely not creeping. Investigating.

You shook your head to refocus and looked towards the men, listening again. He is a bit of a dreamboat, isn’t he though?

Norm was answering the man. “No and no.”

“Then what is the purpose of this company?” the stranger continued.

“All I know,” Norm replied with a smile, “is since you’ve gotten here, productivity has gone up three hundred percent!”

Three hundred? That was a startling thought, almost enough to give you a headache. So you’re the reason I’ve had more files on my desk.

The stranger picked up one of said files and flipped through it. “Yes, but what is it that we’re producing?” 

He’s quite interested in figuring out the answer to that question, isn’t he? You felt another pang in your temple. How strange.

Your brows knitted together as you, curious, leaned into the pain a bit. The pain seemed to follow the British employee’s questioning, so you focused on it.

What did they do here anyway?

The harmless pangs quickly turned into a full-blown migraine, similar to what would happen if you thought too hard about your past. You grimaced in pain and reached for your head, only to lose your balance completely and fall forward, into the room you were observing. You hissed as your knees hit solid ground and you braced yourself with one hand while the other gripped the hair closest to your temple. You tried to look around for something else to focus on but your vision was blurry and you couldn’t tell if you were even moving your head.

Then there was shouting, which didn’t help the throbbing pain at all, and you felt what seemed like a hundred pairs of hands grasping at you. You couldn’t understand the yelling other than recognizing the voices as male; you tried to tell them you were alright, shake the hands off and get yourself some space, but nothing in your body seemed to be working quite right. Because of this, the voices and the various hands—or was there just two hands?—didn’t know what you wanted and instead of space, they crowded you. You felt grips on your shoulders and arms, even on your back— Then you were being lifted. Completely off the ground or only to your feet, you couldn’t tell.

Then the hands—only one on your back and another pair holding your arm now—guided you to a place where you could properly sit.

It was quieter now and you could feel the floor beneath your feet and an office chair holding your weight. You realized your eyes were closed so you opened them and you found your vision beginning to refocus. You looked around. 

“Goodness, are you alright?”

You could feel how red your face was—it was probably bright enough to be used as a neon stop sign—when you found yourself staring into a man’s torso. A torso that was quite close. You looked up and directly into the face of the British man, who no longer looked troubled by curiosity but rather quite concerned by you. 

Oh, yes, definitely a dreamboat, you thought without really meaning to.

Then Norm came rushing over, a cup in hand. “[Y/N], are you alright?”

“[Y/N],” the stranger repeated. He took the water cup from Norm, who hovered nearby, and squatted down to be at eye level with you. 

You wouldn’t mind hearing him say your name again.

Good Lord, stop it, you almost passed out!

“That is my name,” you managed. You even managed a definitely awkward smile, a couple of seconds of definitely awkward eye contact.

“Here, you should drink this.” He offered you the cup and once you took it, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up!”

I would imagine so, with how I feel. You sipped the water. Maybe you didn’t look as bad as you thought you did.

“Looks like you’re about to throw up too,” Norm very helpfully added.

Thank you for the commentary, Norm.

“[Y/N],” the other employee said, drawing your scowling gaze back from Norm, “do you have someone you could call? You look ill; perhaps it would serve you well to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him. He did not look convinced but you pushed on, whipping up a quick white lie to cover up your jarring headache. “I didn’t eat this morning and I rushed to work to escape the antsville. I must have gotten overheated on the way and I’m sure an empty stomach helped that. Sorry for worrying—”

“What is going on out here?”

You both jumped to your feet; you moved too fast for having just recovered and stumbled but luckily both Norm and his colleague caught you and straightened you up before you fell over. No one wanted to be seen out of place by the boss and you were currently both out of place and sorts. Even though you knew Mr. Hart already saw you—hell, he was standing directly in front of you three—you glanced around for a place to hide. Instead, you saw files and papers scattered across the floor, the result of your migraine-induced fumbling. You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. 

“Well?��

There was a moment of silence. You felt Norm take a step away from you and you expected the other man to do so as well. He didn’t but you raised your head and squared your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

“Sir—” you started.

“Sir,” the British gentleman interrupted, taking a step forward. “[Y/N] here was walking back to their desk and tripped, and in my haste to help them, I knocked over a pile of files on my desk. I apologize for the racket and the mess I’ve caused; I’ll deal with it right away.”

Mr. Hart looked from him to you to Norm, who was quaking in his nice shoes, then back. There were yet a few more moments of quiet before he spoke again. “Vision.”

Vision?

“Yes, Sir.” 

You glanced at the man to your right. Vision. What an interesting name for an interesting person.

“You better hope dinner tonight goes well after this charade,” Mr. Hart barked. “This better be cleaned up by the next time I come out here.”

Rather than looking upset or stressed, Vision looked relieved. He made a heart with his hands and muttered, “Mr. Hart. Of course…”

“And you,” the boss’s glare now settled on your face. “You were late this morning. In my office. Now.”

“Dammit,” you muttered after Mr. Hart had turned his back. 

“Sorry, don’t think I can help you that one,” Vision chimed in. He was rubbing the back of his head and squinting at Mr. Hart’s back. “You’ll be alright?”

“Promise, it was just a bit of the spins.” You gave him a friendly pat on the arm and made your way to hopefully not get fired. “Nice meeting you!”

“You as well, despite the unfortunate circumstances. Good luck!”

    Mr. Hart was waiting for you by his desk when he entered. He gestured for you to shut the door before he sat and as you did, you saw Vision beginning to clean up your mess before the phone on his desk started ringing.

    “Ugh, I’m exhausted.” You were exiting a shop downtown, squinting against the light of the setting sun. You held the door open with a toe of one shoe while you adjusted the bags on your arms, then moved around to properly hold the door for Agnes, who strolled out after you. “Hart was an absolute villain today! Barks at me for coming in late and not getting work done but then does it for an hour! Well now who’s keeping me? Then this British gent—I swear I’ve never seen him before but he’s apparently the cause of my last few busy work days!”

    “The looker?”

    You blushed a bit; Agnes will never you live it down now that you’ve slipped up and said you’d found the man attractive. “I may have mentioned that earlier—but I digress! As charming as the man was, helping me out even after I knocked over a bunch of his things, he’s still a powerhouse of an employee. Tripled my load of work with his own; now I get what Norm meant when he said productivity has gone up by three times! Imagine, being yelled at by my boss—who was one of the few well-off relationships I’ve had since moving to town—for an hour, and then, when you finally get back to business, your desk is buried in files! I’m barely breathing at this point! Ain’t that just a bite.”

    “Who’s flipped their lid now?” Agnes said with a cheeky grin. You responded with a tired glare and she scoffed. She moved her own bags to one arm so she could give your shoulder a good pat. “Just teasing you, dear! We can’t all be superhuman, unfortunately. Although you’re damn near close; thank you for helping me home, by the way. Ralph had a last-minute “meeting” with some “coworkers” tonight and I’m helping out our new neighbor plan a very important date!”

    That’s right, you had a new neighbor across the street. You’d almost forgotten. You knew there was a reason you’d felt the urge to pick up a small houseplant on your way through the checkout.

    “You have the mouth of a sailor, ‘Nes,” you quipped, cracking a grin.

    “And a drinking tolerance that would put any soldier to shame!” Agnes agreed with a short laugh. After a quick pause, she added, “It’s not like I said ‘fuck.’”

    That time both of you laughed and for the first time since your disastrous day, you felt yourself relax. After bringing up sailors and soldiers, Agnes lept into one of her half-complaint, half-stories about how, one time, her husband Ralph got drunk and tried to fight an entire bar—“Everything including the stools!” While she talked and you escorted her to your car, your mind wandered, curiosity about your new neighbors piqued again. You reached the sidewalk’s curb and helped Agnes stepped down, then opened the vehicle’s passenger door and took her bags. 

    Instead of sliding inside, Agnes watched you as you moved around to the other side of the car and put the bags in the backseat. “You’re a bit of a flutter bum yourself, dear. Look at those manners; you’ve been out and about all day and still came to help me with the groceries! And that voice! Absolute apple butter sometimes, when you want it to be. I’m surprised you aren’t already circled with a couple of children along the way!”

    You snorted as you opened your door and slid behind the wheel. “Just not in my plan, I suppose.” You gestured for her to join you in the car and started it up when she did so. “You didn’t see me today either. Creeping around corners, then these annoying headaches got to me and I was stumbling around knocking down everything! Not to mention the new guy, sweet as pie, saw me do all this and go absolutely red just from looking at him. Sweating, cottonmouth, everything. I must have seemed bonkers! It was awful.”

    Agnes offered, “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.”

    “I’m sure if he ever sees me again, he’s going to turn heel and walk in the opposite direction,” you stated. Then you shifted into gear, pulled away from the sidewalk, and turned towards home.

    You were in the one room in your house that wasn’t a part of the United Boxes, your bedroom, standing in front of one of the few pieces of furniture you’d managed to unpack since moving in. You fussed over your reflection in the mirror, pushing your damp hair from one side to the other, adjusting your tie one moment then readjusting it the next, holding up various hats and cardigans.

Your casual wardrobe was much more unique than the business attire you kept for work, which was generally neutral in both color and style. Tonight, you wore a collared button-up in a bright pattern of your favorite color paired with a tie that was darker in shade but equally bright in color, and you were debating between various cardigans in complementary colors. The pants you wore were more muted, a neutral color to go with the shiny black dress shoes and good quality belt that you usually only broke out for special social occasions. For a little more pop, you also wore a few colorful bracelets on each wrist and a ring or two. You even added a little more color to your still tired-looking face, despite you feeling much better after a nap, shower, and change of clothes. 

You finally settled on the combination of a brighter colored cardigan a more muted hat to pull your entire look together. Slipping the cardigan on and flattening out any creases, you flashed your mirror self your friendliest smile for practice’s sake. Then you gave yourself a twirl, craning your neck over over your shoulder to make sure everything looked just as nice from the back as the front. 

Now we’re cooking with gas, you thought. Hopefully, the neighbors think so too.

Satisfied, you made your way out to the living room where your outfit-appropriate handbag and housewarming gift waited. The young plant, a pachira, sat in a pot whose color accented the color of the house you were going to visit this evening as opposed to the simple white it’d come in. The pot itself wore a big ribbon bow that you’d attached yourself and sticking out of the soil was a card welcoming the neighborhood’s newcomers. 

Perhaps you’d finally make some friends tonight.

You picked up the plant-based gift in one hand and placed it securely in the crook of your arm, then picked up your handbag in the other and made your ways outdoors. It was a quick walk across the street and once on the neighboring house’s doorstep, you steeled yourself with a deep breath. You smiled, then frowned, then smiled again and repeated this a couple of times to make sure the first smile your neighbors saw wasn’t a strained one and raised your hand to use the oddly realistic-looking lobster door hanger.

Much to your surprise, however, the door opened before your hand ever reached it.

And there, in front of you, looking just as shocked as you felt, was your boss and his wife. 

“Mr— Mr. Hart?” you stammered, stumbling backward and almost dropping the plant under your arm. Remembering the last time you and your boss “conversed,” your friendly face twisted into more of a deer in the headlights look. “Mrs. Hart? What are... What are you doing here? You didn’t just move in, did—?”

“Is there a problem, Mr. and Mrs. Hart?”

Not only did you recognize the Harts but you recognized the British voice that came from behind them and the face that appeared with it. 

“Vision?”

“[Y/N]?”

The two of you stared at each other in surprise. That is until Mr. Hart cleared his throat; he and Mrs. Hart still stood directly in front of you, with Vision unintentionally blocking them from stepping back inside. You yelped an apology and stepped to one side, then had to catch yourself on the doorframe as you almost tripped down the front steps.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mr. Hart said slowly as he stepped outside, giving you a particularly unpleasant look, “[Y/N] here lives in the neighborhood as well. Say, you live directly across the way, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded immediately with a tilt of your head in the direction of your home. Then you glanced over at Vision and raised the pot you held slightly for him to see. “I was just coming over to introduce myself and offer a housewarming gift.”

Mr. Hart gave a strained nod, clearly still out of sorts about your work performance today. “Well, we were just out the door after the first dinner with the Maximoffs.” He made it sound like having dinner with your boss, while important, was something more of a religious experience. 

You hoped Vision did well. 

“He did just fine,” Mrs. Hart piped in.

There you go, accidentally wondering things aloud again.

“Congrats!” you chirped in Vision’s direction. You noted that he seemed as uncomfortable being in this situation as Mr. Hart acted and you felt. Perhaps you should have just visited in the morning.

Out of the group, Mrs. Hart seemed to be the only one unphased. She gave your shoulder a friendly squeeze and complimented your outfit—the one that her husband eyed distastefully—then lowered her voice so only you could hear. “I heard about your little brawl at work today. Don’t get bent too out of shape about my husband’s behavior; he has to work the weekend and he’s about excited as a cat that doesn’t get fed on time. We’re still on for bridge this weekend, right?”

You always liked Mrs. Hart. She was a good counterweight to her ever so charming husband and she always made sure to make you feel at home here in Westview, even if you struggled to do so yourself. You gave her a smile and a nod. “Of course, ma’am. You look stunning tonight, by the way.”

“Charmer.”

As you were talking to Mrs. Hart, Vision settled things with the mister, and things finally seemed to be calming down. However, Vision was wishing the Harts a safe way home, and you gave them a “Good night!” and a wave while wondering if you should just go home yourself, when a clatter came from inside the—what was it?—Maximoff household.

A voice followed, “Vis? Is everything alright out there, dear?”

You felt yourself deflate a bit; you already forgot that Mr. Hart had mentioned Maximoffs. Maximoffs, not one Maximoff. You were somewhat disappointed that, from what it sounded like, your new dashing British acquaintance had a partner, not that it was a surprise. He must have had people throwing themselves at him at one point in his life before he settled on The One and they immediately got married and moved into their cozy-looking, bigger than your own, house. Or, perhaps, maybe he was the awkward one falling all over himself to impress the person of his interest and when they finally picked him, he felt like his heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that found their home in his stomach.

Of course you were the only one on the block who was single and living alone.

You wondered if they had kids.

“... come in!”

You zoned back in from being lost in your thoughts to catch only the end of what Vision was saying. He stepped back from the doorway and held the door open for you and looked at you expectantly and, not wanting to make more of a fool of yourself that you already have in front of him today, you made your way inside, just hoping he hadn’t said anything important while you had been wondering about his romantic life. You felt heat on your ears and cheeks.

Vision, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Now that the Harts were gone, he appeared much more relaxed, leaning on the door with one leg crossed over the other and even smiling at you as you walked into his spacious and already unpacked living room. 

That was the first time you’ve seen him smile, you noted. He had a very charming smile, one of those that made his eyes smile too and seemed much more in place on his face than any other expression. 

Vision closed the door behind you as you looked around the space with mild surprise—how long have they been moved in? How had they gotten unpacked so fast?—then he gave you a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. It was then that you noticed more clattering coming from behind a door that you assumed belonged to the kitchen.

“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” he said, making his way to said door, “As you know, my wife and I just finished dinner with the Harts, and my darling Wanda is doing all the dishes. I’ll tell her to wait a moment and come join us! Do you drink fluids?” You must have looked at him oddly because then he stumbled on his words a bit before clarifying, “Alcohol? Or would you like water, juice?”

He certainly did talk with his hands a lot. You liked the way he clasped his hands and fiddled with his fingers while trying to untangle his words.

“Water’s fine,” you replied with a friendly smile.

Seeing that you weren’t bothered by his slip-up, he smiled back and made his way into the kitchen. Halfway through the door, he chirped over his shoulder, “Please feel free to take a seat! I’ll return momentarily!”

Being alone again for only a few minutes still had you beginning to feel the weight of the day’s chaos again. You placed your housewarming gift on the coffee table and rubbed where the pot had been digging into your arm, then wriggled your toes; because these were shoes for special social occasions only, something you didn’t go to very often, they weren’t very well broke in and your feet were beginning to hurt. 

The clattering in the kitchen had stopped but now the muffled voices of Vision and Wanda, which was somehow comforting. You looked around, taking in the classy but simple room. How on earth they’d managed to get unpacked so fast unless they used a company or stylist or somehow bought the place pre-furnished, you had no idea—well, you had a few, clearly. It was still surprising though. However they managed, you hoped your own living area looked half as nice. When you got around to it.

You perked up again as you heard the kitchen door creak… and then felt like your heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that immediately found a home in your stomach.

If Vision was a dreamboat, his wife was a, well, literal vision. Wanda wore a dress that was just as simple and charming as the house she lived in, paired with a pretty necklace and pair of heels. Her curled hair perfectly framed her face and despite appearing as frazzled as Vision had when you first showed up at their doorstep, she wore a smile so gorgeous that your heart, which had apparently recovered from its explosion of butterflies, decided it preferred to do somersaults in your throat.

The pair of them were standing hip to hip with Wanda carrying a set of glasses and Vision a pitcher of water. They were chatting lightly about how well dinner went as they walked into the living room before turning their set of beaming smiles in your direction. 

Your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to melt, tie itself in knots, or spontaneously combust. You decided to make it stand to properly introduce yourself instead.

Just living in the same neighborhood as these two was going to be cataclysmic. 

“Wanda, darling, this is my coworker [Y/N], the one I told you about earlier this evening.” Vision detached himself from his partner’s side and began snagging glasses from her hands to fill and place on the coffee table as she walked closer. “And [Y/N], this is my wife, Wanda.”

You and Wanda watched him hop around from her to the coffee table and back two more times with amusement, then Wanda looked at you and gave an incredulous shake of her head, offering her hand. “Hi, hon. Don’t mind him; he’s not usually this dancy but dinner with the boss was a bit unexpected on both our parts. I had to pull something together last minute and he’s trying to make up for it.”

“You did so much in such a short amount of time,” Vision added, finally settling on the couch beside Wanda after the two of you shook hands and got seated. “You deserve a break. I can handle filling a few glasses and doing up the dishes.”

“Speaking of which, I hope you got a break yourself, [Y/N].” Wanda’s comment and concerned look made your eyebrows raise with confusion. She elaborated, “Vision mentioned covering for you at work today.”

You flushed slightly and rubbed the side of your neck. Vision noticed and gave you an apologetic look.

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I get these awful migraines sometimes. One just happened to hit me at a particularly bad time today and I fell and knocked over a bunch of files. Your husband was an angel, did something he absolutely didn’t need to do and said it was all his fault.”

“And yet you got punished anyway,” Vision said, still looking apologetic. He wrung his hands a bit as well; you wanted to hold them to make him stop.

Wanda did instead, giving him the sweetest smile in the process. 

“But if it weren’t for you,” you chirped, “I may have just gotten fired. So I have to thank you for that. And I can’t imagine how that may have affected your dinner tonight, if I had known you were having the big boss dinner tonight, I wouldn’t have let you. I’m so sorry, by the way, for barging in immediately after your dinner, too; you two must be exhausted!”

“Oh, nonsense,” Wanda piped up again. She patted you on the wrist; you kind of wished she’d left her hand there but she went to pick up her water instead. “Dinner went quite well actually, if not a bit ill-planned. We had a bit of a misunderstanding of what the calendar said.” She gave Vision a playful glare and he responded with a bashful smile that he tried to hide by running a hand over his face.

“I drew a heart, for Hart,” he explained. “We forgot and thought we missed an anniversary instead.”

You thought back to when Mr. Hart mentioned the dinner at the office and Vision had made a heart with his hands, then tried to suppress a grin of your own. “That’s an easy misunderstanding. Happy to hear I’m not the only one good with planning, though, no offense.”

“Well, maybe you two should be married.” Wanda glanced between the two of you, the playful look in her dark eyes paired with her suggestion making your throat dry.

“You couldn’t remember it either, darling,” Vision countered, giving her a peck on the forehead, “If that’s the case, maybe all three of us were meant to be.”

You went to swallow and ended up having to suppress a choke. You reached for your glass, only to see it empty—when did you do that?—but Wanda was quick to refill it.

You gave her a sheepish smile and soft “Thanks” in return, took a drink and decided to play along. “That would explain why we ended up living directly across from the street and why I’ve been single almost my entire life.” 

You mentally kicked yourself for mentioning that last part and coming off way too desperate. However, when you glanced the couple’s way, Vision was chuckling, and Wanda was giving an understanding nod with a pleased look on her face. Maybe she thought her joke was going to hit wrong? Maybe it hadn’t been a joke?

Don’t get your hopes up, you thought.

Then Wanda spoke again. “You must be joking. You’re living on your own in that house?”

    You shrugged and responded, “I have a fish.”

    “I’m sure they’re wonderful conversation,” Wanda quipped back. 

    “No romantic interest in sight?” Vision asked. 

    Well, I wouldn’t say that but I’m certainly not going into that right now. You shook your head and decided to shift the conversation to a topic that was less likely to make you feel, if either or both of them did happen to ask you to marry them at that very moment, as if you would immediately throw yourselves at them. “Speaking of houses and all that, what a coincidence that we happen to find each other living next door the same day we meet. That’s what I originally came over to do, introduce myself to my neighbors and give you a housewarming gift.”

    You gestured to the pachira on the coffee table and Wanda reached over to touch its leaves, then used Vision’s still-full water glass to water it. “That’s right. It is a lovely plant, thank you very much. I think it will look nice in the kitchen, or perhaps over by the window.” 

    “It’s supposed to bring good luck to the house,” you offered, “and red ribbons are often associated with it but I’m not sure why.”

    “Well here’s to good luck then,” Wanda said, clinking Vision’s empty cup with your half-full one. She read the card you’d attached, smiled, then picked up the plant and offered it to her husband. “Here, dear. Since you’re taking on the role of house-husband tonight, why not take this and see how it looks over by the window.”

    Vision was already standing and taking the plant from her hands before she finished her sentence. “Of course, darling. Tell me where you think it looks nice.” Then he added to you as he walked by, “I may be skilled many things, like filling out computational forms, but the interior decorating is all her. I’m practically color-blind. And furniture-blind. And generally design-blind. Possibly blind-blind, if I’m being honest.”

    Wanda rolled her eyes but she still giggled, then pointed out where she thought the plant would look best. It was off to one side of the window and she explained that she thought it would be visible from your window as well, and thus give both houses good luck. 

    “Maybe it will give me the luck to finally unpack and decorate like you two already have,” you pondered allowed, finishing off your water a second time; Wanda promptly offered to fill your cup again but you politely declined. “The two of you have been here, what? At least a few days now and your home is already made in the shade. I’ve been here in Westview a month if not more and I usually spend my time lounging on a couch made of crates and boxes.” 

    You noticed Vision glance oddly at his wife as he sat back down but Wanda didn’t seem to catch it. Still, she answered quite quickly, “We used a company.”

    “Ah.” You glanced between them but the strained energy that suddenly appeared just as quickly as it came when Wanda gave you another sweet smile and offered to write down the company name for you. “No need, I couldn’t afford it anyway. Thank you, though.”

    That response didn’t seem to please Wanda all that much. She pursed her lips in a way that looked partially pondering and partially pouty—it was a very cute pout—before leaning over to Vision and muttering in his ear. His attention was immediately drawn to focus only on her and they chatted quietly among themselves for a few moments.

    You suddenly felt awkward again and took to looking around a bit. You first looked at your feet and noticed how close one of Wanda’s own was to yours; in fact, the three of you were sitting so close together that her dress poofed out over your leg. Then you happened to look over at where your arm was resting across the back of the couch. Vision’s was too and you suddenly became keenly aware of how, if he were to start talking with his hands like he does, his would most definitely brush your own. You wondered if it already had while you were too engrossed in conversation to notice, then you wondered if you should move farther to the other side of the couch.

    You began shifting to do so when Wanda suddenly leaned back to her normal spot and grabbed your wrist. “Why don’t we come over sometime this weekend and help you unpack?”

    You blinked. She seemed closer than she had been earlier, or maybe it was just the fact that hand hadn’t pulled away yet. Her eyes were as bright and welcoming as they had been since you first saw them, eyebrows raised in what you could only place as eagerness, and you officially decided that if you were to look up the word “sweet” in a dictionary, there’d be a picture of her smile.

    You were so suddenly flustered that for a moment all you did was stare while you figured out how to talk again. When you did, you were surprised at confident your voice sounded when you replied, “Sure.”

    “Great!”

    Wanda and Vision looked equally excited when you looked at them both, which confused you before you remembered that you were only the second person from the neighborhood to visit them since they moved in. Thinking of it now, you were also feeling energetic from the conversation and not just because you happened to be sitting next to a very attractive-looking pair. This was the first time you sat down with people from the neighborhood and it did not only go well but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself; you also enjoyed spending time with Agnes but Agnes was just outwardly friendly to everybody and even if you ran out of things to say, she had enough stories to add filler to seven different conversations at the same time. Wanda and Vision seemed to be just as awkward as you, making unusual jokes that might not make it through and fumbling over themselves and on occasion just being awkwardly silent at times, but it was a weird kind of awkwardness that also felt comfortable, comforting. You felt like you were among friends. 

    Conversation flowed easily for the rest of the night. The three of you made plans to spend the next day at your place, unpacking and decorating and just getting to know each other better, then conversation shifted smoothly from one random topic to another. Wanda had a lot of questions about the neighborhood and the people in it and she and you swapped stories of first meeting Agnes. You were somewhat fascinated with Vision’s almost eidetic memory and couldn’t help quizzing him on random subjects but luckily, he seemed to be just as eager to answer. Wanda mentioned Vision’s ability to play ukulele at one point and he felt is was absolutely necessary to perform and after mentioning Wanda’s breakfast cooking ability—and your stomach grumbling in curiosity—she brought you to the kitchen and made the best breakfast you’d ever had, despite it not being morning, while Vision kept to his word and washed the dishes. Eventually, though, the night caught up to the each of you and you said your goodbyes, hugs included, at the door and you headed back home with a goofy grin on your face. 

    Upon getting home, you kicked off your shoes that you’d long since forgotten were causing your feet pain and went to your bedroom. You quickly stripped, put on your bedwear, and faceplanted onto your sheets. You laid there for a moment in comfortable bliss before turning your head and catching yourself in the mirror. Though looking utterly exhausted, it was mixed an almost childish happiness. You finally felt content in Westview, like you’d finally found your place. 

    You scrambled around to get under the covers and curled up. Quickly dozing off and still grinning, you muttered, “I think I’ll like it here.”