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wardenparker · 4 months

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The King's Queen - chapter 9

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Lots of mystery related content this chapter, so no warnings in order to guard against spoilers! Summary: As the weeks progress, the investigation into King Miguel's death is stalling out. Until an unexpected conversation renews your suspicions about a particular member of court. Notes: We're winding down toward the end of this story, folx and thank you all so, so much for reading! It will probably be one more chapter and an epilogue -- so for now have a gif of Lucas and Javi for ✨atmosphere✨

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

In the weeks following, the palace falls into a rhythm. The ongoing investigation is the dark cloud that covers the planning of the royal wedding and coronation, but life goes on. You've accompanied Javi on multiple public outings as Crowned Princess now and the press coverage does seem to be reasonably positive. Maisie and Gabriela have made a few gossip headlines along with you, including one tabloid photo of the three of you visiting a recently opened café owned by two young women in downtown Palma. The photo op had been chosen very strategically by your brother working together with the palace's security team, and you had insisted that the business they selected for the three of you to patronize needed to meet certain standards. The small shop had served you one of the most fantastic lunches you had ever had, and you were sure to tell the women so. The photo of you savoring your crema catalana had gone up on your official royal Instagram account that night.

You're settling in, is really what it comes down to, and at Javi's encouragement you've decided to clean up a room in the palace that hasn't been used much in the last few decades to turn into your receiving room. The Queen's office is one thing. That's a separate space in the working wing of the house, and your brother's office is adjacent to it. But a room for you to receive guests in or have meetings in...it's something that the palace hasn't needed since Javi's mother passed away.

“Your Highness, the furniture movers have arrived.” Despite having an abundance of nicknames for you growing up, and being your brother, Sebastian insisted on making sure that during working hours he addresses you by your title rather than any nickname. Wanting there to be no slip ups in protocol, or for visiting dignitaries to believe that they could also address the future Queen so informally.

“Thank you, Sebastian.” The room had been emptied of its former furniture set and divested of its previous rugs and trinkets. The fireplace had been scrubbed and all of that. Curtains taken away to be replaced with the set that you had chosen. Now the team from the palace steward’s office will be bringing in that expansive set of blue velvet upholstered walnut wood pieces, with their silver accents and silver-embroidered curtains to match. It will be your space and yours alone, just the way you like it. Even the paintings that are going up for decor were your choice, and the collection of Spanish impressionists that will hang on the walls is stunning.

"Of course." He smiles slightly and nods his head in deference to your position. "They have also located a rug for the space, I have told them to bring that first for your approval." The storage for the palace holds all of the furnishing through the years.

Just as he defers to your title during working hours, you’ve kept yourself to using his full name during those times as well, not wanting any rumours to build around why you hired your brother for this position — or even fuel the incredibly stupid theory that went around at first that he isn’t your brother at all. Some tabloid had printed that they thought he was your secret lover but thankfully that had gone nowhere with the people. You look far too much alike for anyone to not realize you’re related. “Do we know when Maisie and Gabriela are due back from their appointments?” Your ladies had gone into Palma for something that you hadn’t quite caught the explanation for but you’re hoping they will be back before dinner. The two women really have become you close friends in almost no time at all. And you’ve noticed a little bit of flustering on your brother’s part around Gabriela that is very sweet.

Sebastian looks down at the tablet in his hands and checks the calendar. Any appointments your ladies in waiting have are also kept by him so he can inform you. "They will be returning to the palace in thirty minutes."

“You are a font of useful information.” And you’re so incredibly glad that he’s here. Having someone nearby who just knows you as a person — what makes you tick and what makes you anxious — on staff is so helpful.

He smirks and holds up the tablet. "You just like me for my schedule." He teases playfully.

“Honestly?” You waggle your eyebrows at him, aware that until the movers from the steward’s office come into the room, the only people who will see or hear this interaction are the security officers watching the cameras that have been discreetly installed around the room. “I’m starting to see why so Dad was mad that I stole you away.”

"You understand and appreciate my work." Sebastian smirks, preening slightly. "Dad's new assistant isn't completely incompetent, but apparently he's not me and that infuriates the old man."

“C’est la vie, I guess. That’s why you should always appreciate the people who make your life easier.” As if on cue, a set of four workers from the steward’s office appear. They’re toting an enormous rug with them and look a little apprehensive.

“Y-Your highness?” The first man holding the rug bows his head. “This was – for your approval? If you do not approve, we will carry it back to the storage.”

“I’m sure you’ve made a wonderful choice.” And considering you know next to nothing about rugs, you’re willing to bet that they made a decision far more educated than yours would be. “Will you let it out, please? I’m very excited to see your choice.”

There’s a grateful smile on the third man and they begin to quickly unroll the rug. “It, uh, the blues and silvers in the rug could work with the furniture.” The first man explains.

"Then it will be perfect." You and Sebastian step back to give the men room, and soon enough the enormous Turkish carpet is rolled out to reveal its intricate patterns and subtle colors. It's exactly the right thing to bring warmth to a room that was once stark whites and ladylike pinks and pale greens, and you smile gratefully. Your color palette is slightly more robust than the last queen's, but there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, this piece will be what ties the room together. "Que maravillosa," you hum, seeing it all laid out. "Gentlemen, you have made the perfect selection. I could not have done better myself."

The pride that filters out from the men's faces would make Sebastian think that you had just knighted them. He hides a small smile and nods, stepping forward. "I think that it is safe to say that the Queen will keep the rug that you have chosen with her upmost gratitude." He tells him.

“We will return shortly with the first truck of furniture.” The seeming leader of the group tells you, bowing his head politely before he herds the others out to the hallway. They have two large, motorized hand trucks to bring down the king palace hallway and then they will arrange the pieces to their princess’ satisfaction.

"They chose well." Sebastain comments as he examines the plush rug. "Almost as if they were eager to please the crowned princess or something." He has felt the love the palace staff have started to extend to you, finding less pushback on his requests than he had once expected.

“I’m grateful it hasn’t been difficult,” you admit, smiling softly as your engagement ring winks in the late morning sun. “Javi is already having a hard enough time with the investigation still ongoing. I can’t imagine if he was fighting pushback in the press, too.”

"They still have found nothing substantial, and the King is growing impatient." He nods. glancing around to make sure no one else has come into the morning room.

“Remarkably, the investigation seems to conclude that it may have been accidental.” You keep your voice low as well. “But I still find that conclusion…unsettling.”

"As do I." Your brother hums, even if he agrees quietly.

The men from the steward’s office stay with you for the better part of an hour. It turns out that moving the furniture about takes seemingly no effort at all when it’s done by four men who could probably bench press you, and soon the seams of 1920s artisan-made study furniture is set precisely around the room in the perfect way to make it look nonchalant yet elegant. You didn’t even know furniture could look nonchalant, but now there is an art deco chaise lounge in your morning room ready to prove you wrong.

"Should I have tea and a light snack brough in?" Sebastain asks, knowing that you would want to settle into the room, get a feel for her. "I have some paperwork that needs attending, and you have nothing on your schedule until after lunch."

“Bring me everything you need me to sign,” you sigh dramatically in resignation but flash your brother a grin. “And if you could ask the kitchen for a tea tray, I would be eternally grateful.” In the last few weeks, the palace chef has gotten the contents of your personal tea tray down to a science, and you swore up and down to Javi that night that this is true luxury. Having your favourite snacks on hand at all times is what it’s all about.

"As you wish, your highness." Sebastian bows gracefully and sends you a small wink before sailing out of the room.

The room is better than you had envisioned it would be. The paintings are light and bright and bring a sense of invitation to the art deco furniture. It's a mix of styles so it doesn't feel too stuffy, making the room feel a little bit more personable. You sit down at the writing desk by the fireplace, admiring the elaborate carvings and the personalized touches. The men from the steward's office had also come in with a case of your personal stationary and a set of the pens that had been ordered with the emblem of the Crowned Princess of Mallorca on them. It had all been very overwhelming at first, but you're starting to settle in to it. One sheet of stationery and one of the pens find their way out of their cubbies in and into your hands, deciding that you'll write a note to be delivered to Javi as he goes about his work during the way. Your little notes make him smile, and if even a moment of smiling eases some of his burden, then they are well worth the few minutes they take to write.

He watches you from the shadow, frowning and furious. About to step out and speak when the silly little maid arrives with a tea cart. Making him curl his lip in disgust. You would have everyone believe you were an English queen with your teas and little treats.

You thank the girl and smile when she curtsies, knowing that being on your best manners with the palace staff is everything. The tea tray is laden with a mix of things and you sip your cup with a happy sigh. Until Sebastian comes back with your paperwork, it's just you and your tea and your love note to Javi.

"Well, aren't you just settling in nicely?" The voice comes from the far exit, carrying across the room. "Already changing things, causing disruptions."

If his voice causes a slight twitch in one eye, it isn't your fault. It's just that Lucas has been a needle in your side since the day you met him and there is nothing you can really do about it except be overly kind to the point of making him uncomfortable. "Lucas." You turn your head, setting down your teacup and folding your hands in your lap to offer him the most witheringly perfunctory smile you can manage. "Or shall I start to call you cousin? After all it won't be much longer before the wedding."

“Yes…the wedding.” He walks into the room as if he owns it, sniffing as he looks around the room. “Very…quaint.” He decides. “How fitting.”

"Is there some reason you have sought me out this morning?" He has a tendency to try to bait you into debates or arguments with polite insults, but you are in far too good of a mood today to be bent out of shape by petty words. "Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

“No.” He scoffs the word, almost close to a chuckle as he strolls around the room. Taking pains to touch different things, adjusting them to his own liking. “I have to admit that I’m surprised you are still here.” He glances up at you and then down the small Tiffany music box on a table. His finger running over the gilded lid. “Perhaps the prize is too large to let go?”

“Whatever gave you the impression that I might leave?” There hasn’t really been a serious moment since meeting Javi where you’ve considered it. Is the job difficult? Of course. But Javi makes every single second worth it. And you would never disappoint him by leaving — or so coarsely abandon the man you love.

“The king is dead.” He shrugs slightly. “Unless an arranged marriage is something you actually wished for.”

“King Miguel is dead; may he rest in peace. But King Javier is very much alive and well.” His refusal to accept that his cousin has ascended the throne is something of a curiosity to you. Like there is a full block in his mind that prevents him from accepting it. “And happily I will tell you, as well as anyone else who wishes to hear, how very much in love with my fiancé I truly am.”

“Come now.” He tuts and sends you a pitying look. “No one would be in love with Javier. Expect perhaps my wife.”

“I think it would be more difficult to find someone not at least a little in love with him.” A pinched, derisive smile makes you tilt your head. “The only exception seems to be you, cousin.”

“I have known Javier my entire life, believe me, there is nothing special about him.” Lucas sneers.

"I'm very sorry that you believe that," you reply placidly. Lucas truly has a talent for getting under your skin — and it's really all to do with his attitude toward Javi. He seems to think his cousin is the least remarkable man in the world, which is a thought process that you just can't wrap your head around. Javi's goodness is what will make him a kind and sympathetic leader. "Javi's ability to be kind in the face of an unkind world is one of the most special things I have ever witnessed in a human being. It seems to me that you might not know your cousin as well as you think after all. But that is merely an observation."

There’s a mean little grin on his face, making the classically handsome exterior appear almost rotten because of the evilness inside. “I think you might actually believe that load of horse shit.”

He truly seems to have come to see you just to be cruel today, which is rare, but it isn’t the first time. Lucas taunts and intimidates and spits venom as his surest means of communication. It is who he is. But he is also exceptionally talented at hiding his true nature, which leads to unfortunate circumstances like the group of loyal followers he still has here at the palace. Allowing yourself one more sip from your teacup, you set it down again and give him your patented Senator’s-Daughter placid smile. “Is there something that you needed, Lucas?”

“I was wondering if you had heard anything about the investigation?” He picks up a book that has been strategically placed and smirks as he opens it, glancing up and you and snapping it closed loudly.

"I am not at liberty to discuss the investigation," you remind him, interested in what he might have to say about it. Lucas has been relentlessly present during the investigation.

He rolls his eyes and snorts. “There’s no one here.” He huffs and lifts a brow. “I’ve heard your investigators have been probing, asking very pointed questions.”

“Well of course they are, a king has died.” You don’t say that he was killed, always very careful about your wording with Lucas — but something about his wording strikes you a moment later. ‘There’s no one here’ he says, blatantly encouraging you to speak liberally with him. As though you are entirely in private. Lucas…does not seem to know that your morning room has already been wired for security. “Of course…” you venture, keeping your breathing even and your voice steady so he doesn’t sense any change in your whatsoever even though your heart rate is now racing. “We will all be very glad when the matter is resolved. The country deserves to heal. To move forward.”

“It will, with a new king.” He is very certain of that and straightens slightly. “I understand the pressures of the throne might be too much for my cousin. He has always been a follower. Meek.”

Not so long ago, insulting the king so overtly would have been enough to have Lucas censured or even stripped of his title, but you bite your tongue on that point and simply tilt your head. "Do you really think so little of your own flesh and blood?"

“It is more that I know my own flesh and blood.” Lucas chuckles. “He is not the brightest Gutierrez, unable to figure out what is right under his nose.”

It's like Lucas wants to keep talking. Now that the topic has been breached and you are not shutting him down immediately as you usually do, he seems to be as unstoppable as the enormous boulder that chased Indiana Jones. "King Miguel believed in his son. He named Javi his heir and paved the way for him to take the throne. You think you know things about Javier that his own father did not?"

He smirks and shrugs slightly. “Miguel had to have faith in his son.”

"Had to?" That piques your interest, and you fold your hands in your lap even as you turn toward him a little more fully. There is a camera and microphone built into the clock above the mantel of the fireplace and you want to make sure this entire conversation is very firmly in the line of sight and sound. Though you doubt Lucas would ever overtly incriminate himself, he is being fairly damning if anyone ever called his loyalties into question. "King Miguel could easily have named another heir if he felt it was the best course of action."

“That would never have happened.” He hisses, face twisting into an angry scowl. His fist tightening in fury.

It might be the first time you've ever wanted to reel back from one of Lucas's outbursts, but you hold yourself steady in your chair and try not to make it obvious that you've just swallowed hard out of discomfort. "Never? Then King Miguel must have believed in Javi quite a lot."

“Not because he believed in him.” Lucas sneers. “But because the old bastard wouldn’t stand the shame, the humiliation of having such a weakling for a son.”

There will be time to take umbrage with Lucas's characterization of Javi later on. Right now, you have to stay laser focused on what is being spit out right in front of you. It is absolutely no secret between you and your fiancé that you both believe Lucas had something to do with King Miguel's death. But you still have no idea how to prove it. "And so...you believe that the late king would rather...gamble with the future of his country? Surely he would have wanted Javier to have help if he thought it was necessary."

“He had changed it.” Lucas growls, the fervor in his eyes nearly manic. “I saw. He had changed his directives – but the bastard guarding him refused to let me read it.” He curls his lip in disdain. “More of a lap dog than an assistant.”

"You think that Julius had something to do with the king's death?" That would be a grave accusation if it were true. Or, hell, it's a grave accusation anyway. Thankfully it will never be given any credence because of how hard Julius has worked for Javier.

Lucas barks out a rough laugh, throwing his head back. “You are made for my cousin!” He chortles. “Just as dim witted.”

You have no choice but to swallow the insult, finding your heart beat faster every second you are more and more hellbent on getting himself to cough up something that you can have to the investigators that will incriminate him. "It seems obvious that my mind does not work the same way yours does."

He chuckles, sending you a pitying look. “It’s a shame that you are so wrapped around my cousin’s thumb.” He tells you, “it would be fun to take another of his toys away from him. He’s already lost so much to me.”

"He already has the throne, Lucas." Not dignifying that idle threat with a response is causing you actual physical pain but sitting in your chair is currently taking enormous concentration. Anywhere else in the world and you would rather be wringing Lucas's slimy little neck. "Everything else is a trifle."

“Does he?” Lucas tilts his head and smiles. “Perhaps. Long live the king.” He intones sinisterly.

The irrevocable shiver that his tone sends down your spine is withering, and for a second you almost close your eyes against it but you are somehow convinced that taking your eyes off of him physically for even a second would be a terrible mistake. "He does," you state again, watching Lucas carefully. "And our child will have it after him. That is how the line of succession works. I know that you know this."

“Unless my dear cousin suffers the same fate as his father.” Lucas counters, waving his hand as if offering a solution. “Before you make that child.”

"How do you know we haven't already?" The surety in his voice is chilling, but you have to keep your own tone even.

“Because any child before your vows would be a bastard.” He hums. “Ineligible for the throne. Then the line of succession falls to…” he perks up and feigns excitement. “Well, me.”

"That is only true up to a point," you challenge, pressing the point if only gently. "Javi will not be dying of a heart attack anytime soon."

Lucas only stares at you, his dark eyes lifeless as he stands there quietly for nearly thirty seconds. “Of course not.” He says after that silence is up, his body relaxing and his face shifting into an innocent expression.

It might be the most unsettling and least reassuring ‘reassurance’ of all time, and the sinking feeling in your chest and stomach makes you feel positively sick. “In time,” you swallow bile as it rises in your throat. “You’ll see. Javi’s goodness is what will make him a great king.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugs as if the past few minutes of conversation hadn’t happened, and he shoots you a charming smile. Or it would have been if there wasn’t malice layered under it. “I will leave you to enjoy your new room then. Princess.”

“Good morning, your Grace.” You don’t stand, nod, or give him any other formal acknowledgement, but you definitely breathe easier when he turns and strides from the room. It’s like being in the same space as a cartoon villain, and you’ve found out that that is much more disturbing than you ever imagined.

“Your highness?” The maid who had been sent to check on your tea hurries into the room and her eyes are glancing around worriedly. She had seen the man most of the staff loved but she loathed walk out with a dark look on his face, one she is well acquainted with, and was concerned.

“Ah, Beatriz.” There is no choice but to shake off your unsettled nerves and pretend everything is fine, even though the sinking feeling in your stomach is sinking that much harder. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you—” she bites her tongue, knowing the question is inappropriate for the Princess. “I am checking to make sure you did not need anything, your highness.”

“I suspect that is not the only question you wish to ask me, Beatriz.” There are some members of the staff who have been more or less assigned to you, like your ladies’ maid and a few of the stewards or other staff, and you have generally been trying to get to know them and have them be comfortable with you within the bounds of what is considered proper. Probably being American fosters some of that in your mind all on its own, but you don’t like the idea of anyone being frightened to come near you in the palace.

“I— the count—” she starts before she stops again. “I saw the count hurry by me looking very unhappy.”

“I’m afraid the count is feeling a bit worse for wear today,” you lie, gracefully not indicating whether you mean he’s in a bad mood or that he’s actually ill. “I’m sure it will pass.”

“He- you are feeling well?” She asks, eyes searching you worriedly.

“I am perfectly fine.” The last thing you or Javi need is anyone on the palace staff spreading word that you might be ill, so you dispel the maid’s fear immediately. “And my tea is wonderful. Thank you for checking. If you would not mind waiting a moment, I am just finishing a note that I would like delivered to the king.”

“Of course, your highness.” She bows her head quickly. It was expected that you would never take her into your confidence, but it’s enough to find that you are…undisturbed. She breathes a quiet sigh of relief as she waits for you to finish writing your missive.

What was once a love note full of encouragement to your fiancé has quickly transformed into a gently coded indication that you have something you need to talk to him about privately. As soon as it is written out you fold the card and slip it into an envelope, sealing it with a small sticker bearing the royal seal of the Crowned Princess. "Please deliver this directly to the king," you instruct her, handing the maid the sealed card. "From my hands, to yours, to his. Is that understood?"

“Yes, your highness.” She nods solemnly, feeling very proud of being tasked with something of such importance. “For the king only.”

"Gracias, Beatriz." She curtsies and you nod, turning back to your desk as she hurries from the room. It's not exactly that you have evidence against Lucas, but at least now you have something solid to hand to the investigators to prove Lucas has a vendetta against Javier. There hasn't been anything besides hearsay until now.

Hurrying through the halls, Beatriz nods at different personnel but doesn’t stop. Not allowing herself to be waylaid on her mission. Once in front of the door to the king’s office, she stops and smooths her uniform out before knocking.

The door to the king’s office opens with a distinct click, and Julius steps out into the hallway. “Sí?” He knows Beatriz, of course, and knows that she tends to you, but does not know why the maid has come here of all places.

“I have a message for the king from her highness.” Beatriz tells him, shaking her head when he holds out his hand for the message. “The Princess said from my hand to King Javier’s.” She insists.

“I see.” Julius purses his lips in amusement. Normally when the king receives a note of that nature it results in copious blushing and clearing his throat. “Very well. You had best deliver it, then.”

It’s an honor to be allowed into the king’s office and she’s well aware of it. Bowing her head, she waits for him to open the door and follows him inside.

“Your Majesty.” Julius hums softly, breaking the king’s concentration as he bends over his desk. “A note from Her Highness.”

“Oh?” His head pops up and his brow furrows as he sees the maid in front of him.

“To be delivered from her hands to yours.” Beatriz tells him, barely stepping up to his desk and curtsying while she holds out the envelope.

“Thank you…Beatriz.” He finally comes up with the maid’s name, having a flurry of new staff being changed around with your arrival, his father’s death and the upcoming wedding.

The maid curtsies and exits promptly once the envelope is in his hands, blushing over the fact that the king knows her name. Julius, for his part, smiles and nods to the door. “Shall I leave you?” He asks, hoping to offer privacy if it is wanted.

“Please.” Javi nods, barely looking up from the closed note in his eagerness to see what you have written. “Give me just a minute and we will continue.”

With a nod Julius is gone, leaving Javier to his reading.

Mi amor, A very interesting conversation with someone we are both interested by may pique your curiosity. If you would like to relive it for yourself, I will show you this evening. M

Javier frowns at the paper and wonders what the hell has happened today. A mystery would once have thrilled him, but he knows this is concerning one particular person and he feels a sense of dread.

******

His busy schedule keeps him occupied until dinner time, but the now-designated one night a week that you and Javi eat alone is proving to be a blessing. The serving cart is wheeled into your chamber and the table on your balcony set with candles, and you’ve taken off your heels to let your aching feet rest for the night in comfortable slippers when the door to your suite opens to let him inside.

Javier feels the mantle of responsibility seemingly lift. Even if he could be interrupted by any manner of emergencies, the idea that for tonight, he’s just your fiancé is a comforting one. The guise of not being responsible for a country needed as he has worried about your note for the rest of the day after receiving it. “Margarita?”

“Javi!” It would be a lot to pretend you aren’t excited to see him, and why would you pretend that at all? Instead, you pad across the sitting room of your suite eagerly and wrap him up in your arms. “How was your day, querido?”

“It was good, but it is better now.” He accepts the easy affection and snuggles close to you, burying his nose in your neck. “How was yours? Beatriz gave me your note.”

“Lucas paid me a rather interesting visit today.” It’s a shame that your dinner together has to be overshadowed by this but there is no way around it. “In the morning room.”

“You just set that up.” In fact, Javi had been put out that there had been no wiggle room in his busy schedule to allow for a visit to the room to see how you had redone it. He had planned to see to it tomorrow, but now he is wondering if it’s been tainted by his cousin.

“It seems he disapproves of my choice of decor.” You roll your eyes to show it does not bother you and place a kiss on his cheek. “Come. Eat with me. I’ll tell you what happened over our supper.”

“It is your space, like my mother’s.” He huffs, but he eagerly lets you lead him out onto the balcony. “The staff loves to make sure our private dinners are romantic.” Javi smiles at the candles on the table.

“They do wonderfully for us.” Tonight there are pink gin tonics in the cocktail pitcher that awaits you, and a beautiful seafood supper with fresh bread and bright vegetables. A feast that won’t make you feel over full or too tired afterward is a gift in its own right.

“Perhaps we should have a party for them.” Javi suggests. “Catered food, nice drinks. They can relax and be served.”

“That would be a very kind thing to do, I think.” You’re not sure if there’s precedent for that kind of thing, but you have to think it’s been done in some form before. “Maybe I can look into what it would take? And include the clean up being done by someone else, of course. It would be useless to give them a party that they have to clean up after themselves.”

“Of course.” Javi nods seriously. “Everything taken care of.”

“But…” You take it upon yourself to pour two glasses and hand him one, inhaling the wonderful scent of the plates he has set down on the table. “Lucas seems…more devious than usual.”

“Is that even possible?” Javi asks, rolling his eyes slightly. Ever since you arrived, it seems as though the blinders have been pulled away. Showing Javi how rotten his cousin’s soul really is.

“I hadn’t thought so.” It’s unfortunate to be wrong on that front, but here you are. “But he came the closest he’s ever come to incriminating himself today and we were standing right in front of the fireplace in the morning room while he was doing his…I hesitate to call it an interrogation of me, but it wasn’t comfortable. Either way he was very candid, and I watched the footage after retrieving the file from palace security. I think it’s damning enough to encourage the investigators to look into him again.”

“Really?” Javi has just sat down, leaning forward and his eyes narrow. “Tell me what he said, Margarita. I want my father’s death explained. I want to know why we lost our king too early.”

As you eat your recount every detail. The conversation is burned into your brain from this morning and though you’ll show the footage to Javi later so he can see it all for himself, you’re confident in your ability to tell the encounter to him completely. “I can’t help but think it all seems…sinister. But that may be my own bias against him showing. It might m be best just to let the investigators decide.”

“That’s what we will do.” Javi nods. “Although, I don’t want you to be alone with Lucas again.” He admits. “Will you keep Sebastian or one of your ladies with you?”

"A rotating witness along with my security detail?" Of course, to Javi's point — the guards who are meant to protect you are usually some small distance away so that you don't feel smothered. Today they had been at the door to the morning room while you were inside. Perhaps it is time to make better friends with them after all. "If that will make you more comfortable, querido, then I will make sure I keep someone with me."

“I just do not wish for my cousin to do something.” Javi admits. “I cannot banish him for any reason, and I cannot risk your safety.” If Lucas is plotting something, he would rather he not have access to you.

“I am not an enormous fan of your cousin trying to do something to either of us,” you reason. It is plenty enough work to run a country without having to worry about your own family trying to sabotage you or worse. “I will keep someone around me and so will you. The only time we should be alone is to be with each other.”

“I can agree with your logic.” Javi nods as he spears a stalk of broccolini. He doesn’t mention that it will give plenty of alibi for anything Lucas tries to cook up. Especially with the extra surveillance that has been discreetly installed under the guise of ‘redecorating’.

"I will have Sebastian contact the investigators first thing in the morning and hand the footage over to them personally, with a full explanation of what they are watching." It won't be fun, but at least it's some kind of progress. And progress desperately needs to be made.

“Perfect.” Javi nods even though it’s painful to admit that this can come from inside his own family. “Make sure that the investigators know that we are more than willing to be interviewed again.”

“I will.” A short reach across the table is all it takes to fit your hand in his, and you squeeze his fingers gently. “We will see this through. Your father deserves to be able to rest peacefully.”

He doesn’t want to monopolize the dinner with talk of his cousin, or his father. It pains him in a way that’s indescribable. “How has Sebastian settled in?” He asks curiously. “Has he had time to explore the country? You should take him, have a driver give you a complete day.”

“It’s probably asking too much to think you could get away for a day?” You know it is, but you still prefer to spend as much time with him as you can.

“I might be able to take half a day.” He would have to double check with Julius, but his schedule wasn’t too taxing the next few days.

“I don’t want to crowd your schedule with more things,” you assure him. “But it would be nice to spend time together.”

“I have relatively light days.” He promises. “I can try to combine the days to block out an afternoon. Or would you rather a morning?”

“I suppose it depends on what you want to show me.” The prospect of spending time together — even in public with cameras flashing and admirers stopping to spot him on the street — is a bit thrilling. While the investigation is ongoing, royal security isn’t keen to let the two of you eat at establishments they cannot control. Very few exceptions have been made and you haven’t been able to begin your date night idea quite yet. “Maybe we ought to consult security if we plan on doing anything besides going for a drive.”

“I will talk to Julius and send you a note?” He asks, knowing that it can’t be tomorrow. “Unless you have some appointments to plan the wedding?”

“Julius and Sebastian share our schedules for exactly this kind of reason.” They’re miraculously well-coordinated, actually, and you continue to be impressed with your brother’s work the longer he is with you. “We’ll ask them to find the day that works best.”

“Perfect.” He nods and smiles. “We are getting closer.”

“We are already very close, mi amor.” A smile even wider than his graces your lips and you hum happily around a bite of your dinner. “Would you like to hear about the wedding preparations?”

“I would love to hear.” He leans forward eagerly. “And anything you would like for me to help with, I will.” He assures you. “Even those little gift bag things. We are having those, right?”

“If you would like to have them, I will make sure they are included.” Javi always lights up when wedding plans are mentioned, so it seemed like a very good topic for lightening the mood of your meal. “I can ask our wedding planner to put together a list of ideas she suggests to fill them and you can pick whichever you like best?”

“Yes.” Javi nods. “Something local. Show off the art and craftsmanship of our people.” He tells you.

“I completely agree.” The more locally made everything at your wedding, the better it all will be. This is going to be a celebration for many more than just you and Javi.

“Local sweets. A handcrafted piece of jewelry that commemorates our day?” He suggests. “I want that to come from my personal wealth and not the budget.”

“Maybe a small pin, as the jewelry?” Something universal would be best, so it does not matter which bag goes to which guest. It will relieve an enormous headache on your wedding planner’s part. “Something symbolic, rather than the typical image of us smiling out from a white background.”

“That would be perfect. Maybe our flag? Made from local stone? Or gems, whatever you think is best.” Javi tells you. “I’ve just always loved the gift bags in wedding movies.”

"I'll see what the wedding planner thinks is doable in a fairly short amount of time and then you'll get a list to choose from," you promise him. After a few more bites in relative and enjoyable quiet, you put your fork down again and take a sip of your drink. "I've...been thinking about something. And I was wondering if I could talk to you about it."

“Anything.” It sounds serious and Javi is immediately giving you his full attention. Fork down and looking into your eyes. “You can talk to me about anything, Margarita.”

“That is actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” You reach across the table to take his hand and leave a kiss on his knuckles for good measure. “I’ve been doing some reading, and I had Bastian pull records. And it seems to me to be a sort of…unofficial Balearican tradition for foreign born spouses of monarchs to take a regnal name.” The whole concept of taking a regnal name — a name you will be known as, as queen — seemed positively odd to you at first. But the tradition seems to stem from taking pride in leading the people of these lively, engaging islands. A way of embracing the place and the people and promising to honor them. “I wondered how you would feel if…I did that, too.”

“What would you like to change it to?” He asks curiously. “I would love whatever you do, but I will still call you Margarita.” He admits with a bashful smile.

“Well…” It seems almost embarrassing, or it would be embarrassing if it were anyone but him, and you feel your cheeks heat as you swallow. “I thought…Margarita might actually be the right choice. I looked it up and it’s not too uncommon of a name. I thought it might be…romantic is the wrong word, but loving.”

“Queen Margarita?” Javi hums as he thinks about it and nods. “It would be a beautiful tribute to our future.”

“I always knew I would come here eventually.” For your whole life, you’ve waited for it. Waited to be summoned, and waited to be married, and waited to be with him. “But I only truly fell in love with this place after I met you.”

“It is easy, no?” He asks with a grin. “Our country is easy to love.”

"Very easy." You can agree to that easily. "But not as easy as it is to love you, querido."

The way Javi blushes makes you smile and he’s happy about that. Nothing is forced, nothing is put on with you and that’s what he loves. If you were just normal people, there would still be these tender affections between the two of you.

“Anyway, I just… I wanted to ask you how you felt about it.” He is blushing and he is adorable when he blushes. You shift a little in your seat and a pleased smile curls your lips. “Because ‘Margarita�� was just your name for me, and now I’m thinking about sharing it with the world. If you aren’t okay with it, I will choose something else.”

“I don’t mind.” He admits quietly, leaning in and staring into your eyes. “As long as we are together, I will happily share you with my country.”

“I’ll always be with you.” That is a promise you will make to him without hesitation. Now that you’re with him, the last thing you want is to be separated from Javi in any meaningful way.

“Hopefully your interaction with my cousin did not ruin your day?” He asks quietly. “How are your ladies doing?”

“Gabriela sat with me for some time this afternoon.” A small, mischievous smile curls your lips as you finish your meal. “My brother mentioned that it might be helpful to have some help in learning the geography and history of the country, as well as cultural tradition. Gabriela volunteered to be my tutor, essentially. And she’s been wonderfully helpful.”

“Good.” His affection for Gabriela will always be there, but it has shifted to a more brotherly love than anything else. Or perhaps it was always meant to be that way and he had been rebelling against his fate. Regardless, he’s happy you and Gabriela have formed a friendship. “She was much better in her studies than I.”

“She and my brother are also getting along very well,” you venture, wondering if that is too sensitive or inappropriate of a topic. True that Gabriela is married, but it’s abundantly clear to anyone with eyes that they are miserable, and she did not make the choice to marry Lucas willingly.

“Do you think there could be something there eventually?” He asks softly, knowing that it would be unlikely unless Lucas were out of the picture. Gabriela was loyal and would never shame the royal family with a divorce, even though she should divorce her husband.

“Maybe?” It’s just theoretical right now. Just a little gossip. But you know that Javi’s comfort level with the situation means a great deal to everyone involved. “Nothing will happen, of course. Not with Lucas in the way. But I think it’s sweet.”

“I want her to be happy.” Javi tells you. “As happy as we are.”

“That’s very admirable.” You admit, knowing that there are a lot of complications in the way of anything realistic. Still, you offer him an encouraging smile. “But I don’t know if anyone is as happy as we are.”

“It is quite a lofty goal.” He teases with a smile. “Perhaps it can be achieved.” He still marvels over how lucky he is and is grateful for it.

“Perhaps.” Just knowing how much he loves you makes your heart soar, and the familiar warmth returns to your cheeks. “Although it is a very lofty goal.”

Javi pauses for a moment, and he frowns as he reaches for your hand. “As long as you are never uncomfortable.” He shakes his head, aware that it’s coming out wrong. “As long as you know my feelings are genuine and I no longer will ever think about any woman the way I think of you.”

“I think the fact that you’ve stayed friends with Gabriela after breaking up speaks volumes about both of you as people. You’re good and kind and deserve to have those things visited back to you. And besides,” you reach out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Gabriela is also my friend. I want her to be happy, too. And my brother is a fantastic guy. She’d be lucky to have him.”

“Gabriela would be a wonderful partner to anyone who wishes a partner.” Part of Lucas’s problem is that he thinks he’s better than everyone. He had decided on Gabriela simply to hurt Javi.

“And Lucas deserves a good clobbering.” It’s mumbled, but only slightly, and you definitely mean it. In fact, you’d like a hell of a lot worse than a clobbering to happen to Lucas Gutierrez. A lot of people would.

Javi smirks slightly, hearing you perfectly but he doesn’t comment on that. “And what if Maisie?” He asks. “How is she settling into the role?”

“I think Maisie might have been born for it,” you chuckle. Javi clears away your empty dinner plates and you uncover the slices of Basque cheesecake smothered in cherry rioja sauce that the kitchen made for your dessert tonight. “Her husband is away on business as of this morning so she’s taking the chance to buckle down in helping with wedding and coronation plans.” Sending Javi a smile as you set out the smaller plates, you lean on the banister beside your small table while he pours out the last of your cocktail pitcher. “I think she deserves a very large ‘thank you’ after all this is finished. Gabriela does, too.”

“Perhaps a girl’s weekend on the royal yacht?” Javi asks, wondering what you had in mind.

“I was thinking of a getaway for Maisie and her husband. Something wonderfully romantic where they don’t have to worry about anything but enjoying themselves.” The first bite of cheesecake makes you both groan happily and break out into contented grins. “Maybe by that time Gabriela will be able to spend time with whoever she wishes.”

“Perhaps.” Javi frowns slightly. “If – if Lucas is as bad as we think that he might be, we will have to circle the wagons, as that American saying goes, around Gabriela. She will be distraught.”

“I would think she will be glad to be free of him.” You do shake your head, though, and nod. “If his true colors turn out to be as black as we suspect, we will take care of Gabriela. Make sure that she comes out of the thing unscathed.”

“Yes.” He nods seriously. “It will be good for her to be your lady if everything is as bad as we expect.” He admits quietly. “I am so sorry that you have been thrown into such a mess, amor.”

It might surprise him to hear, but the truth comes out of you alarmingly fast as you sit together at the little balcony table. “I don’t care,” you tell him truthfully. “I’m just glad that you didn’t have to go through all of this alone.”

He pauses, in awe of you and picks up your hand. “You are the most gracious and loving woman.” He murmurs softly. “I hope to never take that, or you, for granted.”

******

"Your Highness." Sebastian has been in and out of your office all morning, but this time when he steps inside he has a much more determined set to his face. "Inspector Jefe Blanco is here to see you."

"Oh, good. Excellent. Bring him in, please." Waiting for the Chief Inspector's arrival this morning has had you on edge. It will be good to get all of this out of the way and put the evidence into the hands of professionals. "And Sebastian, will you stay, please? While he's here. I would feel more comfortable."

“Should I order some tea?” He asks, knowing that it might set the tone from the grim talk into a more open conversation.

"I asked the kitchen to prepare a tray this morning. If you could just ring down and ask them to send it up?" His instincts are good and you appreciate your brother's attention to detail, especially in these moments. "I'm sure that will put us all a bit more at ease."

“Good. I will have Flores bring it in so no more staff than necessary needs to come into the room.” Sebastian decides. He will instruct the staff to leave it outside with your personal maid.

"Thank you, Bastian." For one more second, it's just you and your brother in a room, and you flash him a grateful smile before putting your official princess countenance back on. "Please show the Inspector Jefe in."

Sebastian nods and moves to the door, opening it and stepping back to allow the very official visitor in. It’s clear the man has taken special care with his appearance, every medal shined and his uniformed neatly pressed.

"Thank you for making time to come and see me this morning, Inspector Jefe." You stand from your desk and shake the man's hand. He has been very diligent and professional in investigating this case but you have to admit that you have now known the man quite a bit longer than you would prefer. In a perfect world, this case would have been over before it began. "I'm afraid I have some information to share with you, but I do not know how helpful it will end up being."

He frowns slightly, confused as to how you can have more information. “What do you have, Princess?” He asks curiously. “I must confess I am surprised to have been contacted by your office.”

"I had a conversation yesterday with the Count of Ibiza that...unsettled me." Polite wording is necessary here, so that you don't appear to be accusing Lucas of anything outright. "The conversation was videotaped by our security system here in the palace, and I would be very much gratified if you would consent to watch the footage with me and tell me if there is anything to it. If the count's manner seems suspicious, and his threats genuine, as I suspect they are. Or if I am perhaps too sensitive to the topic being touched so deeply by the late king's sudden death."

“The Count has an excellent reputation.” The inspector informs you, a little wary when it comes to potentially implicating members or the royal family. “However, he was slightly evasive during questioning.”

"It is my sincerest hope that my worries are unfounded," you lie as cleanly as you can. It is the only lie you have ever told the inspector and what you do hope is that it stays that way. "But I will not claim any kind of expertise in law enforcement or investigative technique."

“Even though you say there is video evidence of the conversation, I find that it is always helpful to have someone describe the interaction. Posture, tone, facial expressions cannot be accurately displayed at times through a security system.” He explains quietly, pulling out a notebook from his jacket pocket. “Princess, will you please tell me about this conversation with the Count?”

"Besides deeply insulting both myself and King Javier, the Count outright stated that he believed the late King Miguel made the wrong choice as to his successor and expressed anger over not being considered in the choice. Or, rather, not being chosen outright." You pause when Flores brings in your tea tray, thanking her as she pours out three cups and sets one beside each of the three of you seated in the room. "Thank you, Flores. We'll manage from here."

“Yes, your highness.” She bows respectfully as she eyes the inspector. There are many questions as to why he is here, but she won’t voice them.

“So, you see, Inspector,” you continue once the door is shut securely behind your maid. “When outright statements like that are made in the same conversation where the Count also voices his opinions that King Javier is not fit to rule, or that I have some ulterior motivation for being here and accepting my role in his country…it makes me quite worried. That perhaps the Count may not have the most honorable intentions after all.”

“I can see why that would raise your suspicions.” He frowns and flips back through his notes to look at the impressions he had jotted down from the interview with Lucas Gutierrez. While some of the men question his old-fashioned methods and claim that he wants to model his investigative style after American style gumshoes, he finds it good to have those notes easily accessible rather than having to go back to the system computers. “And you say that he felt like he was threatening you?”

“I felt that he was threatening the king.” The clarification is important here, you know that. But you’re very glad to have your brother in the room with you to be an emotional anchor so you don’t end up seeming distraught or too forceful with the inspector. “The Count made it very clear that he did not consider me worth threatening. He appears to regard me as an ornament to His Majesty. Which is insulting, but not threatening.”

“I hope that regardless of what I find, you informed his majesties security team?” He asks seriously. “Another king lost in a short span such as this would throw our small country into chaos.”

“It would.” Especially considering Lucas is the next in line to the throne. A horrible alternative that you can’t even begin to comprehend. “And I have. I informed His Majesty and he has taken it to his team.”

“Good.” Inspector Jefe might have some private concerns about the new king, but he would never dream of making them public.

“With this background, will you be willing to watch the footage that my security team gathered yesterday morning?” Convincing him that it is worth looking into Lucas again is the key here, even though you know it’s a hard sell. As the Count of Ibiza, the people have come to mostly love Lucas Gutierrez. But they do not see his true nature.

“I have learned in my time as an inspector that some people’s true nature is always concealed until they believe they are immune from reproach.” He picks up his tea and takes a polite sip. “Would you be able to provide a copy or would I need to view the footage here only?” Sometimes the security for the palace had certain protocols in place that he would not be able to change.

After discussing it with Javi, Julius, and the head of security, it has been decided that a copy of the footage could be handed over to the police for their own use, and you open your desk drawer to retrieve it. “The copy has been made for your use, but of course I expect you will want to view the original here as well so you can be assured that no changes to the footage have been made.”

“Thank you, Princess.” He nods his head slightly, grateful that you understand the delicate nature of these things. “Once I have reviewed the footage, I may have more questions. Would it be possible to request some time in your schedule if that is the case?”

“Of course.” In fact, you would be concerned if he didn’t have more questions for you. “My assistant will make sure you are afforded access to me when necessary. This investigation remains of the utmost importance.”

“I appreciate that.” He knows that you must be busy, the announcement of your wedding accompanying the coronation had been announced and it wasn’t too far away.

“Just as I appreciate you being available this morning.” The footage is already queued up on the computer display monitor on your desk, and you turn it to face outward so both the Inspector and Sebastian can see. “Cooperation is everything in these matters.”

“The tales of your wisdom have not been underestimated.” He hums, turning to the screen and leaning forward so he can watch.

This is the fourth time you've watched this conversation, not to mention the fact that you lived through it the first time, and while the Inspector Jefe listens to Lucas spit his vitriol, you sip your tea in silence. Every time you listen to him it makes you angry all over again. But you can't afford to show any kind of anger in front of the inspector.

There will be several notes that come from this video, and he frowns as he looks back up at you. “This is very disturbing.” He admits. “The count did not know that he was being recorded, yes?”

"That is correct." It's a relief to hear that the investigation will be taking your conversation into account, but you try not to show it too much. "But I did not make any effort to hide the fact from him. All areas of the palace that are in use by staff and the royal family are protected by surveillance."

“It almost seemed as if the count wished for you to accuse him of something nefarious or to reveal it himself.” Jefe looks around the room, and nods. “Please do not try to be alone with him, Princess, but let him talk if he comes back.” He tells you, standing up. “I will have to review this many more times, but I will be taking a closer look at the Count in my investigation.”

"If you need to speak with me again, please do not hesitate to contact my assistant. And if I have any other information to pass along to you, may I request for you to come in the same way you did today?" You stand along with him, showing the Inspector Jefe the respect that his position is due. "I have already made arrangements to ensure I will not be alone with the Count again. At the king's insistence."

“Absolutely.” He had been brought in through the tunnels under the palace to prevent speculation, and he understands that. “Whatever you wish, your highness.” He bows politely and thinks that you are also as gracious as you are beautiful.

"Have a good day, Inspector Jefe." That might be a fruitless wish, considering the task on his shoulders, but if anything? That is something you can absolutely relate to.

He nods again and quickly walks out of the room to leave you and Sebastian by yourselves.

Once the door shuts, you sit back in your chair and pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers and sigh. “That went better than I expected.”

“I don’t think the inspector wasn’t too surprised by your claims.” Sebastian admits, curious as to the man’s true feelings about the count. Not that he seems the type to ever say. He seemed to play his cards close to the vest.

“I think he was surprised that Lucas would admit to being so vile, but maybe that’s just me being too American and imagining all these nobles constantly play nice with each other. I can’t tell.” Now that the meeting is over, you refill your teacup and pick up a biscuit gladly. “Well, darling brother. We have an hour to kill before wedding planning overtakes my day.”

“What would you like to do?” He asks, aware that he had blocked out much more time than necessary for the meeting with the inspector.

“Javi and I talked about taking a little driving tour of the islands sometime soon. Do you think that’s something you could coordinate with royal security?” You’re not asking him to do it right now, god knows, but you do rummage in your desk with a mischievous grin on your face while you ask.

“Are we talking about an actual tour?” He asks with a laugh. “Or cordoning off lover’s lane so you can make out with the king like you’re teenagers?” He’s amused by the idea but also happy that you are so happy with your future husband.

“Say what you want, but my fiancé is ridiculously sexy.” And frankly, you’re exceptionally happy about that fact. Not just because you’re glad to be attracted to your partner, but because producing an heir is such a big part of what’s expected of you. It will not be a hardship to fulfill that duty.

He snorts and shoots you a grin. “Most of the world agrees with you.” He admits. “Which is why I’m so confused as to why his cousin is so harsh on him.”

“It’s jealousy, don’t you think?” At least, that’s what you’ve always thought. Javi was graced with looks, and charm, and privilege as well as so many other attributes — and Lucas simply couldn’t stand that his cousin was more beloved. “Lucas doesn’t see that cunning is not the only worthwhile intelligence in the world. That’s the other thing.” A moment later, you extract a travel Scrabble set from your desk drawer with a squeak of triumph. “Spanish Scrabble for an hour?” You suggest, shaking it at him enticingly. “Build that vocabulary like I know you want to?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes but grins. “I don’t know why you claim my Spanish isn’t up to par.” He teases, nodding and sitting down beside you. “I’ll still kick your ass at scrabble, Princess or not.”

______

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axelsagewrites · 10 months

Note

hi there please can i get nsfw alphabet for aemond! Hope that’s okay and thank you!

Aemond NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: slight bit of religious trauma/guilty, smut 18+ under the cut Word count: 1693

Masterlist Here

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He can get pretty quiet after all is done but he never leaves your side. He’ll lay on the bed, pull you into curl into his side, and just hold you as he strokes your hair. He likes to kiss the top of your head and trace shapes onto your skin and just be with you.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

This mans obsessed with your neck. He loves to kiss it, leave marks on it, hold it as he forced you to look into his eye. There’s just something about him holding your neck in his large hands that gets him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Aemond can get a bit possessive at the best of times so when it comes to sex, he always wants to cum in you. whether that be fucking you till he spills his seed inside you or watching you swallow it, something just gets him when he sees it. it makes him know that you’re really his.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is desperate to fuck you on the iron throne. He’s never done it, but he dreams about it, the cool metal touching his back and thighs as you climb into his lap, riding him on the throne till he cums deep inside. Its his biggest fantasy.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Aemond despite his reserved nature was a little bit of a whore before you. safe to say he got around a lot however unlike other Targaryen’s doing it with any whore or 100 different servants Aemond had a select few fuck buddies around the castle however once he met you, he stopped visiting their chambers. safe to say it has taught him a lot, and I mean a lot.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

He likes missionary but its anything but boring. He wants to be able to see your face as he fucks you into the mattress, holding you by your throat and being able to lean down and whisper dirty thoughts into your ear.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Aemond is pretty serious when it comes to sex. He looks like he has a war to win as he tries to chase your orgasm. He gets very into it, and he becomes laser focused on getting what he wants.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He defiantly takes great care down there. Likes to make sure its neat and trimmed at all times and always clean. This man is obsessed with good hygiene and for him he thinks hair is a part of that.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Usually, Aemond is more serious or kinky in the moment, but sex can also be romantic especially depending on the day. Your wedding day for example is filled with him praising your body, kissing every inch of skin, and intimate movements. He can be soft when he wants to be.

J = Jack off (masturbation head canon)

It’s not his favourite thing to do but he’s not opposed to it. However sometimes if he sees you in the gardens from his window, picking flowers or reading, he likes to discreetly watch you from the window as he pleasures himself with his hand, wishing it was yours.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He is not shy to kinks at all. Loves choking, leaving marks, and restraints. Defiantly has some ropes in his chambers for certain occasions. He’s defiantly a dom and usually a firm one but he can be a soft dom when he wants to be. He also weirdly has a thing for you scratching his back till you almost draw blood. He also defiantly wants to try out knife play but doesn’t want to scare you.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

While he’d love to fuck in the throne room he usually sticks to his chambers. Aemond may love to fuck but he still is a bit ashamed deep down and is terrified of the idea of getting caught. However, in private he doesn’t always stick to the bed. In fact, a lot of the time he fantasies about bending you over his desk or having you sit underneath it, sucking him off under the table.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He won’t admit it, but he loves a bratty partner. Modern Aemond would defiantly be obsessed with his academic rival and gets off on the challenge. If you back talk, correct him, or insult him just right instead of angry he just gets insanely horny.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Aemond wouldn’t sub. Its just not his still and although he acts tough and mysterious, he would just feel far too vulnerable to be able to relax enough to enjoy it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He will stay between your legs from sunrise to set if you let him. His ego is boosted every time he managed to get you off with his tongue. Or even better if he manages to bring you to the brink over and over till you beg to be able to cum. Don’t get me wrong, Aemond will never turn down a blow job, but he also will never pass up the opportunity to fuck you with his tongue.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes to mix it up. He’ll either go painfully slow, teasing you till you feel like you’ll explode or go rough enough that the bed almost snaps and the headboard dents the wall. Its always one extreme or the other but no matter what you’re both exhausted at the end.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

While he loves to draw it out and tease you sometimes a quicky is all there’s time for and who is he to refuse you? modern Aemond would defiantly drag you to the corner of the library for a quickie. Prince Aemond however would make you both late to balls and dinners because he’d be fucking you against the door when you tried to leave before he got his fix.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He doesn’t usually experiment with location but will experiment inside your chambers. if you come up to him and ask to try a new position or introduce blindfolds, he is game to try. When it comes to other things, he’s more wary since he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he will study it for hours and then give it a go anyway.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man doesn’t last for hours; he lasts for days. Clear his calendar for the week and he’ll fuck till his cock falls off. He usually lasts for a while, something that can make quickies harder. He does need a little bit between rounds, but he will fill that time up with his mouth between your legs.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

On him, no, he’s very much sceptical of them. At first, he would be wary about his partner using them but wouldn’t tell them not to but eventually he’d wanna see what the fuss was about. He would try introducing them in the bedroom to use on you and he’d become hooked. Especially modern Aemond, that man would buy a top-quality vibe just so he could use it to tease you to tears.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

So much. Aemond never claimed to be fair though. This man loves to tease, whether in the bedroom or with words. Something about seeing you beg to cum just really does it for him. He also finds it cute to see how agitated you get.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a pretty quiet guy but will let out soft grunts, groans, and moans especially if your tongues involved. He’ll also deliberately moan when he’s going down on you, so his tongue vibrates against you. however, he also loves to talk dirty so he’s always whispering something in a low husky voice in your ear.

W = Wild card (a random head canon for the character)

He used to be pretty sex repulsed since he grew up in a religious family with a manwhore brother, so it took him a while to work through some religious guilt. This means sometimes Aemond will withdraw from sex for a bit, and you need to comfort him to remind him that he isn’t a bad person for the things he likes.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Definitely a grower not a shower but even still its pretty long, not quite as thick, but he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Its pretty high. He defiantly uses sex as a stress relief so he could go everyday if you let him. However, he can also go a couple weeks without it if he has to without complaint but it’s not something he tries to do.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aemond struggles to sleep after sex. He can get pretty into his own head after sex and stays up all night worry if he hurt you or if he’s a bad person for it, so he also needs a bit of reassurance after. However even when he doesn’t get like that, he just doesn’t really wanna sleep after. Its as if sex wakes him up more than tires him out.

a/n: trying a slightly different layout for the posts

taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila

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neorph · 1 year

Text

* 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : a selection of roleplay ask prompts to serve as a slightly less typical basis for first encounters between muses . any of these prompts may be modified or added onto accordingly to suit, as some are more vague so as to not limit interaction.

[ TRAPPED ] : both muses live / work in the same multi-storey building and get trapped in an elevator together

[ LAST ] : both muses are at a store, sender just bought the last of an item reciever wanted ( feel free to specify what item )

[ MIXED ] : in a restaurant or cafe, both muses’ orders are swapped due to a mix up

[ AISLE ] : both muses meet at a wedding of mutual acquaintances.

[ TEACH ] : sender has taken up a new hobby / sport and is assigned receiver as their instructor

[ TRAVEL ] : both travelling solo, our muses end up sat next to each other on a long haul journey

[ DOUBLE BOOKED ] : due to an error, both muses are assigned the same room at a hotel

[ GAME ] : both muses meet at an arcade after an ongoing search to find out who has been beating the other’s high score

[ STUCK ] : sender gets their arm stuck in a vending machine and turns to receiver for help

[ WORK ] : both muses are tasked by their shared boss to work together for a project / mission, etc ( feel free to specify )

[ SET UP ] : both muses meet on a blind date after being set up by mutual acquaintances.

[ DATE ] : both muses keep encountering each other at the same locations while on unsuccessful dates with other people

[ TARGET ] : both muses meet while targeting the same person ( feel free to specify - could be a theft, investigation, murder, etc )

[ RUN ] : sender encounters receiver while escaping from pursuers

[ LOST ] : sender drunkenly stumbles into reciever’s property after losing their way

[ BATTLE ] : both muses are forced to work together when caught up in a brawl

[ QUEUE ] : both muses meet while waiting in line somewhere ( feel free to specify )

#ask meme #writing prompts #rp ask meme #ask prompts #roleplay starters #roleplay meme #roleplay ask meme #starter prompts #roleplay prompts #ask memes #* prompts #this has been sat in my drafts for a while so here we go #sorry for the prolonged absence ! life just got in the way of things sadly

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marvelmusing · 11 months

Text

Like A Diamond

Part of the Glitter & Gold AU

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader (featuring Zoyalai and GenyaxDavid)

Summary: Every one of Aleksander’s closest friends has at least one Morozov diamond. He gifts you one which then prompts an official initiation into Ravka’s most exclusive group of socialites.

Warnings [18+]: smut, oral (fem receiving), exhibitionism and voyeurism (Nikolai & Zoya play with the reader whilst their friends watch), soft dom!Nikolai & Zoya, consensual sharing of explicit videos and photos, praise kink, masturbation, nipple play, non-piercing nipple rings, hint of pain kink.

My Masterlist

Every one of Aleksander’s closest friends has at least one Morozov diamond.

His grandfather had not only been the founder of the company Aleksander now owns, but he had also been one of Ravka’s most influential explorers and inventors. He had located one of the country’s largest natural diamond deposits which had set the foundation for the Morozov brand.

Now, almost every celebrity worldwide wants one of Aleksander’s pieces. Very few people can afford to have such a luxurious item in their jewellery box, and he is very selective about who can be seen wearing his designs publicly. But, of course, if Aleksander values you he won’t be able to resist staking his claim on you through a gift of glistening diamonds.

Genya has a pair of earrings. Sparkling silver studs comprised of three teardrop-shaped diamonds stacked on top of one another to curve over the slope of her earlobe. She wears them on special occasions. Dinners and galas and parties, whenever she needs a reminder she’s appreciated. She and Aleksander have a close bond and his gifts are amongst her most valued possessions.

David has a simple pendant necklace with a small diamond at the centre. He wears it almost always since he likes the comforting weight of it and has a habit of loosening the chain from underneath his shirt to fidget with the expensive gem, twirling it with his fingers whenever he’s nervous. Genya thinks the habit is endearing, especially since the necklace was a wedding gift from Aleksander.

Nikolai has a ring. Thick metal, with a flattened centre that sits on his knuckle, where a Morozov diamond sits alongside his initials engraved there - NN. Nikolai Nazyalensky. He keeps it on his pinkie finger as a replacement for the Lantsov signet ring that he threw away when he became estranged from the rest of his family.

Zoya has a necklace which traces down her figure into a body chain. The thin shining strand of metal falls between her breasts, where a cluster of diamonds sit on her cleavage before splitting into two chains that hang around her waist meeting again at the small of her back. The piece is a pretty addition to Zoya’s tightest dresses and her favourite sets of lingerie.

Alina has more pieces of jewellery than she can keep track of. Glimmering rings, beautiful earrings, necklaces and chokers, glistening bracelets. One night, when the two of you are drunk and giggly, she starts whispering filthy words into your ear, telling you everyone’s deepest secrets. She takes your hand, sliding it into her panties so that you can feel where her Morozov diamond presses against her clit.

When you join the group, they all exchange knowing glances when Aleksander helps you into your coat after dinner or places his hand on your lower back as he steers you through the crowd towards the rest of the group at a gala. They all tease you good-naturedly, telling you that it’s only a matter of time before you get your own diamond.

Alina smiles widely when she sees her husband working on a particular design, sitting in his lap to offer him some company while he draws out something special.

Then one evening you and Aleksander are working late in your office, passing sketches between one another and comparing notes for your designs in preparation for your new collection.

“I have something for you,” he says quietly.

When you see him reaching for his coat pocket, pulling out a small velvet box embossed with a very familiar logo, your stomach flips.

“Aleksander, I hope you know you don’t ever have to give me anything.”

He nods.

“I know.” He opens up the box, nudging it towards you. “But I crafted this one myself.”

Aleksander doesn’t make many pieces by hand anymore, given that he has a company to run and a whole team of people to craft his designs for him instead.

“I thought long and hard about what piece you would like.”

As your eyes flicker down to the contents of the box, the breath catches in your throat. His thumb strokes the underside of your breast. Arousal stirs in your stomach, thrumming down between your thighs.

Slowly, you trace your fingertips over the edge of the box, the velvet smooth against your skin. There’s two small silver pieces, decorated with tiny diamonds cut perfectly to line the outside of the thin curves of metal. The shape of the rings themselves loop in elegant circles, so that they look like daisies.

“Are these…?”

Aleksander continues to stroke your breast, his fingers seeking your clothed nipple, hidden by the fabric of your shirt. Once he finds it, he rolls it slowly between his finger and thumb, pinching lightly.

“I wasn’t sure if you had them pierced or not,” he muses quietly, continuing his gentle touches. “Regardless, I thought it best to give you something easy to wear.”

The thought of having those rings, that Aleksander created himself for you, pinching lightly at your nipples all day has your eyes fluttering closed with need. He takes your silence for hesitation.

“I can turn one of them into a charm for a necklace if you would prefer.”

You shake your head immediately.

“No. They’re beautiful.”

He gestures lightly towards the loose collar of your shirt which reveals your cleavage.

“May I?”

You nod.

He loosens your shirt from the waistband of your trousers, unbuttoning the piece of clothing slowly and pushing the fabric aside to reveal your bare chest. He hums quietly in approval, his voice a low murmur that sends a thrill down your spine as he stares at your nipples.

“Look at that, milaya, all perked up and pretty for me already.”

A burning flush rushes over your skin, warming your cheeks before it spreads down your neck as you glance down at your breasts.

He takes one of the rings from the box, cupping your breast with his other hand. Even though your nipple is already hardened in anticipation, he rolls it between his fingers gently, encouraging it to stiffen further.

“Good girl.”

It’s difficult to not whimper aloud at his praise. He slots the ring onto your nipple, cool metal encircling the bud. There’s a firm pinch at first and you squirm at the sensation, though it softens rather quickly into something more pleasurable - a soft pressure that has you shifting your thighs to seek some friction.

“A perfect fit,” he observes, the corner of his mouth twitching.

He pinches your other nipple hard and there’s no stopping the whimper from escaping your lips this time. A wide smile spreads over his face as he slots the next ring onto your nipple, watching your chest heave as the metal clings to your hardened nub.

The sight of your breasts, areolae adorned with pretty circles of silver in a floral shape, pinched nipples in the place of the flower head, sends a heavy flood of arousal to your cunt. Certain that your panties are soaked, you bite down on your lower lip, gripping to the sides of your seat.

Aleksander’s eyes are darkened as he stares at your breasts, a glimmer of pride in the depths of his gaze. He hooks a finger under your chin, guiding your eyes up to meet his directly.

“How do they feel? Not too tight?”

“Good,” you say with a sigh. “They’re so good. I love them.”

He hums in acknowledgement, stroking his knuckles along your jawline.

“Ensure you take them out before going to bed.”

You nod.

He cups your breast, thumb brushing over your pinched nipple. Shifting your thighs once again, your eyes flutter closed as he stands. A whine claws at your throat, grip tightening on your seat as he shrugs on his coat.

“Aleksander,” you say quietly, your voice an almost pathetic whimper.

The temptation to grab his hand and press it against your clothed cunt is almost too much to bear. Embarrassment prickles over your cheeks at the thought of grinding weakly against his hand, begging for him to touch you. He cups your face with both of his hands, bringing you close for him to press his lips tenderly against your forehead.

“Send me a message when you arrive home safely.” The nod you give him in response is jerky. “And send Alina a video of whatever you do to satisfy yourself tonight.”

You do as he says.

As soon as you get home, your fingers fumble over the screen of your phone, typing out a message for Aleksander as you tuck your shoes away. He responds within a minute, praising you for following his instruction and reminding you of what else he had asked of you. That is all the incentive you need.

Bag and coat left abandoned in the hallway, you move up the stairs into your bedroom and collapse onto the rug between your bed and wardrobe. Once you’ve managed to prop your phone up against your wardrobe door, you begin removing more of your clothing.

Fingers shaking with anticipation, you slide down the zipper of your trousers, allowing the smooth fabric to drop down your legs. After Aleksander had left your office, you had only managed to button up a small portion of your shirt, hands still shaky with adrenaline.

Without too much preparation, you press on the record button and allow the camera of your phone to capture your need-fuelled actions.

The mess in your panties would be embarrassing if you weren’t so aroused by the sight of your slick clinging to the delicate lace, knowing that if Aleksander had slipped his hand beneath your waistband the same mess would have coated his fingers. His long nimble fingers.

It can’t be a very alluring video. But you’re too overcome by need to do anything but arch your back into the side of your bed, fingers reaching up to grasp at your covers as your other hand rubs frantically at your dripping cunt.

Any technique that you’ve gained from learning what your body likes has been abandoned as you mindlessly press your fingertips hard against your clit in eager circles. Gasps and cries of their names escape from your lips even when you grit your teeth as you writhe on your bedroom floor.

The nipple rings Aleksander had created for you glisten in the low light of your lamp as they remain firmly attached to the hardened nub of your nipples. The metal is no longer cool, warmed by the heat of your body, but the subtle pressure of the jewellery against your skin, a gentle tug on your sensitive nipples, has your arousal skyrocketing.

Thoughts of both Aleksander and Alina fill your mind, imagining her fingers rubbing sloppy circles over your clit while he holds your waist still to prevent you from squirming.

Their breathing heavy against your neck as they press kisses there, unable to pull themselves away from you to breathe properly. Alina mouthing over your throat and collarbone, delicate lips pressing firmly as she sucks blooming marks there. The scrape of Aleksander’s facial hair against your cheek, his teeth dragging over your jawline and nipping at your earlobe. Hot mouths. Eager tongues. Sweat rolling down between your breasts. Cunt tightening, a steady beat of pleasure, climbing higher with every drag of friction against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

The climax that hits you has stars sparkling behind your closed eyelids, pleasure thrumming beneath your skin. As you slump your head back against your bed, pressing your face into the curve of your arm, a greedy urge tugs at your hand, as your body perks up again at the prospect of another orgasm.

Squeezing your eyes shut tighter, your sighs and moans become whinier, higher in pitch as your fingers chase your next climax. Curses, pleas, whimpers of their names, they all tumble from your lips, merging together into an almost incoherent mess. You end up hiding your face into the crook of your elbow, biting down on the flesh there to quieten your desperate noises.

Unbelievably quickly, you feel your body stumbling towards the edge of your pleasure, teetering on the precipice of another dizzying climax. The moan that shudders through your body is obscene, your breathy gasps borderline pornographic as you whimper their names one final time as your cunt clenches frantically around nothing.

With shaking hands, you stop the recording and send the footage without any hesitation. There’s no reply from Alina, though you aren’t too conscious of it as you clean yourself up in the bathroom and slip under your bedcovers.

Head still fuzzy with pleasure, you’re dozing lightly when there’s a soft ping that rouses you from the haze in your mind. Blinking sleepily, you reach for your phone, unlocking it and clicking on Alina’s message.

“For fuck’s sake,” you whine, dropping your face down into your pillow.

Taking the image itself into account, it’s more likely that Aleksander had sent the photo, and the response to your video has need blooming in your abdomen once again. What a vicious cycle. Very briefly, you contemplate slipping a hand down to touch yourself again.

The photo is taken from Aleksander’s point of view, as he sinks his cock into Alina’s cunt. A thick ring of arousal is coating his length, smearing messily over both of their thighs. From the soaked state of Alina, he must have been teasing her while you were recording your video for them. Unable to fashion any sort of response, you simply stare at the image until another one arrives.

This one is also taken by Aleksander, though he’s holding the phone to one side so that the majority of their bodies can be seen. Alina’s arms are stretched up to the headboard, while his other hand is curled around her throat as he thrusts into her. Her back is arched against the mattress.

Eyes fluttering closed you imagine their bodies crashing together, the gasps and moans, the slapping of skin against skin. Inhaling deeply, you wish you could hear them yourself, smell the scent of sex fill their room, and taste the sweat on their skin. It’s hard not to touch yourself again, forcing your body into overstimulation just to know that you might climax at the same time as them. But you manage to resist, though your hips grind gently against your mattress.

The last photo is taken by Alina. It’s a mirror picture taken in what you can only assume is their bathroom. She’s completely naked, cheeks and chest flushed a pretty shade of pink, with marks dotted over her neck. Butterflies swoop in your stomach at her beaming smile, filling your chest with a giddy feeling. By the time you’ve finished admiring her, there’s a text underneath the image.

Alina: Don’t forget to pee!! And Sasha said drink some water before you go to bed

You: I’m surprised you can type out full sentences after all that

Alina: I’ll tell him you said that ;)

Alina: And yea I’m concentrating very hard rn

A soft laugh falls from your lips.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Let’s see it then,” Nikolai remarks, taking a sip of his drink before he sets in down on the glass coffee table in front of him.

A frown creases at your brows as you watch him lean back into the couch, draping his arm over the back of the furniture piece.

“See what?”

“Whatever Aleksander has made for you.”

Genya smiles widely in anticipation, settling down beside Nikolai before she tucks her leg up to her chest. Her eyes scan over your body intently and you blush. Nerves flip in your stomach at the weight of so many eyes falling on you.

Aleksander and Alina watch you from the other side of the room, where they sit in an armchair together with Alina draped over his lap. Their dark eyes make arousal pool in your panties and a flustered blush burns over your skin as they both smirk.

Swallowing hard, you shift your weight slightly on your feet.

“Go sit with Zoya and show her first,” Aleksander instructs you.

There’s a knowing glimmer in her eyes as you sit down on the couch next to Zoya, opposite Nikolai and Genya. David tilts his head curiously from where he’s sitting in the armchair, leaning to rest his elbow on the arm of the couch next to Genya.

Taking the hem of your shirt you tug it upwards over your head, revealing your bra to everyone in the room. Nikolai grins and Zoya’s gaze roams hungrily over your skin. She reaches out, hooking her finger under the strap of your bra to snap it playfully against your skin.

The sting of pain sends a pleasurable thrum down to your nipples, reminding you of what they’re about to see. Sending a glance over to Aleksander, his eyes darkening as they meet yours, you breathe in shakily and unclasp your bra. The fabric falls from your breasts, revealing Aleksander’s creation to the group.

There’s a collective sound of inhaled breaths and low murmurs of praise, which has you squeezing your thighs together.

“Good girl,” Zoya says with a smirk, cupping your breast to admire the jewellery.

Nikolai leans forward, resting his elbows onto his knees, cocking his head aside as his lips quirk into a boyish grin that makes you blush.

Alina peers over eagerly, as if she doesn’t have an ample number of photos of your breasts saved on her phone. Almost every day, you’ve ended up sending her a picture of some aspect of your body at her request. The thought of her using those photos to touch herself to makes your panties wet.

“Come here, love,” Nikolai says, beckoning you to him. As soon as you stand, Zoya grasps at the waistband of your jeans, bringing them - alongside your panties - down with a few determined tugs.

Nikolai sets you down on the glass coffee table, facing Zoya, goosebumps rising on your bare body from the chill of the glass and the heat burning beneath your skin.

“Let everyone see how pretty you are,” he murmurs low in your ear.

Zoya smirks widely, continuing to play with your breasts. Her fingertips dance over your skin, brushing delicately against your hardened nipples.

“And what a lovely job Aleksander did.” Her voice is an admiring purr that makes your blush deepen. “I think this one of your best, Sasha.”

He inclines his head slowly in appreciation, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. David asks him a question about the metal used and conversation begins to flow as easily as it always does. Everyone is so dynamic and interesting, they understand one another so instinctively. How can a group of people merely talking to one another make you this aroused?

Aleksander’s voice is your favourite to listen to. Smooth and decisive, every word is pronounced intentionally with confidence in every syllable. Alina is the most expressive with her voice, amusement and interest colouring whatever she’s saying. Genya’s is a soft balm, soothing yet there’s something hidden in her words. Whilst David might not be as articulate as Aleksander, or charismatic like Nikolai, everything he says is insightful. There’s no hope of you understanding what he’s saying, but his enthusiasm has you wanting to listen for hours.

Zoya’s nails scape over your thighs, dragging your awareness back out of the haze that has clouded your mind. A breathy whine heaves at your chest, your eyes snapping up to meet hers. Deep chocolate brown, allure swirling in the dark depth of her gaze as she smiles at you.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, prickling in anticipation as Nikolai shifts his body to the edge of his seat, leaning over so that his chest is mere inches from your bare back. His arm curls around your waist, not touching you until his fingers brush lightly over your navel.

A whimper catches in your throat, as Zoya presses her nails harder into the soft plush of your thighs. Her smile twists into a devious smirk. Her nails are always perfect, a decent length, painted whatever shade will match her colour palette for the week ahead. This evening, blood red nails bite into your skin and you squirm over the table.

Nikolai clicks his tongue in warning. His fingers drag up your stomach, tracing a feather-light path between your breasts. When his hand encircles your throat, the pressure is a wonderfully familiar sensation that has you sighing as he squeezes once in reassurance - an encouragement for you to submit to them both.

Their touches are knowing, well learnt through hours spent in one another’s beds. Luckily for you, the length of Zoya’s nails means she prefers to use her mouth to pleasure you and Nikolai. Excitement prickles over your skin as she parts your thighs. The need thrumming through your body ensures you’re unable to focus on anything except Zoya’s lips lowering to kiss over your thighs.

Conversation continues, though you’re unable to decipher anything being said. Occasionally, Nikolai will chuckle, the motion of his chest jostling you slightly. Zoya’s mouth moves over your skin, licking the scratch marks left by her hands and the sting of pain makes you whimper.

At some point, David must have moved over to the couch, sitting beside Genya to press lazy kisses over her throat and slide his hands over her waist and thighs. Her sighs are soft as she threads her hands gently through his hair, encouraging him to continue whilst they watch you, Nikolai, and Zoya.

The amount of arousal leaking from your cunt, smearing over the table beneath you, makes your cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. Nikolai’s murmurings aren’t helping to curb those feelings either. His words are phrased like praises, but the teasing edge in his voice makes your clit throb with need.

“Messy little girl, dripping all over our table. Do you know how much that cost?” When you shake your head weakly he laughs. “Of course you don’t. Numbers are difficult, aren’t they? I don’t think you could count to ten in this state.”

He’s right. Thoughts themselves are difficult and your mind is fully grounded in sensation. His wife bites a mark into your inner thigh, her nose nudging gently against your mound as she leans closer. Every kiss and touch she’s given you has been pointedly away from where you need her most and your patience is wearing thin.

“Zoya, please.”

The sound of your voice breaking through the conversation has everyone’s attention returning fully to you. Zoya looks up at you sharply, something dangerous glimmering in her eyes and you whimper at the feeling of being unintentionally disobedient.

“I’m sorry, please,” you beg, turning your face to hide against the space between Nikolai’s collarbones. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Nikolai runs a hand soothingly down your side.

“Tell us what you want, lovely. Ask politely, like a good girl, for everyone to hear.”

Chest heaving with anticipation, you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt at suppressing some of the embarrassment burning over your face as you say,

“Zoya. Will you please kiss my cunt?”

“Just a kiss?” she teases.

Shaking your head, you whimper in protest.

“Don’t be mean Zoya,” Nikolai remarks, though his tone is light and he smiles over at her whilst stroking your cheek gently. “She’s being good.”

She hums quietly, tilting her head as she appears to give his words some thought. Then she nods to one side.

“Look at Aleksander.”

There’s a knowing glimmer in her eyes as you hold her gaze and her smirk widens. Zoya and Nikolai share a look, smiling at one another. They know you well enough to see how much you like Aleksander and Alina.

Swallowing hard, you turn your head and the breath leaves your lungs in a sudden rush as Aleksander’s pitch black eyes meet yours. You can almost see yourself reflected in them, a messy wanton being writhing in front of him.

His tongue traces over his lower lip before he smirks, his gaze lowering to admire your breasts, still adorned with his jewellery, and your messy cunt. Zoya presses her lips against one of your nipples, a delicate kiss to the pinched nub. Then the other.

Then, finally, she ducks her head down between your thighs, mouthing over your soaked cunt. She laps eagerly with her tongue, and the sensation has you throwing your head back against Nikolai’s shoulder. His arms curl around your body to keep you upright.

The desperate cry that escapes your lips attracts Zoya’s attention and her lips press together in disapproval when she sees your gaze has left Aleksander, shifting back to her.

“Keep looking, or I’ll stop,” Zoya says sternly.

A small pout puckers at your lower lip, but you do as she says. Aleksander’s gaze is too intense, and you move your eyes over to watch his hands wandering over Alina’s thighs. He squeezes the clothed flesh smoothly, ignoring how she shifts her weight over his lap, grinding slowly. Her eyes, half-lidded, meet yours and a thrill runs down your spine.

When Zoya’s mouth returns to your cunt, your hands reach for her hair to urge her closer, wanting to chase the prickle of pleasure that is buzzing in the back of your head. Before you can touch her, Nikolai is curling his hands around your wrists, guiding your arms backwards so that your palms are settled on each of his thighs.

“Hold onto me, love,” he suggests.

Despite having very little control of your body and its reactions, you grip onto the fabric of his trousers, nails digging into the muscle beneath. He smiles widely, nose nudging against your cheek as you gasp and whimper.

Aleksander is murmuring something into Alina’s ear, his hand curling around her throat to keep her attention on you. Bliss is running through your veins, heating your entire body as Zoya begins to suckle on your clit, swirling her tongue over the sensitive little bud. Alina bites down on her lower lip.

“Nik, please,” you whisper weakly.

He hushes you, pressing a kiss to your temple as you continue watching Aleksander and Alina, they bodies melding into fuzzy shapes as your gaze becomes unfocused. The drag of Zoya’s tongue and the movement of her lips against your sensitive cunt has you nearing a climax with an almost frightening intensity.

“That’s it, love. Come on, show everyone how pretty you look when you come undone.”

He whispers more praises into your ear before grasping your chin lightly to hold your head up and meet Aleksander’s eyes once again.

“Sasha, tell her what a good girl she is.”

You won’t survive this. The climax that is building inside you is too much. Aleksander’s words are smooth as he encourages you in a doting voice that has your mind sinking through honey.

“You’re a very good girl, milaya, and you’re going to cum for us, aren’t you?”

Obediently, you nod in agreement.

“Yes, yes Aleksander, please, oh fuck.”

Overcome by pleasure, you grasp tightly onto Nikolai’s wrist, writhing between him and his wife as your climax throws you off a cliff, plummeting into the wild waves of bliss. The muscles in your legs shake, your hips jerking against Zoya’s face as your climax shudders through your body.

Weakly, you slump back against Nikolai, whining quietly when Zoya continues to lick your twitching cunt. When your breathing hitches and you try to move away, she stops and you feel boneless now that the sensation has been removed. Bliss has made your limbs heavy and your body is still reeling.

For a long moment, you keep your eyes shut, admiring the colours that swim over your closed eyelids. The need that had been clouding your thoughts has now dissolved completely, leaving your mind a puddle.

While your eyes remain closed, you’re aware of someone lying you down, some gentle touches and murmurs, as well as a warm cloth being dragged between your thighs. It’s much easier to keep your eyes closed, settling your heart and breathing into something more comfortable. Slowly, your eyes begin to flutter open again.

“There’s our girl,” Nikolai coos with a bright smile. “Welcome back, love.”

His hands smooth gently over your thighs and you hum at the soothing sensation of someone tracing their fingers over your forehead. Blinking up at the person, you realise your head has been placed in Genya’s lap.

“Hello, down there,” she says softly, tapping you on the nose with her fingertip. A bashful expression fills your features as you whisper a quiet response.

“Hi.”

David reaches over towards the coffee table, picking up a large crystal pitcher filled with water that hadn’t been there earlier. He pours a small glassful while Genya helps you into a somewhat upright position.

They seem to know your hands would be unable to hold the glass, still shaking from the remaining adrenaline in your body. David holds the water up to your lips and you drink eagerly. His firm hand at the back of your neck makes you shiver pleasantly.

Once you’ve finished, Zoya places a soft blanket over your body and you nestle your face against Genya’s chest. She presses a kiss to the crown of your head, whilst David traces his knuckles down the length of your spine. His touch is warm even through the fabric of the blanket. It doesn’t take long for you to sink into a heavy slumber.

��•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A chill brushing over your skin is what wakes you and a shiver shakes your body, nuzzling deeper into the warmth surrounding you on both sides. It’s then that you realise you’re now in a bed, in one of Zoya and Nikolai’s guest rooms. With Aleksander on one side, Alina on the other.

Her head is tucked close to you, she appears to have slid off the pillow in her sleep, now nestled in the space under your chin, her forehead brushing against your breasts occasionally as you breathe. One of her hands is placed on your thigh, trapped between them as you lie on your side.

Aleksander’s arm is draped over your body, his hand resting on the limited mattress space between you and Alina. He seems to be a light sleeper, shifting his position as if he’s sensed your state of awareness.

His voice is rough with sleep as he murmurs quietly,

“Everything alright, milaya?”

You nod. You’re wearing an unfamiliar shirt which you can only assume belongs to Aleksander. After such an intense orgasm, involving so many intimate moments, you’re glad you’re not waking up in a cold and empty bed.

“You stayed with me?”

“Of course.” His lips brush against the shell of your ear. “We didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Reaching for his hand, you intertwine his fingers with your own, giving him an appreciative squeeze as you whisper,

“Thank you.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi @morrigan-crowmwell

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @veescorneroftheworld

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

#glitter & gold au #darklina x reader #aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #zoyalai x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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astral-mariner · 22 days

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Vegeta's Mother Headcanons/Backstory (with Lots of Saiyan Culture Worldbuilding)

As promised to @blueper-saiyan, here is the backstory I've made up for Vegeta's mom and some of the royal family! I've literally thought about writing a saiyan Game of Thrones style fic about how King Vegeta came to power and how Vegeta's mother became queen. If, after reading some of the backstory, such a fic sounds fun to read, I might write it someday. Let me know!

(This post came up as part of a wider discussion about saiyan cultural/religious differences. Read here if you're interested, but the post will only enhance this one, and you don't need to read it for the backstory to make sense.)

To begin with some general information about how royal succession functions: There are four nations on Vegeta-sei, each with their own lands and cultural identities. When the heir to the throne reaches an age equal to three cycles of Vegeta-sei's moon (25 Earth years, roughly), they are bound to one consort from each nation. These consorts are within one moon cycle of the heir's age and can be any sex; measured strength at birth/assigned social class determines who is selected. (Anyone, however, can challenge the selected consort for their right to be bound to the heir apparent. If the challenger defeats the one originally selected in a duel, the challenger then becomes the new consort.) The "wedding" itself takes place in the weeks leading up to the first nights of the full moon after the heir turns 25.

The role of royal consort is a political one as much as it is about producing heirs for the royal family. Indeed, the consorts are not always reproductively compatible with the heir apparent. (This plays into another web of headcanons I have: gender/sex isn't really a big deal in saiyan cultures; they care far more about class/strength, and even the way they speak reflects this. Saiyago refers to people by class and not by sex/gender; there are no gendered pronouns.) The consorts function, essentially, as representatives for their nations. They are the highest ranking nobles/elites of their respective countries. The position comes with considerable political power and influence. There are motives, then, for someone to want to become a royal consort even if they cannot produce children with the heir.

Obviously, though, producing royal children is one of the main purposes of a consort. Those that are reproductively compatible with the heir are expected to engage in the necessary activities. And the consort who provides the crown with the strongest child assumes the title of king/queen consort, granting both that consort and the nation they represent special privileges, power, and influence. So even if there are motives for someone to want to be a consort regardless of reproductive compatibility, compatible consorts are preferred most of the time, and incompatible ones are often challenged. (Or, alternatively, certain conniving nobles might manipulate power level/class archives to ensure the person they want is "chosen by the gods" to stand at the side of the crown. Lots of fun GoT style shit here.)

So this brings us to Vegeta's mother:

She was the strongest (still living) saiyan born in one of the four nations within an appropriate age range to the heir apparent. Specifically, she is from the nation of people who occupy a collection of islands near one of the planet's poles. As mentioned in the long post I linked, this nation centers Oozaru transformation in their cultural/spiritual consciousness as opposed to SSJ transformation. The primal beast vs. the Enlightened Warrior. People from her country speak of a special bond to the moon goddess because, due to their location at the pole, they experience seasonal polar night. Whole seasons of nothing but the moonlit sky, and alternatively, seasons where they are waiting for the goddess rule the sky again.

And because they center the more wild, primal, and impassioned transformation, they are at odds with the culture in the royal city and the (most populous and influential) nation that surrounds it that centers SSJ transformation which is, supposedly, passionless and enlightened (in the Eastern sense). The unique cultural practices, powers, and techniques the people from Vegeta's mother's lands boast are therefore looked upon with skepticism by most other saiyans. Most saiyans don't know what to do with this essentially foreign group of people from sparsely populated polar isles who have strange ways. Some of them are even rumored to sense ki without scouters. The most powerful of them can even dissolve the borders of their mind as happens under the moonlight so they can communicate to others without speaking, soul to soul. (It's mild telepathy, basically. Speaking with the mind, being able to share thoughts/dreams; very skilled people might even be able to read others' minds in a limited capacity.)

And Vegeta's mother is one of those exceptionally gifted saiyans from this country/culture. But nobody cares or finds out about this until later. Because...King Vegeta was not the original heir to whom she would've been betrothed. The saiyan who became King Vegeta was a weaker/lesser royal child. One of his sisters, however, was the crown princess. And she was batshit insane.

King Vegeta's sister was exceptionally cruel. Even for a saiyan. And she came from a long line of rulers who were almost as cruel and insane as she was. Her lineage, in fact, is part of the reason saiyans are infamous throughout the galaxy. She and other corrupt royals/elites don't fight because fighting is what saiyans do. They don't fight for the sake of itself. They fight to shed blood, to kill, to revel in others' pain, destruction, and misery. The sadism is the point, not the art and joy of fighting. And they don't kill in a cold, unattached way. They rape and pillage because they are consumed with bloodlust, they get off on hurting others, and they are strong enough that few can stop them.

(Another topic I could write a whole other long post about: There is certainly considerable disagreement among different saiyan cultures about what their "fighting nature" actually entails. Is it about the excellence in craft? Is it about spiritual enlightenment? Is it about feeling at one with the body, the opponent, and the universe? Or...is it about defeating and destroying your rival? Is it about being the strongest? Is it about pain and domination? There are competing narratives for what the Ideal Saiyan looks like and about how that saiyan would fight. For someone like King Vegeta's sister, she and most of her family lean more towards fighting-for-domination/bloodlust because power has gone to their heads and warped them into something monstrous.)

And (not yet) King Vegeta sees all of this, and because he's one of the weaker children of his family, he faces considerable abuse. Naturally, he tries to prove himself by showing exceptional cruelty of his own, waging wars and conquering planets... But he never actually wins the approval of his family or the rest of the elite class. He becomes somewhat estranged. He comes to resent and look down on his parents and his sister especially. He sees their monstrous ways and turns away from them not because he sees their actions as evil, but because he comes to see their hearts as impure. He listens to the words and warnings of religious extremists around the royal city's temples who condemn the nobility for their impassioned bloodlust where they should instead be cold and tranquil when they fight. He becomes a bit of a fanatic himself.

Then his sister reaches the age where she's to be bound to consorts. And the moon festival is approaching and therefore her "wedding." She doesn't treat the consorts chosen for her like the esteemed nobles they are, however. She captures them and tortures them publicly to put fear in the hearts of everyone in their countries. On the night of her "wedding," she makes a humiliating display of them in the royal city's moon temple. It's pretty obvious that, once the ceremony is performed, she's intending to rape her consorts and perhaps kill the ones who can't provide children for her. Vegeta's mother is one of these consorts.

Vegeta's father is fucking disgusted by all of this. His sister is doing something absolutely sacrilege. She's using power in the most impure way possible, and she's literally desecrating altars doing so. It sets him the fuck off. He's watching the beginnings of the "wedding ceremony," but it's the last straw. While everyone's caught up in what's happening, he comes to the front of the temple and blasts his sister straight through the heart before she can touch any of the consorts, killing her instantly. And he doesn't stop there. He goes positively feral and kills every single member of the royal family while everyone is too shocked or drunk/high to defeat him even though he's not the strongest based on power level alone.

Covered in the blood of the king, queen, and all of his siblings, Vegeta's father calls upon any "righteous" saiyan to purge the royal lands of corruption. Certain religious extremists are all too happy to oblige (the tailless ascetic order from the other post is certainly included here). They begin with powerful elite families known to be close to the crown, murdering their figureheads and heirs. And even some lower-class saiyans join in on the bloodshed. Many of them despise the royal family and the elite nobility for degrading and abusing them. (Some particularly wicked nobles make slaves of low-class saiyans, treating them like aliens/animals; some of them even take children from low-class families to slake their most despicable lusts. While might-makes-right may be pretty commonplace in saiyan culture, I think it's still extremely feasible that those who get the short end of that stick would come to acknowledge that power does not justify every action, and that, especially among low-class saiyans, things like rape and murder of other saiyans are seen as traumatic and wrong as well as shameful acts to commit most of the time.)

The nights of the full moon, then, become a massive fucking bloodbath. Vegeta's father and those loyal to him massacre pretty much half of the nobility. And he, naturally, assumes the throne after the moon festival is over. He is at once respected and feared. He maintains his religious fanaticism and imposes it on the nobility. In some ways, he is just as iron-fisted and cruel as his predecessors, but it has an entirely different flavor. He follows the laws to the letter, taking them very seriously and giving them intense spiritual weight. He strives to emulate the model of the SSJ Enlightened Warrior and considers it his calling as dictated by the gods because they appointed him king.

And while he's not morally "good" by any stretch, and his religion/philosophy definitely leads him to commit some truly heinous acts, he's nevertheless "better" in many ways than his sister or his parents. Nobles who, for example, would have before taken low-class children to abuse are instead punished severely and pay dearly for their "impurity." (It kind of makes sense that someone like King Vegeta who faced significant childhood abuse from his family would consider taking advantage of certain kinds of vulnerable people to be weak and shameful---a corruption of strength.) And while King Vegeta isn't necessarily loved by all low-class saiyans, he's probably more popular than many of his predecessors were. Yes, he still ships off weak children, he still enforces the strict caste system (perhaps even more strictly than those before him too), and he still conquers planets and seeks out powerful opponents to destroy, but he does it with a certain spiritual sincerity.

Then it becomes time for him to take consorts. He's in a pretty unique situation where he's already king before he's "married." After the murder of his sister on her "wedding night," he frees the consorts from their bondage and tells them they can return to their homelands until the gods call upon them to perform their duties. They are more than happy to get the fuck out of the royal city for a while, naturally. But when the next moon festival is approaching, those selected are asked to return. One or two of the consorts his sister would've "wed" had perhaps fallen in battle, but most of them are the same, including Vegeta's mother.

Vegeta's mother and her homeland had been happy, initially, that she hadn't been reproductively compatible with the original heir, King Vegeta's sister. The moon-worshiping people wanted as little to do with the royal city as possible so they could govern their own lands in relative isolation. Now, however, her position as consort carries with it an implicit obligation.

In the years leading up to the next moon festival, Vegeta's mother of course visits the royal city a number of times given that she's an important noble personality. But she doesn't spend most of her time there and only goes when absolutely necessary. She crosses paths with the king, naturally, but avoids him if she can. She remembers, however, the night where he, essentially, saved both her life and her honor (though this was not his primary reason for freeing her). Even so, she's been bracing for the king to go insane like his predecessors. Perhaps bracing herself for him to force himself on her in some way. She doesn't trust him. She doesn't trust anyone outside of her homeland.

But the king is strictly business with her even if he does watch her. She's mysterious; he hardly sees her. She doesn't look like many other people in the royal city. She has different manners, beliefs, and even speaks a different dialect of Saiyago (though she can code-switch and speak the standard royal city dialect as well). She has a small, very feminine frame despite having a very formidable power level. It makes her more terrifying in some ways---that her power comes to her effortlessly, that she doesn't need physical strength or size to wield as much might as she does. She is regarded as extremely beautiful and is compared even to depictions of the moon goddess. Her being from the moon-worshiping polar isles reinforces this connection as well; she has an air of pagan magic about her, and her beauty as well as her strange ways/fighting techniques have this spellbinding or bewitching quality to them in saiyan cultural consciousness.

And her beauty, mystery, and foreign background make her the subject of scorn among many nobles throughout the royal lands. They don't want a pagan queen. Especially since the nobles that remain are ones that are more in line with the religious fanaticism of King Vegeta. The king has very recently purged the nobility of corrupt heretics, people who gave themselves over to shameful bloodlust and made no attempt to purify their hearts and live up to the Saiyan Ideal. And the prospect of having someone who is all about losing yourself and becoming the wild Oozaru become their queen is threatening. Many assume, too, that King Vegeta simply won't favor Vegeta's mother for these political reasons and will instead produce heirs with his other consorts.

That doesn't stop King Vegeta from developing a huge fucking crush on her, though. She's drop-dead gorgeous and incredibly powerful. She doesn't fawn over him or try to win his favor. She steers clear of him, and when they do have to interact, she doesn't filter her foreign/pagan sensibilities whatsoever to be pleasing. She always approaches him as herself and comes off strong. She even outright opposes or argues with him when matters of governance/policy arise. She makes very clear that her people don't care for the traditional caste system or how children are measured for their power at birth. She reminds him that the strongest and most wise of her people can sense hidden abilities in others' souls that scouters can't capture with a mere number.

Ironically, though, Vegeta's mother approaching King Vegeta sincerely as herself makes him fall for her even harder. Those precious few times she sees him in the royal city become almost special occasions for him; he waits for her, he looks forward to seeing her even if he's out of touch with it. He relishes their philosophical debates. As someone who takes his "divine" calling very seriously, he admires her own spiritual passion and sincerity even though they disagree on some basic things and have very different ideas about what the Ideal Saiyan looks/fights like. He makes excuses to talk to her and spend time with her. He probably even constructs situations where he is forced to consider her political input. He desires her and feels that the gods gave their blessing for him to desire her by choosing her for him. She, however, rejects even the smallest advances very strongly. And he, nothing like his sister in this respect, does not punish her or pressure her to accept him. He carries on with his other royal duties.

As the moon festival and therefore the official royal "wedding" approaches, however, Vegeta's mother eventually refuses even to attend the ceremony. (Makes sense, after all---last time, an insane princess meant to torture, rape, and murder her.) Many elites encourage other people from the polar isles to challenge her, replacing her with someone who will not shirk their duties. Elites hostile to the moon-worshipers call for her capture and possible execution. King Vegeta, though, requests only that she attend the ceremony if no one will challenge her and vows that she may return to her homeland once it is over, and neither he nor anyone will touch her under pain of death. She eventually accepts this offer. Her limited interactions with the king have at least shown her that he is generally a man of his word, and she will be able to maintain her political influence over him while getting to stay in her homeland and not fear retribution.

The ceremony takes place and is a very somber affair. Think the most traditional, by-the-book royal wedding ever (just with more fighting because they are saiyans). Vegeta's mother returns to the polar isles the very night the ceremony is over, though, as the moon festival nights are sacred to her people, and she has no desire to spend them in the royal city. The king lets her go as promised. The other nations are happy to see her go, as the more time the king spends with his other consorts, the higher the likelihood that the consort that represents them becomes queen. The king does indeed spend the first few nights in the royal city as expected. But...he does something scandalous before the moon festival is over.

He goes to the polar isles. He participates in some of their festival activities (ritual Oozaru transformations, battles, hunts, and sacrifices). He frames it as a gesture of political good will, saying that he will be a king to all saiyans no matter their nation or favored gods/goddesses. He strives to live up to the example of his Super Saiyan ancestors and will seek strength and wisdom in whatever form the gods will reveal it to him. Even if it means listening to pagan moon-worshipers and hearing what they have to say, what knowledge and power they have to impart. He means it sincerely, but his gesture was obviously inspired by his preoccupation with Vegeta's mother.

He doesn't make any attempt to get close to her personally, but he does transform under the moon with her. And afterwards, when some time has passed and he asks her to come to the royal city, she accepts.

She tells herself it's in service to her nation. Not in many generations have they had the crown at their mercy like this. She knows she has the power to influence how saiyan life itself is ordered. She still may not want to give King Vegeta a child or become queen, but she does want to take advantage of the opportunity his favor affords her.

She's there when Freeza and King Cold first contact the saiyans. It's obvious to anyone who was in direct contact with Freeza just how powerful he is, how much manipulative leverage he holds... But Vegeta's mother can sense something is deeply off about him and the entire situation. She's fully aware that Freeza will straight up destroy everyone if they don't enter his service. And she doesn't have the same delusional pride that the king does. She knows he's going to have to bend the knee if they mean to survive. It's because of her influence that King Vegeta doesn't enter a doomed war with Freeza at the start. She helps him acclimate the people to their new "alliance"---emphasizes better access to technology like scouters, healing tanks, ships, and incubation pods. She's a much better and more natural ruler than King Vegeta is, in fact. She brings a certain "humanity" (saiyanity?) to the role---it's about safeguarding the people and their way of life, not about proving that she personally is the strongest.

Naturally, this pivotal political role she plays brings her and King Vegeta closer together. She'd already been developing feelings for him slowly. She already knew he was different after he killed his entire family and spared her from their wickedness. And as she got to know him better, she really came to admire his own sincerity just as he admired hers. They are both deeply spiritual people even though they have different beliefs, and they have an understanding of each other. And the time they spent under the moonlight together was, after all, quite romantic even if saiyans don't really have "romance" the way humans do.

She admits to herself after a while that she's attracted to him. Sure, part of her definitely enjoys being queen in all but actual title. She enjoys how hopelessly this extremely powerful and austere man bends to her every whim and worships her as if she were actually the moon goddess herself and had indeed bewitched him like all the rumors say she has. Even against his better political judgment or his religious sensibilities. He can't help but revere and admire her. You know, saiyans having a thing for strong women.

She's the one who goes to him first. She tells herself initially that it's merely to consolidate her power, her hold on the king. He, of course, can't resist her and just completely fucking melts for her when she commands him to meet her in her bedchambers. But it's clear that it's neither about duty nor politics as they continue to be intimate. They are in love with each other. They connect on a soul level.

She eventually does become pregnant, though it is no guarantee that she will become queen even if she does provide the crown with a child. She would have to produce the strongest child to be crowned queen, after all, and sometimes which child is strongest does not become apparent until later. But...when Vegeta is born, he's leagues ahead of the other children that had been born already (he has a number of half-siblings). He's the strongest royal child born as far as the archives go back. It's unprecedented, but he's named heir to the throne immediately, and his mother assumes the title of queen at the same time he is named crown prince.

That Vegeta's mother bore him such a powerful son just makes King Vegeta fall that much more in love with her. He takes it as a sign, even, that the gods rewarded him for his piety. That he had done the right thing by murdering his entire family (as much as it still hurt to do, deep down, even if he'd never admit it). That perhaps his son was born so strong because the two sides of saiyan nature were for once at harmony with each other, the Oozaru and the Super Saiyan, just as he, descended from the Super Saiyans, learned to love and fight alongside his moon-worshiping consort. He dares to hope that maybe Prince Vegeta will become strong enough to overthrow Freeza and cast off the shame of servitude.

But there's trouble in paradise. The nobles from the other nations are absolutely appalled that the moon-worshiper from the tiny, pagan population of the polar isles has become queen. Many of them do actually think that she put the king under a spell to do her bidding. They don't like that her battle partner, Nappa, was originally low-class (but elevated once the queen came to the royal city---another cultural difference; it's not as taboo for nobles to have low-class partners in the polar isles because their caste sensibilities are not as strict). The fact that the king bent the knee to Freeza just makes things worse. He's weak. He'll lead them to ruin. He's easily manipulated. He listened to a sorceress instead of his own integrity and pride by submitting to Freeza where he should have instead gone to war and proven his strength as his ancestors did before him.

There's unrest among the lower-class saiyans too. Freeza ships them off to faraway planets for degrading assignments. He takes saiyan children to his planet, and they never return. They hate Freeza even if they are encouraged to be grateful for the battles and resources the Planet Trade affords them. They resent the royal family even if the prince is so strong that they can't help but be inspired.

Several elites challenge the queen to fight. She proves victorious each time, however. And this only infuriates her detractors and rivals even more. Eventually, there are plots to dispose of her via less than honorable means. There are assassination attempts. Those that are caught are of course tortured and executed. But...sadly, one of the attempts succeeds. The queen falls ill, and poison is suspected. She begins to deteriorate rapidly, but she doesn't die immediately. Her body resists the illness, and she lingers for a time even if she knows that, ultimately, her death will be inevitable and painful.

King Vegeta, understandably, goes on a fucking rampage. But there's a distraction. Freeza attends a tournament to decide who will become Prince Vegeta's battle partner, and he finds Prince Vegeta himself to be rather remarkable. Soon afterwards, he demands that King Vegeta send the prince to "visit" him on his home planet. He wants to take the prince in and mentor him as a mark of the "friendship" between Vegeta-sei and the Cold Empire.

The queen, however, does not want to give her son over to Freeza. She fucking knows how that will go down. She can feel it. Vegeta will be examined, experimented on, tortured, treated as a pet and a slave. She doubts that the SSJ legends are even real; she's of the opinion that it's just another interpretation of the Oozaru. So she's under no illusion that Vegeta will transform and save them all from Freeza at just the right moment. She knows he's just a little boy at the end of the day, however strong he is already.

Plus...she knows she's dying, and she doesn't want her son taken away from her. She doesn't want her last days to be spent knowing she gave him over to a monster. But at the same time...she also knows that, if Freeza doesn't take Vegeta, then it will put the entire planet in danger. She takes a page from the king's book and tells herself that she'll have to set her personal feelings aside to do what is rational even if it isn't quite right. So she requests only that the king doesn't let Freeza take Vegeta until after she's gone.

The king, meanwhile, is in fucking denial that she's dying at all. He doesn't want to believe it. He's caught up in his feelings about it. He's caught up, too, in the fear and dread their oh-so-tenuous relationship with Freeza is. He says he'll go to war with Freeza. That he won't let him take their son at all. But they both know that they have to. He copes with it by telling both himself and Vegeta that Freeza's "mentorship" and the opportunities his assignments will afford will make him stronger, will perhaps move him to transform when the time is right. The king doesn't explain to the child what he's really in for, just that he must be strong above all else. Vegeta's mother, though, probably tries to warn him in some capacity, as far as he is able to understand (he's about 4 Earth years old at this point).

Freeza, though, comes to collect Vegeta unannounced sooner than anyone expected. He is forcibly taken from his mother. She puts up a fight, but it's useless, and Vegeta ultimately goes to Freeza's home planet to begin his servitude. The queen dies soon afterwards, and when Vegeta returns to Vegeta-sei for the last time before the planet is destroyed, his mother is gone. He never got to see her again after the day he was taken away.

King Vegeta is consumed with grief and anger. He acts according to his worst impulses. Wages reckless wars, tortures people just to watch them suffer. It doesn't help that the person who was the actual political mastermind behind his regime (the queen) is gone. His rule is messy, and he becomes increasingly unhinged. He probably tries to make an incredibly stupid final stand. His actions certainly accelerate Freeza's plan to destroy him and the rest of the saiyans. And this is where all of this backstory catches up with where we meet young Vegeta in canon.

Anyway! There you have it, an epic backstory for Vegeta's mom and the royal family.

I made all of this up to be background stuff in my fic, but it's not just that. It's also there to show some of the internal conflicts going on in young Vegeta's character. He's caught between living up to the legends of his ancestors and his personal feelings just as his parents represent these two opposing interpretations of saiyan nature. He doesn't quite know how to reconcile these things within himself. His first years with Freeza, too, are colored by the loss of his mother and his father's becoming particularly strict and power-obsessed as a result of her death. This background story is in the fic is also there to tell the reader things about how saiyans conceptualize things like "romantic" relationships, what they consider beautiful. Besides all the stuff about religion, spirituality, and how saiyans construct morality, meaning, and enlightenment.

I hope this was fun to read!

#vegeta #king vegeta #saiyan queen #headcanons #saiyan lore

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romione-trope-fest · 3 months

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The One Where Ron and Hermione are Fake Not Dating

Fic Title: The One Where Ron and Hermione are Fake Not Dating

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Fake Not Dating (with a side of Cockblocker Harry and a dash of Weasley Weddings)

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione sleep together the night before Harry and Ginny’s wedding and then hide their new relationship from their friends and family. (Inspired by Monica and Chandler's relationship on Friends)

Word Count: Ch1 - 3216

Rating: E

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

Pt. 1

The One With The Dress

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Hermione wonders vacantly as she downs her third glass of champagne how many more it will take to dull her headache. On the bright side, if the champagne fails, this time tomorrow the wedding will be over and the bulk of her maid of honour duties will be finished. But tonight is only the rehearsal dinner, and despite her friends’ puzzling decision to get married in New York City, the ballroom is absolutely packed with guests. Aren’t destination weddings supposed to be small? Why are all these people here?

Oh, right, because it’s Harry freaking Potter and Ginny bloody Weasley. The wedding of the century.

Hoping that four will be the magic number, Hermione looks around the room for one of the waiters that’s been circling with booze all night. Even in her wildly uncomfortable stiletto heels, she can’t spot any of them, and her path to the bar is blocked by several grey-haired Ministry officials who will surely take the opportunity to drag her into their policy talk if she gets close enough. No, thank you. She’ll take her chances with the headache.

Better yet, maybe she can find Ginny and see if she’s actually still needed at this raucous party. She hasn’t seen the bride in over an hour, so it’s not like Hermione is doing anything to help her anyway. She’s just here. Molly and Sirius have taken care of all the logistics, and the other bridesmaids folded five hundred napkins into origami animals earlier for the reception tomorrow. With all that done, Hermione thinks that the most useful thing she can do at this point is get a good night’s sleep.

She checks her watch with a sigh; it’s only seven o’clock. Of course, back in London, it’s going on midnight, and Hermione hasn’t yet gotten over her jet lag. Portkey lag? Do wizards have a term for this phenomenon?

Maybe she has had enough champagne.

Still, she’s grateful for the cool flute that appears in her hand bearing a refill, and the grinning wizard who hands it to her. “You look like you could use this,” Ron says jovially, clinking his own glass against hers. “And one of those old Ministry farts—Barry or something—“ He waves a hand in the general direction of the bar. “—wants to talk about your werewolf legislation when you have a moment.”

Hermione downs half of the champagne in one go and rolls her eyes. “Don’t they know this is a party?” she complains. “Don’t they ever stop working?”

“Reckon they’re so old they’re like Binns at this point,” Ron jokes. “They just wake up and keep doing what they do every day, no matter the location.”

“I suppose.” The rest of the champagne follows in short order, and Ron raises an eyebrow as Hermione vanishes her empty glass.

“You okay?” he asks skeptically, though he extends his own untouched flute toward her. “I’m not sure if I should cut you off or give you a refill.”

Hermione waves off the offer of champagne with a flick of her hand. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Ron rolls his eyes, clearly not believing her. “Come on, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Hermione insists. “Some other old Ministry fart—” That’s definitely the champagne talking; Hermione would never ordinarily say that, even if she thinks it. “—thought that I was Harry’s mum.”

“Oh, that guy.” Ron grimaces. “Ignore him, he’s completely pissed. Earlier, he thanked me for my very moving duet with Celestina Warbeck.”

His response elicits just a hint of a smile from Hermione. “No, I know. Even if Harry’s parents weren’t famously deceased, I know I don’t look old enough to be his mother.”

“Okay, so let’s have some fun, then.” Hermione knows she still doesn’t look convinced, and Ron goes on, “It’s Harry and Ginny’s wedding. This is supposed to be, like, the happiest day of our lives so far.”

“Their lives, you mean,” Hermione corrects him. “And to hear my mother tell it, you escorting me tomorrow as the witch of honour and best wizard is the closest I’ll ever get to walking down the aisle myself, so I’d better enjoy this one.”

Reflexively, Hermione glances over her shoulder, but she’s not sure she even cares if her mum overhears. Maybe then she’ll realize how ridiculous she’s being with all her pointed hints about Hermione finding a husband. As if she’s got nothing better to do with her life.

“Is that what’s actually got your knickers in a twist?” Ron asks with a grin. “Want me to pull you out to the dance floor and snog you in front of everyone so that she’ll leave you alone?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “As enticing an offer as that is—” And Merlin’s pants, Ron has no idea how enticing “—I think I’m going to head upstairs. Make sure everything’s in order for tomorrow.”

“It is. I promise. I saw your list.” Ron turns his big blue puppy-dog eyes on her, and Hermione feels her resolve melting. “Seriously, forget about your mum and that drunk bastard. Come and dance?”

He drains his champagne glass and vanishes it before holding out his hand in invitation. “Oh, alright,” Hermione sighs, only feigning irritation at her best friend. “But let me get these shoes off first. I can’t get a cushioning charm to stick, and my feet are killing me.”

Ron follows Hermione over to the lavishly decorated table that’s been reserved for the bridal party. All of the tables have a designated seating arrangement, but they’ve been mostly empty throughout the night as the party swirls around the room.

Hermione sits down in one of the plush dining chairs and crosses her foot over her other knee, attempting to work the complicated straps of her shoe. Why she let Ginny talk her into buying these ridiculous heels for this weekend is beyond her comprehension, and the ones she’s wearing tomorrow are even worse.

“Why are you wearing those barmy things, anyway?” Ron asks as he watches her struggle. “They look like bloody torture devices.”

“According to Witch Weekly, they’re meant to drive you mad with longing,” Hermione quips, then realizes her mistake. “I mean—not you, specifically, I mean—wizards. In general.”

Ron’s ears are pink when she looks up at him, but he breezes past her misstep. “They look more likely to drive you mad,” he jokes as she finally drops both shoes to the floor and sighs in relief. “What about your dress?”

“What about it?”

Hermione tugs self-consciously at the too-short hem and brushes an invisible speck of dirt from the fabric. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t picked this item out with one very specific wizard in mind, but now that his eyes are raking over it, lingering on the deep V of the neckline, she’s nervous about his reaction.

“Is it comfortable?”

“Oh.” Of course that’s all he wants to know. She’s not driving him mad at all. He’s just concerned about her well-being, damn him.

Hermione forces a smile to her face. As her best friend, of course he’s concerned about her. It’s not his fault she doesn’t just want him as her best friend. “Yes, much better than the shoes,” she replies, letting Ron pull her to her feet.

“Okay, good. It’d cause a bit more of a stir to just leave your dress at the table, I reckon.”

Ron shoots her a cheeky grin before leading her to the dance floor, and Hermione can’t help but wonder—how much champagne has he had? He never flirts with her like this.

He’s not flirting, Hermione scolds herself as they find an open spot in the crowd. He’s just trying to make you feel better. Let him.

They dance their way through several upbeat songs before the music slows down and Ron pulls Hermione in close, gently swaying her to the softer tune. As she catches her breath, Hermione sighs against Ron’s chest. “Does your mum ever give you a hard time?” she asks him, her mind wandering again as the champagne buzz begins to wane. “About not being married?”

She feels Ron shrug against her cheek. “Nah. Maybe if I was the last holdout, but Charlie’s existence means she’ll never have a full set of kids-in-law. And she might’ve lost track at this point, anyway.” He pulls away slightly to look her in the eye. “Is this really bothering you?”

The sincerity in Ron’s gaze makes the honesty come easily. “More than it should,” she admits. “And normally it doesn’t, but…I don’t know, just seeing how happy Harry and Ginny are and my mum nagging me…” Hermione sighs. “What if she’s right? What if I never have this?”

Ron tugs her back into his embrace. “You will. I know you will. You’re smart and beautiful and caring and…who wouldn’t want you?”

You don’t. Fortunately, she manages to keep that snarky thought to herself and say something more appropriate instead.

“Thanks,” she says as she disentangles herself. “And thanks for cheering me up. I think I’m ready to turn in, though. Big day tomorrow.”

Ron doesn’t protest this time, just offers, “Walk you back to your room?”

Hermione nods and hurries to collect her shoes from the table where she left them. Her hand brushes against Ron’s as they walk down the deserted hotel hall away from the ballroom, and the innocent touch sends a shiver up her spine. She tries to shake it off as they reach the lift and step inside, but the confined space is not helping alleviate the tension between them.

Stop it. You’re imagining things.

“For what it’s worth,” Ron ventures as she presses the button for her floor, “I still think you’re completely mental about the shoes, but, um…the dress is doing its job.”

She turns around to give him a curious look. “What job?”

He lifts a hand to her bare shoulder, skimming his fingers along her collarbone until he hits the fabric of her dress, his fingertips just delving beneath the wide strap. “Driving me mad,” he says, his voice low and husky.

The elevator dings to a stop, but Hermione is paying no mind as the doors whoosh open and then close again. There’s no mistaking the hungry look in Ron’s eyes, and her heart is pounding as she steps closer to him.

“I only bought this dress so you could take it off,” she whispers back. If she has somehow mistaken the signals Ron is sending, she can blame her boldness on the champagne.

He doesn’t leave her wondering, though. In a flash, Ron’s arms wrap around her and his lips crash down on hers. Her stilettos drop forgotten from her fingers and clatter against the shiny metal floor of the lift. A moan escapes Ron as her hands tangle in his hair, deepening the kiss, and Hermione lets out a similar groan of pleasure as he presses her back to the wall, pinning her there with his body. Not that she has any desire to move. Except maybe to her room. Definitely to her room.

Hermione reaches blindly along the wall for the button to open the doors, but the bulk of her attention is still focused on kissing Ron, and she sends the lift traveling upward again instead. “Shit,” she mutters as it stops on another floor.

Ron laughs and murmurs against her cheek, “My room is on this floor.”

That will work. His suggestion is met with a quick nod of approval, and she sticks her foot into the doorway before the lift can close again. Ron takes Hermione’s hand, bending down to scoop up her abandoned shoes with his other, and tugs her down the hallway. His room is only a few doors away from the lift, and in a matter of moments, they’re tucked inside it, attached at the mouth again and stumbling toward the bed.

They land on the fluffy duvet in a tangle of limbs, and Ron’s lips begin the downward journey along the dress’s plunging neckline, following the path his eyes took earlier. As he tugs one of the straps down her shoulder, finding nothing beneath it, he lifts his gaze back to hers.

“Hermione,” Ron breathes, and the whole world stops at the sound of her name on his lips. “How much did you have to drink?” he asks worriedly. “Because I don’t want to do this if—”

Hermione tugs at the collar of his shirt to pull his face back to hers for another kiss. “I want this,” she promises. If anything, she’s the one taking advantage of him, but she doesn’t want to think too hard about that right now, either. Even if this is just to make her feel better about her nonexistent love life, it’s obvious Ron wants it too. At least for tonight. They can figure the rest out later.

Ron’s hand finds its way back to the strap, but he hesitates again, looking up at her with a smirk. “You really bought this dress for me?”

Her first instinct is to laugh it off, to say that no, she just wanted to look nice for a special occasion, but Ron’s other hand has drifted underneath her skirt, and he’s about three inches away from finding out that she hasn’t got any knickers on, either. He groans at the lack of obstruction under the dress, and when his fingers find their mark, the truth slips out of her.

“Yes,” Hermione gasps. It’s an answer to his question as much as an invitation to keep doing what he’s doing, and he takes it as such, increasing the pace of his fingers as he mutters a swear of approval.

Ron has her completely unraveled in no time, and as his hand reappears from under her skirt, she realizes they’re both still completely clothed. Well, as completely as they were when they walked in, anyway, considering Hermione decided to forgo any undergarments for the evening. They could still stop. Call it a lapse in judgment fueled by too much champagne. Not ruin their friendship—because surely once they have sex, their friendship will never be the same, right? There’s no way to come back from this.

Does she want to come back from this? No, she doesn’t, but she also doesn’t know what Ron wants. Now doesn’t seem like the right time to ask, and anyway, he started it, with that comment about her dress and…

“Was that okay?” Ron’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, his brow furrowing as he peers down at her. “You’re looking at me all funny.”

“No, it was—better than okay.” Her chest still heaving, she reaches up to fiddle with the knot in his tie, which is now askew under his shirt collar but still intact. “I was just thinking how weird it is that this doesn’t feel weird. You and me. I mean, we don’t really do this.”

That’s an understatement, but it’s somewhere to start. For all the years they’ve been friends, and all the times Hermione has wondered what it would be like to be more, they’ve never even approached the line, let alone crossed it. Now here they are jumping into bed together with no hesitation and no idea of what comes next.

The frown on Ron’s face gives way to a soft smile. “No,” he agrees, ducking his head to brush his nose against hers. “It doesn’t feel weird at all.”

He presses his lips to hers again, and she allows herself to sink into the kiss, the heat between them quickly returning. Ron makes quick work of her dress this time, leaving her completely bare beneath him, and he’s looking at her like he won the lottery as the fabric slithers off the edge of the bed and hits the floor.

Hermione reaches for his tie, intent on actually removing it this time, but then realizes that he’s still got about a hundred other items of clothing on after that. As much as she knows she would enjoy undressing him, revealing his body piece by piece, she also doesn’t want to waste that much time. She snatches his wand out of his back pocket instead and vanishes everything he’s wearing in an instant. Ron blinks in surprise before a grin splits his face. “Bloody brilliant, you are.”

Every inch of her body is fused with Ron’s as he drops his weight to his elbows and kisses her again. Hermione parts her legs to let Ron settle between them, and they let out identical moans at the tantalizing feeling of almost being joined. Ron lifts his face from hers just enough to croak out, “Are you—”

“Potion,” she confirms with a nod. “Please, Ron.”

With one smooth thrust, Ron buries himself inside her, and Hermione sighs contentedly. Her fantasies about this moment did not do the reality justice, and she catalogs every incredible sensation that arises as she and Ron move together. They find a rhythm as if they’ve been doing this for years, and the increased friction as Hermione hikes her leg up over Ron’s hip has her careening towards her peak once more.

Is it supposed to be this easy—this amazing—sleeping with your best friend?

Ron’s hand slips between them and brings her second orgasm crashing over her. Hermione can’t help the cries of pleasure that escape her, and Ron follows her over the edge moments later, spilling into her with a final jerk of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans into her neck as he rides out his release, Hermione dragging her fingers through his hair.

He slides out of her and rolls to his side, pulling her along with him, and Hermione happily snuggles under his arm. “That was amazing,” she murmurs, letting her fingertips dance across the freckles on Ron’s chest. Everything happened so fast, she barely even got a chance to look at him. Now she wants to touch and appreciate every inch of him.

“Yeah, it was.” Ron chuckles as he reaches for his wand and casts a cleansing charm over both of them. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, and Hermione is ready to prod him about it when he says, “I guess we should get some sleep. Get ready for tomorrow.”

The words pop Hermione’s blissful little bubble, bringing her back to reality. This was just sex. Of course it was. He was doing her a favor. She knows this, but the reminder stings. “Right,” she sighs. “Big day.”

She’s about to move away and reach for her dress when Ron drags the crumpled duvet up from the foot of the bed and drapes it over both of them. Maybe that wasn’t a hint for her to leave, after all. Hermione raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Oh.” Ron’s mouth twists into a little frown. “Er—well, yeah. If you want to.”

Of course she does, but fear grips her that she’s just delaying the inevitable heartbreak til morning. Sod it. What’s one night?

Hermione relaxes against him, relishing his warmth and the soothing motion of his hand running up and down her spine as she begins to drift off. Whatever happens tomorrow and the day after that, at least they have tonight.

#submission

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tendaysofrain · 1 year

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Random Stuff #14: Cats in China--History (Part 2)

(Link to Part 1)

(Warning: Very long post ahead with multiple pictures!)

Cats Becoming Pets

In the book Dreams of Splendor of the Eastern Capital (《東京夢華錄》), a memoir by Meng Yuanlao/孟元老 about life in the then “Eastern Capital” or Bianliang/汴梁 (today known as Kaifeng/开封, located in Henan province) in Northern Song dynasty (960 - 1127 AD), there was a section called “Miscellaneous Goods”, which revealed that there were special street vendors who sold horse feed, dog food, and of course, cat food and cat treats:

“If you kept horses, there were two people who sold hay daily; if you kept dogs, there were dog food being sold; if you kept cats then there were cat food and small fish”. (“若養馬，則有兩人日供切草；養犬則供餳糟；養貓則供貓食並小魚”)

Another book that shed light on this change in more concrete terms is Fleeting Dreams of Splendor (《夢粱錄》)--which as you can probably guess from the title, is a memoir modeled after Dreams of Splendor of the Eastern Capital, this time about life in Southern Song dynasty (1127 - 1279 AD) capital city Lin’an/臨安 (today known as Hangzhou/杭州, located in Zhejiang province). In the book it was mentioned that people in the capital kept white or yellow long haired cats, called “lion cats”/獅貓, which couldn’t catch mice and were only kept for their looks, or in other words, these cats had become actual pets:

“People of the capital kept cats to catch mice, and the cats have long hair. Those that were white or yellow were called ‘lion cats’, these cats could not catch mice and were kept because they looked beautiful”. (“貓，都人畜之捕鼠，有長毛。白黃色者稱曰「獅貓」，不能捕鼠，以為美觀”)

During Song dynasty, folk customs also developed around cat adoption. Cat adoption, called pin/聘 or na/納, was treated like a “wedding” of sorts, complete with a “bride price” and a “marriage certificate” contract/契. The “bride price”, of course, was paid to the family that the cat came from, and usually took the form of some salt (this act is called ”bringing salt”/裹鹽; historically salt is a valuable commodity) or some small fish skewered on a willow branch (called “buying fish and skewering with willow”/買魚穿柳 or simply “skewer of willow”/穿柳). The contract, however, had quite a mysterious air about it and vaguely resembled a Daoist talisman:

^ Template of a cat contract, from Yuan-era (1271 - 1368 AD) book Newly Published Reference on Ying Yang and Selection of Dates/《新刊陰陽寶鑑剋擇通書》. Top says “Cat Contract”/貓兒契式. Content consists of a drawn picture of the cat in question at the center, and the terms of the contract written in a counterclockwise order that spiraled outwards from the picture of the cat, which read:

“A cat is Black Spots¹, it used to live before the bodhisattvas of the West, Sanzang² brought it home with him, and it has since been protecting Buddhist scriptures among the people. The Offeror is Moujia³ , who is selling (this cat) to a certain neighbor. All three parties⁴ has agreed upon the price of __, so __ will be returned as the contract finalizes. May the Offerer become as wealthy as Shi Chong⁵, and as long-lived as Peng Zu⁶. (From now on, the cat) Must patrol the grain storage diligently, and must catch rat thieves without slack. (The cat) Must not harm the chickens and other livestocks, and must not steal any sort of food. (The cat) Must guard the home day and night, and must not wander to the east or west. If (the cat) breaks these terms and wanders off, it shall be punished in the courtyard. __ year __ month __ day, Offeror __.”

The foot of the contract read:

”To evaluate a good tabby cat: there must be stripes on the body, and the stripes on the limbs and tail must be just right”⁷

“King Father of the East⁸ see to it that (this cat) does not wander south”

“Queen Mother of the West⁸ see to it that (this cat) does not wander north”

“Received on a day blessed by the Eminent Benefactor of Heavenly Virtues and Eminent Benefactor of Lunar Virtues⁹”

“Returned on a day blessed by the Eminent Benefactor of Heavenly Virtues and Eminent Benefactor of Lunar Virtues”

Notes:

“Black Spots”/黑斑: placeholder cat name.

Sanzang/三藏 refers to Xuanzang/玄奘, as in the real life inspiration of the character Tang Sanzang/唐三藏 in Journey to the West. It was widely believed that domestic cats had came to China from India with traveling Buddhist monks, and that they were protecting the scriptures from damage by rodents.

“Moujia”/某甲: placeholder human name.

“Three parties”: Offeror, Offeree, and Witness.

Shi Chong/石崇 was an extremely wealthy official during Western Jin dynasty (266 - 316 AD) who loved to compete with others over who was the wealthiest.

Peng Zu/彭祖 is a figure in legend and a Daoist immortal who had lived for 700 years according to legend.)

This is part of the practice of evaluating cats based on looks, called xiangmao/相貓.

King Father of the East/東王公 and Queen Mother of the West/西王母 are gods of Yang and Yin respectively.

Eminent Benefactor of Heavenly Virtues/天德貴人 and Eminent Benefactor of Lunar Virtues/月德貴人 are deities representing celestial objects, and are part of the Four Pillars of Destiny/四柱命理 concept in Chinese astrology, where basically different days and times are presided over by different celestial objects and therefore different gods. A day that is blessed by both of the aforementioned Eminent Benefactors is considered to be a very auspicious day.

As a cat owner, I could most definitely feel the helplessness and desperation emanating from this contract. Invoking deities in the hopes that the cat will do its job, not destroy stuff, and not simply run away......I’m sure many cat owners throughout the ages and across the world could sympathize with this sentiment. The special emphasis that was placed on keeping the cat from running away was probably because back then, people lived in residences that consisted of buildings surrounding a courtyard in the middle (for example, a siheyuan/四合院), so it was extremely easy for cats to run out of the residence and become lost.

Anyways......back to history.

Song-era poets wrote many poems about cats, and both Song-era and Yuan-era painters painted many works about cats (which I will cover in my next posts!). At the same time, cats were painted in Song-era tomb murals along with sparrows as a sign of longevity, since cats are māo/猫 and sparrows are què/雀, and when said together they sound like the word mào qí/耄耆, which means “elderly people”.

^ Tomb mural depicting a tabby cat with a sparrow in its mouth. From a Northern Song-era tomb discovered in Dengfeng, Henan.

Ming dynasty (1368 - 1644 AD) emperors were also big-time cat lovers. Of note were Emperor Xuanzong of Ming/明宣宗 (personal name Zhu Zhanji/朱瞻基), who painted cats, and Emperor Shizong of Ming/明世宗 (better known as Jiajing Emperor/嘉靖帝), who reportedly loved his cat Frosty Brows/霜眉/Shuangmei (I swear this name sounds a lot more artsy in Chinese) so much that he bestowed the title of Qiulong/虯龍 (note: Qiulong is a type of Chinese dragon that is either defined as horned or hornless depending on the source) upon it, and when Frosty Brows died, he ordered a tomb be constructed just for his cat, then ordered high-ranking officials to write eulogies for Frosty Brows:

“During Jiajing Emperor’s reign, there was a cat in the palace whose fur was slightly blue-ish except the glowing white brows, so it was named ‘Frosty Brows’. This cat understood His Majesty well, and when His Majesty went somewhere in the palace or visited a consort, it would walk ahead and lead the way. While His Majesty slept, it would stay nearby. His Majesty adored it the most. When it died, His Majesty ordered it be laid to rest at the shady side of Mt. Wansui (today called Jingshan/景山), and a stone stele was to be erected marking its grave as ‘The Grave of Qiulong’”. (嘉靖中，禁中有貓，微青色，惟雙眉瑩潔，名曰“霜眉”。��伺上意，凡有呼召或有行幸，皆先意前導。伺上寢，株橛不移。上最憐愛之。後死，敕葬萬歲山陰，碑曰‘虯龍塚’)

-- Old Rumors Under the Sun, “Within the Palace of Ming Part 3″/《日下舊聞考·宮室·明三》

“Later when a lion cat of the Palace of Eternal Longevity died, His Majesty grieved and ordered it be laid to rest at the shady side of Mt. Wansui in a coffin of gold, then ordered the senior officials to write eulogies and a funeral ritual be done, so the cat’s soul may achieve transcendence. However because the prompt seemed awkward, most of the senior officials could not perform at their usual levels, only the Scholar of Rites Yuan Weiwen came up with such words as ‘the lion metamorphosed into a dragon’, which delighted His Majesty”. (“最後西苑永壽宮有獅貓死，上痛惜之，為製金棺葬之萬壽山之麓，又命在直諸老為文，薦度超升。俱以題窘不能發揮，惟禮侍學士袁煒文中有「化獅成龍」等語，最愜聖意”)

-- Compiled Rumors of Wanli Era, Chapter 2/《萬曆野獲編·卷二》

^ A Nebelung cat (image source). According to the description above, Frosty Brows probably looked like this cat but with white markings above the eyes. RIP Frosty Brows, you shall be remembered.

Of course, Frosty Brows wasn’t the only pet cat in the palace. According to Moderate Records/《酌中志》, a book that’s mostly about life in Ming-era imperial palace (which is the same as the Palace Museum today), there was a special place called the “House of Cats”/貓兒房 that employed 3-4 servants just to take care of the cats that were favored by the emperor. These cats even had titles and nicknames: un-neutered male cats were called xiaosi/“小廝”/”lads”, neutered male cats were called laoye/”老爺”/“old men”, female cats were called yatou/”丫頭“/”gals”, and cats with titles were called maoguanshi/”貓管事”/“cat butlers” .

Speaking of royal kitties that left their names in history, Emperor Qianlong (1711 - 1799 AD) of Qing dynasty commissioned a series of paintings of his cats from the court painter and Jesuit missionary Ignatius Sichelbart (also known by his Chinese name 艾啟蒙/Ai Qimeng), and this series of 10 paintings were collectively known as 《貍奴影》, or “Cat Images” (li/“貍” or linu/“貍奴” are both archaic names for cats). Here is a Douyin video of these 10 paintings and the names of these 10 royal felines, translation courtesy of @rongzhi.

The Ins and Outs of Feline Ownership

By Qing dynasty (1636 - 1912 AD), there were two encyclopedia-like books specifically about cats, called The Compendium About Cats/《貓苑》 and The History of Cats/《貓乘》 respectively, which were extensive compilations of records and mentions of cats from older texts, including everything from folktales about cats to cat behavior to how to take care of cats, which served as guides for new cat owners back then. Although cat owners today have much more reliable and scientific sources on how to take care of cats (***Please keep in mind: this post is for fun! If you have any questions regarding the health of your cat, please ask your local veterinarian!***), books like these still provide an interesting glimpse into how cat owners of old went about taking care of their cats. Here I will be presenting a few passages from The Compendium About Cats/《貓苑》 that I found to be pretty cool or interesting:

How people used to bring cats back home and litter train them:

“The way to adopt cats: use a dou¹ or a bucket, and carry it in a cloth sack. Once you reach the home of the previous owner, ask them for a single chopstick, then put both cat and chopstick in the bucket inside the sack to bring them back home. Should you encounter potholes on the way back, you must fill the pothole with rocks before passing over it. Upon arriving back home, take the cat along to worship the household stove god and greet the resident dog. When you are done, take the chopstick and stick it in a mound of dirt in the yard, then tell the cat to never urinate or defecate inside, but still allow the cat to sleep on the bed. This way the cat will not run away”. (“納貓法，用斗或桶，盛以布袋，至家討著一棍，和貓盛桶中攜回。路遇溝缺，須填石以過，使不過家，從吉方歸。取貓拜堂灶及犬畢，將箸橫插於土堆上，令不在家撒屎，仍使上床睡，便不走徃”)

How people thought neutering changed behavior:

“Male cats must be neutered to blunt its might, so their toughness may be softened, and they will soon become plump and friendly”. (“公貓必閹殺其雄氣，化剛為柔，日見肥善“)

What to feed cats and what not to feed cats:

“Cats will grow sturdy when fed eel, and will grow plump when fed pork liver. However if cats are fed too much meat broth, it will give them intestinal issues”. (“猫食鳝则壮，食猪肝则肥，多食肉汤则坏肠”)

“Catnip”:

“Cats will become inebriated after eating mint²”... “Mint is the alcohol of cats, as such the leaves are fresh and relaxing”. (“貓食薄荷則醉”...“貓以薄荷為酒，故葉清逸”)

Treatment for fleas:

“When a cat has fleas, mash up peach tree leaves and chinaberry tree roots, boil the paste into a warm brew and bathe the cat in it to kill the fleas; otherwise rubbing camphor tree shavings over the cat also works”. (“貓生虱，桃葉與楝樹根搗爛，熱湯泡洗，虱皆死，樟腦末擦之亦可”)

Notes:

Dou/斗 (here pronounced dǒu), was historically a type of container that was originally for wine, and then became an apparatus used to measure volume (particularly for grains), so dou also doubled as a unit of volume. This unit of volume can be traced back to at least the Warring States period (770 - 221 BC), but is considered archaic today and could only be found in chengyu and other sayings that originated in history (ex: 升斗小民, “sheng and dou commoners”; since both sheng and dou are relatively small units of volume that ordinary people used in day-to-day life, this chengyu was and is still used to imply “ordinary people”).

“Mint” or “薄荷” here is likely just a species of mint. However, catnip (Nepeta cataria) is a member of the mint family, and its native range seems to span much of Eurasia, including parts of China, so it’s unclear exactly which member of the mint family this text is referring to.

Cats in the Age of the Internet

Thanks to scientific and technological advances, many people no longer adopt cats to keep rodents away, but keep them solely as companions. However, being our feline overlords, cats require a lot of affection, attention, service, and commitment from their humans, thus giving rise to the playfully self-mocking terms of "official(s) of poop-scooping”/铲屎官/chanshiguan and “slave(s) of cat(s)”/猫奴/maonu, while cats are called “cat master(s)”/猫主子/maozhuzi due to their seemingly volatile moods and behavior. People even imagined that cats were aliens from another planet called the “Planet Meow”/“喵星” who came to Earth to conquer humans with their cute appearance, thus giving rise to the term “Meowish”/“喵星人”, meaning “inhabitant of Planet Meow”. A cat who raises its hind leg up straight to lick its backside is described as “sending signals back to the mother planet (Planet Meow)”, and a common euphemism for a cat passing away is “(the cat) has returned to Planet Meow”.

^ An inhabitant of Planet Meow sending signals back to its mother planet.

Another common internet slang for the act of kissing, sniffing, or hugging a cat out of adoration is “sniffing cat”/“吸猫”/ximao. As some might notice, the term subtly and playfully draws a parallel between the addictive aspect of cuddling with a cat and the addictiveness of illicit drugs. Finally, because 喵 (miāo), the character for “meow”, is a homophone of 妙 (miào), the character that can mean “great”, on videos where there are cats meowing clearly, you can see barrage comments from many people asking questions like “how is my exam going to go” or “how is my job interview going to go”, as a playful way of wishing for things to go smoothly in the near future.

^ Some examples of these barrage comments, with people asking “how is my job interview score”, “how is my luck in the future”, “am I going to be accepted into Tsinghua University”. Video from Bilibili.

And that is all for the history of cats in China! In Part 3 and Part 4 I will cover famous paintings about cats and poems of cats, and these posts will be coming out within the next two weeks, stay tuned!

#cats #chinese history #chinese culture #chinese folklore #internet culture #cat #history #random stuff

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random-introverted-blog · 3 months

Text

His Star - His Queen [Chapter 9 - Think Twice]

Impero tibi

Summary: You're scheming away. But so is the Ascendant. Are you sure you can get out of the palace before his plans come to fruition? Can you outscheme a godking? What will you do when you're free? Can you leave things as they are? How ambitious are you?

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

Warnings/Advisories: Sneaky sneak, eavesdropping, creepy dialogue, creepy vampire godking man. Graphic depictions of violence, blood, abuse of power by persons of authority, police(?) brutality, manipulative behavior

A/N: Can I just say that I love each and every reader? I love your comments, I love your kudos/likes, I love seeing you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. I love your patience and support.

I love you guys/guys/pals. Thanks for being here and thanks for being you.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

If you had to be honest with yourself, there was a slight uneasiness that had begun to creep in. Something about waking up by yourself for the first time in a tenday may have that effect. Or was it having breakfast alone? Maybe it was that Malacai was also nowhere to be found, and a new steward watched over your shadow, tracking your every movement. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, because this steward was much easier to evade and lose in your quick strides through the palace corridors.

But having to seek out Astarion actively was the final straw that broke your nerves. You'd never let that be known, though. No. Too much was riding on your ability to remain convincingly composed outwardly. All you needed was to ask him about the promise he made to you last night about letting you leave the palace.

You finally discovered him in his grand study, hidden deep amidst towering shelves and cluttered tables of books. Ballar faithfully stood by his side, while Malacai supported a small stack of tomes. Astarion, engrossed in a volume, flipped through its pages with an air of intensity. The atmosphere was thick with the musty scent of aged paper.

Realizing they hadn't noticed you, you quickly sought refuge behind the nearest shelf, straining your ears to catch their conversation. "...and the location merely needs to be of sufficient size," Astarion mumbled, his attention absorbed by the text in front of him. "The necessary energies will be supplied as per our agreement."

With caution, Malacai was the first to respond, his words carefully chosen as he asked, "and you're certain we cannot utilize—"

"Yes." Astarion cuts him off, his voice sharp and clipped, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. Abruptly, he slams the worn book shut with his one hand, the heavy thud reverberating through the air. A sense of tension lingers, as if the room itself holds its breath. "The sacrament is much less demanding than the ceremony," he explained, his words laced with emphasis. "Performing the ceremony on a vampire is already daunting, but on a mortal? It will require an immense amount of dark magic to ensure its success." A low, rumbling growl that simmered beneath his tone marked his insistence. "And a success, it must be."

Ballar simply cleared his throat. "Theoretically, the success of the sacrament will ensure, if not aid, that the ceremony does not overwhelm—"

Astarion suddenly interrupts again, his fingers grazing the spines of the books as he blindly adds the worn tome in his hand to the ever-growing pile in Malacai's arms. The sound of rustling pages fills the air as he swiftly selects another book from the shelf. "The ceremony can only take place after the wedding and coronation. But the fulfillment of my bargain with the god and goddess, however, is nearly upon us," he asserts. His eyes dart across the shelves, searching for the next tome. "Ballar, fetch the vessel from the vault and bring it, along with the tomes, to my chambers. I will not be disturbed." With a flick of his wrist, he plucks one last book from the shelf, its tattered cover landing with a soft thud atop the towering heap, causing it to sway precariously in Malacai's arms.

Reverently, Ballar bows his back, his body curving gracefully like a bending branch in a perfect display of deference. "As you wish, master. And what of the final specimens we've procured for the ceremony? Would you still like to examine them yourself?" He murmurs, his voice filled with respect. He dares not lift his eyes, his gaze fixated on the ground.

"Of course, you old twit." Astarion scoffs, his voice barely audible as he mutters beneath his breath. His words, laced with frustration, echo softly against the towering shelves and high ceilings of the study. "The contract drafted up for the ceremony is quite clear in its specifications, and I will not settle for anything less than perfection when the time finally comes. It requires three and a half, and while I have two, I still need the others and the final few of the three-thousand five hundred."

As you observe the Ascendant's gaze shifting towards the shelf behind which you're hiding, a surge of urgency propels you to action. Focusing on moving swiftly and soundlessly, you take cautious steps, your shoes barely making a whisper against the floor. Only when you finally reach safety, do you allow yourself a moment to pause and reflect, the echoes of what you just overheard lingering in your mind.

A sacrament and a ceremony, as they called it. Far as you could understand, and it was hard to discern their purpose. Dark magic is an essential component for both, requiring a significant amount. And The Sacrament is fast approaching, whereas the Ceremony is still some time away.

For now, you can let the ceremony slip from your mind and postpone your discussion with the Ascendant about leaving the palace a bit longer. Whatever this sacrament is about, it fills you with a sinking, ominous feeling, like an anchor pulling you down into murky waters. Something is not quite right.

Perhaps this mysterious "vessel" can shed some light on the situation. They said it was in the vault, right? Can you creep down there before Ballar retrieves it? "Lady Ancunín!" the servant called out, her voice echoing through the grand hall.

Your body tenses, ready to sprint away, until the sound of the voice brings relief and familiarity. "Elowen!" You sigh in relief, a smile spreading across your face as you turn to face her. "I thought you were Crimlilly," you mutter under your breath, eyes scanning the room for any sign of her.

"Criella." The tiefling murmurs the correction, her voice carrying a soft undertone. Her eyes sparkle with amusement as she catches the faint flicker of distaste you struggle to conceal for the other tiefling.

As she closes the distance, you nonchalantly shrug your shoulders. "She's another one of Astarion's ever loyal steward spawn to watch my every move. What can I say?" Muttering quietly, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

As if summoned, you hear a voice down the hall, causing Elowen's attention to snap over her shoulder abruptly. "Lady Ancunín, please! Enough of this!" the steward makes her urgent plea of the steward, laden with desperation. In that fleeting moment, a twinge of remorse washes over you. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

In a rush, you swiftly motion over your shoulder, prompting Elowen to follow, and you both dart away in the opposite direction from Crimsy's reach. "Come on, there's something I need to see," you whisper urgently. Your footsteps reverberate through the labyrinthine palace halls as you navigate through the maze-like corridors, making quick decisions at every turn.

Elowen effortlessly matches your stride, her steps light and sure. The scent of polished wood and fresh flowers permeates the air as you traverse the palace, though you've gotten so used to it by now that it almost slips your notice entirely. Her familiarity with the layout is evident in the way she confidently navigates the twists and turns. A result of her training under Malacai. And for a tenday, you were confined to one wing while she had the freedom to explore. It was during this time that she developed a mental map of the place, surpassing your own.

As you walk, the silence is broken only by the faint murmur of distant voices and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. With few servants in sight, Elowen leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's this about? Did you find Ancunín to ask his permission to leave?" Her words hang in the air, a mix of curiosity and concern.

"I did find him, but..." you say, barely audible above the soft shuffle of your shared footsteps. Frustration laces your words, evident in the way your eyebrows furrow. "Look, I overheard snippets of conversation, snippets that left me restless. I need to see for myself." A sense of impatience tinged with curiosity emanates from your words. Your eyes dart around, searching for a hint to the location of where to turn next. "Do you have any idea where the vault is?"

Upon hearing the question, Elowen grasps your arm, pulling you away from your admittedly aimless wandering and steers you towards the right direction. "We passed it once with Malacai," she mutters. "It's usually concealed by powerful magic. Why, what did you hear?" Now, she takes charge, leading the way with certainty.

"Something they called a sacrament."

"They?"

"Malacai, Ballar and Astarion." You both pause your conversation as you pass two servants dusting a suit of armor. As you exchange a pleasant smile, they acknowledge you with a respectful "mi'lady," their voice filled with deference.

What a surprise, you still hold a deep, unyielding hatred towards it.

Elowen guides you into a secluded corner, far removed from the opulent glow of the chandeliers that have adorned your path thus far. Here, a narrow spiral staircase beckons, descending into an unexplored part of the palace. The air grows colder, sending shivers down your spine, and a sense of unwelcoming fills the darkness. The sound of your footsteps echoes against the crates that lay scattered about, their contents unknown, atop cracked cobblestone floors. Finally, when you both are certain of your solitude, Elowen turns to you and asks, "What lies within the vault, then?"

Navigating the cluttered corridors is considerably easy despite the dress you find yourself trapped in. Those tailors and whatnot can't come fast enough... for once. Despite distractions, you remain fully engaged in the task. "Astarion asked Ballar to bring him something he called the vessel. I'm hoping if I find it, it might help explain at least some of what this sacrament is."

"Allow me to be of assistance then!" A familiar voice echoed through the air, bouncing off the walls and filling the space around you.

In front of you, a figure materializes in a radiant blue light, casting an ethereal glow. His skin glistens with a metallic silver sheen, and his eyes emit a captivating blue luminescence. Struggling to place him, you barely recognize the familiar smile. "Gale?" you cautiously inquire, your gaze filled with apprehension.

"Dekarios, the god of ambition," his voice resonates with a hint of superiority, filling the space. "To address me by my mortal name requires a degree of familiarity with one another we have yet to attain." Well, he certainly overcomplicates his sentences like the Gale you know. "Right this way then." With a grand gesture, he beckons you to follow, his hand cutting through the air. You blink once or twice as Dekarios defies gravity, his body effortlessly levitating above the ground. His legs, rendered obsolete, remain motionless as he glides across the floor with an air of nonchalance, his robes billowing behind him. Can't he just use his damn legs?

"To where?" You ask, your eyes warily studying the strange 'god'. Elowen stands beside you, her posture mirroring your unease. With hesitant steps, the two of you cautiously trail behind him, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls.

"You wish to see The Heart, do you not?" Replies Dekarios with a playful tone.

Now that just changes the question from 'what is the vessel' to 'what is the heart'.

The sound of footsteps reverberates through the frigid corridors, echoing ominously. Ballar and Malacai's voices can be heard in the distance, faint but unmistakable. Elowen's eyes meet yours, reflecting her fear and determination as she tries her damndest not to panic. You can almost taste the metallic tang of anxiety lingering in the air. The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows on the walls, heightening the tension. Time is of the essence; reaching the vault seems impossible, knowing that those two are also making their way there as well. "Stall them, no matter what it takes."

When she hears your order, her eyes widen, and she instinctively looks down the corridor. "You can't be serious?" she said, her tone incredulous at what you're asking of her.

"Honestly, I wish I was," you whisper, your voice barely touching the damp walls, mingling with the faint sound of distant footsteps echoing through the corridors like the ticking of an old clock. "But if they catch me snooping around down here..." You trail off, leaving the unanswered question to linger in the shadows.

Elowen, with her keen perception, effortlessly catches on with every word you say. Parts of the palace remained off-limits to you, albeit not much of it anymore. The guest quarters, the great hall, dungeons, throne room, unless the Ascendant is with you... and, of course, the service corridors that sprawl underneath the palace. Where you happen to be standing. "Gods, fine, just be sure you find answers." She insists, her voice tinged with a mix of determination and anxiety. Muttering nervous curses under her breath, she vanishes around the corner, retracing your steps back in the direction you came from.

Not-Gale's voice broke the silence, a reminder of his presence. "Shall we continue?" He asked, redirecting your attention to him before he continues to hover away.

Casting a single backward glance, you press on with your self-imposed mission. But you can't resist stealing a glimpse of Gale—Dekarios, you correct yourself. You had assumed only last night that he had passed away in this world, with his human lifespan. What a way to be proven wrong. "Tell me," you ask, curiosity tingling in your voice, "how much do you know about me?"

"Oh, a great deal," he says, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the cold stone walls. "Where you're from, how Astarion found you, your plans to escape..." His words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine, spoken so casually like his accusation at the end of his sentence wouldn't make your hair stand on end.

But then a soft chuckle escapes his lips, breaking the tension. "You need not fret, Tav," he reassures, his voice dripping with amusement. "I am rather curious where your ambitions will lead," he admits, his tone almost conspiratorial. The sound of distant footsteps echoes in the distance, creating a sense of urgency. How long could Elowen really delay them? Could she give you enough time? "So much so, in fact, that I am willing to offer you this assistance freely," he offers generously, folding his arms behind his back. "Now, come along. The Heart isn't much farther," he urges, his voice fading slightly as he rounds a corner to your right.

As you continue to trail behind his shadow, you can't help but let your curiosity unleash a torrent of questions. "What do you mean you 'want to see where my ambitions lead'? It's whatever gets me out of here."

"Yes, and then what?" Not-Gale asks, his voice filled with a hint of intrigue. You furrow your eyebrows, ready to ask him to elaborate before he does so anyway. "That is what fascinates me," he continued, his voice low and mesmerizing. Not-Gale's eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint as he spoke and glanced over his shoulder at you. His finger wagging in the air, as if tracing invisible threads. "Astarion's reach stretches far and wide, like an endless expanse of starlit sky. But can you escape beyond it before he snatches you back?" The question hung in the air, unanswered. The distant sound of footsteps echoed from the stone corridors behind you, a reminder of the ever-present danger creeping closer to you.

"Can you be certain of where you choose to hide?" The space seemed to grow colder, as if a gust of wind had swept through, carrying a chilling uncertainty with it. "And what of the resistance? Will you join their valiant efforts to bring an end to his tyrannical reign as godking?" His voice grew firmer, resolute. The weight of responsibility settled upon your shoulders, a heavy burden that threatened to crush your spirit. The taste of anxiety lingered on your tongue, mixed with the bitter tang of betrayal.

How could you solve another world's problems when the ones in your own threaten you still? The Absolute, the tadpoles, your friends' dilemmas and the Bhaal temple. "Your Astarion is desperate to retrieve you, to bring you back to your world. But can either of you be sure that my Astarion, the Ascendant, won't simply take you again?" A shiver ran down your spine, as if a cold hand had grazed the back of your neck. The room felt smaller, suffocating, as the walls seemed to close in around you.

"I am curious indeed as I watch and wait to see what moves you make on this intricate lanceboard. And as I observe, I can't help but consider the calculated moves your husband-to-be is making, the ones he has already made, ensuring that you remain exactly where you are." Not-Gale concluded, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. As your gaze fell to your feet, you couldn't help but wonder what fate had in store, both for you and for the world beyond these walls.

If the Ascendant has his way, he'll be the one deciding for you.

At the end of his long-winded response, his choice of words incites your focused mind and eyes to dig daggers into his back. "You know what he's planning? What the sacrament is?" With a hiss of frustration to your words, not ready to launch into how much he knows about your Astarion.

But he shows not even a shred of interest in your anger. "Indeed. He is keen to prevent a repeat of history, so to speak. You are very... dear to him. In ways I have not witnessed in him before." His words dance on the edge of his lips, as if he is lost in thought, before he regains his focus and directs his attention back to you. "But I have said enough. If you wish to unravel his intentions, you must rely on your own cunning." His words hang in the air, pregnant with possibility. Suddenly, he stops abruptly and pivots towards you. "We have arrived," he declares, extending his hand towards you, beckoning you to take it.

Uncertainty gives you pause as you take in your surroundings with a closer eye. The walls, bare and devoid of any doors, stand naked except for the occasional wooden post that supports the ceiling above. "The vault itself remains hidden nearby," Not-Gale nonchalantly explains, his voice carrying a calmness that only adds to your confusion. "We cannot enter through the door without the favor of Godking Astarion. And if we were to bypass his security using my divine power, he would be alerted to our intrusion. However, by reducing the distance of our teleportation, we can lengthen his response time, giving us ample opportunity to locate the heart for your visual observations."

As you try to make sense of his words, you can't help but feel a sense of unease creeping up your spine. The casualness with which Not-Gale carries themselves adds an extra layer of apprehension to this world.

He's so... lifeless. Mechanical.

How terribly did your alternate self fail your friends? Gale. Astarion... What next? Wyll turned on Karlach? Shadowheart killed Lae'zel...?

Shaking your head clear, you cautiously place your hand in the cool, unnaturally firm grip of Not-Gale. In a sudden burst of blue sparks and a sharp snap of his fingers, the world around you transforms. The air crackles with an electric energy, and the scent of which fills your nostrils. As your vision adjusts, you take in the ethereal blue glow emanating from Not-Gale's piercing eyes, and he holds your gaze until you tear your gaze away to survey wherever in the hells you are.

True to his word, you find yourselves in an expansive space that feels like a colossal treasure trove. Endless rows of shelves and display cases greet you. As far as the eye can see, rows upon rows of shelves and display cases stretch out, filled to the brim with an astonishing assortment of items. Glimmering weapons, gleaming armor, and ancient tomes beckoning your attention and... is that a set of tableware?

Not-Gale gracefully extended his arm, tracing a wide circle in the air with his fingertips, conjuring a swirling current of magic. The faint whisper of mystic energy lingered in the air. He gracefully turned, defying gravity as he floated above the ground, his legs unused. With a gentle drift, he began to move away, a faint whisper of enchantment trailing in his wake. His voice resonated with confidence, "Ah yes, right here then." Gesturing with a purposeful elegance towards a small case resting on a nearby table as he folded his arms behind his back once more. A picture of composed authority.

With a hint of uncertainty, you cautiously shifted your gaze between him and the glass display case before you carefully approach it. In it, you... you're not sure what you're looking at.

Resting on a red velvet cushion, molded to its shape, is a long, white gem. Like a rainbow, the colors gracefully glided along the surface, creating a wavelike motion. And it pulsed. The gem actually rhythmically pulsed... beat... like a heart. "This can't..."

"Indeed, it is." Not-Gale confirmed casually, his voice lifted with a hint of satisfaction. "This one," Not-Gale continued, his gaze fixed on the object in front of him, "is pure and the last known of its kind to be loose in mortal hands." His fingers delicately brushed the glass surface of the case. He paused, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It was not easy to obtain," he admitted, his tone tinged with a touch of pride, "less so when the others began their own investigations into our intentions." Not-Gale's eyes narrowed as he appeared to recall the challenges he had faced.

Not-Gale's brows knitted together, his voice growing colder. "But she," he sneered, "has meddled one too many times in the affairs of her betters." The room grew colder, as if a chill had settled in the atmosphere. "Perhaps if she'd have preferred an alternative, wished for others to come to her aid..." Not-Gale's voice trailed off, filled with a blend of menace and delight. "She would not have targeted my followers."

Amidst his boastful remarks and meandering speech, you momentarily find yourself disoriented, unsure of where to even begin with your questions. But you gather your thoughts, inhale deeply, and raise your gaze to meet his intense stare and he turns his head to lock his eyes with yours ."If this is the vessel. The heart. What's its purpose? What makes it so... disquieting that even the gods refuse to let it linger in mortal hands?"

Smiling gently, Not-Gale tilts his head at you. "When activated, it becomes a vessel, capable of containing the very essence of a deity, a tangible manifestation of their godhood that can be passed on to a lesser being." His gaze shifts momentarily, drawn towards the mesmerizing gem before returning to meet your gaze. "Once she returns to Baldur's Gate with the Shadowcarver, he will waste no time in summoning us to the sacrament. There are few Glyphblades left in existence, only one left of the Sharran variety that I know of. And with the scroll to guide his hand—"

"Watch yourself, wizard."

As you swiftly spun around, eerie shadows retreat from the figure of the pale elf. Each measured step he took towards you both seemed to exude an air of anticipation. "You'll spoil the surprise," he muttered, his voice laced with a dangerous undertone. Each word he spoke seemed to drip with an unsettling sense of dread, making her uneasy.

"Godking Ancunín, are you prepared to commence our discussions?" The silver skinned man questions, paying no mind to his earlier conversation with you or Astarion's simmering anger.

The Ascendant raises his hand, motioning for silence and demanding patience. "Once I have spoken with my betrothed, I will join you in my study." His response is firm, and only then does he shift his attention towards you. "Come here to me," He beckoned with a curl of his finger.

With no other option, you reluctantly comply and cautiously approach. Your eyes lock onto the tall elf, standing proudly, flanked by a dark-haired human - your royal Chamberlain. "Ballar, retrieve the vessel," Astarion commands firmly, his voice carrying a sense of authority. "Malacai, meet us in the Great Hall." He continues, his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you closer. There was something strangely comforting, yet unsettling, about his touch. He's not him. He's not your Astarion...

His eyes emit a soft, eerie red glow and shadows dance and twist around you, just as they have done in the past. The sensation is both familiar and unsettling, as if the very fabric of reality is being manipulated. Like the shadows themselves are mere marionettes, obediently dancing on strings to Astarion's malevolent song and content with the melody. Yet, amidst it all, you can't help but notice the absence of Elowen among the two spawn. It crosses your mind that they may have left her outside. Dekarios had mentioned something about needing Astarion's "favor" to gain entry, after all.

As the shadows recede from around you both, revealing the soft golden light that bathes the throne room, a faint scent of polished wood and fresh flowers wafts through the air. Besides the palace guards stationed at their posts along the walls and by the entrances, the throne room is empty. With a lingering gaze, like a hawk surveying its prey, he studies you intently, leaving you uncertain of what emotions lie behind his inscrutable expression. With deliberate grace, he descends the steps of the dais, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath. Silently instructing you to follow, like an obedient puppy.

"My love, you have been quite unruly, haven't you?" Astarion scolds, his voice carrying a strict but tender tone as you stroll down the elegant, immaculate red carpet that leads to the thrones.

"Evading your steward, hardly touching your meal this morning," he continues, his footsteps hushed by the luxurious carpet as you draw near the exit to the throne room, the guards hastily opening the doors for you. His long, pale fingers ticking off each of your transgressions. One, two.

"Eavesdropping, yes, I knew you were in my library earlier," he adds as you step beyond the threshold and into the bustling halls beyond, his words laced with a mix of annoyance and curiosity. You feel a shiver run down your spine as you pass by a row of towering statues, their cold gazes seeming to follow your every move. Three.

"And now here you are, skulking about through areas of the palace that I explicitly forbid you from entering." He concludes, holding up four of his beautiful digits as he turns his head to you. All the goodwill you've painstakingly cultivated, the trust you've diligently earned, reduced to ruins in the span of a single morning.

You come to a sudden halt and pivot to fully face him. As you open your mouth to speak, your mind races to find the right words to salvage the situation. But before you can utter a single syllable, he abruptly interrupts your thoughts by raising his hand once more, signaling for you to be quiet. "Hush, darling," he interjects, and you can almost taste the frustration in Astarion's strict and firm voice. There is no aggression in his tone, just a hint of disappointment.

"From the moment I claimed you as mine, I knew that teaching you the joys of obedience and submission would be a delicate dance, an arduous and protracted endeavor. Today, while you're out, I want you to reflect on what you will say to explain yourself. And tonight, over dinner, you will answer to me." As he inclines his head towards you, his gaze scrutinizes your every reaction intently, as if studying every nuance.

Combined with the weight of his words, a chilling silence fills the air, leaving you stunned. The question lingers in your mind - is he truly still willing to let you leave? There must be a catch hidden in the depths of his intentions. A surge of tension tightens your muscles, causing your shoulders to ache with the strain.

Suddenly, like a burst of sunlight breaking through dark clouds, understanding floods your mind. "I'm not taking a small army with me into the city." You declare, your voice steady and unwavering. Your eyes narrow, meeting his gaze head-on. Even as you straighten your posture, standing tall despite his towering presence, a flicker of frustration dances across your skin. For all that Bhaal made of you, he couldn't have given you a set of legs a few inches longer?

"But of course," Astarion agreed, his voice smooth and velvety. He raised his hand in a sweeping gesture. The warm light from the enormous chandelier above danced in his playful, scarlet eyes. "Though I must insist you at least take Malacai and Crilla with you." The soft rustle of fabric from his new black and red jacket, to replace the one you ruined, followed his movement - as if emphasizing his point. "I can't have my precious queen wandering about without protection, and Malacai is your personal steward, after all," he added, his hand lingering in the air as if to underscore his statement.

His piercing crimson eyes, like two smoldering embers, soften, their intensity mellowing into a serene gaze. A gentle smile, like the curling petals of a blooming flower, graces his lips as he delicately cradles your cheek. You feel the warmth of his touch, like a soft breeze caressing your skin, and you feel the softness of his thumb, gliding along your skin, reminding you of silk. "You must return by dusk," he murmurs, his voice a melodic whisper that dances in the air. The scent of his breath, a faint hint of mint and musk, tickles your senses. "To prepare for supper," he continues, his words carrying a gentle urgency. "Malacai will ensure you remain on schedule."

A flicker of something dark passes through his once soft eyes, like storm clouds gathering in a moonless night sky. His smile, once warm and inviting, twists into something unsettling, revealing the sharp edges of his fangs, like hidden daggers. It's a warning, a silent command not to test the boundaries of his patience any further than you already have.

"Should you attempt to avoid your stewards as you have today," he warns, his voice dropping to a low growl, "I will personally collect you and bring you home." In that moment, you feel a shiver run down your spine, a blend of fear and curiosity. The atmosphere crackles with tension, a delicate balance between safety and danger.

Taking your silence as acknowledgement, you both resume your leisurely stroll through the grandiose palace, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors. As you turn a corner, your eyes are drawn to the grandeur of the great hall that lies ahead. There, you spot Malacai, his tall figure separating from an intimate embrace with a short, silver-haired half-elf. Her long, braided hair cascades down her back, shimmering in the light.

Your heart skips a beat in anticipation, a rush of excitement coursing through your veins, until their gazes meet yours. "Your Almighty Majesty. Lady Ancunín," she greets with a respectful tone as she addresses you both, her soft voice carrying a hint of reverence. She delicately brushes a stray strand of hair away from her deep green eyes, which radiate warmth and kindness. You notice the roundness of her face and the mismatched shade of her eyes. It dawns on you, a realization that shatters your momentary fantasy - she couldn't possibly be who you thought. If she were somehow still alive, she would be an old woman by now.

"Cirrus. What a surprise." Astarion greets, lifting his arm casually to position it above the waist of his jacket, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers together.

Indeed, what a surprise. You've heard her name before. She's... in charge of summons to the palace or something like that, right? Sending for the tailors, the designers, all of those.

Malacai clears his throat with a hint of awkwardness and clasps his hands together. "Please accept my sincere apologies, your Majesty. I just found out we..." His gaze shifts away, almost sheepishly, "we're expecting."

Wait. A vampire spawn, and a mortal... a dhampir? "That's... wonderful, Malacai. Congratulations. To both of you." You speak with sincerity as a small smile forms on your lips.

"Indeed, such heartfelt congratulations are in order..." Murmurs Astarion faintly, unenthused. He studied the half-elf with a curious, lingering gaze, the slight furrow of the brow, the set of determined shoulders, a hint of resilience sparkling in those half-lidded eyes. Then his attention shifted, sweeping the immediate vicinity with a keen, predatory awareness. "Where's your apprentice, Malacai?"

"Here, your Almighty Majesty!" gasped out the tiefling, her words filled with awe and exhaustion as she suddenly appeared at your side. She doubled over, clutching her chest and struggling to breathe, even though she should couldn't possibly still need to.

"Criella. You're just in time." The dark-haired human greets stoically, as Cirrus and the other steward exchange a silent wave.

The soft brush of a hand on your arm brings your focus back to the Ascendant. "Remember what I said." He reminded, his tone firm. "I will see you at supper."

Elowen. You need to ask after Elowen. She has the sending stone...

But you can't risk asking after her. He'd gotten frustrated recently about how close you are to the cattle. Already, he has limited your encounters with the servants you carefully selected, and you have managed to prevent him from doing the same with Elowen by concealing her true significance to you. Already, he's reduced how often you see the servants you handpicked, and you've kept him from doing the same with Elowen by hiding how important she is to you. And by selling how happy you are with her efforts.

You find it repulsive to even pretend that you're fine with servants, but your options aren't exactly plentiful.

With his hand softly resting on your cheek, Astarion tenderly draws your lips to his, melding them together in a fleeting, delicate kiss. He tastes warm, metallic... sweet... an odd blend teases your mouth from his.

Then he simply lets you go and watches you step back toward Malacai and... you should really get her name right. It's not Crimsy. Definitely not Crimlily.

Casting a quick glance over your shoulder, Astarion catches your eye and responds with a reassuring smile. Silently urging you to continue without uttering a single word.

Beyond the palace doors, a carriage awaits, and the once lively courtyard festival now rests in silence, broken only by the occasional chirping of birds.

It could do with more green, you think. The expanse yearns for a touch of verdure, whispers your mind. A magnificent fountain, its waters dancing merrily into the air, standing proud as the heart of an expansive, emerald field. Surrounding this watery spectacle, a stone-cobbled roundabout provides a path for travelers to weave a circle of admiration as they arrive and depart from Ancunín Palace.

To you, it's too reminiscent of a large, empty street in the city in its current state.

Ignoring the confusion of your stewards when you opt to walk instead. Use your leg to explore the city, unlike a certain alternate version of your friend. Also, you're not sure if being in a carriage would help or harm the efforts of meeting with your Astarion and his new... acquaintances.

Thankfully, your dress is not overly fancy and the two vampire spawns somehow remain inconspicuous. Beyond the odd look from time to time, no one seems to realize who you are as you drift from shop to shop, place to place. Your face hasn't gotten around, it seems.

The sun's descent towards the horizon paints the sky with hues of gold, casting elongated shadows. Time is slipping away, and your patience wears thin. Venturing beyond the palace walls traversing the bustling city streets has exposed you to a plethora of unsettling sights that leave you questioning yourself. Your ambitions. The Ascendant has made effective use of the steel watch, instilling a sense of compliance within the denizens of the city. And not a single member of the Flaming Fist has crossed your path, either.

On one hand, the Godking's rule seems unyielding, following an "if it's not broke" approach. Yet, beneath the surface, there lingers a palpable fear, as if the slightest misstep could shatter the illusion of perfection, prompting desperate measures to mend what is deemed broken.

Ahead of you, you witness a petty thief swiftly severing the purse from a noblewoman's grasp. Sloppy work. The hasty act catches her attention instantly, and she lets out a piercing shriek, echoing through the crowded street. The shrill cry reverberates in your ears as it draws the attention of the nearby guards. They pounce on the hapless culprit like hungry vultures descending upon a decaying carcass. The commotion fills the air with a mix of urgency and suspense, as onlookers gasp and mutter in disbelief.

The thief, desperate to escape, darts into an adjacent alley, with the clamor of their pursuit echoing through the narrow walls.

Considering the crime, the small team of guards that pursued the thief appeared disproportionate, to say the least.

If you're going to break your cover, this is a meaningful approach to take.

Paying no mind to the insistent calls from Malacai and... Criella. That's her name. Right? You quicken your pace to catch up with the guards, their voices fading into the distance.

The guards have already tripped the thief on the ground by the time you get there. With a swift motion, the guards deliver at least one powerful kick, the sound of their boots colliding with the thief's body echoing through the air. A pungent mix of sweat and dirt permeates the scene. "What in the hells is going on here?" you intervene, summoning the authoritative presence you have been trained to possess.

One of the men abruptly turns to face you, his eyes piercing through the air, while the remaining members firmly restrain the thief. "You have the audacity to question the authority of the Howling Wolves?" he snarls, his voice laced with a mixture of arrogance and dominance. The burly figure, his beard wild and untamed, proudly puffs out his chest with a sense of authority, the clinking of his chain-mail echoing off the walls of the dark alleyway. "Then you must not be from around here, little lady. Our commands are enforced by the Godking of Faerun himself."

Regardless of whether or not you were the Ascendant's favorite doll, you'd have gladly faced this bastard head-on and twirled your daggers in his ribcage...

Who says you won't, anyway?

"I saw the crime. It does not compare to the punishment. Clap the bastard in irons, but kicking anyone while they're down is a low I will not tolerate."

"Listen here, you—"

"No," Boom's Criella's voice booms, echoing through the corridor as she finally catches up. The sound reverberates off the cold stone walls, commanding attention. "You listen." Her voice carries an air of authority, demanding respect.

From behind, you feel her presence, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The weight of her words settles upon you, like a heavy cloak draped over your shoulders. "Before you stands Godking Ancunín's betrothed," her voice resonates, echoing through the stillness. "The queen-to-be." Her declaration hangs in the air, a proclamation that cannot be ignored.

You won't lie. Witnessing the guards' momentarily crestfallen expressions fills you with immense delight. Perhaps being the Ascendant's queen has a perk or two.

"My lady..." the guard's voice quivers, his words falter and are abruptly choked, cut short. With swift and graceful movements, you react, your nimble footwork allowing you to sidestep deftly, out of the way. Avoiding the weight of his collapsing body, the sound of his gasping breaths mixes with the thud as he hits the ground. A pungent metallic scent fills the air as your gaze falls upon the arrow, lodged mercilessly in the back of his neck, the cold steel piercing through his chain mail.

Another arrow slices through the air, its trajectory from above unerring as it buries itself into the unsuspecting face of another guard. The nimble thief springs upwards, their movements quick and precise, as they swiftly wrap their arms around the burly guard's chin. The sound of a sickening crack reverberates through the air as the thief coldly snaps the guard's neck.

"Lady Ancu—!" cries out the tiefling behind you. As you swiftly pivot, your eyes capture the horrific sight of a stake piercing through her chest, blood oozing from the wound. Her once vibrant eyes lose their luster, glossing over with a vacant stare. A solitary tear trickles down her red cheek, glistening in the dim light. A raspy whisper escapes her trembling lips, "L...lady..." barely audible amidst the agony, as crimson liquid spills from her mouth, staining her chin. Gradually, she collapses to her knees, her body crumpling into a lifeless heap on her side,

A petite halfling, concealed behind Criella all along, swiftly pulls out the stake from her limp body. "You made it. Good." she remarks, her gaze fixed downwards as she gently pats the spawns pockets. The faint scent of fresh earth lingers, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. "Morning can provide you with all the necessary details." She says without so much as looking up, voice calm but tinged with weariness.

A hint of curiosity dances in your eyes, accompanied by an arch in your eyebrow. "Morning?"

"That'd be yours truly," the thief says behind you. In one swift and smooth motion, they flipped off their cowl, revealing a breathtaking half-elf with shimmering golden hair and striking blue eyes, standing just as short as you. "Aster says you can be trusted," she continues, her words flowing like a gentle breeze, unaware of how your heart skips in excitement.

Aster? They mean Astarion, right? He said that there was magic preventing others from recognizing him. Gods, you need to see him. Feel him. Remember him. Where is he? "He's proven invaluable to our cause thus far. We must guide you to a secure refuge before your Royal Steward catches wind of our presence. Once there, we can move you to where you'll be safest." Her words pour out in a rush. One of her gloved hands brushes off the dirt from her sleek, obsidian-black armor, paying particular attention to the well-worn shoulder-pads.

The halfling rummages through the spawn's pockets, retrieving something unseen. Her lips remain sealed, but her eyes brim with impatience as they lock onto yours. "But for everyone's sake, we can't risk giving you any hint of our destination," she says firmly as she plunges her hand into her robes, withdrawing a potion of some kind, and thrusts it into your hand.

Reading the label, you absentmindedly brush your thumb against it, leaving a faint smudge of ink. The scent of the potion wafts up, a subtle mix of herbs and spices tickling your nose. The label itself shows wear, with frayed edges from years of use, but the text is still legible. A sleep potion?

Your mind flashes back to yesterday. The slumberthorn vine toxin...

Oh no.

"I can't drink this," you say urgently, "blindfold me, deafen me, do whatever it takes, whatever you want - but you cannot put me to sleep."

While Morning takes a moment to ponder your words, the halfling lets out a groan of frustration. "It tastes as sweet as candy, princess, so just suck it down and swallow. I'm sure you're quite proficient."

"You don't get it, if I'm unconscious—"

"No, you don't get it," growls the halfling, her voice laced with a hint of irritation. Her strong, earthy brown gaze locks onto you, her eyes narrowing as she speaks. "You're in no position to make demands, princess."

As she speaks, her voice carries a subtle, mocking tone. She takes a step closer as she hisses, "Drink it or don't. One option is undeniably easier for you than the other."

Morning tries to intervene, raising her hands in a futile attempt to diffuse the tension and saying, "Spellsong, perhaps we should..." but her words trail off, throwing her hands up when her partner shoots her a scorching glare.

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself rolling your eyes this time at this halflings half-headedness.

"Please, it's not a demand, it's a warning," she pleaded desperately.

The halfling's dark chestnut eyes shimmer, as if capturing the essence of the weave, her delicate hands aglow with its energy. A melodic incantation escapes her lips, "Impero tibi!"

And in an instant, an overwhelming drowsiness drags you down into a deep slumber.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

A/N: The temptation to name this chapter Ambitions was great, but that would have entirely ruined the God Gale reveal.

Chapter 10 is already in the works. I'll keep you updated on how that's going on my blog. Thank you to everyone who patiently waits and reads every update to this story! I am BEYOND excited to post the next chapter. Like, might even make a custom t-shirt to celebrate it, I'm not even joking. I am so hyped.

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