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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 2 years

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prompts! werewolves + arranged marriage + truth/lie revealed + on a cruise :D

Here's a Geraskier modern with magic AU! Warnings for mentions of past character injury and child abuse:

The cruise was Jaskier’s idea.

“We need a honeymoon, Geralt!” Geralt’s new husband told him barely five minutes after they’d exchanged their stilted, awkward wedding vows, and barely twenty minutes after they’d clapped eyes on each other for the first time. “This marriage may not have been what either of us wanted, but we still deserve a proper celebration.”

In retrospect, that should have been the first indication that something was off. No werewolf with a working nose would subject themselves to all the smells—never mind all the sounds—of thousands of people trapped together on a boat.

“You’re not a werewolf,” he says slowly, letting the words sink in. He and Jaskier are sitting by the pool on the top level of the cruise ship, surrounded by the scents of chlorine, sweat, and sunscreen as children shriek and parents shout around them.

“No.” His husband looks the picture of decadent ease, wearing indecently tiny, bright yellow swim trunks with a neon pink, flowered shirt that’s unbuttoned nearly to his navel, with a colorful, frozen drink replete with an umbrella clutched in his hand. Only the faint, sour scent of nervousness gives him away.

“But you’re a Pankratz.” That’s the whole point of this damn marriage, to seal a peace treaty between the Lettenhove and Kaer Morhen packs. The union between Geralt, the second son of Vesemir Morhen, and Jaskier, the fourth son of Alfred Pankratz, is supposed to symbolize the new union between their packs after decades of tension.

“In name only, I’m afraid.” Jaskier flashes a smile that’s only slightly strained at the corners. “I bear a startling resemblance to a human journalist who visited Lettenhove to do a piece on the pack about nine months before I was born. It seems I take after him in more ways than one.”

At the wedding last week, Geralt noticed that Jaskier looked nothing like his burly, fair-haired father and brothers with their humorless mouths and beady hazel eyes, but he thought nothing of it, assuming that Jaskier resembled his late mother. But if Jaskier isn’t even a Pankratz…

“This renders the treaty moot,” Geralt says. “Your father realizes that, doesn’t he? If you hadn’t told me, I would have found out in two weeks, when you didn’t shift at the full moon, and the treaty would be as good as over.”

“I imagine he fully realizes that, yes.” Jaskier looks away, smiling at a pack of children wrestling over an inflatable orca in the pool. “My father is many things, but he’s not a fool. “

“If he had tried this with Calanthe or Vizimir’s pack, he would be signing your death warrant,” Geralt says, then goes cold when not a single flicker of surprise crosses Jaskier’s face. Instead, the nervous scent grows stronger.

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier says lightly, taking a sip of his drink. “I assume that was the point. He marries me off to you, you rip me apart on the full moon when you realize that you were deceived, and then he has legitimate reason to declare full-out war on the Kaer Morhen pack. Plus, he gets rid of his wife’s inconvenient human bastard.”

Geralt closes his eyes. Suddenly, a lot about this past week makes a horrible kind of sense. “That’s why you wanted to go on this damn cruise, so you could tell me somewhere we’d be surrounded by human witnesses, far from my pack.”

“I do apologize for that,” Jaskier says. “I knew all the sounds and smells would leave you off-kilter, which I thought might give me a chance if I needed to defend myself. By the time I realized you weren’t the kind of man to tear my still-beating heart out, it was too late to turn back. Plus, after I booked the tickets, I learned that a truly alarming amount of people vanish from cruise ships every year. Apparently, it’s much easier to make people disappear at sea than I counted on.”

Geralt grunts. “I’m not going to make you disappear.”

“I know that now.” A gentle hand touches his wrist and Geralt opens his eyes to see his own reflection mirrored in Jaskier’s oversized sunglasses. It’s the first time Jaskier has looked at him since they started this conversation and suddenly, Geralt wishes his husband weren’t wearing those sunglasses, so he could see his eyes.

“Then why are you still afraid?” Geralt asks, because that nervous scent is only growing stronger, nearly overpowering the scent of Jaskier’s sunscreen and the strawberry-and-rum scent of his drink.

Jaskier grimaces. “Well, you have other options, if tearing me apart and dumping my mangled corpse overboard isn’t your style. My father married me off to you under false pretenses, after all.”

Geralt watches him for a moment. “You’re afraid I’m going to send you back to Lettenhove.”

“I doubt anyone could blame you if you did,” Jaskier says. “You wanted a proper werewolf mate and instead, you got a defective halfbreed who will never do your pack a damn bit of good.”

He says those last words in a cadence that isn’t his own, like they’re something someone else has said to him many times.

“What will happen to you if you go back to Lettenhove?” Geralt already knows the answer.

He can practically feel Jaskier’s gaze on him, even through the sunglasses. “He’ll find another way to get rid of me, I imagine. Or he’ll try to turn me again and see if it sticks this time.”

Something hot and furious rises in Geralt, not so much at the words, but at the matter-of-fact way Jaskier says them. He schools the rage from his expression, so Jaskier won’t think it’s directed at him. “Again?”

He remembers the scars he’s gotten glimpses of at various points in the past week—a slash across Jaskier’s thigh, a bite mark on his shoulder, the curve of claw marks on his side. He’s thought nothing of them. All werewolves have scars, but Jaskier isn’t a werewolf. He’s a human.

“My mother died when I was sixteen,” Jaskier says. “My grandfather passed away not long after. Once they were gone, there wasn’t anyone to stop my father and brothers from doing what they’d been threatening to do since I hit puberty and they realized I couldn’t shift.”

“They tried to turn you.” Geralt swallows back the bitter taste the words leave. There’s a reason turning humans is banned by all the major wolfpacks in the Northern Kingdoms, except in extreme circumstances. It’s a brutal process, one that requires bringing humans to the brink of death before biting them. Most of the time, it’s unsuccessful. Geralt only knows of one werewolf that was successfully turned: his younger brother, Lambert.

A woman walks by them, carrying a wailing toddler in her arms while another young boy trails behind, loudly protesting his innocence. “He said I smelled like cheese!” the younger child blubbers.

Jaskier chuckles and catches the mother’s eye. “Brothers,” he says and the mother smiles and looks up at the sky in exasperation before hurrying away to soothe her younger son’s hurt feelings.

Geralt can see the edge of the scar on Jaskier’s thigh peeking out from underneath his shorts. He wonders which of Jaskier’s brothers put it there, or if they just watched while his father did it. He thinks of a sixteen-year-old Jaskier, wide-eyed and baby-faced as he was hunted down and savaged by people he should have been able to trust.

“A friend of my mother’s helped me get away,” Jaskier says. “My birth father mysteriously vanished not long after my father realized who I looked like, but his sister lives in Oxenfurt. She knows someone who knows someone who was able to help me create a new identity. So I stopped being Julian Pankratz and lived for fifteen years as Jaskier. I finished high school, went to Oxenfurt, eventually got a job teaching at Oxenfurt, all as Jaskier. I thought my father had forgotten about me, right until my brothers showed up and shoved me into the back of a car to bring me back to Lettenhove and get married.”

“You should have said something at the wedding,” Geralt says. “My pack would have helped you. I would have helped you.”

“I know that now, but you were a stranger then, and a werewolf to boot. Before I met you, this—” Jaskier pulls aside the neckline of his shirt. “Had largely been my experience with werewolves.”

Geralt stares at the ridge of pale scars across Jaskier’s shoulder, a line of teeth marks in the shape of a wolf’s jaws. He can imagine it clearly: a werewolf pinning Jaskier to the ground and sinking their teeth into Jaskier’s shoulder, tearing soft flesh and crushing bone. He’s been on the receiving end of such wounds many times, but he’s a werewolf, not a breakable human. Jaskier is lucky he didn’t bleed to death. Geralt reaches out to trace one finger along the line of scars. Jaskier shivers at the touch, despite the heat of the day.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s inadequate, but it’s all he can offer Jaskier. “This shouldn’t have happened to you.”

Jaskier smiles a little sadly. “What now, Geralt?”

Geralt never wanted this marriage, was furious when Vesemir told him what the treaty with the Lettenhove pack would entail. A week ago, he would have jumped at the chance to declare the marriage void and to get back to his simple, quiet life. But what would that mean for Jaskier? He could return to his life at Oxenfurt, but how long will it take for Alfred Pankratz to target him again? How long before Jaskier is dragged away to be used as a political pawn again, or slaughtered outright? Without protection, Jaskier will never be safe from the Lettenhove pack.

“We’re going to spend the next week on this fucking ship,” Geralt says. “We’re going to go to the couples ballroom dancing class you signed us up for tonight.” His lips twitch at Jaskier’s snort of laughter. “I’m going to teach you how to play Gwent tomorrow, because we’re going to win the Gwent tournament on Sunday, so something will come out of this cruise. And then we’re going to go back to Kaer Morhen and tell Vesemir what your old pack is up to. And then we’re going to kill your fucking father.”

Jaskier stares at him, seemingly shocked silent for the first time since Geralt met him.

“Unless you don’t want me to kill him?” From what Geralt has heard, Alfred Pankratz deserves a violent death, but he did raise Jaskier. Perhaps there’s still some affection there.

“The treaty—” Jaskier croaks.

“The treaty was entered into under false pretenses,” Geralt says. “It’s void. And even if it wasn’t, I don’t give a fuck about the treaty or pack politics or any of that bullshit. Are you safe, as long as your father is alive?”

Jaskier swallows. “No.”

“Then he has to die.” Geralt realizes that he’s still touching Jaskier’s shoulder and quickly withdraws his hand. “Werewolf, human, it doesn’t matter. You’re my husband. I’m not going to let your father hurt you again.”

“And your pack?”

“They’ll help.” It’s a testament to what a clusterfuck the Lettenhove pack is that Jaskier doesn’t realize that, Geralt thinks. Of course Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert, and the rest of the Kaer Morhen pack will come to Jaskier’s defense. He’s one of them now for as long as he wants to be.

Jaskier stares at him for another long moment. Just when Geralt starts to wonder what he said wrong, Jaskier surges forward. Most of his frozen drink sloshes down Geralt’s front, but Geralt hardly notices, because Jaskier is kissing him. It’s the first kiss they’ve shared since the single kiss they exchanged to seal their wedding vows and it’s nothing like that quick, chaste peck on the lips. Jaskier kisses Geralt almost desperately, one hand fisting in the front of his t-shirt, lips warm and insistent against Geralt’s. When he finally pulls away, they’re both breathing hard.

“He made a mistake when he married me to you, didn’t he?” Jaskier laughs, sounding almost disbelieving. “He thought you’d be like him, that you’d do what he would do to a human he didn’t want.”

Emboldened, Geralt slides his hand up Jaskier’s face to take his sunglasses off, revealing those blue eyes, which are watching him with hope. He doesn’t smell nervous anymore, Geralt realizes.

Water splashes over their legs as a kid cannonballs into the pool and a lifeguard blows their whistle, the sound sharp and shrill. Neither Geralt nor Jaskier notice; they’re watching each other. For the first time, Geralt feels like they’re in this together. Maybe this won’t be a sham of a political marriage. Maybe Jaskier won’t just be a husband foisted upon him, but his mate.

“Well,” Jaskier says with genuine levity instead of the terrible, false brightness he’s carried with him for the past week. “I suppose if you’re going to suffer through ballroom dancing lessons tonight, I owe you a drink, don’t I?”

“Do they serve anything that isn’t pink and frozen?”

“Oh, please, don’t pretend you’re above pina coladas and strawberry daiquiris, just because you’re big and broody.” At Geralt’s flat look, Jaskier flashes a shit-eating grin. This is the Jaskier that Geralt has only caught glimpses of for the past week, someone full of mischief and life, someone that Jaskier has been keeping carefully hidden behind a veneer of false good cheer, probably in an effort not to piss off his new husband.

Geralt likes this Jaskier far better.

“Fine, I’ll get you a boring beer,” Jaskier says, rising to his feet with a sigh.

“Maybe some paper towels too.” Geralt pointedly looks at the strawberry daiquiri sloshed down his arm.

“But it looks good on you! Adds some color to your palette.” Jaskier’s smile gets wider when Geralt rolls his eyes. “Fine, a boring beer and some paper towels. I’ll be right back.”

Geralt watches him walk away, trying and failing not to notice how tiny those shorts are. He’s going to need to contact Vesemir as soon as they get back to the cabin, to tell him that Alfred Pankratz is up to something. And then when they dock in Novigrad at the end of the week, he’ll have to start planning how to deal with Pankratz once and for all.

But for now, he thinks he’s going to let himself enjoy his honeymoon, ballroom dancing and all.

Trope Mashup Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @mosaicscale @tsukiwolf42 @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills #barely managed to resist the urge not to make this a 30K fic

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trentonsimblr · 1 year

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Which nations have treaties with each other? What are the conditions? How did these arrangements come about?

Awesome question! I’m sure Trenton has some treaties with other simblrs floating around out there probably Whitmore @whitmoreroyals , Simdonia @bridgeportbritt , the one country from @atreanroyals and maybe with Audicia @ardeney-sims and Armorica @armoricaroyalty ? There’s probably others that I can’t remember off hand. I’m now thinking of making a page for all collab related treaties/alliances and such. With the details that you’re asking about. Ooo! And maybe a submission form for future treaties/alliances!

Within my little continent there’s a bunch.

Grateron and Druzar have a long standing treaty/alliance. Basically Grateron will provide navel support when needed and Druzar won’t invade Grateron 🤣

Trenton and Irenda have been allies forever. I can’t really trace it back to any specific events/need. I’ll say that at some point in time the king of Trenton and the king of Irenda became buddies and it all started there. There’s been the occasional marriage between the two countries (Elizabeth and Nathanael being the most recent) but I promise there’s no modern day wreaths happening (though there’s a few in all of my royal families ancestry). The biggest benefit that everyone east of Druzar gets from the alliance is that Druzar has never been able to take Trenton or Irenda during past wars.

Slavell has a bunch of trade treaties with Druzar, Trenton, Grateron, etc. it’s mainly to support the country but also to keep a positive relationship with their neighbors.

The biggest one I can think of is the one Elizabeth (Trenton) made with Kristopher (Druzar) related to trade. Kristopher’s stipulation was the marriage between Ryland and Eleanor. I never worked out the details but I do know Druzar got the better end of the deal even though Kristopher doesn’t think so.

#trentonasks #thanks for the ask #crownsofesha #let me know if you like the alliance/treaty page ide!

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asumofwords · 11 months

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it’s really upsetting to think Aemond was probably banging Alys while his wife was being assaulted by his brother… and to think he was stupid enough to think Aegon wouldn’t do anything. There’s only so much pain reader can go through before she just becomes catatonic if she hasn’t already. And if you follow canon, Alys will become pregnant… well 😔

I’m failing to see why reader agreed to the treaty when it didn’t seem like the Blacks were even in need of it? Weren’t they in a good position especially after Rook’s End?

I hope when Aemond finds out, it destroys him and maybe it will finally be what ends him and Alys since she can see all these prophecies~ but did not foresee this… or elected not to tell him. And he gets angry cause he realizes him essentially choosing to lay with Alys/having her is a weakness and is what directly contributed to what the poor reader went through.

It’s too bad Cregan Stark isn’t really in this story cuz my fan casting of him is ATJ after seeing the man in the Kraven poster/trailer 🥵 Reader needs a loyal good Stark man without all the incest and 🚩

Aemond really put his last thread of trust in Aegon and he will have to reap the consequences when he gets back :(

Our poor reader has had nothing but sorrow and agony this whole time

Rooks Nest didn’t happen in this fic, so (SPOILERS AHEAD) Rhaenys is still alive and well, and Aegon is not half burnt to a crisp and crippled. So essentially the Blacks and Greens are on equal playing grounds at that point, but feeding the navel army would cost more than the Blacks have access to at that moment, hence the treaty!

Alys certainly sees much and more, and speaks what people want to hear, and what will keep her safe. She has her own agenda in this war !

Omg I saw the Kraven poster and SCREAMED

That man IS SO FINEEEEE FUCK

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flannelepicurean · 1 year

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Some ShuriKan headcanons, because YOU MADE ME DO THIS

Seriously, hellsite sweethearts. I did not anticipate spending this much of the first day of this Year of our Blorb 2023 thinking about this, but it turned out to be quite the ride. File this under: Does it count as "Domestic Bliss" if the domicile is actually multiple international palaces and there's a sort of "on land/underwater" element in play?

The kids have Namor absolutely wrapped around their adorable, chubby little fingers. He cannot say no to them, although he likes to pretend he can.

Okoye also indulges them to an extent, but in a very, "Mm-hm. What does your father say? And what does your mother say?" method. (Winner is often the ruler of whichever nation they're currently in, but the balance naturally tips in Shuri's favor surprisingly often. Okoye and Namora come to be aligned in this, as practical people who realize that Namor has not one lick of goddamn sense when it comes to spoiling those precious babies.)

Shuri spends a lot of time outfoxing the entire lot of them. Things still have to get done, it can’t be all, “Oh, sorry ambassador, gotta take a three-hour break from treaty negotiations because the kids have an emergency whale-ride situation…”

She and Namor have a parenting dynamic not unlike that couple from The Emperor’s New Groove. “Oh suuure, you can stay up late! We’ll just be in here telling each other how much we love each other, [exaggerated smoochy face noises].”

But when the kids do run away, declaring them gross, Namor’s like, “...Well, since we’re here…” And then Shuri’s like, “OMG, husband, I have so many things to do.” And he gives her the sad sea-otter eyes, and she’s like, “YOU have so many things to do! We have to do the paperwork for the treaty with the UN! And don’t even get me started on Krakoa!” And he’s all, “Nooooooooo! Cara mia! [Flop] My humidifier…I feel weak…” And she’s already walking away suppressing a giggle like, “Oh, okay, I’ll have Riri take a look, maybe she can tweak the enviro settings in the office for you?” And he’s like, “NO, THAT’S OKAY, THAT’S COOL, GONNA JUST HOP IN THE SHOWER, WORK TO DO, FEELING SO PRODUCTIVE, LOVE YOU…”

Also, Riri is the one who introduced Namor to the term “thirst trap,” and initially he was like, “...thirst???...trap…???...like??? The thing you…put me in????” And of course she’s like, “OMG, no, fool, it’s…you know what, I’ll just show you, it’ll be faster.”

A couple hours and some copious notes later, he’s like, “Okay. I think…Right. I’m gonna need to move some really big mirrors around, but I think…yeah…yes. I can do this.”

He trots back in like 5 minutes later all, “Okay, explain about the selfie stick again–you know what, no. No, I can…we’ve got the spears from last years test models, or…intern! That’s it, I’ll get an intern!”

10 minutes later, “Hey, where do I get the shirts??? That go like???" [Makes a V-shaped gesture from collarbone area to approximately navel]

Namor doesn’t really “do” social media, because he’s still very private, and doesn’t want the greater world to know about his kingdom. So he pretty much only spams Shuri with thirst trap pictures.

Never dick pics, though. He’s classy.

The first time Shuri calls him “mi amor,” he’s like, “Oh. Oh noooooooooooooo! Oh, I did not think this through, ohhhhhhhhhhh…” And that’s when he goes full Gomez. Because she wouldn’t do it lightly. She would really have to have healed, A LOT, and they would both have to have grown significantly, both individually and together, and damn wouldn’t that moment really clobber him? No longer sin amor, but con amor. And still Namor. Hell of a thing.

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goj68 · 11 months

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from september to december of 1968, the second series of sherlock holmes was broadcasted on BBC2.

starring peter cushing and nigel stock and originally made in colour, the second series ran for sixteen episodes. sadly, while six episodes are complete in the bbc archive on their original 625 line colour videotapes, ten remain missing, having been junked by the bbc during the mid 70s, and no black and white film recordings are known to exist of the remaining episodes.

in 2019, four extended excerpts from four missing episodes were found on 16mm film from a tv archive in flanders, the dutch speaking side of belgium by the british tv archive finders, kaleidoscope. they were shown as part of a weekly entertainment programme which translated was called "do you like what you see?" which shows previews of programmes in the coming week. two more clips were found on the same programme the following year. Rather then dubbed, the programme had Dutch subtitles.

the clips were from the six episodes that are missing:

the second stain

the dancing men

the navel treaty

black peter

the musgrove ritual

and the solitary cyclist.

the six clips were restored, remastered and recolourised by jonathan coley and were released on youtube and dvd.

a short off air recording from the solitary cyclist was also found via the youtube channel "audio only".

youtube

#BBC #sherlock holmes #lost in time #missing beleived wiped #missing episodes #Youtube

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teenageread · 1 year

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Review: The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

Synopsis:

Collection of these short stories:

Silver Blaze

The Adventure of the Yellow Face

The Adventure of the Stockbroker's Clerk

The Adventure of the "Gloria Scott"

The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual

The Adventure of the Reigate Squires

The Adventure of the Crooked Man

The Adventure of the Resident Patient

The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter

The Adventure of the Navel Treaty

The Final Problem

Plot:

Holmes and Watson are back for eleven mystery cases that have the even cleaverist detective scratching their heads but not Sherlock Holmes. With nine short stories having the proper title of “The Adventure of”, Watson takes a detailed account of all the cases Holmes solves, even if The Scotland Yard takes most of the credit. This set of short stories introduces Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother, and Professor Moriarty, Sherlock’s nemesis. With Watson at his side the entire way, Doyle concludes the life of Sherlock Holmes, with an epic scene in the last short story “The Final Problem”, that will leave you wanting more Watson and Holmes adventure stories.

Thoughts:

Another collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, and it is obvious to see why Arthur Doyle was so popular during their time. Following the similar format of Watson and Holmes coming together, meeting a client to talk about the case, intervening people, and the crime scene where Holmes shakes his head at the befuddle faces as he easily explains what happens and whom to blame. Playing to a particular audience, you either like these types of stories, or you do not, as you can kind of play along with Holmes, but ultimately lose as Holmes seems to just pull facts from the air. What is interesting is the characters Doyle introduces that you are expected to know, but it is the first time they appear. Characters like Mycroft and Moriarty. Mycroft was better off, as you joined Watson in meeting Holmes’s brother for the first time in The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter. Where for Moriarty he is introduced as supposedly well known Holmes’s nemesis in The Adventure of the Final Problem, where in reality it was your first time meeting him. It’s odd because Moriarty is known to be Holme’s greatest rival, but he only appears twice within the stories (the other one was written after The Final Problem was published), with this being the first and last time, kind of made his character less meaningful. The Final Problem is the highlight of the set of short stories, and the entire set is the one most worthy of reading, as even Doyle themselves was proud of the novel, rating it one of their top ten Sherlock Holmes stories.

Read more reviews: Goodreads

Buy the book: Amazon

#The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes #book review

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fanfictionandmore · 4 years

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“‘What a lovely thing a rose is!’ “He walked past the couch to the open window and held up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects. “‘There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion,” said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. “It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.’”

- Sherlock Holmes: The Navel Treaty, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

#sherlock holmes #the navel treaty #sir arthur conan doyle #books #book #granada sherlock holmes #jeremy brett #this is one of my favorite moments in the sherlock holmes series

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kemetic-dreams · 3 years

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The Mexican people have varied origins and an identity that has evolved with the succession of conquests among Amerindian groups and later by Europeans. The area that is now modern-day Mexico has cradled many predecessor civilizations, going back as far as the Olmec which influenced the latter civilizations of Teotihuacan (200 B.C. to 700 A.D.) and the much debated Toltec people who flourished around the 10th and 12th centuries A.D., and ending with the last great indigenous civilization before the Spanish Conquest, the Aztecs (13 March 1325 to 13 August 1521). The Nahuatl language was a common tongue in the region of modern Central Mexico during the Aztec Empire, but after the arrival of Europeans the common language of the region became Spanish.

After the conquest of the Aztec empire, the Spanish re-administered the land and expanded their own empire beyond the former boundaries of the Aztec, adding more territory to the Mexican sphere of influence which remained under the Spanish Crown for 300 years. Cultural diffusion and intermixing among the Amerindian populations with the European created the modern Mexican identity which is a mixture of regional indigenous and European cultures that evolved into a national culture during the Spanish period. This new identity was defined as "Mexican" shortly after the Mexican War of Independence and was more invigorated and developed after the Mexican Revolution when the Constitution of 1917 officially established Mexico as an indivisible pluricultural nation founded on its indigenous roots

Mexicano (Mexican) is derived from the word Mexico itself. In the principal model to create demonyms in Spanish, the suffix -ano is added to the name of the place of origin. However, in Nahuatl language the original demonym becomes Mexica.

It has been suggested that the name of the country is derived from Mextli or Mēxihtli, a secret name for the god of war and patron of the Mexicas, Huitzilopochtli, in which case Mēxihco means "Place where Huitzilopochtli lives".Another hypothesis suggests that Mēxihco derives from the Nahuatl words for "Moon" (Mētztli) and navel (xīctli). This meaning ("Place at the Center of the Moon") might then refer to Tenochtitlan's position in the middle of Lake Texcoco. The system of interconnected lakes, of which Texcoco formed the center, had the form of a rabbit, which the Mesoamericans pareidolically associated with the Moon. Still another hypothesis suggests that it is derived from Mēctli, the goddess of maguey.

The term Mexicano as a word to describe the different peoples of the region of Mexico as a single group emerged in the 16th century. In that time the term did not apply to a nationality nor to the geographical limits of the modern Mexican Republic

Guatemala has one of the largest Indigenous populations in Central America, with approximately 41% of the population considering themselves Indigenous.

The ancestors of living Native Americans arrived in what is now the United States at least 15,000 years ago, possibly much earlier, from Asia via Beringia. A vast variety of peoples, societies and cultures subsequently developed. European colonization of the Americas, which began in 1492, resulted in a precipitous decline in Native American population because of new diseases to which they had no immunity, wars, ethnic cleansing, and enslavement. After its formation, the United States, as part of its policy of settler colonialism, continued to wage war and perpetrated massacres against many Native American peoples, removed them from their ancestral lands, and subjected them to one-sided treaties and to discriminatory government policies, later focused on forced assimilation, into the 20th century. Since the 1960s, Native American self-determination movements have resulted in changes to the lives of Native Americans, though there are still many contemporary issues faced by Native Americans. Today, there are over five million Native Americans in the United States, 78% of whom live outside reservations: California, Arizona and Oklahoma have the largest populations of Native Americans in the United States. Most Native Americans live in small-town or rural areas.

#mexico #mexican #kemetic dreams #california #asia #native americans #first nations people #first nation #indigenous

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betty-bourgeoisie · 2 years

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Care to share more knowledge on the cod wars? I’m all ears👂

The Cod Wars were absolutely bonkers my dude! Iceland was an incredibly important strategic point during the cold war and the Icelandic government used this fact to essentially bully NATO into giving them more fishing territory three separate times.

Highlights of the Cod Wars include:

Iceland threatening multiple times to leave NATO and/or close the airbase on Keflavik

England sending navel battel ships into the contested waters while the Icelanders relied almost entirely on two barely equipped Coast Gaurd patrol boats

Armed fishing boat conflicts

The Icelandic government claiming it didn't have to follow previously establish treaties because they had been signed by a different political party, which like... can you even imagine what would happen if treaties worked that way?

Iceland getting political support from the African Union by framing its actions as a fight against colonialism, despite Iceland being one of like 3 countries on the planet that England has never colonized

The Icelandic coastguard went around and cut the trawling lines of non- Icelandic fishing boats with net cutters

British fishermen threw coal, waste and axes at Icelandic coast guard ships

Iceland took a break from the conflict because a volcano erupted on an island and the Icelandic coast guard didn't have enough ships to transfer people to the mainland and regulate British fishing ships at the same time.

The Icelandic prime minister demanded that the U.S military send airplanes to bomb British ships in their water, and like obviously they didn't, but like jesus christ dude

English Fishing boats played music, including Rule Brittania and The Parties Over by Willie Nelson, to antagonize Icelandic Coast Gaurd ships

Both parties rammed their boats into each other as a battle tactic like it was fucking bumper cars or something

I also think it's important to point out that even at the height of these conflicts there were only ever about 60 boats involved at any one time, which sounds like a lot until you remember that most shipyards can hold up to around 200 ships. Like these were major international conflicts, but they were also just a handful of guys being petty and mean to each other and I just think it is so weird and interesting. I would time travel back to the 70's just to watch this shit unfold in real-time.

#ask #cod wars #iceland #england #britain

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teaspoonnebula · 1 year

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Sometimes I wonder why Sherlock Holmes was as much of a phenomenon as it was when it was published...

...But then if you were a Strand Magazine reader in October and November 1893, the serialized article immediately before The Naval Treaty is a giant treatise about ears.

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #the naval treaty #i keep writing the navel treaty #thats a very different story probably

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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

Text

Words: 1900+

Rating: T

Pairing: Benimaru (TSSK) x Reader

Summary: Apparently alcohol makes Benimaru more honest about his feelings. And what he wants for the future.

AO3

Following your success with the Yuki-Oni, Rimuru-sama decided to send you on more ambassador excursions throughout the land.

You had been surprised, but warmed by his faith in you, and took your role very seriously everywhere you went. It was all very exciting. Seeing new places. Meeting new, important people. Sometimes you went with Benimaru, as you did before, but with his own important duties as Commander of the Jura forces, he couldn’t always go with you. It was difficult to be apart, but you made do for the good of your nation and whatever partner you had been paired with for your journey.

This time, it had been Shuna. You and your sister had enjoyed your visit to the coast, to visit the seaside kingdom that lay on its shores. It was the first time either of you had seen the ocean. It was incredible. It was also nice to get away from the excitement of Rimuru, if only for a little while. You loved all your friends, its people, your family. However, you would be the first to admit they could be a bit over the top sometimes.

Like the feast they had insisted on throwing for you both upon your return.

“I don’t see why they’ve decided to throw a party for us.”

“You and Shuna were missed.” Rimuru-sama answered when you, playfully, bemoaned all the ruckus. So much for your peaceful, seaside atmosphere. “It’s been dark days in Rimuru without either of you to brighten them up. I’m sure everyone wants you both to know how much they appreciate you.”

“Flatterer,” you mutter at the humanoid slime, who just smiled at you with that cheeky little grin of his.

Rimuru-sama asked you to speak with him before going to the party. He wanted to get the details of your visit, and treaty with your new allies, down before they got lost in the shuffle. You were happy to oblige. You did wish you could see Benimaru first though. You had missed him so. You’d only got to see each other for a moment upon your return before you were pulled in opposite directions again. It was hard being a power couple.

By the time you and Rimuru-sama were done, it was getting very late.

The party was in full swing. Music, dancing, food and drink, all filled the center courtyard as people gathered to enjoy the festivities without a care. But where was Benimaru?

“[Y/N]!!”

Oh dear….

Benimaru repeated your name a few more times on a loop as he tried to stand. Eventually getting to his feet, even if you have to come over to him to help keep him there. “Ah~! It’s my wife!”

“Yes dear.” You tell him. Trying not to laugh at his hilariously intoxicated state.

“Where have you been?” He questioned with a small pout. His expression made even more adorable by his flushed cheeks. “I was looking everywhere for you.”

“And the last place you looked was at the bottom of a sake bottle?” Benimaru grinned wide at having been caught, but seems to understand, even in his clouded mind, that you were joking. “Rimuru-sama needed me for something, so I was delayed to the party. Honestly. I leave you alone for a few moments and this is what happens.”

“It’s not my fault!!” The ogre whined. The usually regal, serious leader of the Jura forces arguing with you like a child. “The dwarves! It’s the dwarves’ fault! They challenged me to a drinking contest and I couldn’t refuse. My honor was only line!”

“It most certainly was not!” You tell him. Genuinely irritated this time. He should know better than to challenge dwarves to drinking contests. Their stomachs were as bottomless as Rimuru-sama’s when it came to ale. “Come on. Let’s get you back home to sleep it off. The rest of you, this contest is over. By order of Rimuru-sama and his advisory.” The last sober one standing anyway.

“Hehe! That’s my wife! Rimuru-sama and I are so lucky to have such a capable woman in our lives. Have a drink with me to celebrate!”

“What did I just say?!”

It took a little bit more fumbling and dragging on your part, but eventually you pull Benimaru away from the party and back home. Not helped in the least by his stumbling feet, him banging into various walls, and nearly knocking you down every time he tried to lean on you.

“[Y/N], I don’t feel so good.”

“Not surprising. Since you drank a small lake’s worth of sake.”

The ogre grinned again. Squatting down to meet eye level with you with a drunken smile as you tried to get his outer coat off. “It was good though!”

“Most bad decision are at the time my love.”

He fell to his knees at that moment, so fast that you thought they had given out, but you realize it was intentional once he wrapped his arms around your middle and nuzzled the side of his face into your stomach. “Ah~ I love it when you call me ‘my love’. It makes me so happy. I love you so much too!”

You chuckle softly. Both in amusement and a little nervously. It was cute how honest he was being with his feelings, but you were a little concerned with how he was nuzzling his head against you that he might gore you a little with his horns. It hadn’t happened before. But there was a first time for everything.

“Yes, yes. I love you too.” You tell him as you place your hand on his head. Getting him to stop rubbing on you like a cat for a moment. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Ney, [Y/N], let’s make a baby.” Benimaru had turned to look up at you. Eyes glassy and unfocused, with a sort of soft innocents that didn’t really go with this conversation.

You don’t think for a moment he was being serious. Assuming he meant ‘make a baby’ as in ‘having sex’. So your reply was obviously, “I don’t think it would be very honorable for me to take advantage of you in this state.”

“No! Not that! I really wanna have a baby with you!” Apparently, he was serious. His expression shifted from soft, blank innocence to fierce determination (or as much as a drunk person could muster) so fast it made your head spin. And you hadn’t even been drinking.

“Benimaru, surely you can’t mean that. We can’t have a baby right now.”

“Sure we can! I can put a baby in you right now.” His arms untangle from you, but only far enough to start fumbling with the tie of your dress at your hips.

You let out a squeak and give him a good whack on the head. Rimuru-sama called it a ‘karate chop’ when he taught you. It seemed to do the trick as your husband flinched and fell back off of his knees onto his butt. “[Y/N]-chan doesn’t want to have a baby with me…..” Benimaru bemoaned sadly, rubbing his head.

“I…I didn’t say that!” You snap at him. Cheeks pink yourself now, and incredibly flustered. “I just don’t know where this is coming from all of a sudden. You’ve never said you wanted to have children before.”

“Of course, I want to have children with you. You’re my wife and the woman I love. Why wouldn’t I want to have children with you?” He replied, seeming to bounce back from being sad fairly quickly. How was he not getting a headache from all these sudden emotional shifts?

Taken aback by his soft words, you don’t say anything at first and Benimaru got back up on his knees to re-wrap his arms around you. “I want us to have strong sons to carry on my name. Girls too. I wanna have daughters as pretty as their mother. I wanna have enough kids to start a little ogre army. I wanna watch your belly swell as they grow inside you. Hold you while you carry my child.” You feel his lips press to your stomach near your navel. Clearly already picturing you ripe with child. “We can rebuild the ogre tribe that was taken from us. We can have a family.”

“I’m not giving you a village or a small army Benimaru.” You don’t have the heart to correct him on the ogre tribe being taken you. It had been taken from him, not ‘us’. A fact that you know still weighed heavy on his heart. He’d accomplished so much. Protected so many now. But his failure in his early life still haunted him. You or no one can give that back to him. “But…I wouldn’t mind starting a family.” A boy and a girl, with your eyes and his flaming red hair, would be nice.

The ogre looked up at you and beamed. He practically jumped to his feet and leaned in to kiss you. “Ah, ah! Not now! When you’re sober.” You tell him with your hand against his lips.

Benimaru pouted for a second before he grinned and nipped at your fingertips foolishly at his lips. “There’s no harm in practicing now.”

“You’re drunk.” You remind him.

“Not as much as I was a little bit a go.” An outright lie. “Besides, as Rimuru-sama says ‘practice makes perfect’.”

“I repeat: you are drunk.” You say again. Bating his clinging hands away from your form. “Besides, besides, I don’t think you could even preform in this state with how much sake you drank.”

“You question my virility at your own peril woman.” Benimaru ‘warned’ and you karate chop him on the head again. Lighter, this time. More to stop that train of thought than stop him in his tracks.

“Keep it up and I’ll be sleeping in Shuna’s room for the night, and you’ll be sleeping in the barracks for the rest of the week.” The terrifying flame lord looked mortified with his mouth ajar, before shook his head and beg you to let him stay. “Can you behave now and go to bed amicably with your hands to yourself?” He nodded furiously. Just seeming happy to be allowed to stay.

You both get into bed and Benimaru shyly asked if he could at least hold you. He said he agreed to keep his hands to himself, but didn’t know what that all meant, and he missed you with you so far away. So far away being: the other side of the bed. You scoff once and shook your head before you curl into him. Resting your head against his chest.

Your husband seemed to immediately relax and fall asleep when your head touched him. His breathing even under your ear as your ‘pillow’ rose & fell. You lay awake for a little while longer. Thinking about your conversation. You have to wonder if he was serious. But, then again, he seemed serious enough. And as they say, in wine there is truth. There was a possibility though that the ‘liquid courage’ had also made him more ready for children than he really was.

Your hand trailed away from Benimaru’s chest to your own stomach. You picture a bump there. The start of your child flourishing inside you. Your husband’s face, soft with adoration, as it pressed against your stomach to listen to their heart beat when it had grown and was almost ready to be born. The thought made your own expression glow in adoration. Maybe it was time for you both to start considering the future.

“Goodnight….Daddy.” You whisper to Benimaru, who only grumbles in his unconscious state back when you kiss him. “You’re going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning.”

#;pen & paper (fanfiction)#benimaru #benimaru x reader #benimaru tssk #benimaru (Tensei shitara Slime Datta Ken)#tensei shitara suraimu datta ken #tensei shitara slime datta ken #tensei shitara suraimu x reader #tensei shitara suraimu datta ken imagine #tensei shitara slime datta ken x reader #that time i got reincarnated as a slime #imagine #scenarios #random fandom

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noodlecupcakeswritings · 3 years

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Negotiations - Part 2/2 (LokixOC)

Asgard is under attack from Jotenheim, Thor must defend his home, his people and his queen. But not all is what it seems.This is part of a new series of shorts/one shots. This series features a bunch of different Loki variants/timelines.

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. It really helps me out as a writer, lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist as well :)

Warnings: Smut, Sex, Vaginal sex, Technical monster kink, Size difference, Size kink, Vaginal fingering, Oral sex, Dirty talk, Slight possessive Loki, Language

Loki

6 Months ago

My second in command announced the arrival of Asgard’s queen, Raven Odinson. Of course, she was flanked by a large handful of guards, who were all on edge. Raven herself, however, seemed calm, composed. How a queen should be. She was wrapped in an assortment of furs to fight off the cold, whilst her hair had been braided intricately with feathers adorning her brunette locks. Raven smiled kindly and bowed her head in respect. “Your majesty, thank you for agreeing to meet with me so that we may negotiate. You mentioned there was something within the peace treaty that you didn’t approve,” Raven spoke.

“Such a matter should be discussed in private,” I replied, rising from my throne. “Of course.” Raven’s personal guard seemed weary to let her go off alone with me. But after a few reassuring words, they let her go. Raven followed me through the halls until we reached a room far out of earshot, a room we wouldn’t be disturbed. Once I had closed the door behind her, I couldn’t help myself any longer and kissed her hungrily. Raven smiled into the kiss at my eagerness. “I long for the day that we never have to be apart again, my love,” I murmured.

Our affair had been going on for a little over six months now, sometimes meeting in secret, other times Raven used the excuse of negotiations. We didn’t get to see each other as often as we wanted, but we had to be cautious. Raven removed her fur’s revealing the fine lavender silk gown beneath it, every inch of the dress hugging her figure perfectly. It was taking all of my self-control not to tear it from her. “How much time do we have?” I asked. “I can be delayed a little.”

With that, I picked Raven up and placed her down on the nearest table. Her slender legs wrapped around my waist to pull me closer as I leaned down to kiss her once more. Her hands touched and caressed my skin, her fingers tracing the darker blue lines across my chest and down to my navel. But it wasn’t enough, I need more of her, more of her touch, her warmth. Her hot tongue worked against mine, moaning softly into my mouth as my large hands cupped her breasts. Her nipples were already hard and poking through the silk, whether that be from the cold or her arousal, I couldn’t tell.

“I need to taste you again,” I husked against the shell of her ear. “Mmm I have missed that silver tongue of yours.” Helping Raven out of the dress, I exhaled deeply at the sight of her naked form, my cock throbbing with arousal. It was already fully hard and aching to be freed, aching to feel her tight walls tremble around it. Gently pushing Raven to lay back, my lips trailed down her neck to her chest. My tongue lapped and sucked at her hardened nipples, groaning against her warm flesh. Raven gasped at the sensation, her back arching and pressing her breasts further into my mouth.

One of my large fingers traced her plush pink lips, Raven’s tongue darting out to catch it. Preparation was necessary. Raven took the digit in her mouth, sucking on it as if it were my cock. My cock throbbed again, my grip on self-control starting to slip. It had been too long since I had last had her, and patience was not something I possessed much of. Raven took a second finger in her mouth before a third and final finger, her lips stretched around them. Pulling away, I sunk to my knees before her. Gripping her thighs, I spread her legs wider now, face to face with her wet cunt.

Her hips bucked with anticipation as I kissed across her mound with a soft smirk. She was already so needy for me, so desperate, so wet. “Loki, please,” she whined. A sense of smug pride filled me, knowing she didn’t beg for her husband like this. He probably couldn’t even make her feel as good as I did. My tongue caressed her small bundle of nerves, forcing soft moans from her. Slowly I pushed a finger into her tightness, savouring every sound she made for me. Raven fisted my hair as I continued to eat her like a man starved. Her taste was something so divine that I craved it day and night, something that once I had, I would always long for more.

I could spend hours worshipping her like this, greedily accepting every drop of nectar I coaxed from her. Her body had opened enough for me to add a second finger, her walls stretching around my thick digits. Raven’s back arched as I curled my fingers inside of her, her moans muffled by her own hand covering her mouth. Whilst we were a safe distance away, there was always still that risk of being caught. And the thrill of how long we could keep this forbidden love a secret. I alternated between sucking on her clit or flicking my tongue across it, her thighs starting to twitch as her pleasure continued to grow.

Finally, I added a third finger, now working to make her cum. Her grip on my hair had gotten tighter, her body tense as her orgasm approached. My name fell from her lips more frequently, her walls starting to clench around my fingers. Raven gasped loud as the first wave of her orgasm hit her before crying out her pleasure, her thighs shaking from the intensity. I only stopped when overstimulation set in. Gently, I removed my fingers and leaned over her to kiss her.

“I’m going to make you mine again, and I won’t stop until your cunt takes the shape of my cock,” I promised. Raven bit her lip at my words, pulling me closer and wrapping her legs around my waist, “nobody else can make me feel as full as you, my king. Please fill me again.” Taking my cock in my hand, I rubbed the head teasingly against her wetness. “Do you ache for it? Is my cock the only thing that can satisfy your ache now?” I asked. She nodded, shuddering at the coldness of my flesh teasing her clit. Tired of waiting, I slowly began to push into her, taking my time and making sure I wasn’t hurting her.

Raven gripping my arms, her nails biting into my flesh as I sunk into her. I held her hips, groaning at the feel of her wrapped around me once more. Once buried inside her completely, I waited, giving her more time to adjust to my size, even with the prep I had given her. Raven pulled me down for another kiss before telling me she was ready. My movements were slow at first, Raven gasping and whining with every push and pull of my cock inside her. The heat of her body was addicting, something I hadn’t realized how much I had longed for until we had first met.

Her moans grew louder as I sped up the pace. Gripping her hips, I held her in place as she took every inch of me. She covered her mouth once again to quieten her moans and gasps. “I long for the day you can scream for me, have everyone know who makes their queen feel so good,” I growled against her neck, “you are mine.” She nodded in agreement, unable to form coherent words only muffled whimpers and cries of pleasure. I pulled her hand away, kissing her hungrily and swallowing her moans. “You take me so well, my queen,” I praised.

Reaching between us, my thumb rubbed her clit in circles. I wanted to see her come undone for me, there was no sight more beautiful in all the realms. “Cum, cum for your king,” I encouraged. Quickly Raven reached her second orgasm, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream as the pleasure completely wracked her body. The feel of her walls tightening around my cock triggered my own orgasm, cursing and growling against her neck as I filled her with my seed. Using the last of my strength, I picked her up and sat down with her, straddling me so we could rest in each other’s arms.

We sat in a comfortable silence for a little while, enjoying the feel of our skin on skin. The moment was tender, perfect even. But I knew it couldn’t last, we’d ‘negotiated’ long enough and the last thing we needed was one of her guards coming to look for us. Reluctantly, I let her go so she could redress. I did the same, before righting one of her braids that had come loose. Raven cupped my cheek and stood on her tiptoes to kiss me. “Not much longer, my king. Soon you’ll have the throne, Asgard and me.”

Taglist: @dreamscapehaven, @jana-banana-fana

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki fic #Loki Angst #loki feels #loki fluff #loki smut #loki AU #LokixOc #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #marvel feels #marvel fluff #marvel smut #marvel angst

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lordoftermites · 3 years

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The Fox & the Thornbush | Part 3

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye Rating: M for violence and bleedy bits Summary: This is it. The Undersea Attack. Maybe eventually I'll go back and do more with it but. This took... a lot to write and honestly I can't even write a summary for it. I'm sorry in advance.

part 1. // part 2.

Faerie is a deadly place, he had told her once.

Kaye hadn’t believed him then—or, more despairingly, she had believed him, and was just far too willful to listen.

Even after the coronation in Elfhame, when Balekin had slaughtered near to every member of the royal family in a coup to usurp the throne, Kaye had persisted. She left her coffee shop, her dreams, abandoned her life in the light of the mortal world to live with him in the damp darkness of the Palace of Termites.

For her sake, Roiben had tried to convince himself that it would be a good change. That it was true—he had grown weary of having to steal away like some thief in the night to see her so sparingly, only to come back to a cold bed under a cold hill, alone.

After a while he began to believe that, perhaps, now that Kaye was at his side, within his reach at all times, that the frigid ache in his chest would abate—that he could finally be content.

Perhaps faeries couldn’t speak a lie with their own mouths, but Roiben had been telling himself untruths for longer than he could remember.

Kaye rolls over onto her side, burrowing farther beneath the coverlet. Her wild hair splays in lush, green tangles over the pillow. She sleeps soundly, verdant lips parted, once in a while letting out a small sigh here or near-inaudible word there. Roiben watches her from his place on the bed—their bed, he reminds himself—as though if he were to look away, she might very well disappear with one of those sighs.

He’s been awake for hours now, ripped from yet another nightmare, his chest heaving, his stomach threatening to upend the acrid bile in the back of his throat, while morbid death stares burned behind his eyes. They were the spectres of his sins, reminding him the blood on his hands has not, and shall not, wash away.

At least, this time, there had been no screaming.

A lock of deep green hair lies across Kaye’s face. It flutters slightly when she exhales, only to fall back against her lips. Her nose crinkles in her sleep, disturbed and perhaps dreaming of something else. Roiben reaches to brush it away but stops himself short, his fingers hovering mid-air. He ought to let her just sleep, he knows.

Yet, before he can convince himself not to, he’s leaning down, brushing the hair back with his mouth instead.

Kaye stirs and makes a light, disgruntled noise, until she seems to realize what’s happening. Then she’s lazily kissing him back, pressing her lips against his, parting just enough for him to sweep her mouth. One of her hands comes up to rest on the nape of his neck, her long fingers tangling in the hair there. Roiben sighs against her lips at the feeling; it’s light and comforting, warming that chill in his bones she alone has ever been able touch.

As often as he scorns himself for giving in to her decision to stay here permanently with him in Faerie, it’s selfish moments like this that he wouldn’t have her anywhere else. He can face the demons waiting in his nightmares—so long as she’s with him.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Kaye says drowsily, black eyes fluttering up to his, lidded with sleep and something else. Roiben hovers over her, grinning. “What was that for? I mean, not that I mind or anything.”

He shakes his head, still unused to the lightness of his newly-cropped hair. “A compulsion, I suppose,” he answers, and lowers himself again to bury his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deep the scents of moss and clover. He can’t quite bring himself to admit aloud that it was more to solidify her presence—to give himself physical reassurance that she isn’t part of a cruel trick his mind so often played on him.

Kaye strokes the back of his head gently, as if she already knows, as if perhaps she too needs the reminder that neither of them are made of phantoms and longing. Roiben kisses the column of her green neck, an arm curling under her, pulling her closer and yet still not close enough. She tilts her head with a soft hum of encouragement. “Whatever it is, I could get used to waking up like this.”

Her hands slide over his shoulders, down his bare arms, along his spine. Roiben shivers and shifts his weight, caging her body beneath him. His mouth drifts along the line of her clavicle to the base of her throat. One of his hands slips under the coverlet to the silklike flesh of her thigh, drawing it up to bracket his hip, while his lips brush against the flushed swell of her chest. Kaye’s hushed sighs as he arches against her spark a flame behind his navel, galvanizing him into urgent desire.

What he wouldn’t do to just simply stay here with her forever, to revel in her touch, her warmth, her love. Let the crowns decay. Let the duties and the demands and the courts crumble to nothing; let him be only a knight and a man again, to be content. Unburdened.

As if the fates decided he needed reminding of his reality, a light rapping at the door to his chambers breaks through their intimate solace.

Roiben ignores it at first, tells himself whatever it is will go away. Surely a herald, one of his knights, or even his chamberlain can handle it—not every small thing ought to be a king's concern, especially not when his council members are already far more inclined to do his duty for him. He doesn't cease his kisses, and instead channels into them the denial of obligations and the desires of his soul. His fingers grip Kaye's thigh tighter in desperation, attempting to tether himself to her and this moment alone. Leave us, his mind pleads. Find another doorway to darken.

But the knocking comes again, this time carrying a touch more confidence and urgency.

Suddenly furious, unfulfilled, and ultimately defeated, Roiben growls against Kaye's skin before pushing himself up. She watches him with heady eyes, seeming just as exasperated at the interruption as he. Her hand lingers on his arm. "Just tell them to fuck off," she suggests, though it's half-hearted. She knows as well as he does that it's very seldom anything he can simply wave or wish away.

"If we're fortunate," he sighs, bending down to give her one last kiss and then forcing himself to rise from the bed, "it will be nothing but our breakfast.” In a moment, he’s crossed the room and wrenched the heavy door open. Ruddles himself is there, hand raised as though he had just been about to give another, less-timid knock; he lowers the hand, and himself before Roiben, bowing low enough that his nose might brush the floor if given another half inch.

“My King,” the hob greets in his usual rasp before straightening. He seems to realize his king’s half-naked appearance and forced even breathing, but carries on. “I apologize for the disturbance at such an early hour, but I assumed you would want to be informed we’ve had a messenger come and go without our receiving him.”

Propping an arm against the door, Roiben barely suppresses a roll of his eyes. “It is not an uncommon thing for a courier to go missed.“ He knows his tone is clipped, but he doesn’t bother to correct it. “Why does this time require my chamberlain coming to my private rooms, when clearly whatever message left was not of enough import to be received in the first place?”

That seems to bristle the hob, who takes a rather deliberate, offended breath through his sharply-pointed nose. “Because, the message was left while the entire hill slept,” Ruddles answers gruffly. His brows are furrowed as if there really is something to be worried about, and his sovereign is, as usual, too unconcerned. “No one saw the messenger arrive, nor did they witness his departure.”

It’s Roiben’s turn to frown. That couldn’t be right: since the rebuilding of the Palace of Termites, they had sentries posted through dawn and dusk, and as many guards patrolling the hill. Surely someone ought to have seen this phantom envoy. Foreboding gnaws at his gut; he doesn’t like mystery, and he likes even less when that mystery involves his playing the part of the ignorant fool.

“What was this message? Did you bring it with you?”

Ruddles shakes his tawny head and wrings his hands. “It was a parcel, a large one, addressed to the Lord of the Court of Termites. We left it where it was found—” he pauses, the troubled expression on his face doing nothing to quell the rising uneasiness Roiben feels—”in the throne room… more pointedly, on your throne.”

A deliberate act, and a bold one. The thought of it sets Roiben’s teeth on edge. “I see,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, deliberating.

From behind him, Kaye yawns. Roiben turns back to look at her, where she’s stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, green hair falling over her shoulders. Just the sight of her, wrapped in his spider silk coverlet and little else, makes him ache with longing. It takes everything he can muster not to bolt the door in Ruddles' face.

She squints at him, as if attempting to focus her vision or read his thoughts, tilts her head in a question. Roiben tries a casual smile and holds up a finger, before turning back to his chamberlain. “Gather Dulcamara and Ellebere,” he instructs. “See if either of them know anything. I’ll meet the three of you in the throne room presently, and we’ll see just exactly what gift our shadow messenger has left us.”

The hob gives a shallow bow and backs away before turning on his heel and setting back off through the corridor. When Roiben closes the heavy wooden door, he leans against it momentarily, breathing a long sigh that does nothing to relieve any of the pressure in his chest.

How exhausted he is of intrigues and suspicions, of forging treaties that seem as stable as a thread stretched above a candle flame. Roiben himself feels like that thread—fraying at both ends while trying to hold his kingdom between his teeth, at any moment about to burn up with the burden of it all.

Take this from me, he had once thought, after his coronation as the Unseelie ruler. I do not want to be your king.

Now, he had two crowns, each heavy as a boulder on their own. Together, they are a mountain, and may very well crush him beneath their weight.

“What was that about?” Kaye’s voice calls from the bed. Roiben moves from the door and crosses the room to sit beside her. When he goes to kiss her cheek, he takes a selfish moment to breathe in the smell of her again, something to take with him. “I’m not entirely sure,” he replies, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I expect nothing but trouble, as usual. But I won’t be gone a moment—” he leans in again, grazing his lips against her neck with a promise—”and when I return, we can forget them all again.”

Before he can lose himself, Roiben pushes off of the bed. He pulls on a fresh set of clothing—a simple black tunic with trousers to match, and a pair of boots. From the chair beside his bed, he takes up his curved sword and straps it to his waist. Its weight is one he is used to, cold and secure at his hip.

With an apologetic glance back at Kaye, who shoos him with a small wave before shuffling back under the coverlet, he slips through the door.

Dulcamara is perched on the dais when he arrives in the throne room, clad in her beetle-black armor, polishing a dagger while her pink glare remains fixed on the throne. She stands when Roiben enters, however, and gives him a small bow of her head; as reverent a gesture as he likes, if he must be revered at all. “The hob is off searching for Ellebere,” she tells him in her gravel-scraping voice. “Must we wait for our curiosities to be sated?” Her head bobs in the direction of the throne.

As proficient a knight as Dulcamara is, her impatience often wills out, even when it comes to the one she serves.

Roiben shakes his head with a snort. “I suppose it isn’t a requirement,” he admits, stepping up onto the dais. “Though I doubt Ruddles will be much pleased when we solve the mystery without him.” Even so, eyeing the parcel, Roiben finds himself every bit as curious as he is wary.

As Ruddles said, what’s been placed on his throne is no small thing: it covers nearly half the seat itself, dome-shaped and wrapped in a cloth of deep blue velvet, tied together at the top with golden string. It certainly looks like a gift. Yet, as Roiben reaches out to take the small slip of folded parchment resting beside it, his title addressed in a dark blue flourish across the front, an icy dread seeps into his bones. When he opens the letter, he has to clutch the arm of the throne as the dais pitches up to meet him.

From behind him, Dulcamara’s voice seems distant, distorted. “What does it say?” Without turning, Roiben holds the note out to her, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow—or tear his gaze from the parcel. His hand trembles as he reaches to undo the string, to look upon what he already knows lies inside the elaborate wrapping.

“‘Let us see how easily you unwind the wire of your own cage’,” Dulcamara reads. “What sort of riddle—”

“It is no riddle.” He's clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt. His hand goes to grip the blade at his hip. “It is a threat.”

Unwrapped and glinting in the candlelight, just as he remembers, is the gilded birdcage that once held his friend and subject, Lutie-Loo—the very one he freed her from in Balekin’s office less than a year ago. Roiben had made a fool of the would-be king then, promising fealty when he’d already sworn to Prince Dain. Now it would seem his trickery is finally being repaid.

“Dulcamara,” Roiben starts, whirling around, “we need—”

An eruption of sound outside the throne room cuts off whatever order might have given. Before either of them have time to move, Ellebere barrels into the hall, sword in one hand, the other covering his side. Blood and dirt streak his pale face, only adding to the intensity of his frantic expression. “The Undersea,” the knight stammers, “they’re here. They’ve been here.”

Ruddles’ words echo dully in Roiben’s mind. No one saw the messenger arrive, nor did anyone witness his departure.

As Ellebere clambers up onto the dais, Roiben is reminded with a turning in his stomach of the last time he saw the knight in such a state, when Silarial made her move on the court. They had nearly been destroyed because of his underestimating and overconfidence. Has he once again brought ruin to his people? To…

“Kaye.”

The brugh swirls around him. His breath is trapped in his lungs.

As a swarm of bodies pours into the hall, the sharp clashing of metal against metal resounding through the hollow hill, Roiben can see none of it; only Kaye’s face, bloodied and lifeless.

Dead, because of him.

Something solid shoves into him, nearly knocking him to the ground before his legs catch him. Jolted back to the present, he jerks his head up just as Dulcamara brings her blade down in an arc across the front of an advancing selkie; the faerie crumples at her feet, black blood spilling onto the already gore-stained floor of the dais. It had gotten that close, and Roiben hadn’t even seen it. Dulcamara whips around to look at him, pink glare ablaze. Before she can scold him, he shakes his head and grips the sword he can’t remember drawing.

“I have to get to Kaye,” he shouts above the skirmish, already retreating down the other side of the dais, cutting through another Undersea soldier as it hurtles toward him. He is already charging down the hall before she can protest or follow, fear propelling his steps and his blade.

The battle seems to be more focused on the throne room, thankfully; Roiben is stalled only once, by a selkie warrior wielding a longsword of shark bone. Though he takes a slash to the thigh, the other faerie is not nearly as fortunate. He falls to his knees, clutching the gaping hole in his chest when Roiben withdraws his blade.

Biting through the searing pain in his leg, Roiben pushes on, repeating silent pleas that he not be too late.

As he comes to the door of his chambers, a fresh wave of glacial panic seizes him; the door has been thrown wide open and is hanging from the hinges. From the other side he can hear crashing, breaking. A struggle, and then a scream.

Kaye is screaming.

Roiben never feels himself move. He sees nothing but the flash of his sword, slicing through the gray-blue neck of an Undersea knight; hears nothing but his own cry of wild rage, his own deafening heartbeat in his ears. In less than breath, both Kaye and her attacker lie on the floor in a pool of mingling black and crimson.

It has happened, yet Roiben cannot shake the fog of unreality that strangles his breathing, weakens his legs, clouds his vision. His sword falls from his hand, and he collapses to his knees beside Kaye. He stares down in horror at the deep red gash from her throat to her sternum. Someone is sobbing. Blood streams from the wound—too much. There is too much blood.

He pulls her into his lap, holds her gently, covers what he can with a trembling hand. Dark, ruby warmth spills through his fingers and over his wrist. “Kaye,” he chokes, reaching to touch her cheek. His fingers are wet with blood and he has to brace against the sick twisting of his stomach.

Her black eyes are wild and unfocused, but she finds him. Grasps his arm desperately, gasping. She opens her mouth to speak, the beginning of his name on her ashen lips, but it comes out a fearful, small sound, and she doesn’t finish. Roiben strokes her hair and hushes her softly, bringing a kiss to her cool, damp forehead. When he pulls back, the unhinged terror in her eyes burrows like a dagger into his heart. “It’s...“

It’s going to be alright, he tries to tell her. The words will not form.

He cannot force back the sob at realizing why he can't say it. It could be a lie, and Kaye might die right here, in his room. In his arms. Dead before their life together had barely begun. Dead because he hadn't been fast enough. Because he had allowed it—because he had caused it.

Roiben can console himself no more than he can console her.

Faerie is a deadly place, he had told her once.

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