So this just popped into my head last night when I couldn’t sleep. Set post-ACOWAR and contains nothing but fluff.
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Feyre found herself commenting, smiling slightly as she tried not to groan in pleasure under Rhys’ hands.
He chuckled from where he was seated behind her, the sound sending a thrill through her spine, even decades into their relationship. “I should hope so; I have to keep my High Lady entertained somehow. Wouldn’t want her eternity to get boring.”
“Boring? How could I ever get bored with a mate who thinks so much of himself?” She shot back, though its effect was lost when she leaned further into him, her hands running over the legs that were on either side of her. She could feel the delicious heat of his bare chest so close behind her, the thin nightdress she was wearing a poor barrier between them.
Rhys’ fingers continued to comb through her hair, expertly separating it into three equal parts. “I take offense to that.”
Feyre let out an aborted snort. “No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” Rhys agreed, in a blithe voice.
They fell into a comfortable silence then, built on years of learning how to just be together. Neither of them felt the need to always fill the air between them with pointless chatter. Oh, they liked to joke and bicker… but they also knew when to let words fade away and just enjoy each other’s company.
It had been happening more of late, likely because Rhys had refused to leave Feyre’s side for the past few months. He was a constant presence at her side, though he did his best not to hover too much (he knew all too well how she loathed feeling locked in, how it still made her bones lock up in fear, even after all this time). He needn’t have worried; Feyre never, never felt tied down by her mate, never felt confined by him. She knew that even now, when he was so concerned about her, he would give her space if she asked.
(He’d once told her, in a fit of hopeless romanticism, that he would give her the very stars above Velaris if he could. Feyre had believed him, of course, if only because she said she would do the same for him.)
So Feyre was quiet, letting Rhys gently braid her hair as if he’d done it hundreds of times before. She’d been utterly surprised when he’d offered to do it for her earlier, after he’d heard her curse in front of the mirror while she struggled with trying to tame her wild locks into something more manageable. Feyre was so tired these days and sore too, the heavier she got. And she was constantly hot then cold, her hair always in the way and, Cauldron, she didn’t care for it much now and all the work it took to keep it neat, not when she was already so uncomfortable. She’d been beyond tempted to just chop it all off, had Rhys not stepped in when he did with his innocuous offer.
At first she tried to deny the existence of a problem but she really couldn’t hide anything from Rhys; he knew her too well, felt her struggles through their mating bond and tried to ease her discomfort as much as he could. (Rightly so, Feyre sometimes thought when she particularly annoyed with how limited she was lately, considering he’s the one that put me into this situation in the first place.)
So here they were, Rhys’s gentle hands working wonders on Feyre’s nerves, his fingers softly tugging at her hair as he built the braid into something spectacular; Feyre herself was usually no slouch when it came her hair (at least when she wasn’t so cranky), but she had the feeling that Rhys was even better. So many hidden talents, this mate of mine.
“Where’d you learn to do this?” she finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She’d felt his hesitancy when he first offered, that pang of grief that he’d been unable to conceal from her.
“My sister,” Rhys said after a long pause. His voice had lost that light-hearted edge from earlier, filled instead with wistful regret. “She’d come to me when our mother was too busy for it. She could have asked the servants, of course… but she liked to spend a few moments with me, I think. She continued to ask even long after she could do it by herself. I never had the heart to say no.”
Feyre’s own heart ached for her mate, for the family he’d lost so long ago. He rarely spoke of the little sister she’d never meet, even less so than his mother. From what she’d gleaned over the years, his sister had been quite a bit younger than him, had looked up to him in a way no one else ever had. Feyre couldn’t even imagine what it had been like for him to have to bury her broken body.
She rubbed her thumbs comfortingly over the sides of his knees. I’m sorry, she sent softly to him through their bond. I’m sorry.
Rhys’ mind caressed hers. Me too.
Feyre kept running her hands soothingly over him, tempted to turn around and pull him to her, wrap her arms around those broad shoulders of his. She didn’t though; the act of braiding seemed to calm him… like coming home to something he’d thought he’d long forgotten. (Still, she wished she could protect him from all the pain he endured… but that same pain had made him into the wonderful male he was today.)
When he was finally done, she saw his finished work briefly through his eyes, the image flashing through her mind.
“It’s beautiful,” Feyre said with a smile, reaching up to run her fingers over the intricate pattern he’d managed to weave her hair into. “Thank you.”
Rhys’ strong arms around wrapped around her body, finally pulling her back to rest against his chest. “I figured it was about time I got some practice,” he whispered in her ear as he moved one hand to cover her rounded belly. “I wouldn’t want our poor daughter to be left with an inept father.”
Feyre tangled her fingers with Rhys’, holding them over her stomach, where their unborn baby was slowly growing. “You could never be an inept father, Rhys,” she told him softly. Rhys only pressed kiss under her jaw in response, though she could feel his quiet gratitude for her faith in him. “Besides, how do you know it’ll be a girl?” Feyre continued, turning her head so she could arch an eyebrow at him.
Mischief lit his violet eyes. “Perhaps I asked Elain.”
Feyre leveled a look at him. “Elain would never tell you, even if she knew.” Her sister had become quite the responsible seer over the years, never revealing more than was necessary. (Well, that and Feyre had wanted it to be a surprise, telling Elain in no uncertain terms not to let Rhys charm the answer out of her.)
“Then let’s call it a father’s intuition,” Rhys replied now, unable to stop his grin.
Feyre laughed, leaning her head against the edge of his jaw. “She’s going to have you wrapped around her little finger, isn’t she?”
“Of course,” he kissed her forehead, his happiness a near tangible thing. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Feyre could only cuddle in closer. She looked at where their joined hands were resting on her belly. Don’t worry, baby, she thought, we love you already, no what you turn out to be.
(A few years later, when their daughter runs up to Feyre, her hair braided in a crown around her head, little flowers carefully tucked in the midnight blue strands, she doesn’t need to ask who did it. Rhys’ proud smile is answer enough.)
Requested by @rowanismybae. Nessian, with some smut and a side of fluff. I always love getting Nessian requests, for I am trash. I apologize, it’s kind of short. Anyways, enjoy. :)
I felt as if time was going slower than usual. I’d been
standing in the foyer, at the bottom of the staircase, for nearly thirty
minutes. She was late. The rest of the
Court was on their way to the ball already, Elain having whispered good luck to me on her way out the door,
arm in arm with Azriel.
At this point, I wasn’t sure if her good luck was meant to be a warning for whatever mood Nesta was in,
or if it was because she knew I’d be waiting on her sister for an ungodly
amount of time.But, as the door on the second floor of the townhouse
creaked open, all my anxiety faded. And when she came around the corner, all my
Her hair was up, braided in a crown around the top of her
head. Her gown was long, trailing the wooden floorboards behind her, the color
of the Velaris sky just before the sun began to rise.
She was half way down the stairs
when her eyes found mine, and she froze, her pink lips parting, slightly.
I held my hand out to her. “See something you like?”
Blue-gray eyes rolled.
“I’ve never seen you in anything other than rags, is all,”
she stated, continuing her walk until she met me in the foyer. “And you
bathed, which is always shocking.”
My smirk made her roll her eyes, again. “I clean up well. Don’t act so surprised.”
And cleaned up, I did. Feyre actually suggested that I wore
the tailored pants and the light grey button down. I drew the line at the tie
and the shoes, however. So, I kept the top button loose and wore my boots. Nesta’s eyes scanned my hair, which was knotted at the back
of my head, then my chest, then my waist where my shirt was perfectly tucked.
“Are those your training boots?” she raised an eyebrow.
As I glanced down at my dusty, black leather boots, Nesta
breathed out a laugh.
Shrugging, I held out my hand, “Shall we?”
Her fingers grazed mine, but she didn’t move. The same
ecstasy that I felt every time Nesta’s body made contact with mine consumed me,
the feeling that I dreamed about, that I thought about constantly and could
never get enough of. That feeling of ecstasy was my weakness, my downfall, my
greatest accomplishment, my addiction.
“You look beautiful,” i said, brushing a stray strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear.
She opened her mouth, then closed her lips into a thin line before opening them again,
“When are we supposed to be there?” she whispered, running
her fingers down my forearm.
I glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes ago.”
She sucked in a breath as I took a step closer. “And ten
A grin spread across my lips before I could stop it.
In my time with Nesta, I could honestly say that she never
ceased to amaze me. I was constantly surprised by her – by her wit, by her knowledge,
by her hidden kindness, by her talents, by the way she knew how to use her
hands just the right way along every inch of my body.
Now was no exception.
She didn’t waste time dragging me upstairs before she slid
her finger along the inside of my wing, just behind my shoulder blade. She
knew what she was doing. She knew I was about to drop to my knees and beg for
all she had to give me. She knew, and she enjoyed watching me in awe of her
She pushed me back against the leather couch and straddled
my lap. With one hand running up her thigh, underneath the thin skirts of her
evening gown, and the other trailing up her back to find the ribbon that held
everything in place, our lips met in a soft, slow, tender embrace.
It was a dance, the way her tongue brushed mine every time
we kissed, how she somehow managed to naturally make my hips move along with
hers. I had been with many women, but none of them compared to
her. None of them compared with the human who stole from the Cauldron, from the
Fae that comforted me as death surrounded us both. None of them compared to the
female who could make a suriel stop in its tracks, who could take away my fears
and anxieties with just a simple smile. None of them had made me feel so
unworthy, so alive. None of them were Nesta Archeron, and I never wanted to
taste, feel, love anyone but her.
Her eyes stared into mine as she unbuttoned my shirt, one by
one. I finally managed to find the ribbon tied neatly into a bow at the small
of her back and yanked, allowing the dress to fall down to her waist.
straightened as I took her in, the same body I had witnessed day after day and
only grew to love more every damn time.
My shirt had been pushed down my arms before I cupped her
breasts, and ran my tongue along her bottom lip, up her jawbone, and nipped at
She shuddered as she unzipped my trousers and her small,
delicate hand found me in no small, delicate way at all. My head fell back against the cushions as she took control,
her name a whisper that had found its way into the moans escaping my open lips.
Before I could get too excited, she rose from her place on
my lap and let her gown fall to the crimson rug. She watched me as my eyes slid
from her toes, up, slowly, until they reached her own, and she grinned.
I watched her as she turned from me, as she walked calmly up
the stairs. She glanced at me, once, when she reached the landing of the second
floor then continued down the hallway.
I waited a few seconds before I pushed
off by boots, and sprinted to the upper level.
She was waiting for me in the doorway of her bedroom, a soft
giggle the only sound in the otherwise silent townhouse.
“Tease,” I mumbled, as my lips pressed into hers and I
lifted her up by her waist, her long, slender legs wrapping around my lower
“You like it.”
I could not disagree as her lips found my neck and I was
Dainty feet pushed down my trousers until they were nothing
more than a limp piece of fabric at the foot of the bed, just after I laid her
down, her head resting on the pillow she’d stole from my room a month ago.
The first gasp would get me every time. The gasp she made
when I would first enter her, gently, urgently. The gasp that told me that’s
what she wanted, that’s what she’d been waiting for, that I could still satisfy
her after all this time. I lived for that gasp, that expression on her ethereal
face of pure adrenaline.
Making love to Nesta was like being with someone who was not
of this world. She was demanding, yet generous, she was confident, yet
awestruck, she was quiet and cunning, yet moaned my name continuously as if she
could not get close enough to me. We were one in the same. I couldn’t tell
where her body ended and mine began, and I didn’t want to. It was not a
meaningless act of lust, but a dance that was only perfected when two people
who were meant for one another found each other. It was like nothing I had ever experienced
before, and something I wanted to experience for as long as I lived.
We lied there, breathless, her head lying on my damp chest
when the clock struck midnight.
She cursed, and I laughed at the sound of vulgarity coming
from her proper mouth. We had been too busy talking, too busy exploring one
another to join the others.
“What will we tell them?” she asked.
“I’ll tell them you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” my
hand ran down her backside as she chastised me, which only made me laugh
“You make me happy,” she said, quietly, after the sound of
laughter and heavy breathing faded into nothingness.
I kissed her forehead, softly, as I pulled her blankets up
to our waists and wrapped my wings around her. “You give me life, Nesta
The stars glimmer above them, soft and bright against the velvet of the night sky. They’re in the garden of the manor, a camp ground of sorts, Mark asleep and snoring beside them. Damien has yet to go to sleep, eyes fixed on the stars. Mark loves the stars, insisted on sleeping out here for the first night of their summer break. He’d fallen asleep in the midst of naming them, a game between the three of them to point put who knows the most constellations.
Damien loves the stars too, their shimmering gaze cool on his face. He loves the garden too, loves the soft velvet of flower petals between his fingers or wrapped in a crown around his head. Celine always braids them into his hair. Will snuffles beside him, gently nudging his arm.
“Go to bed Dami”, he slurrs, snagging a corner of Mark’s blanket to pull closer to himself.
“Can’t sleep”, Damien whispers back, not looking away from the canvas of stars. Will grumbles, but squirms closer to him so that Damien is snuggly sandwiched between Mark and Will.
“You think we’ll always be this close Will? You think we’ll be together always?”
“Of course”, Will huffs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Damien settles back, a smile curling his lips. His eyes feel heavy now and though there’s a bit of a breeze, he isn’t cold.
“Damien?” Will’s voice crackles with grief, holding his face between shaking hands.
He blinks, the name familiar, a part of him, a piece of his broken anger. But he’s not Damien. He doesn’t say that, feels that Will would shatter into dust if he told him otherwise, puts one cold, silver hand to Will’s on his cheek.
“We’ll? We’ll be together forever right? You wouldn’t leave me?” His hair’s clumped to his face, eyes too wide behind his round glasses.
“Of course”, Dark responds, a pang of pity springing in his chest, and the knowledge that he could not be alone in his revenge.
1. Cinnamon bun hair
2. ANGELIC GORGEOUS MAJESTIC CROWN OF BRAIDS IN A HALO AROUND HER HEAD SO PRETTY
3. Smol but will wreck you
4. Insults people like a literal weenie because she’s too classy (aka too much of a goodie two shoes depending on who you ask) to swear so instead she says things like “why you stuck up half witted scruffy looking nerf herder” like wtf I love her omg
5. “you’re right I’m not going to fight the Empire single handedly by myself”
“EXCEPT THAT I AM”
6. Tries so hard to not be in love with the nerd king Han Solo and fails so hard literally sitting there clutching at her little vulnerable heart like WE ARE NOT DOING THIS WE ARE NOT DOING THIS WE’RE NOT oh honey I feel for you girl nice try
7. “IT’S A TRAP!!!!!!!!!!”
8. Will sass anyone at any moment 10/10 will outwit you all
9. “That boy is our last hope” “no there is another”
10. Literally tears Han to pieces the second she meets him such that he questions every morally gray action he’s ever taken in his entire life
11. Takes no shit ever
12. A spy soldier politician princess fighting for galactic freedom and democracy literally I cannot
13. Angry denial shouting to disguise unbearable angsty love and literally she is fooling NO ONE
14. Never gives up
15. Closes her eyes when she shoots like a true pro
16. “I AM NOT A COMMITTEE!!!!!”
17. Strangles the drug lord who objectifies and enslaves her with the chain around her own neck
18. Vader, Emperor, Stormtroopers: strong and unwavering and brave
Harmless mynock: *screams for Han and runs away*
19. “Someone who loves you.”
20. Everyone: oh no where is Leia she could be dead we are so worried!!!!!!!!
Leia: why ewoks thank you for this lovely new dress yes I’ll put it on right now :)
21. “I am not in love with Han I just think he’s a natural leader and a big help to the rebellion and probably the most cunning and most courageous and most handsome man in the entire galaxy and if he left I’d be devastated and shattered for OFFICIAL ALLIANCE REASONS”
22. Literally every single thing she’s ever said or done ever I love her so much
Can i ask you why do you think jon's dragon is viseryon? 🤔
Sure! I’m not good with metas but I’ll try to explain my thoughts as best as I can.
I’ll keep this only to the reasons why I believe Jon’s dragon is Viserion, not why I believe Tyrion’s dragon is Rhaegal though I do have reasons for that as well, not just process of elimination (which it’s what happen when we give Viserion to Tyrion).
First because I see parallels between Jon/Viserys, second because of the importance of both relationships to Dany and third because of the dragon itself.
I think that there’s kind of a parallel going on during A Game Of Thrones between Jon’s and Viserys’ stories, but a distinctive and very important difference between said parallel happens. Let’s also take other similar things of the characters into consideration:
Viserys and Jon are their father’s second son. Jon in any way you choose to see, either being Ned or Rhaegar the father… Jon is the second son. Neither were the heir.
Viserys and Jon are exiled from their homes. And you can say that Jon chose to leave for the Wall, but in the end it does not change the fact that had he chosen to stay, Catelyn would send him away so there wasn’t really a choice.
Which brings me to said parallel in A Game Of Thrones: Viserys living among the dothraki and Jon living at the Wall. There is, to me, a sense of denial and refusal to them. Both Jon and Viserys expected something they have not gotten. Viserys wanted his crown and his army, Jon wanted honored brothers and to be a ranger. But here is where the important distinction begins, where Jon grows and learns, Viserys does not. Viserys doesn’t understand and worse, doesn’t accept it to the point of dying because of it. And Jon makes the best of it, he makes friends, he adapts, he learns and by the end he embraces it.
And the importance in Jon doing what Viserys could not reminds me of is this quote:
The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.
Still on what Jon will do that Viserys could not… Well, he will be to Dany everything that her brother was not. In the familial sense and in the romantic one as well:
My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.
Daenerys said nothing. She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon.
Jon is the last one for Dany, he is all the family she has left. And why does Jon’s romantic relationship with Dany has to deal with him riding Viserion?
She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black beside his heart, under his arm. The green beside his head, his braid coiled around it. The cream-and-gold down between his legs.
When she woke the third time, a shaft of golden sunlight was pouring through the smoke hole of the tent, and her arms were wrapped around a dragon’s egg. It was the pale one, its scales the color of butter cream, veined with whorls of gold and bronze, and Dany could feel the heat of it. Beneath her bedsilks, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her bare skin. Dragondew, she thought. Her fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the shell, tracing the wisps of gold, and deep in the stone she felt something twist and stretch in response. It did not frighten her. All her fear was gone, burned away.
I might be reaching with the second quote, but the first is unmistakable. The places where Dany placed her eggs are important to the meaning of her future relationships with their riders. The rider of the green one will be her counselor and the rider of the cream-and-gold one will be her lover.
And lastly, the dragon itself.
The egg is most commonly described as “pale cream streaked with gold” but re-reading I’ve noted that the egg is described as veined with whorls of gold and bronze and it strikes me as interesting because when applied to Jon, it matches. The gold veins are obviously his Targaryen blood and the bronze veins are his Stark blood as in the bronze crowns the Kings of Winter had, of his brother Robb as well.
And we cannot forget Jon’s white direwolf and his color symbolism because Jon is associated with white, not green.
Yes, Rhaegal is the namesake of Jon’s father but what else connects them? While with Viserion/Viserys…
War and Peace Notebook Spam Part 2: Physical Descriptions
I’m gonna dump all my notes on descriptors here if anyone wants them for reference.
Pierre Bezukhov: “Enormously large”- “abnormally” tall, enormously fat and quite broad. An awkward, clumsy body. Massive hands. Spectacles for myopic eyes. A warm,genuine and childlike smile. Joyful, friendly eyes.
Andrei Bolkonsky: Stern faced, handsome. “Slight build” (described in the context of surprising physical durability despite his slight build) and often called a “little man” by other characters despite the narration describing him as a man of medium height. Dark haired. Clean shaven. Though he does not often smile, in spare moments of warmth he has a wonderful smile.
Natasha Rostova: Pretty, black hair and eyes. Thin waist and limbs. Her liveliness brightens an unextraordinary beauty- she is not the prettiest but her vivid spirit makes her very attractive. Large, soft mouth.
Anatole Kuragin: Tall, handsome and foppish. Big, beautiful eyes. Dark brows. Blonde hair, curled and pomaded. Easygoing smile. Big and sturdy. Moves loosely and sits spread out.
Hélène Bezukhova: Frighteningly beautiful. Plump. Dark haired. Classical shoulders. Serene smile that she gives everyone. Dark shining eyes. Tall. Large, and well shaped marble-like bust.
Fyodor Dolokhov: “A not very tall man with clear blue eyes and a sober expression.” Curly haired, clean shaven. “The lines of his mouth were remarkably finally curved. In the middle upper lip came down on the lower lip in a sharp wedge am at the corner something like two smiles were constantly formed, one on each side.” “Firm, insolent, intelligent gaze.” “Trim” body. Fair haired.
Nikolai Rostov: Dark, curly hair. Handsome face with a mustache. “Dashing” looks. Not very tall. “An open expression of the face.”
Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova: Very tall. Curly gray hair. 51 years old in 1805.
Marya Bolkonskaya: Plain features, skin predisposed to blotchy blushing. Beautiful, luminous, and large, kind eyes.
Nikolai Bolkonsky I: Old, small. Dresses as the “King of Prussia,” in the fashion of the previous century. Thick, “beetling” brows and curious, intelligent eyes.
Lise Bolkonskaya: Dark hair. Pretty and small, though she becomes heavier and plainer as she grows more pregnant. A little upper lip with a hint of a mustache which rises, staying parted to reveal white teeth.
Sonya Rostova: A diminutive brunette with big, dark lashed brown eyes and a long, dark braid wrapped around her head. Lean, gracefully muscular arms. Catlike.
Natalya Rostova, the elder: A tired looking woman with an “oriental face,” who has bore twelve children. Thin gray hair.
Ippolit Kuragin: Looks strikingly like his sister, only with an ugliness which comes from his expression, clouded with stupidity. Weak, skinny body with limbs which assume awkward positions.
Vera Rostova: Cold, handsome face.
Vaska Denisov: Unusually short, dark, curly haired and disheveled man with a genial smile and dark eyes.
Boris Drubetskoy: Handsome, tall and blond. Calm and even features. Very narrow and slender.
A/N: So here is my first Thranduil x reader/wife. It’s super long but hey, the more the merrier. I hope you will enjoy this one and all the sandarin translation will be under this note! In the future I may do the translation in the text but that depends on how many elvish words I use. Now enjoy!
Word count: 1691
Garth gothrimlye - Death to our enemies Kaila amin - Follow me Vanimle sila tiri - Your beauty shines bright Melamin/ meleth - My love A'malamin - My beloved Gi melin - I love you Heruamin - My Lord
Autumn was spreading and the Greenwood was transforming into a colorful forest of red, orange and yellow leaves. On this cold day you had accompanied your son to guard the forest while your husband attended to counsel meetings. As Queen, you were the most skilled elf in the realm except for your husband Thranduil. Legolas was also a fierce warrior and skilled bowman but he still had much to learn. Your greatest skill was in fact bow and arrow, your aim was faultless and deadly. This talent had past down to Legolas who could kill anything with his arrows, you had seen to that. It started out as a calm patrol at first, but then you heard battle cries and clanking metal. You, Legolas and the rest of the guard charged towards the sound of battle and jumped into action. You saw a group of dwarfs struggling against the spiders and one dark haired dwarf was close to death. Swiftly you took one arrow from your hold and fired a perfect shoot straight thru the spider’s heart, it fell dead in an instant. You killed spider after spider until they all were dead. “Gurth gothrimlye”. You and Tauriel had killed the last spiders that attacked a dwarf that you understood to be Kili. Then you walked over to your son who aimed an arrow at the dwarf in the front. You walked beside him and lowered his bow. You also made a command to all the members of the guard to lower their bows and arrows. You had a hooded cloak on you which made it difficult for the dwarfs to see your features.
“Who are you?”. You gazed upon the dwarf in front of you who had just spoken. With that you removed your hood only to reveal your long (h/c) hair that was glistening in beautiful waves. Your bangs was braided around your head to secure your discreet crown. “I am Y/N, daughter of Lord Elrond and the Queen of the woodland realm.” All of the dwarfs looked up at you in awe, but Thorin looked at you with a glint in his eye.“I see, however you did not have to jump into action and dirty your pretty dress, we had it under control lass.” You chuckled at his comment and Legolas was about to step into action but you stopped him with a reassuring hand on his chest. “I could tell, especially by the cries of help in your company. I am quite sure that one of them said, ‘where is the bloody elves when you need them’.” The company of dwarfs gave stern looks too a big dwarf with heavy weapons on him (Dwalin). “So what will you do my lady, imprison us for our recklessness?”. Oakenshield held a smirk on his lips which you returned with your answer. “Me, oh I would never…” You turned away from him and looked over your shoulder. “…but my husband might.” You gave him a wink and turned to all the elves. “Khila amin, and take them with us.” “Do not think I don’t remember you Thorin, I have quite a good memory. It has only been 60 years after all.” Thorin smiled and followed you, he had remembered when you and Thranduil came to Erebor to trade. He had admired you then and never forgot your beauty, even after 60 years.
An half hour later you entered the front gate of the palace. The dwarfs was behind you and you told Legolas to give them water and food before they could see Thranduil. Your battle dress was in fact very dirty, as Thorin had pointed out. So you walked to the royal chambers and washed yourself. Then you walked to your closet where you had to choose one out of many dresses. You stroke the beautiful materials and picked out a dark green dress with a beautiful bodys and off shoulder detail, which displayed your arms due to the small strap hanging below your shoulder. When you were fully dressed you picked out a pair of shoes and went downstairs to greet your king.
You walked to the throne room and the guards let you in immediately. All eyes were on you when you entered the room and your husband smiled lovingly at you, then he turned to the council members. “That will be all.” You walked up to his throne and smiled at your handsome husband. He was stressed, you could tell that by his stiff posture and his tired eyes. But with the light touch of your hand on his cheek he relaxed a little. “Melamin, how glad I am to see you. Vanimle sila tiri! I was starting to wonder where you had gone.” You sat down on his lap and ran your fingers through his silky hair. This made him close his eyes for a short while. “Well I sensed that my husband needed me so I retired from the forest paths.” He smiled and kissed my cheek. “That glads me, because I hate when you are out there without my protection.” “I was completely safe, I did have me, myself and I to protect me. Also the guard and our son of course.” He smiled at your remark. “Any obstacles then?” You twirled his hair around your fingers while you continued your conversation. “Only a few spiders and a company of dwarfs, nothing special.” He put his fingers under your chin to make you look him in the eyes. “Dwarfs? Well I hope you threatened them and threw them out of our kingdom.” “Quite the opposite meleth, I kind of invited them and gave them food.” His eyes widened and you looked down at your lap.
He sighed and leaned his head against your shoulder. “Then I should have an audience with them, I want to know what they are up to, dwarfs do not simply cross the Greenwood for leisure.” “Fair enough, then I will be by your side throughout the audience.” “ I do not deem that wise, dwarfs can not be trusted.” He said the word ‘dwarf’ with a great deal of annoyance. “So I will not attend the audience? I should join you know, I am in fact the Queen.” He chuckled and took your hand in his. He admired the beautiful diamond ring that rested on your finger, a reminder of the day that you became his. “Oh I am well aware A'maelamin, but this is dwarfs, they can not take their eyes of beautiful things such as yourself.” “Oh really?” You said with a sarcastic tone. He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed the top of it. “Yes, I do remember our trip to Erebor, every dwarf longed for you and I am afraid that it would make me furious to see their lustful eyes on you once again. When the husband, who happens to be myself, can’t stand such behavior towards MY wife.” You stood up and looked down at him. “Well I am glad to inform you that it’s thirteen of them and all of them has already seen me. I guess I escaped with mere seconds before they started hugging me.” He furrowed his brows and sighted. “That could happen, even worse actions than hugging.” “Oh please, they would fall on their behinds before they would even touch me. I give you my word on that.” He smirked. “Well that glads me” You shook your head and put your hands behind your back. “Remind me that I have to see to your over protectiveness later.” He stood and snaked his arms around your waist.“I’m afraid that you can not change my protective nature meleth, because I love you endlessly, and I do not think that I could live if I lost you to dwarfs.” You smiled at his words and felt truly blessed to have such a loving husband, even though he was very protective. Then you stood on your toes and you sealed your lips with his. He smiled into the kiss and you snaked your arms around his neck. You parted from him when you heard the door open. You gave him the most loveable smile, because this was no dream, no imagination. This was your life and your husband. “Gi melin Thranduil, forever and always.” You kissed him one last time, then you headed for the door. But Thranduil stopped you before you reached the stairs. “Don’t walk too far melamin, I want to spend the rest of the day with you right after this audience.” He kiss your hand before he let you walk away. “As you wish Heruamin.”
You bow your head and walk down the first three steps. Then you see Legolas walk in with the thirteen dwarfs. You look back at Thranduil that sits on his throne and motions you to continue walking. You smile at your son Legolas who walks over to you and helps you walk down the last steps without tripping on your dress. “Thank you Legolas, you are always so kind and caring.” He smiled at your words and gave a slight bow and a wave of his hand. “Always for you naneth.” He let you walk past him but before you left you turned towards the dwarfs, who was already staring at you. “I hope that your audience will be at your satisfaction and that my husband will provide you with what you need.” Then you bowed your head and gave the leader in the front an elvish greeting with your hand placed on your heart. Thorin Oakenshield could not take his eyes of you. You walked towards the door and heard your husband state a remark at the dwarfs actions. “I would start by showing me some respect by not drooling over my Queen, Oakenshield.” He said this with utter annoyance and anger. It made you feel guilty to know that Thranduil would have a short temper with the dwarfs after the ‘lustful gazing’. However, to know that he loved you so dearly made your heart warm. You truly love your protective King.
I saw in one of your answers that you thought Tyrion will ride rhaegal and jon viserion. Ive always thought those would be reversed. Is there strong evidence one way or the other? Gut feeling? Thanks
The only reason I’ve ever seen anyone say why they think Jon will ride Rhaegal is that the dragon’s a namesake for Rhaegar, and Jon is Rhaegar’s son. (I don’t doubt that Jon will have to deal with the fact that
Rhaegar’s his father, but I don’t think his dragon’s name will have much
to do with it.) Generally they seem to give Tyrion Viserion by process of elimination, but sometimes they refer to the white dragon cyvasse piece Tyrion holds in his second TWOW chapter. (Personally I think the point of that scene is not that it’s white, but that it’s bloody, but anyway.) I don’t think that really works – if you’re matching namesakes, shouldn’t you find a reason to associate Tyrion and Viserys, then? – or if you’re going by color/foreshadowing, where’s Jon and green? – but that’s not my theory, so I won’t work at rationalizing it.
For me, I have several reasons why think Jon will ride Viserion and Tyrion Rhaegal. Firstly, color symbolism: Jon is associated with white (Ghost, weirwoods, winter, snow), Tyrion green (Lannister eyes, wildfire, “money”). More symbolism can be found in the placement of the dragon eggs on Drogo’s pyre:
She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars.
The black beside his heart, under his arm. The green beside his head,
his braid coiled around it. The cream-and-gold down between his legs. –AGOT, Daenerys X
As I said the other day, of the three heads of the dragon, Dany (Drogon) is the heart (emotions, passion, id); Tyrion (Rhaegal) is the head (intelligence, knowledge, ego); Jon (Viserion) is the “sword” (strength, military, superego).
He was so gods damned nervous. He fussed with his pine
green tunic, straightening the already straightened fabric and causing the
silver threading to catch in the light.
Aedion finally joined him in the room where they were
getting ready in. Aedion took in his brother’s current state, “Are you going to
Rowan stopped his fussing immediately, “What are you
“Well - I mean… I don’t want to say that I saw a few
bright flashes of light that looked suspiciously like the same flashes of light
when you shift while I was walking down the hallway but…” he trailed off,
eyebrows raised innocently.
“She can’t say no now, right? She wouldn’t.” The worries
rushed out before he could leash them and he cursed himself inwardly for not
having better restraint when it came to Aelin. He knew she was having
difficulties adjusting. He saw the shadows flicker in her eyes. He knew that
the days when she hadn’t been able to sleep were the days when he would take
point on royal business. He knew she was independent but something had changed
in these months. She started to rely on him more even when Rowan could tell
that she wished she didn’t have to. Rowan would support her in whatever she
needed, and if it turned out that Aelin needed space… as hard as it would be,
he would give it to her. He knew better than to think she would lead him on but
today, his mind was racing.
Aedion’s jaw dropped. “That’s what
you’re worried about? Whether she’ll say yes to you? You do know you’re already
married, right? You’ve also been officially declared mates AND you are the King
of Terrasen. In fact, I seem to remember being there for your first wedding and the second one and for the mating ceremony.”
Rowan’s face fell marginally. “It’s just… this one feels
more important somehow. These are our friends. Our closest friends and the
people who have touched our lives and altered them so irrevocably. None of this
would have been possible without each person here. We all bled together on
those battlefields. It’s more than just a wedding.” He gestured helplessly
around in emphasis.
Aedion approached him and clapped a reassuring hand on his
brother’s shoulder. “It’s important yes, because it’s our family and our
friends. This is the court we had promised we would build during those dark
times - a court to rattle the stars. But you are our King, you are my brother.
You are my family. What you did for Aelin… I will never forgive how I treated
her before she was taken by that rutting bitch… You brought her back, you did that. I will forever be
grateful. Today is for us to enjoy. For us to celebrate. We won and there’s no
further reason for us to look over our shoulders in fear. Enjoy it.”
Rowan sat down on the armchair, needing something to
ground him. “She didn’t come back, Aedion. She’s here physically – yes, but
she’s changed. How can one woman withstand everything she has been through? She
came back and there were no consequences. Aelin was supposed to die to defeat
Erawan. To rid the world of Maeve, she almost did. She didn’t have to give anything up. She has her power, she
has her kingdom. What if the cost was her soul? How can I fix that?”
Aedion took a seat across from Rowan. He bowed his head
while he contemplated his answer. “You don’t fix it, Rowan. You do what you’ve
already done for her, twice over. Bring her back. Don’t let the darkness drag
her down again. But you don’t have to do it alone this time.” Aedion slumped
back and watched as Rowan gruffly ran his fingers through his hair, still
cropped short – a preference Aedion knew Aelin preferred.
“We survived, Rowan. After what she gave for years, the
least we can do is be here to pull her out again. The blood oath was a promise
we both chose to make at different times in our life because of who she is and
what she represented. Hope. We have to give that to her.”
Rowan seemed to calm with Aedion’s reassuring words.
Aedion sighed and stood up before going over to Rowan’s chair, “Don’t do that,
Aelin will kill me if you look less than…” He cleared his throat as he realized
his hands were now straightening Rowan’s hair. Rowan’s left eyebrow was raised
in surprise at the sudden contact.
“What are your hands doing in my hair?”
Aedion moved back and coughed deliberately. “I slipped.”
“Into my hair?”
Rowan looked in the mirror across from them, his hair was
truly a mess now. He could imagine Aelin having something terribly offensive to
say about it. He grumbled before sighing. “Can you please fix it?
Unfortunately, you are right - your cousin has a certain desire for things to
Aedion chuckled, satisfied that Rowan seemed to accept his
words and remain calm, “If it makes you feel better, I’m very good with hair. I
don’t maintain ‘best hair in the family’ status by letting it run rampant.”
Rowan burst out laughing, true joy despite the heavy load
he had off lifted just as the door opened to reveal the cadre. Gavriel smiled
fondly at Aedion and clapped Rowan on the back. Fenrys’ signature wolfish grin
was infectious as he entered with Lorcan at his back.
“We come bearing gifts.” Fenrys brought out a bottle of
brandy, the expensive kind by the looks of the label.
“Or booze.” Gavriel said, rolling his eyes.
Lorcan snatched the bottle from Fenrys, “It’s all the same
Aedion grinned. “Hear, hear.”
Rowan grabbed glasses from the bar and Lorcan poured a
knuckle’s worth in each of the glasses and the males each grabbed one.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Lorcan said, raising his
glass. “To our grouchy ass King Rowan-“
“Lorcan,” Gavriel cut him off before he could finish.
Lorcan rolled his eyes. “Fine, to our esteemed king Rowan.
Without whom we might all be dead or possessed by the Valg.”
Fenrys snorted, “Classy, Lorcan.”
Gavriel shook his head. “Why do we ever let you out?”
Rowan chuckled. “Coming from Lorcan, it’s high praise.” He
raised his glass and each of them nodded their agreement and they downed their
As the males all drank, Rowan couldn’t help but think that
at least this had gone right. The cadre had been so close to being ripped apart
by that bitch. He and Aelin had
almost been ripped apart by her. This day, this ending, may never have been
possible without those in this very room. For that, Rowan was grateful. More
than he knew how to express. Aedion raised his glass slightly to Rowan, who had
been unwittingly focusing on him. Rowan nodded in return. Aedion saw much. Much
more than he let on.
“Well gentle-“ Lorcan began, before a soft knock sounded
at the door.
Rowan raised his brows, he wasn’t expecting anyone else.
Aedion, who was closest to the door, reached forward to open it to reveal…
“Aelin?” Rowan was instantly at the door, nudging Aedion
out of the way.
She was resplendent in her gown, her hair down and loose
in soft curls around her shoulders with a braided coronet at the crown of her
head. Pine and some small white flowers Rowan didn’t remember the name of were
intertwined between the braids.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She looked away
but Rowan caught the shadows in her eyes before her gaze averted.
No one hesitated.
Rowan moved to close the distance between himself and his
queen, closing the door in the process. He folded her into his arms, holding
tight. Aelin released a single sob before she leashed her pain and began to
shake with restraint.
“Why do you cry, Fireheart?” He kissed the top of her
head, never letting go.
She didn’t answer for a few minutes. In his presence and
in his arms, she felt herself slowly relaxing. Felt the vice grip on her heart
“I’m scared, Rowan. I’m scared I’m going to lose
everything again. I-I can’t let a day go by without thinking about what I did.
Who I killed. Who I was under her spell. I am not worthy.” She leaned back to
look into his eyes, searching for answers he wasn’t sure he had.
He wiped an errant tear from her cheek, leaving his hand to
cradle her face.
“Aelin, my Fireheart. Do not fret. It’s us who are not worthy
of you. For hundreds of years, I didn’t know what I was looking for but I knew
I was looking for something. That
something, it was you. It surprised the hell out of me for a long while, until
it didn’t. Until I knew, you were not a woman I could survive. But you saw me
as I saw you and we clawed our way back out together. We formed unbreakable
bonds. I swear to you, I will lead you out of the darkness that is trying to
claim you. I will not lose you again.”
His eyes sparkled as tears welled and Aelin returned his gesture
and wiped the tears away, also cradling his face. They held each other, their
whole worlds, their entire beings focused where skin met skin. So much power,
so much love, such breakable creatures.
Time, darkness, evil… None of it mattered. They could not
be cleaved. They would not allow it. Their gazes relayed that same message to
each other. They would not bend, they would not break. Aelin’s resolve grew,
her heart steadied. Pain and anguish failed where it tried to grasp. It was pushed down
and out, bit by bit.
Most of us Star Wars fans have commented on Padme’s amazing hairdos…and her ability to keep them looking as fancy before a battle as after. This offers some insight.
Well, I just read an article discussing how in old Celtic folklore (which, I believe, the Grizmalltians took a lot of their culture from, and later the Nabooans, their descendants) to join the elite warrior groups, one would have to have four braids done. Three were wrapped around the head and the fourth was kept long down the back, even down to the ankles. The individual would have to run through the woods, while being chased, and survive, without being captured, and without having the braids loosened by any branches.
Now, if Padme was trained in the Order of the Sacred Circle in a like manner, which I believe she was, and this was a sacred training ground for noble women, I guess it all makes sense now; Padme was literally trained to fight without getting her hair mussed up.
For your voltron family au, was there a time where Shiro grew out his hair? lol, I'm currently in medschool and sometimes my hair ends up growing really long coz I never have the time to go have it cut, or I just don't notice its long until someone points it out coz all I think about are my exams which are super stressful coz we have one like everyday haha. I can imagine Keith braiding some strands of hair late at night to relax while Shiro's nose is buried in like a hundred medical books lmao
[The Voltron Pre-Family AU] Shiro was currently in med school while Keith was doing internship in Hyperion Books. They would usually hang out during the weekends because they were too damn busy on weekdays. Shiro had finals the following week so when Saturday came, that meant it was Keith’s time to visit his apartment.
“The king has arrived!” Keith announced as he entered the apartment carrying a plastic bag. “I brought ice cream, sunshine!” he smiled as he noticed Shiro looking up from his books, sitting on the living room floor as he made his way to the kitchen to unpack. “I got you some persimmons because you’re like a pregnant woman during finals week.”
Shiro chuckled softly. “Awww, that’s so sweet of you, red bean. Thank you.”
“Dude, you’re out of milk!” Keith shouted from the kitchen. “When was the last time you went out to do groceries?” he peeked out to the living room.
Shiro brought his hands to rub his face in exhaustion. “Ugh. I think last week or something. I don’t know.”
“I got you covered, bro,” Keith winked. “I bought milk, cookies, fruits and vegetables and other healthy stuff I usually see in your fridge. Oh, and eggs!”
“Keith, you’re the reason I believe in God,” Shiro said dramatically. “What have I done to deserve such an angel like you breathing in my space?”
“It’s never too late to ditch med school for theatre, y’know?” Keith joked.
Shiro continued studying while Keith sat on the floor in front of him on their shared coffee table. His boyfriend was reading a book while eating a banana, scrunching up his nose from time to time silently judging whatever he was reading. Shiro liked their quiet times, just sharing the same space and not disturbing the other.
After an hour or so, Keith stood up to sit on the sofa behind Shiro and suddenly, he felt hands gathering his hair gently.
“Your hair’s pretty long now, babe,” Keith observed. “You trying to copy me?”
“Maybe?” Shiro smiled, loving the feeling of Keith’s hands playing with his hair. “I mean, you look good and I was wondering if it would look good on me, too.”
“You could go bald and I’d still love you to the moon and back,” Keith declared without missing a beat, caressing Shiro’s exposed nape.
“Geez, Keith. Why are you so obsessed with me?” Shiro placed a hand on his chest, looking back at Keith with a huge smile.
“Shut up and go back to studying.”
He went back to studying and Keith went back to playing with his hair. Shiro got so caught up with his books that he failed to notice Keith began braiding his hair. The younger one hummed softly as his hands gently moved and Shiro smiled to himself because he could feel how careful Keith was in making sure it didn’t hurt him even just a little bit.
A few braids and pages of diseases later, Shiro heard a click and he turned around to see Keith smiling at his camera. Their eyes met and Keith’s smile grew wider and showed Shiro his phone.
“Look,” Keith said, bending down to wrap his arms around Shiro while showing a photo of his braided head. “I think I have a future in hair styling.”
The photo was amazing. There were five braids all in all and Shiro was speechless. “Dude, that’s beautiful. I better cancel my salon appointment after finals then.”
“No!” Keith cried out, taking back his phone. “I love your undercut so much! There can only be one long-haired guy in this relationship and that’s me. You have to go, Shirogane.”
“Unless we switch.” Shiro grinned. “Have you ever thought of having an undercut? I think you’d look really great and I will 10000% cry.”
“And what?” Keith smirked. “Have you fail med school?”
Shiro clicked his tongue. He was going to be so distracted if Keith got an undercut. He was distracted enough with his long hair and he was barely making it. “Dammit.”
Keith laughed even harder as he hugged Shiro once again from the back, kissing him on the cheek. “Finish up so we can finally eat ice cream while I question you stuff as you cry after every wrong answer.”
“An angel. You’re such an angel, Kogane,” Shiro said sarcastically.
Member:Kim Donghyun // MXM & Produce 101 Trainee from BNM
Genre: Some angst, some fluff
Plot: When you and Kim Donghyun go separate ways, what does the future hold for you?
Word count: 5534
“Thank you for inviting me, it was really great,” you gushed to Sejeong, who was grinning broadly. She was glad you had enjoyed the spontaneous offer to come to her church coffeehouse to listen to some of the members perform. Despite having already snacked and drank a few beverages, you had obliged when she and a few of your other childhood friends had decided to head out for drinks.
“I feel like we haven’t met up in ages!” Youngmin’s voice was cheery as he poured soju into the tiny shot glasses. A waiter set down a few snacks on the table, and Woojin thanked him politely before turning back to you.
“____, you were living under the radar for so long. What did you even do after university?” You huffed playfully at his question, poking him with the butt of your chopsticks.
“Hey! Park Woojin! You’re only saying that because you didn’t even try to contact me that much after high school!” He protested feebly, while Sejeong and Youngmin erupted in laughter at your bickering. “Well, I did what I said I would do. I went to law school at Korea University, and with my literature degree I also took up writing a little too. I’ve gotten a few works published, but nothing big.”
“You can’t believe her,” Sejeong chirped, casting a mischievous glance at you as she pointed her chopsticks around for emphasis. “____ actually wrote a sappy romance novel!” Youngmin and Daehwi hooted with approval, while Woojin rolled his eyes. You sighed, glowering at your best friends.
“Where did she even get the experience for that?” Daehwi teased, and your gaze raked over his laughing self.
“Probably with Donghyun.” Woojin said under his breath, but you all froze at the words. Youngmin cleared his throat, trying to break the atmosphere and piled french fries onto your plate.
“How is he?” You finally ask, and Daehwi’s gaze flitted back and forth. He was the youngest in the group, actually an underclassmen you had all befriended, while Youngmin was more of a senior that had taken good care of your group in the neighborhood. It was the first reunion, albeit incomplete, since you had all attended Daehwi’s high school graduation. Even that had been nearly a decade ago.
“You haven’t heard from him or seen him since… that day?” Sejeong asked, her round eyes showing the surprise that was dripping in her voice. You nodded, before downing another shot of soju. It was cold, tasting almost like nothing, and you hummed in appreciation. You truthfully could not tell if it was that you didn’t hear from Donghyun, or that you did not want to hear from him.
“He’s doing well. He might come… if you don’t mind,” Youngmin confessed guiltily. You smile uncomfortably at his words. “I’m not sure. He didn’t say anything. You know how he doesn’t really enjoy drinking.”
“How did you guys even date? You were like best friends! It’s amazing you guys even fell in love,” Daehwi leaned forward, waiting for your reply. Before you could stop it, a smile erupted on your face at the thought of Kim Donghyun.
– 2005 at age 7 –
‘At first we were just neighbors.’
“Tag! You’re it!” The children shrieked with giddiness, scattering like birds as you darted around, trying to grab one. Unfortunately, you were small, and your strides weren’t able to carry you as far as everyone else’s had, so it was difficult for you to find someone else to tag. Yoojung was simply too fast, Doyeon too long legged, Taehyun was excellent at dodging too. Maybe Taehyun’s twin–
“___! Your shoelaces are untied!” Donghyun shouted as you scrambled after him. ‘He’s probably trying to trick me so I slow down!’ You were determined, but the concern in his eyes were the last thing you had seen before you crashed into the grassy ground below you, your knees sinking into the soft earth. The other kids broke into laughter, and you felt ashamed, ears burning bright red. Donghyun knelt beside you, tying your shoelaces with an apologetic smile on his face.
“I’m sorry. If I stopped running and let you tag me, you probably would have had a chance to at least tie your shoes after I was ‘it’.” You shook your head furiously, braided pigtails flapping around.
“I was being dumb. Don’t worry, I’m fine.” You gave him a smile, showing off how you had lost your tooth earlier in the week. He grinned, pointing to his own matching missing tooth.
“Twins? We’re more alike than me and Taehyun,” Donghyun joked, before helping you up. By the time you two had caught up to where the rest of the children were, they had already chosen another child to be ‘it’. You sighed, and Donghyun nudged you with his shoulder.
“Do you still want to play?” You shook your head, pouting.
“It’s not fun for me when I’m always it,” you whined, and he laughed at your words. He pointed at the swing set nearby, which was vacant with the rest of the neighborhood focusing on the game of tag.
“Why don’t we go there then? Do you like swings?” You nodded eagerly, and he grabbed your hand and tugged you along. “Then what are we waiting for?”
– 2008, Age 10 –
‘Then we were good friends.’
You looked around nervously, unsure of how to get home. It was nearing the end of the school year, and in your excitement for the break you had forgotten to even pack an umbrella for the sudden icy rains that would hit your town like there was no tomorrow. And now here you were, watching students run out with umbrellas, careful to not skid on the slushy ground as they ran towards their homes. You felt like everyone was abandoning you, leaving you behind in the cold. You rubbed your hands together, flinching at the cold wind that slapped your face everytime the door opened and another student ran freely.
“___?” You turned at the familiar voice, Donghyun and Taehyun greeting you with smiles. You felt relief sink into your stomach.
“Are you guys leaving now? Do you have a spare umbrella?” Taehyun looked guiltily at Donghyun.
“Sorry. I promised Daehwi’s mother that I would walk him home, so I think I have to share mine. Donghyun?”
“What would you do without me?” Donghyun teased, before pulling out his own umbrella. He unravelled his scarf, before looping it around your neck and pulling it above the bottom half of your face. “You have to dress warmer! Your mom is going to kill me if you get sick!” He opened the umbrella, before looping his arm into yours.
“I’m glad I have a friend like you,” you whisper to him, and he pretended to be offended at your words.
“I’m glad to have a best friend like you,” he corrected, pulling you to his side closer to prevent your right shoulder from getting wet. He refused to let you fuss over his left shoulder, which was getting hit by the cold precipitation, and he jerked his head towards the thick winter coat he had on.
“Don’t worry! This is ‘everything’ proof.” He boasted, and you tried to suppress the laughter bubbling in your throat. Trust Donghyun to be a ray of positivity and make up something so perfect. He made sure that you were on the side further from the streets, leaning to block any puddles that the cars would run into and letting himself get sprayed.
“Donghyun! You’re going to get sick like this,” you fretted, and he smiled brightly at your words, shaking his head confidently. A few of your female schoolmates you were passing cast envious glances, and you remembered again at how popular he was. Taehyun and Donghyun, the school sweethearts.
“Nothing can hurt me. You just focus on not getting sick.”
– 2013, Age 15 –
‘But then you realize there could be more. A lot more.’
“What am I going to do without you?” Donghyun beamed brightly as you gently dusted off his shoulders. He was going on a date with a new girl who arrived at your school, and you had to push the unexpected bitterness down as he had begged you for help. You scoff teasingly at his words.
“Probably live life exactly the same if I weren’t here.” He poked your forehead, causing you to throw a glare at him.
“I would be devastated if you weren’t here.” His eyes caught yours, and for a moment you forgot why you were in his room. Taehyun had moved out to attend a boarding school for the brightest students, while Donghyun had insisted that it was a waste of money for him to attend it as well. You could still remember with a faint blush how he had said he could not leave you behind as well, but you were almost certain he wouldn’t remember those words. You clear your throat, ducking away from him. He had grown tall, and increasingly handsome, as the two of you grew up. Girls couldn’t miss his beautiful smile, and guys could not even muster jealousy because he was simply too angelic in personality.
“It’s getting late. You should go now.” You say forcefully, and he puts his hands on your shoulders, facing you abruptly. You lower your gaze once more, not wanting to see the pure excitement in his eyes. Your stomach did an uncomfortable flip, waiting for his words.
“Don’t study too hard, and don’t miss me too much. I’ll call you when I’m done, and I’ll buy a tub of vanilla ice cream for you on the way back.” He pulled you in for a quick hug, before grabbing his cream cardigan and running out the door. You plop onto his bed, exhaustion taking over. It was not the first time you were in his room without him there, and his parents certainly did not mind whenever you visited. You curled up, hugging his teddy bear that you had bought him for his eighth birthday present. It smelled strongly of him, and you sighed. The girl, Sohye, was pretty. She was kind, and she was probably a good match for someone as loved as Donghyun. You were merely the childhood friend.
You close your eyes, letting your weariness consume you.
“___?” A soft whisper woke you up, along with warmth encompassing your body. Your eyes opened blearily, staring up at Donghyun, who was tucking his blanket around you. He froze when he saw you awaken, guilt on his face.
“Huh? What time is it?” You rolled over, grabbing your phone. It had only been an hour since he left…
“I ended it a little early,” he confessed, sitting on the edge of his bed. He held up a small plastic bag, the outline of a carton of ice cream evident. “I couldn’t really enjoy it when you seemed down.” Warmth flickered in you at his words, and he passed you a pink plastic spoon, before lying down beside you. He grabbed his TV remote, turning on the small screen that was across the room from his bed.
“Are you going to meet her another day then? I’m really sorry.” You mumble around a spoonful of the cold treat. He shook his head, a small smile on his face as he found a rerun of Running Man.
“I didn’t feel a click. I’m sure I’ll meet the right girl another day.” He said, turning to feed you. “Ahhh. Open up.”
– 2014, Age 16 –
“I’m borrowing you for a moment,” Donghyun grabbed your hand, his calloused palm wrapped around your own. He flashed a forced smile at Hyunbin, the boy you were talking to at the library, and dragged you out. Your backpack and belongings were already in his other hand, and you frowned.
“What’s wrong?” You spluttered, and he shook his head slightly, tugging you in his wake. He did not speak, instead leading you to the small park that you had played in as children. It was late, with the last streaks of the sunset fading into darkness, and the stars beginning to peer out and twinkle above. He shrugged his bag off, letting go of your hand. You missed the warmth instantly, but remained silent, bidding him to say something. He took out a large blanket, throwing it onto the grass, and motioned for you to join him.
“Let’s lie down and relax a bit. You’ve been studying too much in the library these days,” Donghyun said carefully, giving you his arm as a headrest. You took it cautiously, praying silently that your head wasn’t heavy and that it would not cut off his blood circulation. The crickets were singing their songs, and you listened for awhile, enjoying the moment too much.
“You don’t like that guy right?” Donghyun finally interrupted. You turn to face him, blushing when you realized he was already staring intently at your face. You shook your head, sighing. If only he knew that it was him that you liked. He was protective, probably because you were close for such a long time. It made your heart flutter whenever he took care of you, but the emptiness that followed every time the label of, “friend” was placed on you hurt.
“Hyunbin is a classmate and friend. Sejeong likes him. I’m just a messenger pigeon.” He looks away, a deep exhale of his chest causing your head to sink slightly with it as you leaned into him. Despite it being late spring, it was still a little chilly at night. He readjusted for you, holding you closer.
“What do you think about them? Do you think that they’re soulmates?” Donghyun asked suddenly, and you hum in thought.
“I think that you don’t have to be romantically associated to be soulmates.” You said finally, and he nodded for a moment, peeking down at you and urging you to continue. “You have a soulmate, but that person is just someone who is compatible with you in every humanly way possible. And maybe the love of your life exists, too. They could be the same person, but it doesn’t have to be that way.” Silence relapses as you gaze up at the stars and Donghyun seems lost in his thoughts.
“I… like the thought of that. I want to find my soulmate.” He said. “Someone who’s there for me when I need them the most, and that I can get along with for a lifetime.”
“I’m probably your soulmate,” you whisper under your breath, and he tenses at your words. You felt dismay sink into your stomach. ‘How stupid are you? Can’t you think inside of your damn mind?’ He sat up, forcing you to sit up as well, unable to look at his face.
“You’re right! You are basically my soulmate!” He grinned broadly at this. “How could I have not known earlier?”
– 2015, age 17–
“And… Done!” You stand back, admiring your dandy work while Woojin grinned into the mirror. You had dyed his hair into a bright red at his request, and it came out looking quite good.
“You’re actually amazing,” he said, offering a fist bump. “I definitely have to find a wife like you in the future.”
“Stop flirting with my soulmate if you two are staying at my house!” Donghyun chided childishly from his living room sofa, and he smiled at Woojin. “But yes, you’re right, ____ is amazing.” Woojin rolled his eyes, unable to stand the words his friend was saying, while Daehwi chuckled from the kitchen as he poured the freshly made popcorn into a bowl. You were hanging out, celebrating the end of another school year and welcoming the fact that you would be graduating soon.
“When is Taehyun coming home?” You ask as you sit beside Donghyun. Woojin scooted over to make more space, shaking his head in mock disapprovement when Donghyun wrapped his arm around your shoulder.
“I heard he’s coming back next week. Didn’t we agree to go watch that new movie with him?” Woojin shrugged, texting into his phone, while Daehwi arrived with the popcorn, kernels already stuffed into his mouth.
“I think Daehwi and I have to go right now,” Woojin stuttered, staring at the screen. “Sejeong said she needs backup dancers for her cover contest submission.” You giggled as Daehwi stuffed more popcorn into his mouth, his eyes sullen at the thought of leaving the food, while Woojin grabbed a handful for himself.
“Thanks for the hair dye, ____. If hyung doesn’t treat you well, call us and we’ll come back.” You nod cheerfully, while Donghyun wrinkles his nose, shouting at them to lock the door on their way out. The house was silent again, the February snow dusting over the windows as the wind went along its merry way. Donghyun sighed, looking at you and pushing a few loose strands of hair from your face.
“I’ve been thinking.” He began, and you looked up at him. His dark eyes reflected the lighting in the room, and warmth filled them. His lips were quirked ever so slightly upwards, the beginnings of a somewhat demure smile. A small blush crept into your cheeks when you saw how beautiful he was.
“Y-yes?” You stuttered, unable to allow your gaze to rest on his face any longer. He withdrew his hand briefly, his lips pursed in thought.
“What are we?” He finally asked. A lump formed in your throat at the question. Honestly speaking, you were still saddened at the label, “friend”, and it was hard to keep track of the number of times someone would mistake you two as a couple. You almost would rather him stop saying that you two were friends, to let it slip, and to not break your heart a little more. Ever since the two of you were declared as best friends for life at the park, you were also two peas in a pod.
“What do you mean?”
“Well for one, this.” He gestured to his arm, which was still wrapped securely around your shoulders. “Two, do regular friends make their friends feel like third wheels all the time?” Your heart sank. Was this his way of warning you off? Had Donghyun finally found a girl to love?
“I suppose not.” You murmur, sitting up straighter to gently let his arm slide off. He pulled you back, a large but bashful smile suddenly erupting on his face.
“Then do you want to be my girlfriend?”
“That’s so sweet!” Sejeong fawned as she downed another shot of soju. Woojin and Daehwi looked mildly amused at their own obliviousness in the past, while Youngmin nodded along. “But if you guys were so good to each other, then how did you ever break up?”
“We were both ambitious…”
–2017, Age 19 –
You pinned your curled hair away from your face, checking your reflection in the mirror. It was Valentine’s Day, and the university year was almost over. Admittedly, you had struggled a lot more than you wanted to admit. Of course you and Donghyun were unfortunate and did not end up in the same university. His sights were set upon composition and music, and you fondly could remember all the night video cats in which he would gush about the compliments received for his newest pieces. You would listen to the gentle strum of his guitar, and did your best to encourage his dream of opening a studio and becoming a composer.
Donghyun naturally supported you in your pursuit to be a lawyer. He knew that you weren’t interested in criminal justice, but that you would rather help with real estate property. He sent vitamins when the weather got cold, reminded you daily that he loved you, but this was the first date in nearly a few months. Your universities were only 45 minutes away by bus, but your schedules were unwilling to allow you to meet. A nervous excitement bubbled in your stomach, and you hoped he found you pretty.
You had arranged to meet at a nearby Italian restaurant. When you were guided to your table, you felt your heart flip at Donghyun’s smile. He looked as handsome as ever, his eyes fixated on you with a large grin. Pride shone in his eyes as he stood up, embracing you. His suit jacket smelled of him, and all of your childhood memories erupted, causing your eyes to dampen with tears.
“What’s wrong, __?” His voice was laced with concern as he pulled away to examine your face. You shook your head, unable to say anything and simply mustered an embarrassed smile. He pulled your seat out for you, and laid the cloth napkin on your lap.
“I missed you a lot,” you finally manage, and his eyes glowed with fondness at your words.
“I did too. You look so beautiful today.” He said, and he glanced at the clock. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you. I got your favorite, gnocchi.” You smile appreciatively at his choice.
“Do you remember when we first started dating?” He asked, and you nodded. Woojin and Daehwi were unaware, and Sejeong had merely assumed that it was the start of an intensified ‘some’ relationship. Your dates were casual: you would read your poems that you had tried to write for him, and he would be a personal jukebox with his guitar. You would study at the library together to make up for the load of school work to be done, applied for colleges together, and it was only after Donghyun had demanded to see your results before anyone else’s that people realized there was something there.
“Do you remember when Daehwi refused to talk to you for a week because we never told him?” You giggled as your food arrived. Donghyun laughed, shaking his head at the memory. Daehwi had been so offended for not being told of their relationship status. It was not just him; you and Donghyun had seen no need to actually share the information unless someone asked. Daehwi had simply never asked.
“Do you remember the only time you got angry, when that girl tried to ask for my number?” You huffed in disbelief at his words. There had been a girl the first week of university who had fallen head over heels for Donghyun. He has mentioned it in passing to you during a video chat, and you had immediately hung up, taking a bus to his campus and scowling at every other girl until it seemed evident that he was taken. He had found your jealousy endearing and adorable. The girl backed off fairly soon after your visits.
“Says you! I still remember you pulling me away from Hyunbin during high school,” you grumble around a mouthful of food, and he waved his fork in the air, rapidly chewing his food to reply.
“Because I couldn’t let another guy take my crush away! I can’t believe you didn’t know I liked you at the time.” You burst out laughing at this, but you also felt weary. It was only the first year of college– who knew how hard it would get as time went on? You had no doubt in his love or your own, but it pained you to see him push aside his time in the studio for you.
“I’ve loved you longer than you would ever know.” You said finally, and he crabbed your hand gently, giving it a squeeze.
“These feelings don’t fade easily.” He agreed, before putting his fork down. His plate was almost empty, but he looked tense. “____.” You look up, your eyes meeting his. You put your fork down, a pain in your chest as you already knew what was coming.
“I don’t like seeing you have to juggle time between me and school. I know how hard you work, and how much you want to do well to support your family.” He began, his eyes unable to meet yours. You flinched at the words. It was definitely not that the emotions that died. “I don’t like hearing from Sejeong that you can barely wake up for class because we went out and I was too insensitive to realize you had work.” You tried to protest, but his gaze silenced you. “I want you to do well, to do what you love.” A thick silence filled the room.
“We need time to focus on things outside of our love.” You said finally, and he looked pained at the words, despite the nod of his head. “You love me, and I love you. But you also love music. We aren’t at time where we can easily prioritize one for the other, but letting go of either seems a little risky.” He nodded again, a frown forming on his face. You wanted to hug him, to reassure him that it was not the end, but you could not find a way to do it.
“So what are we?” His question triggered memories of how you two had come to be, and you swallowed the lump that was suffocating you. How could the same question that brought you two together feel so wrong now?
“We are soulmates and we always will be. Remember that saying? If you love someone, let them go.”
“And if they come back, they’re forever yours. If they don’t they never were.” He finished. “This… it’s not a goodbye.” The waiter dropped off the check, which he grabbed before you could. You watched him, the tears in his eyes as he tried to mumble something about letting his lasting memory for you be as a gentleman, and your heart wrenched at the bitter laughter that came from him.
“Hey, Kim Donghyun.” He looked up. “If you keep waiting for me, then I’ll wait for you too.”
“And you just never talked since then? What the hell are you doing?” Youngmin burst out. You hold back a woeful smile, hoping your face did not look as miserable as you felt.
“It’s hard to. We stopped talking since that day. It isn’t hard to miss each other in a big place like Seoul.” Youngmin shook his head in disbelief, downing another shot. You followed his movement, a sigh forming from your lips.
“I miss you, Kim Donghyun.” You say, the words slightly slurring. Daehwi offered you a french fry, a sympathetic look shining from his eyes.
“___, it’s running late. Maybe you should go home if you’re getting a little drunk,” Woojin suggested quietly, and you nodded. Donghyun wouldn’t come, and you would scrape by another day. Yes, you were finally a lawyer. And yes, you made a story, something that relayed your own tale. But there was still and empty Donghyun shaped hole in your life, one that you had blockaded other males from attempting to fill.
“Do you need help?” Daehwi offered, standing up. You shook your head, motioning for him to sit back down.
“Enjoy yourselfs. I’ll grab a taxi. My apartment isn’t far anyways.” You got up, trying to pay for the orders, but Youngmin stopped you with a stern look.
“___, I’m the oldest here. Just get home safely.” You nod, accepting his kindness with a smile and leaving. You wrap your cardigan around yourself a little tighter, trying to ignore the breeze. It was almost fall, and Seoul was undoubtedly getting chillier earlier this year. For the first time in a while, you let yourself think about Kim Donghyun.
You missed him. You had written a journal with all of the words you wanted to say, explaining how your day was. You had taken polaroids by yourself, updates on your hairstyles and foods that you knew he would love. Every time you had crab stew, you would write your thoughts on how the restaurant had brought the flavors to life, or failed to, because you knew he would care and agree with you. You had cried into your pillow too many times, worn that threadbare hoodie he had left behind at your house in your last year of high school almost every day, and had stored all of the little love letters and music compositions he had gifted you in a box, stowed away in the corner of your closet. You had taken down all the photos of you two in your room, knowing it would be painful, but still peeked at them, admiring his youthful and bright smile. His smile. How much you missed it.
Perhaps it was the darkness and the alcohol, or the sullen energy draining depression that occurred as you thought more and more of him, but you could not even manage a look of surprise when you stumbled. You sighed, unable to force yourself to get up. Now, at age 25. A successful lawyer in a medium sized firm, a writer who was getting growing recognition, and utterly single. You had turned down too many possible relationships, many with good people too, for Donghyun. Donghyun, your childhood neighbor. Donghyun, your best friend. Donghyun, your first love, high school sweetheart, and soulmate.
“Excuse me, miss.” You flinch at the voice. It echoed within you, shaking your mind and playing with your emotions. It couldn’t be… “Are you okay?” You keep your gaze downwards, your hair framing your face and hiding it from view.
“I- I’m fine, thank you.” You wince at how it came out with a small sob, and you could hear him kneel down before you. You duck your head down even more, panic rising in your chest.
“Why are you crying, if you don’t mind me asking?” His scent wafted around you, and it tugged on your stomach violently. You remembered the afternoons where you could wait for him, falling asleep in his bed while he would run errands for his parents. It was the same scent.
“I’m… it’s just hard on me right now.” You stutter. A hand gently brushes your hair away, and he catches your gaze. Donghyun’s eyes are glittering under the dim streetlights, still loving and warm as always.
“___, it’s okay. I’m here now.” You burst into tears, the years of pent up emotions overflowing. Joy, confusion, bitterness, and love overwhelmed you as he pulled you into an embrace that you missed far too much, his hand stroking your hair gently as you tried to not wail into his shoulder.
“Donghyun.” You managed to cough up. He laughed a little, his gaze still fond as he pulled back to see your tear streaked and blotchy face. You were mortified that this was how he would see you for the first time in half a decade. His own eyes were watering, and they flitted over your face repeatedly, drawing in all the tiniest of details. The same eyes that you were looking for at your college graduation, but had to accept the disappointment of not seeing. The same eyes that you also had sought at your law school graduation, but had missed. And now here they were, on you.
“Hmm? You’ve grown so beautiful and strong. I’m proud of you.” He helped you up, is arms still embraced around you. You hiccup pathetically at his words. You had craved his approval more than anyone else’s. Your parents’ approval, nor Sejeong’s, could satiate the emptiness in you.
“How are you?” You burst out, and he chuckled, playing with your hair the way he used to when you were younger. He hummed in thought, as if to dissect what he should fill you in on. A pang of sadness hit you when you realized you truly hadn’t an idea of what he was up to.
“Well, I graduated with honors in composition and music theory. I went on to working and submitting my work for more recognition. I built a foundation for myself, got my own studio and workplace near the Han River. Do you know that song that Wanna One is singing for their reunion? I wrote that.” He said proudly, and a burst of pure happiness exploded in you. He made it. Kim Donghyun, the kid who would baby you since you were children, had finally accomplished his dream. Your separation paid off. The thought made you pale, and you felt fear grip you as you stiffened. He gave you a worried look.
“Are you okay?” His voice was gentle and urgent, his hands gripped tightly on your shoulders to keep you from moving. You lowered your gaze, clearing your throat awkwardly.
“Is there… another girl?” Your voice came out a little too sharp, something close to a trill. He was silent for a moment, and you could not bring yourself to glance at him. Panic began to bubble, and he finally pulled you in for a warm hug. You felt conflicted. Was this a goodbye? Was he actually going to reveal he was in a serious relationship? Was he-
“Dummy, do you think I would leave you?” His voice was tired, but there was love laced into every syllable. Comfort filled you immediately. “___, you’re my soulmate and the love of my life. Don’t count on it for a second that I would ever forget you.”
a/n: so i just randomly got the idea for this fic and decided to start it. it’ll probably be 3-4 parts in the end. i’ve never written elucien before, so i hope that this is okay! thanks so much to @sarahviehmann for helping me edit and giving me constant support, i love you!
No one is there for Elain. Not with Nesta standing by, in all her loud, violent glory. Nesta screams for days, until her voice is hoarse, even after that, and Elain doesn’t know how anyone can bear to be around her anymore. But then one day, she stops. Elain is there to watch her, sitting on a bench at the edge of one of the many terraces in the House of Wind. Angry tears drip down her sister’s chin, her face contorted. She’s holding onto the metal railing, the only thing keeping her from vaulting herself over the edge. And then it melts beneath her touch, just like that.
Nesta pulls back quickly, staring at her hands as if they were something foreign. Elain thinks that maybe they are. A flicker of a flame dances across Nesta’s fingertips and she yelps. One of the warriors comes running when Nesta stops screaming, worried she’d been hurt, but Elain doesn’t care enough to see which one it is. All she sees is him leading Nesta back inside, talking excitedly about her new power, and a glimpse of Nesta’s teeth as she smiles. Elain is left alone. Forgotten. Ignored.
It was @accidental-rambler‘s birthday this week. Which means I had the perfect excuse to write Nessian smut! Happy birthday, Kate!
He felt weary to his very bones.
knew he should probably eat, but his appetite had been dulled by his visits to
the camps, his fight to get the girls trained.
All he really wanted now was his bed and her.
was like a prayer in his mind, and he
found himself almost desperate for her, as he opened the door to the room they
shared. He wanted the familiar sight of
her – so often, he’d come back to this room, to see her cross legged on their
bed, wrapped in a heavy dressing gown, her hair tugged up into a messy mass on
top of her head. Cassian knew he was the only one that ever got to see her like
that; to the rest of the world, she was always carefully dressed, her hair
wound into an impeccable braid around her head.
opened the door to the room, his weariness almost entirely replaced by
eagerness, and came up short.
Title: Walk Through Fire At My Side Author: Areiton Artist: iouii Rating: Mature Pairings: Dean/Cas Warnings/Tags: canon typical violence, war, minor character death, era typical slavery, imprisonment, hurt/comfort, pining, miscommunication, John is the actual worst, dead Lucifer Posting Date: 11/1/2017
Summary: Castiel was sent to Hadrian’s Wall as punishment, cut off from Rome and his powerful family. He intends to do his time, before he returns to a girl who loves him and a family he misses.
He doesn’t expect Sam, a wild mystic who rescues him, or his gruff and overprotective brother Dean, as violent and threatening as he is kind.
Dean doesn’t think he can tolerate a Roman, a Legate, not after his history in the arena. But Sam’s visions say that together, they’re safe, and Dean’s trusted those for longer than he can remember.
As hostilities between their people increase and both are pressed into fighting a war they don’t believe in, Dean and Castiel are pulled apart by duty and family expectations. Balanced between an empire and a new world, Castiel and two brothers will fight for peace and a fragile chance at love.
- - -
He wakes first, and for a few moments, lays still, assessing the pain in his side, the low throb in his shoulder. He rolls it slightly, testing and appraising the stiffness.
It’s manageable. Not quite as sedate as he would prefer, but manageable.
He should leave.
Go back to Wall.
Gabriel will be furious and on edge–he was a little surprised that his impetuous brother had not started a war already, that no one had been sent over the Wall for him yet.
But then, maybe someone had.
His head rolls to the side, and he sees Dean, sleeping close enough to touch.
He looks soft, gentle, his eyelashes twitching against freckled skin and intricate tattoos. Long hair, in clumps and braids, spreads like a wave around his head.
He’s from the heart of Rome, an Empire that prides itself on beauty and elegance, but he has never seen anything as lovely as this Pict warrior with a gentleness that startles him.
He wants to stay here. In this quiet peaceful glade, with Sam and his herbs and potions, with Dean and his rough voice and sharp glances.
He likes it here, more than he has any right to.
The sun is coming up, through the trees, birds singing louder in the forest.
He’s still watching Dean when the other man blinks awake, and he watches it, watches it wash over him like the sunrise, a slow flutter of long lashes and a sleepy smile that he knows damn well isn’t meant for him.
It’s the warmest look Dean has ever given him and he allows himself to reveal in it for longer than he should, while Dean wakes up.
“Good morning, Dean,” he whispers, into the quiet cabin.
“Mornin’, Blue,” Dean mumbles back and for a while, as the forest wakes beyond this small haven, they enjoy the silence together.
So I’ve been considering doing a post about this for a while and since there’ve been a lot of discussions about Leia recently I figured ‘why not’?
So, some things about Leia and her hair from a person who is living with hair LONGER than Leia’s is depicted in ROTJ and has been for quite a long time.
Please bare with me while I learn to use this thing.
1. She is inevitably asked by someone if her hair is real every time she tries a new style.
2. As a child she would wear her hair down when she was at home but as she grows (along with her hair) it becomes a less common occurrence because her hair is to much to deal with down. (Exceptions are made for headaches. Sometimes.)
3. On the way to Bespin Han asked her to wear it down and she refused (5 times) until she finally un-braided it all for him to see how long it is. (Han stops asking.)
4. Breha taught Leia to do her hair and Leia keeps some of her pins to tuck into her hair, even once they’re worn out and no longer keep anything in place.
5. She never has enough bobby pins.
6. Or hair ties.
(She asks Chewie to buy her some while on a supply run. He brings back exactly what she asks for and refuses any payment.) 7.On the way to Bespin she teaches Han simple styles and techniques; how to divide hair for a braid, how and where to pin them, what styles are good for what, and, his personal favorite, how to find all of the pins.
8. Hair, on Alderaan is tradition and modesty and necessity. It takes Leia some time to learn this but it takes her even longer to realize that other places don’t share the same customs.
9. A particularly rude Ambassador once inquired as to why she wore her hair “like a common peasant.” She hit him. (She later discovers that the people on his planet only bind their hair if they must work. She never apologizes.)
10. Leia is distraught over Jaina’s refusal to have her hair done and she cries the night Jaina comes home with it chopped short. (She thought she was going to get the chance to pass on the things her mother taught her.)
11. There is a crisis (because there is always a crisis) on some midrim world they happen to be on and a law is passed saying that to leave any hair must be shaved to the skull. Han promises to stay with her until the decree is lifted and he teaches her how to wrap her hair in scarves the way he remembers his mother doing.
12. The Rogues tell her mood by her hair. Han tells the political climate. Luke tells the weather.
13. One time, trying to be helpful, Luke brings her images of various hairstyles from the holonet. Leia is forced to tell him that anything that is pictured with hair shorter than hers will never work like the pictures but agrees to try some anyway.
14. Her hairstyle on Bespin is not something she’s ever seen done before but Han created the beginnings of it one night when she allowed him to braid her hair.
15. The style becomes one of her favorite elegant styles. She wears it on their wedding day.
16. She’s not one for overly adorning her hair but she has a handful of decorative clips, two hair sticks in different styles, a circlet and a diadem, all of which are very simple.
17. Her circlet was created for her when she was born, elegant gold twisting and coiling with one small sapphire set in it. After the war it was thought to be lost. That is, until it turned up, along with jewelry that had been in an exhibit about the designer. They found the diadem there too. It had been her mother’s, and it was quite simple, silver with small diamonds. (Her mother always said it was a day diadem, for formal events before sundown.)
18. After the event with Jaina’s hair Leia says nothing. She sits at her dressing table and does her own hair, leaving the door open for her daughter just in case.
19. Han built her a stool for the ‘fresher on the Falcon so that she can sit in front of the mirror and be at just the right height to do her hair.
20. The Rogues timed her once on doing her hair. She took out two braided buns and turned them into four braids coiling around her head. It took her 20 minutes to do the whole thing. They were impressed.
21. Jaina eventually begins allowing her mother to style her hair again for formal events. It’s quite short but Leia is quite skilled. After Jaina turns 18 Leia allows her to wear the circlet but Jaina rarely agrees, saying she’s not the real Princess.
22. There’s a rumor that Leia can do her hair faster than Han can tear apart, clean and reload his blaster. This is untrue. They tried it once. Han was 11 seconds faster.
23. When her friends get married Leia does their hair. For Winter it was a traditional coronet that looks like a tiara with the right pins. For Mara it was a waterfall of braids that she has only ever replicated for Mara on she and Luke’s 10th anniversary. The list goes on.
24. When Jag proposed Jaina began growing her hair out while trying not to make it seem obvious. The morning of the wedding she waits at her mother’s dressing table until Leia emerges from the ‘fresher. With tears in her eyes, Leia braids the diadem into her daughter’s hair and realizes how much she wished her mother had been there to do this for her.
25. After Bespin Leia allows her hair to become a mess. Finally a kind Alderaani survivor comes and washes and braids Leia’s hair, saying that it won’t do them any good to find Captain Solo if he has no one to come back for.
26. Leia would never cut her hair. She won’t even consider it.
27. Han establishes a rule that if he takes her hair out at night he either has to rebraid it before they go to sleep or he has to help her brush it in the morning. He figures this is a fair rule since he’s usually responsible for the mess it is.
28. She teaches Jacen how to do hair and he’s always excited when his daughter tells her friends that her dad made the elaborate twists and coils.
29. Breha used time together doing hair as a way to teach her daughter about the galaxy but Leia stopped dreaming of a daughter of her own during the war.
30. Jaina is stubborn and “far to like Han” but she learned far more from her mother than Leia ever thought she did. She always tells her friends that beauty is often seen as a softness and lack of strength but she’s never seen anyone look more beautiful, and still kick butt, than her mother. Being focused on ones hair or make up or clothes isn’t something to be frowned upon, because you never see it coming when they can win a fight in an alley.
(Hoping this makes sense, I have a major headache. (: )
Aaah how could I resist the opportunity to get Jonsa goodness! Could you please write something about Jon helping Sansa get dressed or doing her hair or such?
Thank you for the ask my dear! I wrote this a while ago, but I think it fits the prompt? Xx
Sansa tried to be scrupulous about appearances. They mattered. She knew that better than most. The Lannisters had wrapped her in lions, complete with teeth and claws, the day she wed Tyrion. She’d worn her own dress emblazoned with a wolf when staring Ramsay down, and she’d drawn strength from it.
So she was angry she’d let her hair get away from her. The past week hadn’t given any of them a moment’s rest. A raven had come to Winterfell heralding the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa heard whispers of the queen’s beauty, even this far north. She’d thought herself past vanity. Apparently she’d been mistaken. She was vain enough to want her hair to shine like burnished copper, as it had when her mother brushed it, so she could greet the queen with confidence. But late nights and early mornings had forced her to braid her hair quickly, to keep it out of the way of the maps spread out hastily in Winterfell’s great hall.
Now it was tangled, hopelessly, in the back. She was standing, scowling at her reflection. I don’t have time for this.
She heard a knock at the door. “Sansa, it’s Jon. May I come in?” She almost turned him away. But the news he carried could be important, and she couldn’t shut herself in her room forever.
“Yes, come in please, Jon.” He closed the door, cutting off the colder air from the hallway. Sansa cursed as the brush got stuck once again. Jon seemed shocked. She’d probably never cursed in front of him before.
“Sansa, what’s wrong?”
Sansa was too tired to lie. She’d have to tell him. She sighed, setting the brush down. “Jon, promise, please, not to laugh.”
Jon looked about as far away from laughing as possible, but then again, he usually looked solemn. “I won’t, Sansa.”
“It’s-“ Sansa gestured fruitlessly to the back of her head. “My hair, Jon, it’s tangled, and I can’t brush through it. And no, I can’t ask a lady’s maid for help, I can’t ask anyone for help, because I can’t let them-“
Jon strode across the room, and his arms were around her before she could get out the rest of the warning. Sansa stiffened, and Jon loosened his grip, ready to release her. He felt…good, warm and solid, and Sansa focused on her breathing. He won’t hurt me. He won’t. She gathered up her courage and leaned into him. Jon held her a little tighter, and waited. She sensed he was ready to stand there all night, even all week.
“Sansa, you don’t have to explain.” Jon’s voice was low, and soft, and she could feel his words reverberate in his chest. She held on to his shirt with one hand. “I just – if there’s anything I can do, to help you, please tell me.”
Sansa focused on the feel of Jon’s stubble against her cheek, and the scent of leather that clung to him. Maybe she could make a jest, to get out the mess she’d found herself in. “Do kings brush hair?”
Jon tilted his ear towards her. “Hm?” She couldn’t blame him. She’d spoken directly into the fabric of his shirt. She pulled back, and tried for lightness. “Kings. Do they brush hair?”
She waited for a hint of a smile. Instead Jon held her gaze, his eyes dark and serious. “I don’t know about kings, Sansa, but I’d try, if you wanted.”
Sansa didn’t trust herself to speak just then, so she reached for the silver brush on her table. Her hand shook slightly. She held it out to him. Jon took the handle from her. He still hadn’t let her go, and Sansa found she didn’t want him to. She felt safe, and wished she could keep him here, in her chambers. That thought led to other half-suppressed feelings she knew she had to ignore, so she turned, and sat.
Jon was at a loss, but determined. He cleared his throat. “Is it better if I stand?”
“It’s easier if you sit in a chair behind me.”
“I saw your mother and you like that, once.” Jon pulled up a chair behind her. He was quiet, which was a blessing. Sansa expected the large knots in her hair were intimidating. She was about to give Jon some advice, to tell him he might have to start with his fingers, when he made quick work of the first tangles. She looked at him in the mirror, surprised. “Have you done this before, Jon?”
Jon shrugged. “I brushed horses at the Wall,” he said, and then shut his eyes. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.” Sansa was speechless. The chagrin on Jon’s face was too much, and Sansa couldn’t help a small laugh at his expense.
She covered her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry, Jon, that was unkind.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s…I’m glad to hear you laugh.” The corner of Jon’s mouth turned up, and he kept working. “Your hair’s so fine, anyway,” he said gently, “the knots come out easily.” Sansa knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. The tangled mess was challenging, but Jon was patient. Soon Sansa closed her eyes, tilting her head back. It was such a luxury, to have someone do this for her. It was such a luxury not to flinch at someone’s touch. She heard his chair scrape against the floor to get a bit closer. She felt his fingertips at her temple, lightly, at the beginning of each stroke through her hair.
“Is this too hard?”
“No, Jon, you’re gentler than mother was.” She yawned, and dimly realized he’d not told her where he needed to be next.
When she woke the room was dim. The sun had almost set. She could feel Jon’s presence behind her. “How long was I asleep?”
“Not that long.”
He was a terrible liar. “Jon, the sun’s gone down, it’s been at least a few hours. Were you here, the whole time?”
“Aye I didn’t - you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You’re welcome, Sansa.”
“How did you get out that one huge knot in the back?” She couldn’t believe she’d slept through that.
“I just…concentrated,” he said, and something in his tone made her shiver. “Do you need me to braid it? You’d have to show me, it always looks so intricate, around your head, small braids and large ones.” His forehead creased. A man ready to lead an army to war, flummoxed at the thought of dressing a woman’s hair. She could only imagine what he would have made of the elaborate styles she’d worn back when she thought Cersei Lannister was the height of grace and beauty.
Sansa did want his help, and soon. But this wasn’t the time. “No, you’d better go, I’m sure Davos and Tormund are wondering where you are by now.” He looked at her in confusion and she sighed, inwardly. Think, Jon, you spent hours in your sister’s bedroom, unplanned, people see, they talk. He got up with a strange reluctance and paused at the door.
“Good night, Sansa.”
“Good night, Jon.” Her hair flowed like silk as pulled it over one shoulder. She looked down at the silver brush on the table. There was barely a strand caught in it. She wouldn’t have been half so careful herself. Sansa braided her hair back to keep it from tangling again while she slept and threw two extra logs on for light and warmth. She slept well, and long, that night, dreaming of copper and fire and Jon’s dark eyes.
[Image: A digital drawing of Bodhi, Cassian, and Jyn. Bodhi and Jyn are in front of Cassian and smiling with flowers in their hair. Bodhi’s hair is styled into braided pigtails, and Jyn’s hair is styled into a bun with a braid wrapped around her head. Cassian is smiling and gesturing to the Bodhi and Jyn with his arms.]