𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒅

you want to make me bad. and i like it like that. you want to make me bad, pay me back. said i like it like that. aymeric xandros. 40. shadow knight. morrigan blackseer. 36. high seer. james lovelace. 37. lord. carric regwyn. 35. crown prince.

[andbcne-archive]

hcrctics​:

she hadn’t actually expected what his chambers would be like, but they were comfortable. still, orlaith found herself pausing slightly after she entered, expecting the room to be a fair bit larger than it actually was. she watched him, his comfort in his own environment something different. he seemed at ease, though movements a little off than usual, his hair, his attire– different. the queen wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting, but she was pleased, regardless. it pulled her thought process from her, tugging it as her eyes smoothed over him, until it was gone, his voice the only thing drawing it back. “– but is it wrong to feel that?” she had that question about several aspects of her life at the moment; was even this arrangement between them, with her husband missing, was it wrong? she gave a sigh, looking over his chambers in a little more detail now. “i think I liked it—” her fingers brushed over the edge of the copper bath sitting to the side of the room as she spoke. her mind slipped as she lost herself in her own reflection, mirrored back at her from the water still in the bath. she wanted all those things that she’d told astraea, and she felt as though they were just out of her grasp. 

“when i — when my abilities took over on my wedding night— whatever emotion I had after that wasn’t for the loss of that mans life. it was because I didn’t know I had that within me, I was terrified of myself— not terrified that I’d taken a life.” she paused, turning her frame towards his and sauntering over, hand lacing over his shoulder as she stood beside him. “I feel guilt because of that. “ her words were almost whispered, head tilted to the side as her fingers gently trailed up his neck and into his hair, her chocolate hues seemingly fixated on the action. people like us. a light smile forced its way onto her lips as those words left him. she’d felt like an outsider for the longest time and now, he was claiming her to be like him. like them. she took pride in that. “Will you always kill for me?” honeyed tones lathered the words, orbs drifting from her fingers in his hair to his own eyes, the wild ocean of hues swimming in them almost seeming animated.  

-

      his eyes traced the hem of her night robe as she moved, following the flow of fabric, the way it danced around her ankles when she moved first for the tub and then for his side. he was sure his chambers smelled of the oils in the water, the steam had been a pleasant mix of flowery herbs and scents mixed into whatever the chambermaid had stirred in as the hot water had been poured in from the jugs. he could smell it permeating off of his skin now, despite being covered by the thin layers of linen from his night shirt and braies, from the still-drying strands of hair he’d slicked back with thoughtless fingers. “ is it wrong to feel that power? no. you commanded the end of a life. that’s powerful, in and of itself. you’re a queen, now. a whole country is at the beck and call of your lips, at the snap of your fingers. it’s a leap from your former station as a princess, and there’s certain to be a rush of something with one of your first true orders being executed. what matters now is how you behave after. are you going to let that power go to your head, or are you going to remain a confident, stern, and fair queen? ”

      her fingers cast the spell on him, weaved into his strands that had his eyelids lowering and head leaning into her touch involuntarily. “ some people are made for ending lives, your majesty. not everyone is fortunate to learn it in a gentle manner. not everyone is fortunate to never learn it. ” he’d been a child once. innocence robbed of him too early, in ways that were unassuming at first, but even taking his first life was ... learning he was built for that was still a shock. that it didn’t ache him, that he didn’t mind it. “ this was just the time you’ve learned it. i think it makes you a stronger queen ---to know that you can find comfort in the order, if you ever need give it again. that you won’t lose sleep over the decision. it needed be done. that’s the end of that tale. ” her next question had him finally peering up at her, though still with a heavy gaze, half-closed for the continuous trail of her fingers in his hair, for the exhaustion his bath had woven into his bones. “ you only need give the command and it will be done. so long as you need. ”

[andbcne-archive]

hcrctics​:

@andbcne​ // aymeric & orlaith

there was distance between them, there had been somewhat since the moment she discovered her husband missing. guilt had been the main cause, guilt that she’d taken the man as her consort the very night her husband vanishes. would he have still been taken if she were with him that night instead? the more time that went on without his return, the more she wondered. still, she couldn’t feel like that forever and her current thoughts were on the execution, the way dromos stared her and her brother down and the way that a simple nod of her head had him taking a life for her. it was a kind of power that she hadn’t expected, but she was confused as to whether it should be felt or not. 

she pulled herself from bed, wrapping the silk robe around her and making her way to the man’s chambers. a soft few raps to the wood and she waited before it creaked open, pulling breath into her form before she let it all free in her words. “what you did today, that was— it gave me a sense of power and– am I meant to feel like that?”

-

      there were certain perks that came with having a position of station and having chambermaids draw a hot bath was certainly one of them. he was starting to feel his age, or perhaps more than the forty years he had been alive. his joints ached with colder weather in the right circumstances ---his shoulders protested when he stretched himself high and one of his knees was less pleased to bend when he felt the bite of winter coming on. the heat did well to soothe those aches, to pamper a knight who would otherwise never admit to wanting something so soft or easy for himself. by the time the queen had knocked on the door to his chambers he was thoroughly clean and relaxed, dressed for sleep and with a muss to his hair that suggested he’d merely carded his fingers through it once it began to dry.

      “ your majesty, ” and he stepped aside, allowing her to enter before he shut the door behind her. this would be something expected now, wouldn’t it? aymeric shifted to his bed, perched himself on the end and laced his fingers together, brow raising in consideration of her question. “ the execution? ” he supposed giving the kill command would be enticing. it was something he surely understood. “ you ordered the end of a man’s life. penance for striking against you and your former country. there’s going to be something powerful in that. sentencing ... taking ... especially your first times. i’ll always remember the way it felt to take my first life, the adrenaline, the pounding of my heart. i think it’s normal, for people like us. ”

[yocalio]

You were told to ride at the back of the train. Yes my Queen. I need to speak to you about something important. A matter of strategy.

[andbcne-archive]

@ofblxxd

[andbcne-archive]

hcrctics​:

the air became slightly thicker around her, as if she hadn’t opened her airways enough to fully breathe in the atmosphere. she couldn’t. her attention was so wound up in the process unfolding before her that breathing seemed to become less of a need. the stone bench beneath her was suddenly very solid, her palm meeting the cool and uneven surface of it as she somewhat grounded herself, fingers curling around the edge as her knuckles turned white. orlaith was not at all sure what she was expecting. had she known it was this easy to get him to undress, perhaps she would have just asked earlier. 

as each layer was slowly peeled back, dissected from the aesthetics that was his common armour, the young queen found herself strangely in awe.  she wouldn’t deny that her expression would have looked like that of a school girls’, who’d never laid eyes on a man before. oraith had, her husband received the same look, however the gentle to-and-fro between the pair had built on whatever was being presented before her and the woman’s eyes were now almost religiously dedicated to the act. chocolate hues watched his slightly worn fingers expose the skin that lay decorated with a thousands lives worth of valour. suddenly, she felt a strange twist in her stomach, one that radiated through her core and again decorated her skin in scarlet flurries. there were so many, silvery and ethereal in their own right. she hadn’t really had the time to become acquainted with her own husband’s skin yet, but she thought she would remember if it were quite as decorated as this. 

air finally filled her lungs before orlaith ground whatever strength was not pooling in her stomach and rose to her feet. the steps towards him seemed to echo, as if there was something dangerous about approaching him, and perhaps there was but she was already in the belly of the beast as she let her eyes meet his, only mere inches from him. “Can I–” she cut off her own words, voice not really present enough as it seemed whatever twisted in her gut had removed the ability to vibrate through her vocal chords successfully. he wasn’t going to deny her, even if she managed to get the words out. she was duty, after all. her fingers were strangely confident as they met the silvery divide across his chest, the skin smooth and not at all what she expected. the pads of her fingers followed it lightly, down across his stomach, before her thumb grazed over the unharmed yet still weathers skin connected to it. her eyes were transfixed on the map of his skin, each scar painting a delicate portrait of his life and each scar proudly shouting that he’d won whatever he came up against. 

she breathed, the heat from his body warming her hand as she then rested her entire palm on his middle, suddenly aware that her heart was seemingly trying to escape the confines of her ribs. her eyes flicked up to meet his as she filled her lungs once more, a growing attempt to rid her body of the betrayal it had currently put on display. she gave him a light smile, hand leaving him torso and moving to her own body. delicate fingers pulled the black silk from her shoulder, and let it fall slightly, exposing the freshly healed sight of her scar just low of her left clavicle. the arrow had definitely ensured to leave whatever mark it could and while bran had done the best he could to siphon whatever healing powers from those nearby, she’d still be marked. “it’s a little like yours.” she mused, fingers moving to the scar that sat proudly on his right shoulder, softly touching the surface of the memory. “I guess it’s not that bad.” she hummed, smile growing a little more now over tangerine lips.

-

      he’d certainly been subjected to inspections before. in his earliest days of knighthood, before he’d made any sort of name for himself and when his skin only had but a few silvered lines dancing across it, he stood before someone much higher in the chain of command than himself and allowed them to scrutinize everything about him. of course in those moments he was clad in armor, ready to be pulled apart for any little detail out of place, ready to be reamed at for having the wrong expression on his face if he so much as cracked a cheeky grin. but this was somehow different. the gaze cast onto his flesh was not scrutinizing, more intrigued than not ---certainly interested. and aymeric noted the way orlaith’s fingers dug into the stone bench beneath her, as if she were anchoring herself to the earth for fear of floating away. in any other instance he’d have commented on it, jabbed aloud so she could know he was teasing, chased the flush in her cheeks to sneak down that long neck of hers and tinge the exposed skin of her chest where her dress clung helplessly. but not where others could hear. not where he’d be blamed for not only standing before his queen in less, but prodding her to say the very things that could incriminate him. so he merely stood with his hands folded at the small of his back, much as he had the night he’d escorted her from he chambers at the banquet for her wedding ceremony, and affixed his line of sight straight on.

      some part of him understood what it meant to admire such marks. he considered them pieces of art ---some had tattoos, he had scars to map his flesh, to guide the eyes to stories of their creation rather than the unmarked perfection others claimed. and they were surely painful when they had been carved in, when the wounds were fresh and seeping, but a distant memory of that eked now and only if aymeric spent too much time thinking of it. when orlaith rose, stepped forward, he allowed his gaze to dip downward to meet hers, watched the part in her lips when she paused her question ---you don’t ask, you’re a queen, you take ---and then briefly dropped to the fingers that sought the mark on his chest. one of the most obvious ones, and he’d intended on tearing that gaze away ... to make himself more impassive as she sought to slake her curiosity, but aymeric merely crooked his head to the side and followed he path downward.

      if he was a ticklish sort of man he would have felt his stomach buckle when she traced down still, but it only moved when he inhaled, and only slightly. if they were anywhere else he would have pressed her palm insistently against the skin below his navel, just above the line of his pants ---but he only watched with knowing earthen eyes. and still it seemed as if she were determined to grasp as much of him as she could, the splay of fingers against his stomach something much softer than his own rough hands could ever offer even in passing. his were made for hard scrubbing now, calloused and scarred with fresh marks in the palms almost constantly, the hands of a working man ---whereas hers were delicate with thin fingers and prim nails. soft. welcoming. aymeric met the queen’s gaze again when she paused there, fought the urge to grin wickedly at her (and succeeded, for once), and merely watched when she pulled away all at once.

      curiosity stole at his brows when she moved, adjusted the shoulder of her thin gown to show the mark laid fresh in the otherwise flawless skin there. she was like porcelain ---no oddities or marks anywhere but where the arrow had nestled itself, and aymeric allowed his attention to soak in the detail of it. the way it shone against her otherwise, the contrast of it in comparison. it was lovely ... and it did mirror his own. “ it is, ” he confirmed, allowing himself to muse when she touched at him again. something not at all unpleasant, not at all unwelcome despite the circumstances of the moment. “ it’s proof you survived their attempt on your life. it makes you more of something to fear. now you have your own tale to tell, be it to your king husband or otherwise. ” and now the corners of his lips did upturn, even if only in slight. “ a tough woman. that is appealing. ”

[andbcne-archive]

ofdcrling·:

standing from her perch, the madam bows her head momentarily before offering the gentleman a more relaxed smile  -  although her own guilt of the attack had her tense, the man’s demeanour calmed her. “i care not for how much coin is spent in my brothel, my dear.  only that good times are had and bad ones are left at the foot of the doorway.”  a hand gestures to the inside of the brothel as she walks inside, the lounge bustling with drinkers and people awaiting the girl’s and boy’s from their chambers.  since the havoc the battle caused, branwynn found herself working as protector, madam, healer and barmaid all at once and it was evidently exhausting.

stepping behind the bar, the madam drops her cloak at her feet, allowing her feet to shuffle the old fabric to crumple up beside her on the stained wooden floor. she could not care at this point for the state she looked, for she cared more for the entertainment of her patrons and the health of her girls and boys.  “i suppose you are an ale man, not a wine man.”

-

      “ i’d hope you weren’t a betting woman, ” aymeric jested, a soft smirk tracing the line of his lips as he followed her into the brothel. there was something both incredibly comforting and disconcerting about the sensations within these establishments. it struck a chord quite similar to home for him --- and all of the connotations that came along with that. the old ease of conversation with the workers therein, the gossip they collected from pillow talk and the unfair judgments passed on the patrons. he was too young to learn of those details but that mind had been a sponge, absorbed them all and noted where each should be, one versus another, the lovely details all tucked away for use at a later time. all assets that transformed into useful skills in his adulthood ---how to sit in the back of these establishments and keep his ears open. how to be unseen, how to dwell in the shadows.

      from across the bar he rest himself, leaning against the counter and letting his eyes to dance across the various bottles and their placements. “ trace your fingers across the bottlenecks. whatever they land on, i’ll drink. ” wine, ale, mead ... it mattered little. save for home made swill, aymeric truly was not a picky man ... and he’d even take the latter if there was no other option available. with a slight purse to his lips he added, “ and thank you. ”

[nehmesis]

love, he says, is not real. he’s said it again: with his nails digging in my collarbone, those flighty night-howls always drowning his voice.  but it’s still shaky: i think he’s like a faulty clockwork that won’t admit it’s malformed / breath trembling when he says it yet his greedy fingers want more to grasp upon. define pressure point for me, & I’ll tell you what’s his. love is not real, he says when all lights are out, hips moving carelessly. ( when i say I love you, he never laughs, but  his lips tremble & he whispers, don’t do this to me )

Demi Ev./ pressure point (via nehmesis)

[dailyhouse]

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@ofblxxd

[andbcne-archive]

rhea-elle​:

She resisted the urge to smirk at his words, and, instead, nodded as though he’d actually affirmed her statement. “I believe that means I’m still right. You’re still here, speaking with me aren’t you? Unless you’re simply a facsimile of whomever you’re supposed to be – perhaps a specter and this is an elaborate magic trick from your kingdom.” Rhea reached out, two fingers to the base of his neck for a brief barely there moment, though long enough to feel the pulse that beat beneath the skin before retracting fingers just as fast with a quirked brow. “As I thought – alive. Which means your time simply hasn’t come yet. And that you’ve refused death more times than it’s likely counted on.” She herself had had close encounters with death before but they danced the familiar dance before going their separate ways. Often, with her worse for wear but no less in tact of mind and spirit.

Rhea popped another piece of bread in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he went on, feet shuffling beneath the table to cross one ankle over the other. “Elder brother, yes. And marriage does little to entice me so no, I am not wed.” Knight or not, she had no interest of being tied to another in that manner, no desire to have a man try to exert control over her life. Dusting off her hands, she tucked some stray strands behind her ear, neatly with the rest of her tied-back hair and couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged the corner of her lip upward. 

“Touché, ser Xandros.” She did wonder at his name for a brief instance but it wasn’t a question worth asking then, since she had one anyway. Rather, it was Rhea’s turn to shift slightly in his direction, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin against curled knuckles,. “Is it not Wheldrake’s way to shroud itself in mystery and shadows? And yet I am to believe you’re an open book?” 

-

      “ i didn’t realize this was a competition. ” but there was no malice in his tone, no spite or disinterest ---quite the opposite. amusement glittered in his eyes, shining more favorably to mossy green today than any other of the colors they shone normally. his tone was softer, as if purposefully trying to lure the lady-knight closer, to listen more aptly, to be more invested in the coy game that ser xandros was attempting to play. “ i’m not the knight who plays tricks with spirits. you’re thinking of ser veles ---tall and broad like bull with white hair and pretty gold eyes. ” standing side-by-side they were light and darkness, aymeric a shadow cast from the source. and aymeric so often followed behind his closest friend, willing to sacrifice his own time (as if he had better things to spend it on) to ensure shenanigans followed frey wherever he went. he was thankful for their balance ---for the strange sort of comfort that frey offered simply by being ... though he’d be sore to admit it aloud. especially to frey.

      and the smirk on his lips only widened when she leaned forward: his eyes dropped to her fingers briefly, watching where they shifted and pressed in the slightest of touches. one brow quirked. what a bold thing. “ what makes you so certain i didn’t have one of the necromancers of my kingdom reanimate me? perhaps i’m just an elaborate shell of a man, under the thrall of a sorcerer or sorceress, bound until my body falls to shambles? perhaps you should check, ensure how alive i really am. ”

      her confirmation on the other green knight bearing the same surname had him nodding, readjusting his cheek against the back of his knuckles where he leaned as steadily as he did. “ it seems we’re rowing in the same small boat then, ser laidon. neither of us wishes to be tied down by the bonds and ceremony of marriage. it’d just muddy things up. ” mercifully he’d never been betrothed, though his station as a knight did not rise him above the propositions of it. aymeric would sooner find his own fingers missing from his dominant hand than allow something so harsh to chain him down. obligation. it made his mouth feel dry for the thought of it.

      “ whoever gave you the idea that wheldrake was shrouded in mystery of all things ... shadows, surely. we’ve got bogs and mires and the city itself is always covered in mist or overcast but mystery is not apart of our weather or nature. i think you’ve spent too much of your wild youth listening to tall tales. be careful with those, they’ll have you believing we’re all heathens who dance naked under the stars at each religious affair when in reality we just do that for the blood moons. ” so matter-of-fact, where his jests laced themselves into his words, no intonation change in his tone to suggest that he slipped from fact to fiction at any point. though there was the softest of chuckles, something that eased from his lips like honey, “ truly, an open book. lies serve no one, save themselves. ”

[gameofgifs]

Game of Thrones | 6.06 “Blood of My Blood”

[iheartgot]

[andbcne-archive]

@rhea-elle

[wordsnquotes]

The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.

Nikos Kazantzakis (via wordsnquotes)

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xcrwnd​:

she had been patient, waiting for the crown prince of gullivere to call for her, to check on her well being after the attack but nothing ever came and she was tired of waiting. she sought him out, asking around for his whereabouts and finally she spotted him herself. he was lucky he was handsome but she was fuming with indignation. “well, it is good to see you still have all your limbs, so i do not understand why those legs of yours never walked themselves to find me.” she felt the flame rising in her belly, she needed to calm it lest she make a misstep here. her anger felt justified but she didn’t want to ruin her betrothal.

@andbcne​

-

      from the falconer’s glove his arm had been slipped into, carric watched the large bird of prey shift and give a flap of elegant wings to balance itself. the small golden string tied around its left leg was the only indication that the creature was not wild - one of his, brought selfishly to welkin during the summit so that he might find some entertainment amidst all of the political talk and bustle. the back of his knuckle stroked down the feathers of the bird’s chest lazily, his eyes tracing the shape of the creature’s beak. it was easier than making eye contact with the angry princess. ---and what excuse did he have for not checking in on her? somehow carric imagined i didn’t realize it was my responsibility to check in on your wellbeing would boil over all that well.

      so he opted to keep his mouth shut, to remember his courtly manners and with a purse of his lips he pulled his hand back. the falcon pushed off of his glove when he moved his arm ---soared itself high above (where carric wished he could be, especially in this moment) and the crown prince of gullivere instead turned to his betrothed and offered only a deep bow in exchange for the beginnings of her forgiveness. “ my apologies, your highness. i’d like to give a feasible excuse for my absent-mindedness but in truth i have none. i fear your betrothed is as feather-brained as his pets, these days. out of sorts after the affair at queen orlaith and king halius’ marriage ceremony and subsequent banquet, as well as the temporary relocation to welkin as a whole. allow me to make it up to you. ”

[rachelsennott]

THE OLD GUARD (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood

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@hcrctics

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ryn-at-monarchy​:

“Your sacrifice to let me know is, alas, in vain,” joked Jeremiah back, strolling in as if his head did not feel like someone tried to cut it open. “If I don’t get a tonic for my head it might just split open. It’d be a tragic mess for the pretty Welkin Keep maids to clean up. How did you end up with such a brutal maiming, good sir?” 

-

      “ i’m not certain she won’t split your head open just to pour the tonic in. ” aymeric bit at the healer, eyes stuck on her as if he challenged her to respond with something other than her bony fingers kneading into his hand. her only acknowledgment was the wry grin that cracked at the corners of his lips, however small it was. when aymeric finally blinked away from the healer and acknowledged the other ---something well-to-do judging by the state of dress, by the conversation, he added, “ i dropped my sword and caught it with my palm. ” a blatant lie. but his practice of religion was private, inclusive of the blood offerings he so often delivered to his altar. usually he didn’t need medicine, but this particular cut felt nearly warm to the touch.

      “ very clumsy of me. ”

[andbcne-archive]

      location: welkin apothecary.       status: open.

      lips pursed at the healer in question, a salve clutched between their fingers as they smeared and spread the herbal concoction into aymeric’s palm, none too lightly, either. the shadow knight’s lips pursed, one brow quirked at the ministrations of the small, old woman while she dutifully worked her mixture against the marks there ---three jagged scars across the center of his hand, one cut much more fresh than the others, where it seemed they had been opened and reopened time and again. whatever she mixed smelled foul, but the suggestion to come here was not a light one and she came recommended. even if it was starting to sting.

      “ careful, woman. you’re handling a knight’s hands, not beating on an old rug to remove dirt. ” he murmured when she pressed into the wound, though his eyes lingered by the nearby patron, something close to apologetic in their gaze (if he were capable of sincere apologies).  “ run, very far away, before she brutalizes you, too. ” a tale of caution - perhaps heedless advice, given comically nonetheless.

[namtan]

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@rhea-elle

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