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rosietrace · 3 months ago

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“Midnight Waltz”

| Malleus Draconia + Victoria Shard | 🐉 + 🪞 |

✎ᝰ. synopsis : Malleus held out his hand to her, his eyes glowing under the darkness of the hall. There was a strange tug in Victoria's system, somehow urging her — convincing her — to take that step closer and intertwine her hand with his.

✎ᝰ. content warnings : takes place post-glorious masquerade, Victoria's dress description is inaccurate to the event color scheme due to this being written pre-redesign, potentially ooc

✎ᝰ. genre : romance, canon divergence, oc + canon character

( ˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ ) a/n : I have so many drafts in my docs its almost EMBARRASSING ☠️ so I saw that this was already finished among them and decided, “why the hell not?” and boom. I've finally posted it. Good for me ig [ dividers belong to the amazing @cafekitsune !!! ]

✎ᝰ. : reblogs > likes

“And just where do you think you're going?”

Whatever mood Victoria was in prior, it had immediately soured. Malleus Draconia came into view at the turn of her head.

“I'm leaving.” It was an answer, simple as that. It didn't warrant any other explanation; the festivities of Noble Bell had come to a close, and no matter the fireworks, the glimmering lights, and the enthusiasm of their schoolmates— none of it mattered.

It would all become a distant memory, one way or another. Maybe it would be something she could look back on with fondness.

Or maybe she'd forget a moment such as this. Just like so many others that came before it.

Her response made Malleus appear all the more displeased than usual. “Already?”

“It's past midnight, Draconia.”

“And I thought the festivities would finally get you to loosen up, Shard.”

“What point would there be in doing so?” So you could hold it over my head and mock me? She sure as hell wouldn't allow that.

“It's rare for you to not be so… yourself.”

Malleus didn't know how else to phrase it, it seemed. Even the sound of his voice bothered Victoria, almost as much as looking at him and his emeralds for eyes.

“... You're not in your masquerade garb,” Victoria acknowledged. Now all the prince wore was his Diasomnia uniform— complete with the boots and, in Victoria's humble opinion, equally ridiculous hat.

“Is that a problem?” he inquired. His stance militaristic, arms behind his back, head held high like any awaiting king would.

Oh, how Victoria yearned to knock him off that pompous throne. To be the one wearing the crown and staring him down, watching as he groveled.

Well, Victoria, you can't have everything, she told herself in mild disappointment.

It was already late into the night, and the bell at the top of the tower had ceased its ringing when Midnight struck. They shouldn't have been here, near each other, looking at each other.

Malleus spoke again, the bastard. “And what of you?” His hand lazily motioned to her. And for the slightest moment Victoria wished there was one more garment she could wear as a barrier between him and her.

She refused to let that show. “What of me?”

His eyebrow arched. “So late into the night, when everyone is tucked safely into their sleeping quarters…”

“And yet here you are: all dressed in white like a bride left at the altar.”

“Like you're any better,” Victoria shot back with a sneer. “You fancy an unchaperoned midnight stroll, Draconia?”

“The stars are of better company than the likes of you, dearest Shard.”

“How flattering.”

“I should hope so. It's probably the only genuine compliment you could ever get.”

Her eyes narrowed down into slits, her lips pressing together before she said, “Do not challenge my patience, Draconia.” Patience that was hanging by a very thin, very fragile thread.

But Malleus Draconia was a prince not so easily deterred. His eyes wandered. To the large stained glass windows at his right, the moon illuminating them in a strange yet no less stunning disposition of color.

His eyes focused back on her, raking over her from head to toe. How irritating that he remained with an obscured and masked face. Perhaps that was a blessing, Victoria wanted to convince herself.

“Would you care for a dance?”

The question came in a matter of seconds. Straight-laced, firm, not sounding even the least hesitant.

The hesitancy she expected radiated off of her, instead. He chuckled at the baffled expression on her face, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile.

Naturally, Victoria wasn't quick to accept. She took a step back, one foot forward and the other backward, she folded her arms across her chest.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Then beg.”

“Don't play games with me, Draconia.”

“And what makes you think this is a game, Shard?”

“You don't have a reason to dance with me. Not willingly,” Victoria took another step, this time towards him. “Have you perhaps been spiked with some sort of hallucinating serum?”

Malleus scoffed. “Don't be daft…” yet he didn't say anything to what she'd said before that inquiry.

“Being daft is more in character for you,” Victoria said in a mockingly crooning tone, clasping her hands together and bringing them close to her cheeks, rocking slowly.

“You are crossing a line.”

“I've crossed many bridges, Draconia. All I've done after is watch them burn.”

“Do you only speak in metaphors?”

“Do you do nothing but annoy me for your entertainment?”

To which Malleus gritted out, “A dance is all I ask of you.” It seemed she'd done her job of tugging at his strings well enough.

Her lips curved. “And why do you think I'd agree to something like that?” They stared each other down, eyes blazing in intensity.

Malleus held out his hand to her, his eyes glowing under the darkness of the hall. There was a strange tug in Victoria's system, somehow urging her — convincing her — to take that step closer and intertwine her hand with his.

Malleus guided her to a vacant music room. It seemed to be lacking in actual use, all the inhabiting instruments covered in dust and stained with a spider's intricate cobweb.

Victoria sent him a look. He knew she was wondering how he'd come to discover this room, but he was better off ignoring the silent question for now.

Bringing forth a self-conducted orchestra was as easy as flicking Malleus' wrist. The instruments burst with life, floating mid-air and playing a tune for them to dance to.

With a turn of his heel, Malleus went back to facing her. Victoria, dressed like some ghostly bride, iridescent in a dress so white it bordered on blue.

He bowed, even if it struck a chord in his pride to do so. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, wasn't it?

He heard her release a huff. He kept his eyes to the ground, hand still extended to brush against hers when she finally gave in and reciprocated.

The ends of Malleus' lips ticked upwards as he pulled her close, his free arm snaking around her waist.

Victoria already held a deep scowl in her eyes. It only seemed to deepen in intensity once he'd made that gesture clear to her. “Draconia…”

“And what is it now, Shard?” said Malleus, far too smug for the better of others, or his own.

“Don't act sly,” Victoria sneered, synchronizing with his movements. “You don't look good when you're sly.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “So when I'm not, I do?”

She didn't say anything about that comment. When he felt a sting of pain in his foot, he knew that she stomped on it with her heel.

Malleus was more surprised about the lack of a puncture wound than the pain itself. With how sharp her heels were, he half-expected his foot to start bleeding.

But did that stop Malleus Draconia, prince of the Briar Valley abyss, to move forward and engage in a waltz with her? No. No, it did not.

There was little surprise in the way their movements synchronized; Victoria made for both a formidable academic opponent, so Malleus felt little shock with her formidability on the dance floor.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” stated Malleus, giving Victoria a twirl. “When the celebrations came, I mean.”

“Tsk.” Victoria's footsteps were hard against the floorboards of the music room. “What, did you expect me to rejoice when the crimson blossoms wreaked havoc?”

“With the kind of woman you present yourself as, I would hardly be surprised if you feigned outrage.”

“I don't need to feign it when all I have to do is look at you.”

“How flattering.” Malleus' eyes rolled heavenward. Why should he bother at this point? No matter what he did, Victoria Shard would not take kindly to him being… well, himself.

He jolted, his face grimacing with a sudden hiss of his teeth. Shard…

He looked down at her, at her sapphire-like eyes and the smug look on her face that dared feign ignorance.

“Shard.” Malleus glowered.

Victoria huffed, and he could've sworn she was trying desperately hard not to laugh in his face. “What, Draconia? Already so tired from our dance to forfeit?”

If this were a challenge, Malleus made the immature decision of stepping up to the challenge.

This woman— Malleus thought with gritted teeth after each hard, deliberate stomp Victoria performed directly on to his feet. More likely than not, he'd lost count at how many times she'd done it.

Perhaps at some point, Zenith would give him some sort of petty participation award. Preferably titled, Endured being repeatedly stomped in the feet by Victoria Shard.

“In all my centuries of walking this land, never have I encountered a woman as egregious as you.”

“Then I find myself lucky.”

“You simply can't help but make my blood boil, can you?”

“Oh, Draconia.” Victoria batted her eyelashes with a croon.

“It's my favorite pastime.”

How crude of her. Malleus felt his pride get struck by some arrow. Be it an arrow from Orion, or one by Eros, he could not tell the difference.

He wanted, so badly, to put her in her place. To set his foot down and speak sternly, warning her not to be so bold in any future interactions between them.

But it was difficult. Difficult having to deal with a woman so high on her horse that she's arrogant enough to try and kick him off his; Difficult to constantly maintain order when it became very clear that it was the very thing she didn't want out of him.

Difficult to know that— no matter what he did— he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

He dared stared longer than necessary; at her frame, the dress she wore, the choker around her neck, the color of her eyes.

Her lips.

Malleus came to an abrupt halt. In doing so, so did Victoria, as were the instruments that only played at his command.

Victoria nearly stumbled, but the arm around the small of her back kept its grasp secure to prevent her from truly falling, lest her pride be wounded even more after agreeing to this.

“Draconia?” She'd called out to him, with an arch of her brow and a honeyed edge to her voice that made him want to fall apart.

Malleus remained ever still, unsure of what to make of himself after thinking such accursed thoughts. He barely heard her.

“Draconia?” She could repeat his name a thousand times, for the rest of time, and the only thing it would ever do to him was make his heart melt because she was saying his name.

He wasn't staring at her. Not directly. Not at her eyes, or any of her accessories— but at her lips. His eyes locked on to them, his breath uneasily jagged.

A part of him wanted to let go. To give in. To finally reach out and indulge in something for his own sake, and not for the sake of his kingdom, no matter what consequences he may face in the long run.

But he didn't. Malleus was better than that— his pride was better than to stoop to the levels of some desperate loon.

Victoria grew restless, calling out to him once more. “Draconia, speak,” she demanded. “Say something, damn it. I don't care what you have to say, just say—”

A small yelp came out of her as Malleus pulled her closer, their noses brushing. Neither of the two tried to break the gazes they held— though in the case of Victoria, her eyes seemed wide in a manner that, to Malleus, appeared almost otherworldly.

The hand that intertwined with hers broke free of its own iron grip, soon making itself known by caressing her cheek. His thumb brushed over her lips, but this time his gaze never wavered while looking into her eyes.

That familiar, gorgeous ocean-like pool that he'd drown in, for as long as time would allow him to.

Seldom were the visions that plagued his mind. He shan't bring himself to indulge himself. For the good of his people, of his kingdom.

Of himself.

“Save your voice for after our waltz, my sweet villain.”

“... What the hell am I looking at?”

Miren rubbed his eyes a good three times, blinking all the while and even going as far as pinching himself. Anything to try and prove to him that what he was looking at was a dream.

Turns out it wasn't.

There he was, Malleus Draconia — prince of Briar Valley, ruler of the abyss — dancing with Victoria Shard.

“Well this just got interesting,” uttered Rosemi, lightly shoving Miren to the side so she too could take a peek through the barley open doorway.

Miren's eyes narrowed. “Rosemi.”

“Miren.” Rosemi’s voice remained perfectly pleasant, a tight-lipped smile on her face as she maintained her focus on the incredulous sight before her and not the glutton beside her.

“Oho, how scandalous, Miss Shard…”

Miren grimaced. Maybe it was the weird mumbling on Rosemi's part that was getting to him, but a part of him felt�� bewildered? Regret? Whatever it was, Malleus and Victoria dancing was the source of it all.

But the moment looked — and felt — intimate. Peaceful. A calm before a storm that Miren didn't know when it could strike.

Yet Miren was no stranger to the obvious look in Malleus' eyes. His lips pursed, unsure of what to think.

Perhaps it was best to keep his thoughts to himself.

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of Character appearances/mentions

Malleus Draconia

Victoria Shard — Me 😈

Zenith Devi — Also me 😈

Miren Lockhart — @authoruio

Rosemi Columbina — Also @/authoruio

31 notes · View notes

oletus-manors-log · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! I just wanted to say I love your work and your recent Orpheus drabble was super good! I was wondering if you could do a short story about Orpheus confessing to the survivor!reader? (GN) I understand that short story’s might take longer then headcanons and dabbles, so please take as much time as you need! Thanks again 🫶

OBSERVER'S NOTE :

“ Hello, and thank you so much for the compliment for my recent work on Orpheus! As for the confession, I believe I can make it work with the headcannons I have listed in the past.

I'm not too sure if there's anything else you'd like for me to add with the story, so I decided to make it happen in a... Special match. Although it can be a terrible place to confess... Well, sometimes it can work out in your favor. ”

Golden Hour

The match, needless to say, was a mess.

Orpheus couldn't tell whether he regretted having to come in because he's up against himself (or, really, what he sees himself as), or the fact that he's seeing the slow descent of the match after the first 60 second chair.

As he saw the raven bird chase after the enchantress and with the journalist on her second chair, he stuck to decoding in wedding hall. The pallets were thrown in advance by him, so it would make things easier.

Since the progress wasn't done before he arrived, he had done quick work on decoding it. Although, he didn't seem to notice when someone else joined him during the halfway mark of the cipher, one cipher actually done and Alice rescued off of it.

"Seems like you're struggling over there, aren't you?"

He flinched and looked over towards the speaker, noticing that it was Alice. Ah, she was patched up— good, that means that someone rescued her.

"Perhaps," he said idly, focusing his attention on the cipher machine before it malfunctioned and electrocuted him. "But it isn't like miss Dorval is struggling against him. She's been kiting for us and you're on your last legs after being chaired twice."

Alice shakes her head as she turned the knobs of the machine.

"I'll be fine. I'll just have to stay out of sight for the time being— it can't be that hard, can't it?"

... Hm, she only has one film left, he noted, sparing a glance at the camera. She will have to make sure he doesn't catch her— her mirages of me when I was younger is... Quite a feat. It could keep him distracted if such a miracle can happen.

[ Beware! The hunter has changed target! ]

The two looked up as a crow flies over to their cipher. Orpheus shoves Alice off of it so it would fly over to the novelist, sprinting like a madman to the pallet to vault and start running out.

"Keep decoding!"

He ran straight to the church, feeling smoke permeate the air as it swirled and manifested behind him. The sound of a deafening thud echoed as Nightmare, their hunter of the match, appeared behind him, causing him to falter if not for the reminder that he would be killed if he stayed standing.

"I did not expect for you to take it instead of miss DeRoss, Orpheus," spoke the nightmarish entity as it chased him, footsteps thundering as the novelist sprinted to the window to vault. "Why? Are you trying to relive the feeling of a good chase from the past?"

Truly, he fits the name and title for himself— Nightmare, the novelist thought bitterly. It's almost like he was "invited" to haunt the poor novelist even in (metaphorically, of course) death.

"I believe we both know why. I don't wish for her to die in this match after you targeted her."

"Hm? But why not? It's quite... Amusing, is it not?" He scoffed, his gaze focused on him as the novelist continued to keep distance, making sure to break out of line of sight from the latter so he can't focus on him. "For her to take your place after she was grown, after you went missing—"

"I don't want to be reminded of that incident."

"Oh, I know that. But you'd know better than for me to let it go, would you?"

Ah, he should have known. Why the hell would he let it go, hm?

Instead of replying, he went through a pallet— this time, passing by someone he didn't expect.

SLAM!

"Go!"

He felt the wind push him as he turned to see a certain survivor stunning the looming hunter, attire ragged despite wearing it for God knows how long. He could only whisper a "good luck" as he sprinted to the window, vaulting over it before running off.

The only thing he could hear from outside of the church was the aggravated yell of Nightmare, followed by daring taunts that he could recognize all too well.

... You never change, do you? Ever the daredevil, he thought with a chuckle, this time sprinting to another cipher to decode.

Despite the mishaps from before, Orpheus could see that it proceeded as smoothly as it possibly could, considering the bird had his sights on you and not the novelist. Unfortunately for Nightmare, you were one of the few that never saw danger as one to be feared.

In the survivor faction, you were a force to be reckoned with; someone with such a job that can spell trouble to those whose never heard of it.

Your occupation was of a trickster, one assigned like the Acrobat and the Weeping Clown if it weren't for your malicious streak. Reckoned by many hunters as a "hunter in a survivor's body", you were called by many as a horseman of chaos, bringing about destruction in your wake.

So far, only few had managed to keep you down, but even the novelist knew you would find a way to make them regret their misdeeds.

Truthfully. Orpheus feared you. Unlike him, you saw danger akin to a pet, and not once did he understood what makes you tick. But perhaps, much like your occupation, you live your life in constant terror.

The way your eyes gleam as you evade Nightmare's attacks was one of such cases, and he couldn't help but fathom on how you look so... Alive.

... So free.

Alas, it had been the last cipher and he had it primed. Nightmare had already chaired you once, but by some miracle, Alice had got you out of the chair and you were kiting the man like your life depended on it. And, well, it did— you were keeping Alice from being chaired the third time as both of you were injured.

But it didn't last long when he saw the crow fly over to his cipher, and he could hear the ping from you and Alice that he's switching targets.

Back to me, I suppose.

Pulling away from the cipher, he pinged that it was primed and started sprinting, hearing the wind pull itself and manifest the living terror in his waking life. To him, he saw the man as one of monstrosity, whereas most cannot see it that way. It terrified him that only a few, such as him, can see the raven for what he is.

Swiftly getting hit with the sharp tip, he stumbled from the window he was about to vault, causing yet another deep gash to form on his back. He gritted in pain as he felt blood seep through and taint his white coat, coating it in crimson.

—And then, the two could hear the deafening pop.

Thus, the sirens follow, and mark the 'endgame' of their match.

With the sudden boost of adrenaline, he sped off, his legs screaming as he heard Nightmare's ghoulish calls. Still, he paid no heed as he looked back, constantly pinging the rest of his team of Nightmare's ventures.

Detention... A trait that no man or monster understood. Miss Nightingale briefed everyone on it when they first came here, and he still recall what she told to their group.

Detention is a trait that every hunter possesses— a trait that, when activated, causes the hunter to give into the carnal desires to kill any survivor in its wake.

No one understood how to counter it. If anything, all they can do was run. Run until they were sure that it was safe.

For those who do not will be slaughtered in its wake.

Reaching the open gates, he could hear your calls as you yelled for him to get out— that you would cover for him.

His eyes widened at this. At the state of Nightmare and with Detention of all things, the last thing he'd want is for you to be slaughtered instead of him.

He cannot have that. He won't have that. Over his dead corpse.

"No!" he yelled, yanking your wrist when you went back to bodyblock for him, pulling you forward with such strength that many do not think he would have the capability to posses. "Go! Get out, now!"

With one last curse to have Nightmare go through such pain, you and the others got out, leaving the deserted church and the cries of Nightmare in the wake of a survivor's win.

After the stressful match, he had to go to Emily as he was still injured from Nightmare. Despite the adrenaline for when the last cipher was popped, he felt the fatigue crash on him hard after they had left, and he didn't want to deal with Emily getting (justifiably) upset at his own recklessness.

Although, there was another reason on why he had to go to Emily. It was for something else... Something that he wanted to speak to her about. Alone.

"... I see," Emily murmured, currently patching up Orpheus's back with a few stitches. Checking for other injuries, she sighed, facing the novelist with a knowing look in her eye.

"I don't wish to undermine your efforts, Orpheus, but they're... Well, they live up to their occupation. Are you sure you'd want to look for them? Even I'm not sure on where they have went off to this time."

Orpheus chuckled, giving her a smile as he answered, "I'm sure. I believe I know my limits, miss Dyer. After all, I have dealt with them the longest, have I not?"

You were... A mystery to him. Something that needed to be solved. Despite how long you and him were, in the lack of terms, friends... He never really knew the answer for his question since he's known you.

Just what it is that makes you so interesting to him?

"I suppose you'd be right on that," Emily replied, shaking her head as she wrapped the bandages around his waist. "Well, I believe they went to Moonlit River Park. I tried to ask why, but all they said was that they have a show to prepare and didn't want to be late."

Tying it off right afterwards, she dug through her pockets and handed Orpheus a note. The paper was yellow and worn, but he could recognize the handwriting peeking out... Couple with a few scribbles. You were always fond of drawing in your notes, he noticed.

"Here," she said, smiling exasperatedly. "They also wanted me to give you this. Now, don't strain yourself too much, okay?"

With a nod, the brunette took the note and bid his goodbyes to the doctor, leaving the clinic. He walked down the hall, opening the note that she gave him to see what you wrote for him.

In the note, it reads...

Hello, hello, mister novelist! Surprised to get a note from yours truly, are you? ☆

Now, now... I know you must be wondering where I went! And you know me well by now, Orpheus— I am not one to give such a straight answer. Why, if I am, I'd certainly lose the title of being a 'trickster', wouldn't I?

Anyway, I'd like to play a... Game with you. How does hide and seek sound? It'd be like those we play in matches. Ah, but with less killing, of course.

I want you to find me. The doctor already told me where I am, so I implore you, Orpheus—

"—find me, and find the piece I seek."

... A peculiar note indeed.

Now, he was no detective. Unlike Alice, he never dabbled quite well into detective work; he used to do that if he needed first hand experience on writing a thriller book. However, with the manor hosting various events that does consist of solving mysteries...

Well. He cannot say that he didn't have experience on dealing with them in his downtime.

Checking the back of the note, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of the note. From an unobservant eye, they'd chalk it off as something normal. But to him, he knew you enough to have something hidden in an ordinary object.

Raising up the note against the light, he hummed at the sight, reading the note more clearly.

Big tent.

...

How cheeky.

Rolling his eyes out of amusement, he lowered the note and trudged on to Moonlit River Park. This time... He has a date, and he isn't going to be late.

Arriving at the big tent of Moonlit River Park, he can see the sight of the thrown pallets around and some abandoned attractions on stage. The basement was sealed, so he assumed that it would be open on the two story building.

What was it? Hullabaloo? He should to check the name again when he sees it.

Walking on the stairs of the stage, he inspected the entire tent, noticing the sight of a note plastered on the wall. It was the same as the letter he retrieved from Emily, so he had no hesitation to take it.

Checking the front of the note, he red through what you wrote this time.

If you found this note, then I was right to put my faith in you, Orpheus. You know my tricks enough to figure out where my note was lying about, huh? Maybe I should up the ante of this game of ours...

Haha! I'm kidding, of course. Why would I? It'd be terrible if your 2nd hint is in a place you can't find so easily.

Anyway, to find where it is, the answer is what you're reading. If you're confused or, mayhaps, lost... Read it again. You'll see what I mean.

... See? What in the world...

His brows furrowed as he red through the note again. There was something in those words, and if he can take your statement for what it is...

...

Rereading through it again, he can see a pattern. From your writing, it was hard to tell, but there were letters that are emphasized more than others.

... I'm at 2nd stop. Hah, how cheeky of you.

Tucking the note away, he left the stage and raised one of the flaps, running out of it. The faint chime of the circus music echoed around the map, haunting yet nostalgic for those that have witnessed its glory. For Orpheus, though, that brought some... Awful memories of his losses there.

... Ah, he can't be reminiscing now. He needn't remember what happened in one of his visits here.

Reaching the other side of the large map, he could see a bird perched up on the rails, perking up to see the novelist arriving by the stairs. With a chirp, the blue bird flew to him, its claws carrying another letter.

Whispering a 'thanks' to the bird, he watched it fly off before opening the third letter in his hands.

Moonlit River Park is a beautiful place, isn't it? Regardless of what many may think, the circus holds a special place in my heart. Such a shame that the tragedy has ruined it for what it's worth...

... Such is beauty, I suppose. The manor holds such unique yet curious people, just like you.

Where am I going with this? Hm, good question. I wish I have the answer to that, but I'm not sure if I have one. After all, I lack the voice to speak of such a thing, or to answer your inquiries.

Now, if you wish to look for where I really am, you'd know where to find me this time.

Why, I can see you now, little novelist. Look over to your left.

Look ove—

"Boo."

Orpheus could feel his heart give out for a moment, his head whipping to see you peering over him with a cheeky grin. Seeing the look of fear in his face, you couldn't help but laugh, your voice ringing in the air of the abandoned park.

"Ahaha! You should've seen the look on your face, Orphy," you said, amusement ringing in your voice. Jabbing him lightly, you snickered, "Perhaps I should subject you more to such simple mysteries. I'm surprised you manage to get through them!"

Orpheus scoffed. Despite your streak, he swore that you were but a child to someone like him.

"Hmph, and you should know that I have a weak heart. Not everyone can keep a straight face when they're snuck up from behind."

"Yes, yes," you drawled, patting his shoulder. "I suppose that's true. I'll spare you the... Worse I can bring, then."

... Just for me? How kind, he thought, but he didn't voice that out to you in fear of being seen as ungrateful.

"That aside, do you need me for something, [Name]?" he asked, finally facing you, raising an eyebrow at your demeanor. "Forgive me for saying this, but you never reach out to me first other than to cause mischief."

"Oh! Right, about that..."

You paused, your head turning slightly to the side. With a sheepish laugh, you continued, "I just... Wanted to bring you here. I remember you telling me that you never got to see the park when it wasn't used for matches— well, not without Memory, but that's understandable— so-"

Ah... So that's why.

...

Despite your behavior, you have a kind heart.

That is one thing he cannot deny that he liked about you. You may have a sadistic streak, but your kindness will always shine through it.

"... And I thought of getting Antonio as well, because he was planning to perform, and—"

"[Name]," he said, cutting you off. You perked up at him, humming to let him know you were listening. Orpheus couldn't help but let a chuckle slip, giving you a smile that was different from his usual poker face.

This one was more of sincerity— an emotion rarely seen of the novelist.

"Thank you," he continued, his eyes closing for a bit as he let out a soft laugh. "But please, you don't need to do this much for me. If anything, just being here with you is enough."

Before he can stop himself, he reached out to grab your hand, fingers interlocking with yours.

"... If I'm being honest, I am not a man seeking of such lavish and desire simplicity. However, since meeting you, you showed me just how adding a bit of uniqueness and extravagance can make things more memorable."

He could see your eyes widen at his confession, but he continued, as if he didn't wish to stop.

"Truly, I must blame you for claiming my heart as your own— you do it so effortlessly, it feels more like you've know how to weave me into your tales. However, as unfortunate for some, I don't think I'll be able to blame you for stealing it."

Tightening his grip, he reached out and grasped your cheek— watching as you relaxed on his hold.

"Not when I'm about to do a crime of my own, little trickster."

Under the guise of the sundown, the rays begin to emit such a glow that can make things more enchanting to the observant eye.

And a kiss was sealed, the untold confession of the novelist marked in the midst of golden hour.

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mistysconcilium · 25 days ago

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ahs guys ෆ . ᐟ

[ fav = ♡ angst = ☁️ fluff = ❀ ]

[ halloween = 🦇]

tate langdon

🦇 a scary movie - drabble [♡, ❀]

child!tate & child!reader - drabble [❀]

kyle spencer

instagram au’s; 01 02

michael langdon

🦇 first halloween - headcanons [❀]

love, elisabet

dividers by @/anitalenia, @/floriseu

#✎ navigation #ahs guys #american horror story

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sugar-phoenix · 5 months ago

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unfinished rought unedited short story about vampires

alright so the winning vote out of the polls was "yes" so I'm deciding to post my unfinished short story draft here because I'm too impatient to wait until i finish it to post it

My new roommate is a vampire.

How do I know this? Simple.

Johnny Robert-Mulligan told me, about a week after he moved in.

“Now you seem like a respectable man, Daniel, so I'll tell you straight up: I'm a vampire.”

I nodded, thinking that he was joking or high or something.

“I will be having blood packets delivered to me each week. You need not make dinner for two. And don't invite your friends over on nights of full moons unless you want them to be sucked dry.”

We stared at each other for a moment. It was then that I realized that he was being completely serious. And then, he laughed, quite loudly, which scared the wits out of me.

“I'm just kidding, of course,” he said, chuckling.

“Oh, thank God. I thought you were actually a vampire there for a moment.”

“No I am, I am a vampire. I was joking about the full moon thing. That's a werewolf thing, not a vampire thing.”

I only stared at him in shock again.

“Oh, don't tell me you believe in werewolves? Those are completely made up.”

“Well,” I responded, “until five minutes ago I didn't think of the possibility of either vampires or werewolves being real.”

And thus began our odd friendship, of which I learned a great deal about vampires. As it turned out, vampires were a lot less untouchable than I had previously thought.

“Is it true that vampires die from a stake to the heart?” I asked one lazy Sunday afternoon, while we were watching the game. The ads were rolling, and I was eager to take this chance to ask my new roommate more about himself.

“Technically speaking, a stake to the heart could kill anything. You could also kill me by stabbing me, shooting me, running me over, throwing me off a cliff,” Johnny proceeded to count off his fingers. “Anything that would kill you would kill me.”

“Oh, I see. I guess that makes sense.”

“We're not immortal either,” he added, taking a sip out of his Coke can. Although soda did nothing for him in terms of sugar intake or energy, he told me that he had gotten quite hooked on the taste.

“You aren't?”

“No, we're just extremely long lived. I think my great grandfather lived for almost 600 years.”

I let that sink in.

“How old are you, Johnny?”

“I think I'm turning 197 this year.”

I turned to look at him.

“That would mean you've lived through both of the World Wars.”

“Oh yes, I did. I don't remember anything though, I was too young. You see, vampires only reach adulthood at around 150 years of age.” He took another sip of his soda. “You know, come to think of it, my parents might have stolen blood from the opposing sides to keep us fed. I think there was a movement or something. ‘Make The Nazis Paler’ and all that.”

“I see.”

And then the ad roll finished, and we were back to watching the game.

I neglected to mention that Johnny was roommates with me because we were both enrolled in a local college. I was undertaking my bachelor’s in graphic design, which meant that I was more often than not buried under design projects, the likes of which could run from posters to redesigning entire corporations. Thusly, I would often have myself shut in my room during the busier weeks, specifically midterms and finals.

Johnny told me that he hadn’t decided what his major was, and that he was simply experiencing what college was like. He doubted that he’d have a use for it, to which he told me his mother disagreed, since he would at least need to take a job of some sort and make money, but what was the use if it was only going to last him so long and in about 300 years it would probably become obsolete?

I only nodded and hummed to his explanation. I didn’t quite like thinking about these things. Everything seemed so impermanent when you were a vampire, and as a relatively short-lived human, it was creepy to think about.

Thankfully, Johnny got along quite well with my friends. He didn’t have any friends of his own, which I thought was strange, but it’s possible that he drove them away with his casual talk of things that happened long ago. If you didn’t know he was a vampire you’d probably think he was a freakish nerd of some sort. But because Johnny was my roommate, and because he got along with my friends, they were apt to invite him along with me whenever they had parties.

It was at one of these house parties that Johnny met Cynthia. She was a psych student, and she often twirled her hair around her finger like as if she could will it to curl just by doing so. She always had one or two girlfriends around that she talked to, and rarely did she talk to anyone outside of them. But for whatever reason, she caught Johnny’s eye.

“I think she’s a vampire,” he said to me one day, as I was trying to work with the pressure-cooker in our kitchen.

“Yeah?” The contraption hissed steam at me, and I prayed it wouldn’t take my eye out. “What gave you that idea?”

“I think—no, I know she’s a vampire. She’s got that quality about her.”

“What quality?”

“Vampire quality. You know, we can sense each other out.”

“I see.” I didn’t particularly believe him, but I wasn’t going to say that either. What do I know, perhaps vampires did have a sixth sense for each other, and perhaps this was what was happening, rather than my initial theory that Johnny had a big fat crush on Cynthia and was secretly hoping she was just like him. Of course, I kept all this to myself.

“Go and speak to her then,” I said.

“What? No. Women must be approached carefully, Daniel, otherwise you risk spooking them away.”

“You speak as though they’re skittish deer. I think you’re just scared of talking to her.”

“Scared? No. I’m simply being strategic.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Strategic, scared. Either way, you haven’t talked to her yet.”

“I will talk to her. Soon. Next chance I get. I plan on it.” I nodded, gingerly lifting the lid of the pressure cooker to reveal the pasta and sauce within.

divider by cafekitsune!

#writeblr #writing #short story #unfinished #work in progress #rough draft #original work #original fantasy #short stories #creative writing #short fiction #fiction #original fiction #vampire #vampires #✎ . writings

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star-quill · 1 year ago

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woah just had a thought.....

dating neighbour!peter in secret and wanting to go on holiday with him. you both discuss it and he ends up renting a private villa on the south coast of spain. you tell your parents you're going away with your friends and they just make sure you're all set and packed, ready to go. peter makes sure he offers you a lift to the airport, telling your parents he's visiting family across the country and so it's more convenient for you to ride with him. and your parents don't suspect a thing.

you're so giddy on the car ride over to the airport and peter just chuckles, one of his hands on your thigh.

"alright baby.. alright.. someone's a little excited.."

"pete.. it's our first trip away.. of course i'm excited.."

you get to the airport and get through security smoothly. even the plane journey was calm and relaxing, no turbulence which you're relieved about.

then the real holiday begins. walking hand in hand with him through the little villages, laying on the beach and getting a tan. you knew you'd probably have to explain peter's tan when you get back but you knew they would never have let you go with him if you mentioned anything before. you just wanted to enjoy your time together before running into any problems when you get home again.

the villa he rented was so pretty, it had views right across the sea and was completely secluded from anyone else peeking in. so naturally, you would wander around the back garden in just your two piece swimsuit. but then there were times peter was in the pool, swimming up and down, when you'd wander into the garden, sit down on the edge and wait for him to notice you. you'd be wearing a little skirt, one that barely covered anything, and then nothing else. no top, no bra, no bikini top, nothing.

he stopped after a few lengths, slicking his hair back and staring at you.

"hi, baby.."

"hi.."

he wouldn't even hesitate, moving in between your legs and burying his head under your skirt, making you come once, then twice just from his mouth and fingers. then he'd stand up, his hips level with yours as he tugged his shorts down, pulling you right to the edge as he pushed into you.

"pretty baby couldn't wait, hm? needed me so badly, hm?"

"mmhm.. want you to make me cry.. please.."

"gonna stretch you out real good, baby.."

he took it slow, rocking into you and letting you feel every inch as he sunk deeper into you. you just lay back on the grass, his hands gripping your waist and watching your body move with every slow thrust he was giving you. he was just mesmerised by you, the golden tan adorning your skin was even more beautiful under the light of the sunset. he couldn't stop looking everywhere at you, your eyes closed shut, your mouth wide open, your tits softly bouncing with each thrust—you were so perfect in this moment and he wanted to treasure it for the rest of his life. that's when he noticed the discarded polaroid camera on the grass. he had taken a photo of the view earlier and he threw it down gently before diving into the pool.

"baby, hey baby.. get the camera for me.."

you blinked your eyes open and followed his hand pointing to it. you just about reached it and handed it to him. he smiled, holding it up to his eye and snapping a photo of you from the skirt upwards. he showed it to you when it developed and you could only blush, hiding your face.

"baby, don't hide.. you look fuckin' beautiful.."

"you think so?"

"i know so.."

#soft smut is my weakness can u tell #also soft dom peter is my weakness but thats another story #peter quill #peter quill x reader #peter quill smut #peter quill drabble #peter quill fluff #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #✎ peter quill #text post

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ham1lton · 4 months ago

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my biggest ick is when in text au's the name of the driver is some dumb ass nickname 😭😭 maybe it's bc everyone in my phone is just First name Last name (even my ex bf was when we were together) like let's grow up shall we 😭

omg my biggest ick (and this isn’t limited to the f1 smaus because it happens with like every fandom smau fics) is when they give them those corny fandom nicknames as their name in your phone. like why are you calling ur bf that? 😭

but i like funny nicknames. bookie and pookie are funny asf im sorry.

#makes no sense fr #ur not a fan in this story #why u acting like one #its so weird #smau ick #jayde’s inbox ✎#anon ask

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jouceras · 17 days ago

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snippet for next static touch chapter.

Christian sighed. The short moment of peace shattered. Hand clenched hard enough for the glass to crack. The memories came rushing back of being an insenct on a string for Whiterose’s whims. And Tyrell’s Elliot. “Yes, he is. Whiterose is betting on that the conversatives ━━ the rich like me, will use anger and distrust to gain the masses.” Tyrell frowned, “like Russia did in 2016.” “Yeah.” He had thrown Anastasia to the wolves; the second the Dark Army and Fsociety would notice, the time wouldn’t be on their side anymore. She was yet another mannequin that danced to his piano. As the countless women before her. The BDSM contract had worked in his favor in that sense.

#✎ story update #snippet #rare pair #chrisrell #christian grey #tyrell wellick #christian grey x tyrell wellick #fsog #fifty shades of grey #mr robot #crossover #fanfic

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aezuria · 8 months ago

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*ੈ✎ two boys (one to kiss your neck and one to bring you breakfast)

note: guys this wasnt supposed to be my first work here but it came to me the easiest 😔😔 song title is bike dream by rostum 😍this isnt like the meaning of the song tho dw

content: leo valdez x reader, jason x reader; dating hcs

*ੈ LEO VALDEZ

loves affectionately and openly

he'll peck your lips in front of everyone without a care in the world, as if after he's had a taste of your touch, he can't go a second without it (he'd probably make out with you if you let him)

he follows you everywhere, even trying to go with you while you shower (he'll never go inside the actual shower unless you want to)

"leo, as much as i love you, no. not today at least!"

"i'll just sit on the toilet seat, i swear! and i can talk about all my cool inventions!"

(maybe you'll change your mind?)

has to have a hand on you at all times

even a pinky will do for him

he loves holding pinkies actually, he thinks its so cute

will make you pinky promise not to snitch on him when he blurts out a new prank idea in the works

loves overexaggerating gentlemanly acts?? for the sillies

like he'll bow down to a 90 degree angle and swoop an arm out while the other kisses your hand

opens the car door for you like an escort

"for you, milady!" and does a cheeky little wink as he bows

he loves it when you play along like a rich noble from the 1800s

showers you with the metal work he does

he'll make you cute little rings and necklaces if you like jewelry

or metal flowers that'll never wilt

or something more practical, like a switchblade if you like those

either wakes up at 5am or sleeps in until noon there is no in between

or maybe he stays up until 5am because one time you caught him slipping out of bed to finish up the gift he was making you

"leo? what are you doing up?" you rub your eyes sleepily as you catch him at his desk, the lamp you gifted him glowing dimly

he startles and shoves (gently) the scraps of metal you see behind his arm

he grins sheepishly and rests his hand on his fist, positioning himself so you wouldn't see what he was making

"uh.. nothing! just finishing something!" he doesn't lie per se, but he'd rather not tell you the whole truth just yet (he loves how your face lights up when he presents another gift to you)

being the half-asleep mess you are, you didn't notice much

"alright.. just go to sleep soon, okay?" you yawn and turn back around to head back to bed.

"will do!" he whisper-shouts after you and sighs to himself in relief once you leave. close call!

you find a warm blanket preventing you from getting up the next morning, which just happened to be leo, his arms wrapped around your waist as if you were a pillow

a few more hours of sleep can't hurt, right?

*ੈ JASON GRACE

he's a bit shy to love

doesn't really do pda, but he'll hold your hand lotsss

if you guys started dating but didn't announce it, no one would catch on until they see you and jason holding hands (that took a lot of courage on his end btw)

after that he was a bit more open about it

i feel like he's kind of awkward at first

he tried to sneak up behind you one time and hug you but you turned around too soon and accidentally rammed your head into his chin

he tried to play it off because he's too cool to be embarrassed (his face was bright red)

can and will pick you up

it all started when you guys were running from monsters but your leg was injured so you couldn't move that fast and he literally just swooped you up bridal style and RAN

ran like the wind, even (haha guys pls laugh)

literally sprinting even as he carries a whole person like you were nothing

you fell in love (again)

he found out you like it when he does that so he'll do it randomly

"so then i said-" you were cut off with a yelp as jason picked you up off the bed and carried you in his arms, swinging you gently with a smile on his face

you pause in your storytelling, blinking at him as you grow increasingly flustered

he merely nods at you, saying, "keep going, i'm listening."

OH MY GOODNESS

tried to do reps with you after but you kept laughing

acts of service is so him

when you complain about it being too hot, he'll send a cool breeze your way

if you ask him if he did that, he'll play dumb

it was sweltering outside, the summer heat even worse as the both of you hiked up a trail

"gods, it's so hot!" you complained, taking a long swig of your water

jason hummed his agreement, and shortly after you felt a weird breeze out of nowhere

you pause, eyeing the demigod in front of you

"jason?"

"yeah?"

"did you do that?" you prod at his back teasingly, the smile evident in your voice

"i have no idea what you're talking about."

#leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #jason grace #jason grace x reader #hoo #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #*ੈ✎ stories

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dearmahiru-archive · 1 year ago

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i literally can't take the "mahiru is a kidnapper" theory because its just so funny

people, with their whole chest, will claim mahiru drugged her boyfriend on day nine. but then apparently she immediately gave him a hangover cure after. because mahiru can't drive so she needs her boyfriend sober to get them home or else waste money on an uber. sir this is the beginning of a comedy skit

#like i think mahiru kidnapping her boyfriend would be way more visually interesting and if that's the story milgram wanted to tell #then they'd just do that instead of wasting time money and resources on putting her in cute oufits #✎ cinnamon prattles

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rosietrace · 26 days ago

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『 “All eyes on you” 』

| Aldrich Edelweiss and Victoria Shard | 🗡️ + 🪞 |

✎ᝰ. synopsis : “I love you the first time, I love you the last time— Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines.”

✎ᝰ. content warnings : aldrich himself, dark romance, stalking (from both parties), allusions to murder

✎ᝰ. genre : romance of the dark variety, fluff but in a messed up way, oc x oc

( ˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥) a/n : As the president and only member of the Aldrich Edelweiss fanclub, I miss writing for his silly demented ass 😔 so I hope Revington is able to enjoy this piece, even through the potential ooc moments, just as it had been an enjoyable (yet tortuous) process writing it 🥰

✎ᝰ. : reblogs > likes

Aldrich found entertainment in a great, many ways. A more recent one came in staring at a respectable distance— close enough to see her, far enough to not be deemed conspicuous.

Marvelous, he thought behind one of the trees of Pomefiore’s forests, having slaughtered every woodland critter who'd tried making his presence known to her. Absolutely marvelous.

Over the past week, Victoria Shard had caught the attention of Aldrich Edelweiss; prince of Edelweiss, and leader of his troop of witch hunters.

Aldrich couldn't recall when this fascination with her began, but the prince couldn't be bothered to retrace his footsteps as to when it had happened— his focus remained on her, her and her alone.

He quietly sighed, blissful and dreamy at the sight of her. Sat atop a rock, humoring the desires of the woodland critters fortunate enough to encounter her, and not him.

Her movements were poised, precise. As swift as a blade slicing through to the apex of the heart, and aiming as true as any arrow. Akin to a princess, Aldrich thought with eerie satisfaction.

“So, so beautiful... so perfect...” he complimented her in a hushed voice, his canines digging into the flesh of his bottom lip, and yet he didn't care.

Inevitably, his lips bled the longer his teeth stabbed into its flesh. And as his blood slowly slipped down from his chin and onto the grass below his feet— finally, Victoria felt the ever-distant feeling that she was being watched.

A rabbit laid asleep on her lap, its snow white fur gently caressed in between the fingers that combed through it. “How sweet…”

“Although, I have this feeling,” Victoria said, her free hand below the chin of a doe, as if expecting it to react or reply to her observation. “Am I being watched? Or have I truly come to my wit's end?”

Aldrich felt the hitch of his breath against his throat, one foot taking a step back. Should he dare approach? Profess his loyalties and all that he desired unto her?

Or would he remain a twisted, broken-minded coward — whether he acknowledged that as fact or not — and flee like a stray?

He fled. Of course he did, it was his only option left on the table. The last time an encounter in the forest happened between him and his savior, she'd threatened him; used her magic against him while he'd been vulnerable, without a knife strapped to his side.

It was the most gorgeous sight; the way the sun’s bright fixtures illuminated her at her back, looming over him as though she were a goddess reborn. A saint exempting him from the land of promise to repent for his sins.

He'd wanted to kill her, then. Strangled her throat until her face was comparable to the purple of her hair, until her eyes ceased to open again, and until he could cut out her heart and display it in his room for only him to see.

Since then, he'd dreamed again, and again. Of her. In the good dreams, he'd hunted her down like a starved cat on a search for its next meal.

In the bad dreams, he embraced her and never wanted to let go; her fingers in his hair, her lips against his, their arms wrapped eternally around each other.

In the far off distance from where Victoria stood, her words somehow echoed throughout the forest— reaching far enough for him to hear her and the melodious song her voice had elicited.

“Strange… ever strange, indeed.”

“He's looking… again.”

“Pay no mind to him,” said Victoria to Zenith, the former appetizing on a box of dark chocolate brownies as her dessert. “I can assure you, he isn't of your concern.”

But Zen was not so easily convinced. “Sure he isn't.”

“He is of little importance, Zen.”

“Yeah, well, important or not, I am not enjoying the way he's looking at you.”

Victoria sighed. “... You want me to send Mephisto after him, don't you?”

Now that got Zen to grin a little more than before. Maybe, his eyes suggested, filled with mischief and a need for entertainment.

“No.”

“What? Why not??”

“Aldrich isn't a threat.”

“Aldrich Edelweiss. Not a threat.” He looked like he could burst into laughter any minute now after a statement like that. “Very funny, Tori.”

Victoria deadpanned. “He isn't.”

But it isn't looking like he's going to relent, she thought with a tiny and barely concealed frown as she assessed Zen and his expressions.

Mephisto— Victoria's loyal, obedient, little corvid she'd inherited from her late grandmother — was exclusive to keeping an eye on those Victoria personally deemed a threat.

To her, Aldrich didn't qualify as one. He checked off some boxes, sure, but a threat? That's the last thing Victoria would ever call him.

But Zen was relentless. After this, she knew he'd continue to pester and convince her into spying on Aldrich through Mephisto— a nice sentiment on his end, but one she'd consider inconvenient.

Inconvenience, however, wasn't enough to stop a sigh from escaping her lips at what she was to say next.

“... I'll see what I can do about Mephisto.”

Zen smiled. Satisfied, she'd call the expression, and before she could mumble at how he wouldn't allow a no out of her, he pulled her in for a hug.

“Good to know, Tori,” Zen murmured in relief.

And that was enough to prevent her from getting any more annoyed than she already was.

This damn bird, Aldrich thought to himself the more it became clear that Mephisto just wouldn't leave him alone.

For the past four weeks, he hadn't been able to get even a fraction close enough to where he wanted to be— to keep his sights on Victoria was a form of entertainment as much as it was a twisted show of his devotion, and he couldn't even have that.

His patience thinned, as did his sanity. Clueless to who the crow that's been stalking him like a circling vulture waiting to take whatever's left, Aldrich had taken a few extra measures into making sure it stopped following him.

He'd shot arrows, dabbled in throwing his blades right at the damn creature, hoping that one of them could land a hit.

But it wouldn't let up, always somehow returning to him unscathed when he'd been so sure that he'd targeted them dead more than once.

The damn bird even stole his prized dagger right out of his grasp. And every night since, he dreamed of cutting it open with that same blade, presenting the contents to his savior as a sacrifice worthily presented.

He found solace tonight, knowing that Mephisto was seemingly nowhere as he watched Victoria. At first he found it odd, considering a forest deep into the long hours of midnight would be an almost perfect location for a crow to lurk and sneer.

Aldrich Edelweiss, however, hadn't bothered to care too much about it. Not while he admired Victoria — a closer distance than they'd usually be — singing a symphony even the coral sea sirens knew never to compete with.

The animals adored her, sitting by her, having the pleasure of having their head on her lap with their fur combed through by her fingers.

His hand twitched, a wave of longing crashing over him as it always did; the temptations of reaching out and having the attention of all those fur-faced and like-minded winged creatures taken away and directed unto him.

His compromise was a quiet sigh, a hand over his heart. A silent duet they shared, a wordless melody only they knew the lyrics of, even when one didn't notice the presence of the other.

But the sound of a familiar caw brought an end to a moment of entrancing quiet. Bringing Victoria to her feet, and Aldrich with his guard up, bow and arrow in hand and a quiver strapped to his back.

This time, he'd make the shot.

“Mephisto.”

So that was its name. Even so, all too late, Aldrich didn't even process the hand that reached out to the corvid as he fired a single shot.

Just as it was about to pierce through his tormentor, it froze like ice and dropped to the ground. Shattering like broken glass in its place.

The prince's broken, lovesick heart sank at the sight of his savior’s hand reaching out to let his tormentor perch on it like a throne, her fingertips gently caressing the underside of its beak.

“There you are…” Victoria hummed. “I should feed you more, you've been flying slower as of late. Do you think Pallas has any spares left?”

Mephisto gave out another caw straight from its hazardous beak. Victoria frowned. “I forgot to restock. I've been… busy. You know that.”

At long last, Aldrich's heart stopped in its beat. And yet as quickly as he did, Victoria and her corvid’s heads whipped to his direction— staring down at the trees he'd been using to keep cover.

Victoria scrutinized it, her sharp sapphires for eyes suddenly squinting. She scoffed, her soft fingertip tickling Mephisto's beak.

“Go.”

Then and there, Aldrich bolted the opposite direction, racing into the darkness of the forest with no way of knowing where he'd end up— his eardrums ringing in torment, his breathing shallow as he pushed his legs past their limits.

Mephisto followed suit, its crowing mocking at him like laughter. Aldrich shrieked, hands going to the sides of his head to pull at the hairs in hopes that would distract him; little success came of that.

He felt tired. So tired. His chest heaved while his throat burned the longer he ran.

You could imagine the drop of his heart when he — mid-sprint — had all of a sudden, frozen in place. Aldrich's breath finally came to a prolonged, shallow halt.

Her footsteps were so slow and she drew nearer, and nearer. As though she were taunting him, she also took her time in getting closer.

Slowly, treacherous, and calculatingly, she finally reached him; her chest to his back, a shadow towering over his own.

Her arms weaved seamlessly on to his shoulders, a tight hold on them under the impression that if she didn't, he'd run off.

Is this it? Aldrich brought that thought to the forefront. If it were, he supposed it wasn't the worst way to die.

To die by the hands of his savior was better than to die dishonorably by a heretic. But she'd once been that for him, too.

“Kill me,” Aldrich demanded in a soft, tight voice. He clenched his fists at his sides and closed his eyes shut. “Kill me, if you must.”

“I don't plan on killing you, anytime soon.”

Her grip loosened. And with it, her melodious voice went lower in its octave, barely counting as a whisper with each word she spoke.

“I know you've been watching me, Edelweiss.”

The dagger Mephisto had stolen away from him returned to him, at long last. Slowly, Victoria gave a sideways glance to Aldrich while he remained in her grasp with his dagger back in its sheath.

Aldrich shuddered under her grasp— not from her admission, nor from the familiarity of his dagger back in his possession, but the feeling of her breath against the shell of his ear. “I—”

“You don't need to explain yourself for me,” said Victoria. “I'd be a hypocrite if I judged you for it.”

Her hand gently caressed his jaw, adjusting it until his eyes met hers right above. She towered over him, a titaness overcasting him— an undeserving mortal.

She smiled wryly, as though the dazed look in the prince's eyes were humorous. She turned him on his heel and pinned him to a tree, one hand right over his head.

A sight so beautiful it made him want to reach out in ways he'd never even think of doing leading up to this.

In a flash, her eyes broke their gaze with his and looked above at Mephisto circling them from above. “If you must know…”

“... I've been having a certain bird, a confidant if you want to call it that, keep tabs on you for the past… what was it, four weeks?”

At the sudden question, Aldrich nodded rapidly. He couldn't get a word out; that, on its own, was worth his own shock.

“... Why?” His voice was soft, too soft. From one moment to the next, his gaze shifted between meeting her cold gaze and the soft lips mere inches away from his face.

“Why?...” It disappointed Aldrich to see her pull back from the question. He'd expected many things to happen next, not a single one of them equating to an unnatural chorus of laughter.

Her cackles echoed about the forest. Maybe it scared the animals that treated her like a princess, or maybe it didn't. He didn't know.

And he didn't want to care.

“Let's just say a friend saw you as a threat, and I humored them by keeping Mephisto's eyes on you.” Thinking over it, Victoria shook her head. “In retrospect, I can understand the uncomfortable undertones of stalking someone, even if they were watching you back.”

“Admittedly, however… you've instead brought on an interest for me to take apart until every meticulous detail is truly understood.”

“... I do not quite follow.” He did. He absolutely did, and it thrilled him more than it should have, and he wanted nothing more but to hear it from her lips.

Victoria could read that bluff from a mile away. Why she didn't address that, Aldrich didn't understand. He much rather focused on what she said next.

“What I mean… is that I find you interesting, your highness.” Your highness, a silent scoff left her. Unfit for a man so cruel, and twisted. And yet…

“You're a twisted, broken mess. One doomed of disrepair with no one befitting enough of your standards to give you peace.”

The words pierced at his heart. But then… “Unfortunately, I suppose I am equally irredeemable.”

One hand, the one that wasn't resting above his head, intertwined with the limp hand hanging by his side. She smiled at him, and for once, he knew it was sincere.

His eyes flickered from different directions, all trying to pull at his puppet strings and direct his attention onto them.

The moonless sky, the stars that danced over it.

The shadow it cast over Victoria's form; her eyes, sapphires deeper than the abyss of the first water, shining brighter than starlight.

He only had one thought, then. Beautiful as the moon.

A moon that wasn't there to guard either of them. And never will.

“Because a part of me is as cruel, and broken, and imperfect as you are. And if you'll have me… we can both be broken together.”

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of OC appearances/mentions

Aldrich Edelweiss – @revivemyreverie · @revolllutionary

Victoria Shard – Me 😈

Zenith Devi – Also Me 😈

Mephisto – Also (2) Me 😈

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #mutuals <3 #twst ocs #victoria shard #aldrich edelweiss #『 vic ♢ 』#oc x oc #mutuals' ocs #mutual's oc #twisted wonderland ocs #shrimpnetwrk #pomefiore #pomefiore oc #twst pomefiore #zenith devi #✎ᝰ. : short story writing house #rosie writings! (💖)

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ladylaviniya · 12 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 — 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 15 || 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 17

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: ★ 𝐀 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. ★ 𝐀 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦? 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞!! ★ 𝐕𝐨𝐲𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ★ 𝐒𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝. ★ 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤. ★ 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐗 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 (𝐌𝐲 𝐎𝐅𝐂), 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐗 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲 (𝐌𝐲 𝐎𝐅𝐂)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐚𝐭, 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩-𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐄𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐕𝐨𝐲𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐒𝐮𝐛-𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐃𝐨𝐦/𝐒𝐮𝐛 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟔𝐤

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬:

★𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫...𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡... ;D

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: "𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝" 𝐛𝐲 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬

★★★

Laviniya felt the urge to collapse into the old woman's comforting embrace and just sob her heart out. She desired it so desperately, to release all the anguish and emotion that was tearing her apart. And much to her relief, Mara, with her perceptive eyes, seemed to read every ounce of pain and grief etched on her young face.

Mara stepped closer, wrapping a gentle arm around Laviniya’s waist and leading her back to her own chambers. She had previously instructed the Wyvern Women to prepare a hot, steaming bath for their queen, knowing that the young woman would require a moment to relax and unwind. With a kind smile, Mara guided her towards the waiting bathtub, understanding the weight of emotions that the queen carried upon her fragile shoulders.

As she undressed, every inch of her body felt clinging with a thin layer of sweat, and his masculine scent seemed to cling to her skin. It was as if his presence remained, a ghost upon her flesh. Unsettling as it was, she couldn’t help but hold the memory of him still fresh in her mind. She could almost imagine that she could still feel the presence of his cock inside her, a haunting reminder of her loss in virtue.

She was no longer a virgin. She was a wife.

She paid no heed to the Wyverns nearby, as they finished preparing her lavender water and her night clothes. When the bath was finally ready, she lowered herself into the water with a cry of pain, the heat stung her sensitive skin. But she did not care. The pain felt like a small punishment, a reminder that she had somehow failed herself and her family. In some way, she thought, she must have enjoyed the king’s wicked deeds, and in accepting his desires, she had accepted her role as his plaything.

She decided that she would be obedient, for she had no choice. But she did not have to derive any pleasure from it. No, she refused to willingly enjoy it.

Mara Manderly stayed by her side, her wrinkled hand resting on the edge of the bathtub, the steam from the warm water shrouding them in a soft, comforting haze. The old woman remained silent, her presence a steady and reassuring presence as the young queen stared off into the distance, her mind lost in her own dark thoughts.

She grabbed a soft sponge, dragging it across her skin, and cast a quick glance at the three Wyvern Women who stood diligently by the door. She didn’t want to see their faces, nor did she want them here in the Red Keep. Sadly, she had no authority to dismiss them from court, only the king could give such orders.

She spoke firmly, her voice filled with a slight edge of irritation, “You three ladies are excused for the evening. Madam Mara will attend to me for the remain of this evening. Go, and enjoy the remainder of the festivities in honour of my wedding.”

The three Wyverns dipped their heads in a mock show of respect, their delicate features curving into smirks as they filed out of the room.

Perhaps Vivienne was right, she thought, perhaps she should submit to their "help" if it could spare her from her husband's lustful needs. But the thought sent a chill down her spine, a bitter taste in her mouth. As she continued to clean her body, her mind couldn’t help but drift back to the terrible fate her husband had shared. If she was barren, she would become a Wyvern herself, part of the quartet waiting to serve the next woman who would fill her shoes. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, the fear and anxiety welling up within her like a dark, bottomless pit.

She leaned her head back against the tub, the warm water lapping at her skin as a sigh escaped her lips. But if, by some miracle, she wasn’t barren, she would become the mother of his children. They would be the offspring of the great conqueror, carrying the weight of his legacy, the innocent blood of thousands will coarse through their veins. The thought was both overwhelming and terrifying.

She glanced at the bundle of clothing Lady Vivienne had left for her, resting neatly on a nearby stool. But as she took in the sight of the garments, curiosity caught the better of her. They were not clothing befitting of a queen.

Noticing her gaze, Mara took it upon herself to hold up the gown, revealing it to be that of a maid’s uniform.

“Why that stupid cunt of a girl!” growled the old woman in disgust, “the lot of them!”

Laviniya sat silently in her bath, the waters steam rolling off her skin, as her eyes slowly shut. She let out a long, exhausted sigh, her voice filled with bitter resignation.

“It seems I have made enemies rather quickly,” Laviniya muttered, an ironic half-smile playing on her lips. “Three in one day, at least. It is almost laughable, if it wasn’t so exhausting.” She opened her eyes and looked over at Mara Manderly, who paced the floors of her chamber.

Mara walked over to Laviniyas vanity, placing the maids garment on its surface before turning to face Laviniya. Her voice was sharp, her eyes filled with fury as she spoke. “You should have her whipped,” she muttered, her tone harsh. “Teach her a lesson, your majesty.”

Laviniya’s eyes widened in surprise at Mara’s suggestion, her voice rising in bewilderment. “Whipped?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “Over a wardrobe prank?” Laviniya thus released a weary scoff, her eyes narrowed at the suggestion, “Violence will only breed their resentment.” The very idea seemed outrageous to her, the thought of resorting to physical punishment over such a petty matter seemed almost comical.

“For her disrespect,” Mara repeated firmly, her voice tight and hard, “You need to break them in before they walk right all over you.”

Mara gripped the edge of the tub tightly, her knuckles white with frustration and strength, and spoke firmly to Laviniya. “They do not respect you because they see you as not a queen but as a whore come to steal away the King’s attention.”

“If you do not take a stand against their disrespect, they will learn to be creative in their means of sabotage...a tighter lacing, a splash of mud from wet paths, a mouldy cake, a mere trip near the steps of the Redkeeps stairwells. They intend to chase you away, to wipe you out. To eliminate the queen and take her mantle.”

Mara Manderlys words were spoken through clenched teeth, her eyes gleaming with a fierce determination. A part of Laviniya found herself agreeing with the old woman, but the image that flashed in her mind was not a pleasant one. She saw the three Wyverns, tears streaming down their faces as they were being lashed at the whipping post, their screams and pleas falling upon deaf ears- like Ser Corwyns.

Laviniya winced at the thought, her heart clenching with a mixture of discomfort and revulsion. The idea of ordering a whipping for something so petty...it just didn’t sit right with her. It was true that the Wyverns had crossed the line with their disrespectful behavior, but the thought of having them whipped for something as insignificant as their squawking and preening seemed excessive, even to Laviniya’s own ears. She hated them deeply, and they certainly deserved some sort of punishment, but the thought of ordering such a severe form of punishment for something so childish...it just wasn’t right.

The young queen drew in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring slightly, “And do you truly believe a whipping will make them vow obedience?” she asked sceptically, her voice sharp and biting, “Do you think I should rule with an iron fist, like my savage husband?”

She paused, her lips pressed tightly together, before continuing. “I am ever so grateful for your counsel, Madam Mara, but let it be clear, I refuse to be cruel like him. I cannot stoop to his level.”

Madam Mara let out a weary sigh, realizing that any further argument would be pointless. Instead, she chose to remain silent.

“Shall I at least remove your bandage, dear?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Laviniya nodded, shifting her position in the tub, and moved forward so that the old woman could reach her. The waters lapped against her skin, as she braced herself for the removal of the gauze.

Mara carefully peeled away each layer of the binding, her hands gentle and measured. As she worked, she murmured “My Queen,” she began, “Was your attachment with the King fruitful?”

She paused briefly, her eyes darting to Laviniya’s face, and then continued, “I heard there was a commotion earlier, and you were briefly missing?”

Laviniya did not want to dwell on what had happened with the king. The pain, the pleasure, the humiliation...it was too fresh, too raw in her mind. So she changed the topic, forcing a small smile onto her face.

“There’s no need to call me ‘my queen,’” she said softly, her voice still low and quiet, though laced with a hint of sarcasm. “It’s a bit too formal, don’t you think? I’d much prefer if you of all people would address me by my name, not my title.”

Mara’s grin widened as she continued to unwrap the bandage, carefully exposing the skin underneath. “As you wish, Laviniya,” she said quietly.

As the last of the gauze fell away, Mara leaned forward and inspected the now exposed wound. “Oh, how well you’ve healed,” she commented.

Mara’s expression turned quizzical. “What caused this little mark, my dear?” she inquired, her voice gentle but curious. She reach forward and traced the pink line of skin.

Laviniya couldn’t help but flinch at the contact. It wasn’t Mara’s touch that bothered her, but the memory of how she had come to bear this mark.

Ah, the memory of that first meeting with the king flooded her mind. He had introduced himself as Martyn Hightower, presenting himself as a noble knight. He was so handsome and fun to play Cyvasse with...And when she had foolishly lowered her guard, he had seized her, holding a blade to her throat. The fear, the panic, the betrayal, the quick slice of cold steel against her skin slipping down her shoulder when she struggled....

“The King cut me.”

“It was a cut for a cut then, wouldn’t you say?” Mara laughed lightly.

Laviniya smiled with soft sadness, the memory still painful. “It wasn’t quite that simple,” she murmured.

After a few moments, Laviniya's lips twitched into a sneer, "A cut for a cut," she repeated quietly, her voice bled with bitterness.

Her thoughts turned to Corwyn, the knight who had lost his life because she had been foolish enough to ask for freedom. The memory of his tortured screams and the raw sinew that had snapped from his torso replayed through her mind.

As she sat in the bath, the water cooling around her, Laviniya couldn't help but think about the royal children. They had clung to the king's arms and legs so effortlessly, so happily. Those beautiful, innocent little faces...and yet, she knew too well that looks could be deceiving.

The thought of those little boys growing into monsters like the King made her stomach churn. When would Jaethan and Montegon transform into their own beasts? Driven by their own ambitions of selfish desires, thirsting for power and bloodshed.

“Mara,” Laviniya spoke in a tone that was both respectful and firm, “Would you be so kind as to fetch me some suitable bed garments while I dry myself? I am not feeling inclined to be touched and aided in dress by another further this evening.”

She could still feel the king’s hands on her, the hot wetness of his mouth on her neck and chest. The memory of his touch lingered, a phantom imprint against her skin. She shivered, her own hand going up to her throat, as if to wipe away the invisible touch. His scent was gone now, but the feeling of his fingers on her body still haunted her.

Madam Mara curtsied and departed.

Laviniya let out a deep and hard felt sigh as the doors closed behind Mara. She slowly pushed herself up from the now cold water of the tub. Her body felt heavy and exhausted, and as her foot first connected with the cool stone floor, she hissed in discomfort. Feeling a chill ripple over her exposed flesh, she reached out with shaking hands for a towel. Padding over to her vanity desk, she delicately patted her body dry, the soft towel cool against her warm skin.

Laviniya stood in front of the mirror, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of herself in the maids uniform. The gown had a modest neckline that covered most of the blue bruise bitten marks left on her skin by the king’s teeth. It was a strange feeling, she thought, to be partially covered up now, when she had been at the king’s mercy.

She traced the edge of the collar with her finger, feeling a mixture of both relief and revulsion by the sight before her.

And then...a thought came to her. An ambitious and scary thought.

Laviniya quickly layered herself in the uniform, the dress itself was too long, covering her own feet, but that did not bother her in the slightest, not when she was hurrying to commit to her ideas. She snatched up the escoffion headdress and undercap and experimentally stuff all her damp white tendrils of hair beneath the maids headdress.

She gasped again but this time she also giggled, smug. Maybe, just maybe she could. No. She shouldn’t. It was too dangerous...Was it as dangerous as waiting for the king’s wrath to rain upon her when he grew bored?

She paced her rooms hastily. Her feet slapping lightly in the wet puddles of her room.

Mara would return soon and see her like this. And with Ser Gilbar standing just outside her quarters...she knew she could not leave through there either. She was just about to remove the escoffion headdress when the candle that sat on her vanity flickered unexpectedly.

There was something peculiarly unusual in the flame as it angled to the right, leaning to the left. Laviniya had only seen this occur on windy days when the wind blew and sucked the flame around. But where on earth would the wind inside her own rooms be coming from. The candle then totally blew out and a small white tendrils of smoke drifted away quickly at that same angle. Laviniya’s eyes followed the bizarre floating line. It went towards a wall by her bed.

By her bed on the wall was a long and grand tapestry. It was not as lewd as the tapestries inside the kings chambers. It was decorated in dragons and lions and bears and dears and wolves and fish and- most creatures of the woods.

The tendril sucked behind the tapestry. Laviniya with her curiosity lifted the thick fabric away and stared at what appeared to be a perfectly long crack in the wall. Pulling the tapestry further back she touched the wall and marvelled at how cold it felt. It rather looked like a closed off archway. Experimentally, Laviniya pressed her hand harder against the stone and pushed forward. Her breath grew faster as the wall slipped forward and out of the way to reveal the top of many stairs.

Looking over her shoulder she hesitated. If she left, what would happen? Could she dare to play dumb if she was caught? She ground her teeth. Was it worth it? Escaping? Running away? Again...

What was even at the bottom of those stairs? Spikes? A sharp drop? Spiders? Snakes?

She rubbed the back of her neck and hissed feeling her bruises under the maids collar.

She blinked.

She needed to leave before she lost herself in the monster that was Aemond Targayren. She pushed forward, leaving the room and wandered down the abyss of stairs that led to the unknown...

★★★

“Oh my sweet little Butterfly, don’t you look absolutely beautiful this evening,” purred Ser Martyn cradling a cup of wine at the table of the great hall admiring the woman who knelt demurely at his spread legs.

All guests were gone, all the plates missing, the only thing that was on the grand table? A bottle of wine and two chalice cups. Ser Martyn’s paid guards were outside the doors, particular on who was allowed through.

She was his dirty little secret, she was his light in his dark mind. They hadn’t always been like this. She had once been a slave to a pig farmer. He found her on his travels in Lys when Aemond took an exhibition to find Valyrian women. Ser Martyn bought her for no more than two copper coins...cheaper than a fucking cup of ale in Kings Landing.

But she was worth thousands in the eyes of Ser Martyn who was enamoured by her hidden beauty. He washed her, taught her his language, ate with her, taught her to enjoy the basic luxuries of living.

Ser Martyn caressed the backs of his fingers down her cheeks. Her blue eyes sparkled amongst her dark flesh. A Naathi woman.

Her lips... ah, those glorious lips of hers, plump, firm yet soft as a ripe and luscious peach, glistening with the moisture of desire. They were pecking around his cock, drawing forth his own salty sweat that waits patiently in a pool of wanting within...

Her lips, her eyes, her hair, her smile – everything about her was captivating. The laughter and mischief that danced on those lips, and the seductive motions of her tongue, all combined to create an intoxicating sensation. She was a living, breathing work of art, her presence alone evoking a heady mix of desire and fascination. The caressing of her long tongue slathered his cock with the warmth of her wet mouth.

He closed his eyes to the outside world and focused solely on her attention; every cell, nerve, fibre of sinew, muscle, and skin that formed the thick shaft her lips teased—the emblem of his manhood—was quivering and ready to savour the sensation of her mouth.

His cock was heavy, thick, and full.

Her with a single hand, her fingers were unable to fully encircle the bulk of his cock. He groaned as her tongue licked up and down, from the base to the tip.

He admired at how his cock’s shape was gone through her lips that sunk down the length of his shaft. He felt every inch of his cock becoming wet as it vanished deep within her mouth like a white snake slithering down into a hole in the dark earth. Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips opened as she pushed her head forward.

The thickness of his shaft kept her tongue hotly against the floor of her mouth. He could feel it, the smooth skin of his cock being polished by the soft bristles of her tongue. Her lips, encircled his thick frame firmly and wetly, moved forward gradually until they came to rest against the bottom of his shaft.

He watched as she had completely absorbed every square inch of his cock into her mouth, enveloping it in a damp blanket of her sensual femininity. Holding his cock deep in her throat, focusing on not gagging, she held him there, waiting for him, holding her breath.

She breathed out through her nose slowly and deeply. He felt her warm breath from her nose wash over his soft ginger pubic hair. The feeling of her breath cutting through the cold air was like a heated column of air rising from a warm fireplace, riding up his groin and dissipating in a comforting zephyr.

She raised her hands to play. Her fingers massaged the tension from the back of his thighs, sliding up over the front and coming together at the base of his balls. A pleasurable shiver shot up along his spine as he felt her fingers trace a light “M” up one side of his balls and then the other.

Ser Martyn Hightower sucked his breath in hard, “Oh fuck!”

Her hands were open and soft, with the palm facing up, as if she were going to cradle a soft duckling. As he felt her right hand cup his balls firmly and slowly into her palm, folding her fingers around each testicle with gentle care, he unleashed the air he was holding in his chest in a violent rush.

She ran her fingers lightly over the silky, taut texture of his sack, which was full, firm, and smooth from when she shaved him the night before, she preferred it this way. Hairless balls and a fuzz patch on top. It allowed him to feel her tongue slide up between his balls, a sensation he knew was coming. He could feel his balls loosening up and falling a little as they nestled into the warmth and softness of her palm.

He felt as though she knew everything about him. His calf muscles tensed into hard knots of steel.

She pulled back and tilted her head to the side with his cock picking into her inner left cheek. His cock caused her tongue to slide out. Her tongue explored and traced the network of steely blue veins that crisscrossed each other on his cock, that pulsated intensely.

The majority of her oral assault consisted of sucking—not licking, not swirling, just a quick pumping of her mouth as she sucked and slid her head back and forth, slamming her forehead into his abdominal muscles, pulling her lips back to the tip, and then devouring his cock wetly. She repeated this as she slammed her mouth back down so forcefully that her nose pressed firmly against his finger curls and her chin slapped against his balls. He experienced her firm grip on his thighs as she pushed his cock farther into her moist vault.

They were not tender scratches...but violent digging of her fingers. The sharp tips of her nails dig deep into his pale freckled flesh in a pleasantly painful way. Abruptly she retreated, panting heavily, her cheek slid up against cock, rubbing the smooth thickness of him against the softness of her cheek. She smiled, he smiled, both panting, both madly in love with the other. She returned her tongue after a short reprieve.

With a movement akin to parting the sea, she ran her moist tongue up between his two balls, giving him electric shocks as she wiggled her tongue tip into the moist, soft flesh inside his sack. The unending sexual attack on him caused his left leg to tremble and start tapping on the floor.

Then he sensed it approaching...his cock was about to release his cum, as he felt a deepening of the muscles behind his balls. It starts out as just a strong tingle, a contraction of muscles in his groin.

Martyn felt the pressure increasing as her supple mouth kept sucking in a flurry of saliva and moans, racing and dragging over his shaft. His body was like a blocked pipe, filling and filling and stretching the walls inside his cock like a fountain that was about to burst.

As he quickly ascended to the peak, his toes curled reflexively. He grit his teeth as he wrapped his hands around the back of her head and violently rammed her mouth down over his spurting cock, willing each and every drop to be tasted and savoured and drunken deep in her throat. He felt it stream out and flow heavily into her moist, hungry mouth.

He felt her gulp his cum down...it was one of the most primal and satisfying sensations a man could experience...feeling her drink and suckle, swallowing down his hot cum, tasting and writhing her tongue around and around his cock.

She pulled back when he released her head.

Her cheeks swelled and constricted with a fierce suckling, and her tongue raced up and over the top of his shaft, desperate to be everywhere at once. Before allowing it to gently slide down her throat, she eagerly and hungrily inhaled his cum, desiring to taste every last drop.

When his cock was finally free of its nectar, he felt her mouth open up and let his cock come out of its cum-slippery, wet home. Sliding it out, he uncurled his toes and released his fingers from her hair’s tendrils. A much higher state of nerves, deliciously afire from the ragged clawing of her fingers, caused the stinging on his thighs from her nail marks to begin.

His hands cupped her face lovingly, her eyes were half lidded as she lazily smiled up at him.

The doors opened and someone entered quickly, it did nothing bother them, they new exactly who it was. A man they could trust.

“Oh my darling Genny,” He sighed, “You are my perfect cocksucker aren’t you?” he tucked himself away before he stuck his finger in her mouth which she gratefully suckled. He leant her head on his knees as her eyes closed.

“It’s a shame she was never so well behaved with me,” snickered Aemond.

Martyn smiled darkly, “She submits because she loves me, isn’t that right dear?”

Lady Genevieve moaned and fluttered her eyes, pulling away from his finger, “With all my heart.”

Aemond smirked and leant down, he grasped her shoulder and softly pulled her to face him.

He chuckled at the cockdrunk expression she wore. His thumb wiped away the soft white dribble of Martyn’s cream from the corner of her lips, “Messy girl Genny.”

She smiled shyly and cowered back into Ser Martyn’s thighs, pressed her nose to the crotch of his trousers.

Aemond smiled. Lady Genevieve was his least favourite wyvern, which is perhaps why he allowed this ridiculous affair between her and his Lord Hand cousin. He had noticed how close they were after weeks of her arrival and her reluctance to provide meaningful or entertaining conversation. But when she was with Martyn, she came to life, she was amusing and in some ways even intelligent but Aemond saw how Martyn stared at her. It wasn’t lust that held his gaze. He admired her. Genuinely. He was in love.

Genevieve desperately struggled to conceive through Aemond, finally he relented to the facts...

Aemond gave them his blessing and allowed them to “play”, but he preferred to let Martyn be bold enough to ask for Genevieve’s hand, and if he didn’t, Aemond was still happy enough to call Lady Genevieve as his sister and support her financially forever. He would never have sex with her again.

It had been over a year and a half since she had arrived. And Aemomd watched them bloom, watched them play and fuck, learnt what it meant to make a woman submit...see Martyn was a master of his craft. Aemond knew Martyn had his certain predilections to “training” women as he liked to say. But with the arrival of Genevieve, Martyn hadn’t been to the brothels to “train” a woman since.

Aemond did not intend to mimic all their practices, but he was often enamoured by the sight of Genevieve’s total sexual submission, her subtle enjoyment of being humiliated by her “Master.”

A sick part of the King wanted Laviniya to be like this for him. Now he understood the pleasure of fighting and scarying a woman. The difference? Martyn had mastered the skill of balance between hurting and loving on a woman. Aemond had much to learn and unbeknownst, so did Laviniya.

Technically, Genevieve was a free woman in Westeros, Aemond had even seen the argument that occurred between the unorthodox couple when Ser Martyn dared to tell her that he did not own her when Aemond had given them his blessing for their affair. Martyn had confided that he feared she didn’t understand and that her submission was only performed under a obligation of slavery in the context of Lys slave laws. He loved her truly, that much was clear and true, he worried if she did not. Aemond believed she did love his cousin.

Ser Martyn picked Genevieve up from the floor, dragging her weary bones, setting her on his thighs, his hand wrapped around her waist and dragged her closer to him. She chirped happily and leaned her head on his shoulder. His fingers danced up her sides, he pressed his lips to her forehead and let her rest. He’d already fucked her hard on the table and she wanted to return the favour to him on her knees.

“So,” Martyn asked, pouring the King a cup of wine before he, “Did you fuck her?”

“Indeed,” Aemond replied, his lips curving into a slight smile. “I did.”

Martyn nodded, a dark and knowing look on his face as he continued to pour the king a cup of wine, his movements smooth and gentle.

“Did she cry?” he asked Aemond, Martyn’s voice dripped with excitement. He then turned his attention to Genevieve, rocking her tenderly in his arms. “Oh, please tell me she did. You know I love it when they cry, don’t I, Butterfly?” Martyn chuckled, his eyes sparkling with humour as he looked down at Genevieve.

He dug his fingers into Genevieve’s side again, causing her to let out a string of giggles as she squirmed under his touch. The sound of her laughter filled the air, mixing with the low rumble of his amusement.

Genevieve let out a shriek of laughter as Martyn’s fingers dug into her side. She wriggled and squirmed, trying to escape his grasp, but her efforts were fruitless as he continued to tickle her mercilessly.

“Please Master,” she gasped between giggles until tears came to her eyes, “p-please stop!”

She managed to stop briefly as Martyn held up the wine to her. Martyn held the cup steady against Genevieve’s lips, watching as she swallowed down the contents.

Aemond paused for a moment before speaking again, his voice low and serious. “She cried,” he said, his eyes locking with Martyn’s. “I made sure she finished her release, but she did bleed. I’m not sure if it was her barrier or if I was too... rough.”

The lord hand’s face twisted into a frown as he turned to look at Genevieve, his eyes lingering on her giggling form. “She was a virgin, yes?” he asked the King,. “Not a little slut like this one?” he added with a smirk, gesturing towards his giggling lover.

The half Naathi, half Valyrian woman, smiled warmly at Aemond before leaning in to kiss Martyn softly on the lips. “Only your slut, Master,” she whispered, her voice full of affection.

She then pulled back, a playful glint in her eyes as she gently teased him. Smiling, she reached up and tapped the tip of his nose with a delicate brush of her fingers, her touch as light as a butterfly’s wing.

Ser Martyn raised an eyebrow in a playful gesture. He then wasted no time in gathering her dress in his hands, his fingers greedily exploring the exposed flesh of her thighs. He searched for that sweet, warm honey pot that always left him wanting more. It was still dripping out his meaningless cum.

Aemond leaned back in his chair, his hand resting lazily on his chin as he watched Genevieve. With a smug smile on his face, he asked, “Tell me, Genevieve, how do you find my new bride?”

Genny gasped, the sensation of Martyn’s fingers wriggling up inside her cunt caused her body to tense.

“She is hm,” she shuddered breathlessly, her eyes flickering towards Aemond. Genevieve took hold of Martyn’s arm, her fingers grasped firmly at his sleeve as she steadied herself. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice quivering slightly. “I find her very lovely, your grace,” she stated, her words directed at Aemond. “But Moira and Vivienne are... rife and jealous.” Her voice trailed off as she tried to keep her tone as neutral as possible, aware of the delicate balance of emotions in the room.

Aemond tilted his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as he set down the wine and turned his full attention to Genevieve. “Are they?” he echoed, his voice calm and controlled.

“And why is it that they’re so upset?” he asked, his tone almost conversational.

At the mention of Moira and Vivienne’s desires, Genevieve shuddered, her body tensing slightly. “Vivienne believes that she can give you a son, given the chance,” she managed to squeak out. “But Moira simply misses your cock, she uses a carrot on those nights.”

Aemond’s expression hardened as Genevieve spoke of Moira’s desires. “Moira should be smart enough to know that she will never have my touch again, especially if she keeps the company of vegetables” he said.

There was a clear warning in his tone, a hint that Moira would do well to keep her distance if she knew what was good for her. Aemond’s eyes flicked to Genevieve before returning to his cup of wine, and he took a long, slow sip. His words had a bit of a bite to them, his tone making it clear that Moira was not in his good graces, nor would she ever be again if she continued to act in such a manner.

At the mention of Vivienne, Aemond’s expression softened slightly. He had met her the first night he had become Prince Regent, after Aegon had been burned in battle. She along with other whores had been brought to his chambers by Madam Sylvi, and had performed a seductive dance, drenching her skin in fine wine and inviting him to lick it off her pale breasts and suck it off her clit.

The memory of that night was still vivid in Aemond’s mind, and he shook his head slightly as if to dispel the thoughts. Vivienne was different from Moira, and everyone knew it. She was cunning and ambitious, and had a way of getting what she wanted by means of her seduction...

Aemond snickered, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Vivienne’s time, I believe, has come and gone,” he said firmly. “If she desired to give me an heir, she should have done so before I married the queen. “But I am a gracious king, and instead of casting her aside, I have given her a home and a purpose, to serve the queen, as every good subject should.”

His tone was final, leaving little room for argument. It was clear that Vivienne’s days of trying to sway the king’s affections were over.

In Laviniya, he found a lamb so sweet and clever, yet so alone and in need of his attention. She was feisty and entertaining, but also serious and kind. Unlike other Wyverns who sought power and influence, Laviniya was genuine and unambitious in her desires. The potential he sensed in her was unlike anything he had ever seen in his other Wyverns. She was unique, and he saw a spark in her that was worth nurturing.

“And what about you?” Aemond teased Genevieve, his eyes darting over to Martyn. “Do you miss my cock?” This was a game they played often, a favorited of their back-and-forth banter. Martyn loved to test his Butterfly when she was at her most vulnerable, pushing her boundaries and seeing how she would respond.

Her expression turned to a pouting frown, her eyes widening in hurt at the kings teasing. “You’re being mean, your majesty,” she protested sweetly, “I only want my master.” As she gasped, Martyn’s fingers continued to make soft, wet sounds under the table, his touches becoming faster and more intense.

Aemond smirked, “Mean? Oh what do you think the punishment for that would be Marty? Did you hear that? Your little whore called me, your king, mean.”

“Nothing,” The Lord Hand cackled, “She told the truth, you are rather mean.”

The men cheered their cups.

The King laughed, “A well then, in that case, forgive me.”

Genevieve started to pant like a dog, groaning as Martyn’s fingers rammed inside her like quick punches, “Master,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut, “Master please, may I release?”

“Hmm, the question is, should I?” Martyn pondered aloud, his eyes locked on Aemond. “Sire? Should I let this little slut release herself here in your throne room?” The words hung in the air, and Aemond knew what he was implying. He could see the spark in Martyn’s dark eyes, the hint of mischief and daring.

Aemond paused, a glimmer of amusement in his eye. He tilted his head as he considered her words, “She may have called me mean,” he said with a hint of a smile, “but she did call my wife lovely.” Aemond’s wife held a special place in his heart, and he couldn’t help but be pleased at the compliment. “I believe she’s earned this one,” he finally decided, granting his permission for what was to come.

“Go on then butterfly,” he crooned, “Release for your master and your king.”

Genevieve trembled unspeakably hard as she cummed in her lovers lap in front of the man who she was meant to originally provide children for. She writhed and keened. She threw her head back and cried from orgasmic joy in Martyn’s lap. He cooed to her and ran his fingers up and down her neck, moving her white hair away from her neck.

“Good girl, Genny, good girl.”

Aemond looked down at his empty cup, a slight frown on his face. He tried to pour himself more wine from the bottle, but it was empty. He let out a frustrated sigh, realizing that they were indeed out of wine. Aemond's eye narrowed as he attempted to pour himself from the bottle and realized it was empty. He cleared his throat and announced, "We are out of wine." As if on cue, a maid hurried past, her face lost in shadows cast by the dim light in the throne room. Aemond raised his hand and called out to her, "Girl!"

★★★★

Laviniya could not have predicted in her life that she would witness the events that had just occurred. By luck or misfortune, however you wish to see it, she had come across a door that led inside the throne room, the grand hall table was still there but it was not entirely empty.

Three individuals had been seated there. Ser Martyn, Lady Genvieve and her husband; The King Aemond Targayren. The wyvern was astride Martyn’s lap and she was making noises that sounded painful and torturous.

Laviniya’s heart pounded loudly in her chest like a clap of thunder. Fear coursed through her veins as she navigated through the shadows along the wall, desperate to remain unheard and unseen by Aemond, who was partially blinded due to his missing eye, and by Martyn and Genevieve, whose backs were turned. Every step she took seemed amplified in her mind, and she could only hope that her presence would not be discovered.

But there was no wine.

“Girl!” Aemond called out, his voice echoed through the throne room, and Laviniya froze in terror. Her back was turned to him, her face and hair concealed from his view. He didn’t know it was her, but Laviniya’s heart still raced in her chest. She swallowed hard, uncertainty washing over her as she wondered how a proper maid ought to react. Usually, she knew they would turn to face the King or their high Lord, but the thought of turning around and revealing her identity to Aemond filled her with dread.

Aemond’s good humour continued to shine through, as evidenced by the mirthful tone in his voice. His command echoed through the throne room, “Bring Ser Martyn and me two more bottles of wine!” He found amusement in the situation, completely unaware of the identity of the maid standing frozen nearby – his own wife, concealing herself in a disguise.

Laviniya’s mind reeled in disbelief. Aemond had no idea it was her, his very wife and queen, who stood mere feet away from him, concealed by a maid’s uniform. She blinked, her heart racing in her chest, carefully avoiding any chance of revealing her true identity. Without facing the King, she curtsied hastily and then walked forward, her steps quick and purposeful.

★★★

"Did you tell her how many children you desired of her?" Ser Martyn inquired, his lips gently pressing against the side of Genevieve's sleeping forehead. His words were spoken softly, almost as if he were hesitant to disrupt the peaceful moment.

Aemond’s face turned a slight shade of pink, his voice tinged with a touch of embarrassment. “I did...and she didn’t take it too well...” he admitted. “But I managed to persuade her with the idea of having at least one boy and one girl.”

“How noble, Aemond,” Martyn quipped, clearly amused by the exchange.

Aemond sighed in frustration, his own eyes rolling expressively. “I didn’t realize it would be this challenging,” he muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation. He turned to Ser Martyn, seeking advice. “You tell me to be gentle and grant her peace to make her submissive, but somehow you manage to indulge in your darker interests. How do I accomplish that?”

Ser Martyn looked down at Genevieve and hummed, “Patience, Peace, Pleasure and Punishment, that is how Aemond. It was easy for my Butterfly to adapt to, she was a slave in her world, but here, she has freedoms she didn’t have before. What can you give the Queen something she does not have? Is there something you can prey on? You removed the rogue prince from his gibbet yes? Be her protector, but remind her why she needs protection.”

Aemond nodded slowly.

“Feed her from your hand, but keep her leash tight,” Martyn granted the king his sky smile, "Afterall, isn’t that what the kennelmaster does for stubborn bitches?” He pat his lover’s backside softly.

Aemond leaned his head on his hand. His lips pursed, "Perhaps the kennelmaster should be my lord Hand?”

Martyn laughed with his cousin, "Woof!"

★★★

Laviniya managed to find the Red Keep kitchens beside the throne room hall and the doors that lead outside to the kitchen keep. Laviniya hurriedly ducked around other silent maids and held her breath, pretending to make herself busy.

She knew she did not have a lot of time before Mara was telling the guard she was missing and a search would ensue. She grabbed a random empty basket under the grand cooking and preparation table bench. She walked down the steps of the keep down to the black water bay beach. With every step she tried to be fast but was mindful when her foot slipped on the algae covered stones. The wind was cool against her skin, the tide was out and the moon was growing half.

She got to the bottom step and the moment her toes touched the sand, she ran, tossing the basket away. With all her strength that she had, even with how sore her muscles still were from the kings attention, she ran across the moonlight white sand. She didn’t look back but in her mind she could just imagine him there like back in the inn, watching her, cruelly laughing maybe this time about sharks and crabs instead of lions and bears. She felt like her chest was going to explode, with every leg step she pushed up hard and kept running.

Where was she going? Not even she knew, she hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she knew she needed to get away from the dragon king, she needed to get away from him before he consumed her in his darkness, in his pleasure.

She fled. She clawed her way up a sandy incline, scrambling through the loose sand of the embankment, nearly losing her balance and tumbling down the other side. During her mad dash, she heeded no sounds, noted no visuals, her mind solely focused on one task – escape. When she finally came to a stop, she realized with a pang of confusion that she could recall none of the steps she had taken to reach that point. She did not know where the hell she was...the red keep however was behind her and that was good enough for her.

Her lungs blazed as she pushed herself forward, fighting through the pain that coursed through her body. She paid no heed to the blood seeping from her palms, nor to the stinging, scraped flesh. Her once pristine maid’s dress, now a vibrant shade of red, had been torn and dirtied beyond repair. Yet she pressed on, scrubbing her palms against the already stained fabric.

She ventured into the pitch-black emptiness of the countryside, leaving the coast and the city behind her. The temperature dropped significantly, the air growing bitterly cold. She trembled, unable to prevent the chattering of her teeth. Anxiety flooded her mind as she was consumed by the horrifying scenarios that might play out if she fell into the hands of brutish thugs.

She trudged onward, guided by the clear sky and the gentle light of the moon. Hours passed, their number unclear in her weary mind. In her tired state, she had no notion of where she was heading, nor of her bearings in this vast, unfamiliar land. The thought of how to extricate herself from this troubling predicament never crossed her mind.

As the sun crested the horizon, Laviniya made her way down a small incline, the land’s gentle slope treacherous. Her exhaustion got the best of her, her feet faltering, and she stumbled and toppled to the ground. Her hands struck the earth forcefully, her palms scraped against the rough dirt and coarse grass, pain radiated through the sensitive skin.

She settled on the rough terrain, her face twisted into a frown of contemplation. She gazed down at her scraped palms, the pain a stinging reminder of her predicament. Looking up then towards the heavens, she squinted against the bright sunlight, her mind racing to find a solution to her current predicament.

Three paths lay before her, each a distinct choice – return to the Red Keep and seek the king’s mercy for her treasonous flight, press onward until she reached the safety of Runestone, or turn away from land and look to the sea, hoping to find the first ship heading for Pentos or maybe Lys, a chance to begin anew.

Laviniya let out a weary sigh, her voice a low, ragged whisper. “Gods, have mercy,” she pleaded, her eyes fixed on the heavens. “Please, show me some mercy.”

Rising to her feet, she could no longer ignore the burning sensation in her throat or the gnawing hunger in her stomach. A throbbing headache now threatened to consume her thoughts, a testament to the lack of rest that was slowly catching up to her weary body.

She continued her precarious descent down the grassy embankment, her knees bent and hands trailing behind her, fingertips trailing the ground as she made her way forward. Hour after hour passed by, her weary legs growing weaker with each step. Just as her despair began to take hold, a clearing appeared before her, and nestled within, the sight of a charming, solitary cottage. A gasp escaped her lips as her heart raced with a mixture of joy and trepidation. She lifted her face to the heavens and murmured a silent, grateful prayer. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

From the doorway of the cottage, a pregnant woman emerged, attired in a simple brown dress and her head covered by a modest headscarf. She shook out a thick wool blanket, preparing it for use. A small child darted past her, his mother calling after him as he vanished into the forest, a play sword clutched tightly in his hands.

As Laviniya approached, her smile grew more pronounced as her bloodshot, watery eyes flickered rapidly. Tears threatened to fall, but she managed to hold them back. The woman glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected visitor. With a frightened look, she clutched the blanket tighter to her frame, her back pressing against the doorframe.

“Oh, gracious Mother and Crone!” the woman exclaimed, her voice panicked. “Rodrick! Rodrick!”

In a swift motion, she cast aside the blanket and rushed towards Laviniya, a look of concern etched across her features. A stout, dark-skinned man with a beard and wearing a half-tucked blue shirt appeared at the entrance, an axe clenched tightly in his hands.

“Sweet child,” the woman whispered, encircling her arms around Laviniya and guiding her into the house. Rodrick, stood guard at the entrance, his axe still tightly clenched in his hands. He surveyed the nearby treeline cautiously, ever watchful. Inside the house, Laviniya was led to a kitchen table, where two small children stared at her with wide eyes, their curious gazes fixed on this unexpected stranger.

Laviniya was beyond relief, she was safe. For now.

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒:

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬.

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