#Hallows' Union

[dryp106bryochargxergbhy]

Here in the first pic is the baseline map of once Hallownest.

The second pic is the new names and/or remaining names of all the places in New Hallows (At the top of the 2nd pic). It also contains all the new and/or remaining groups that are living and/or residing in New Hallows (At the bottom of the 2nd pic). Between the places and groups, there is a miniature map explaining where some of the newer places extend the map.

Finally, in the third pic, there are chairs that line up all the top leaders of each group in New Hallows. They are who unite New Hallows as one, creating a new ruling (similar to a Danish Social/Labour Party-style Democracy) over New Hallows, named as Hallows' Union.

[thefigureresource]

La Galissonnière : Black Cat of All Hallows' Eve [Azur Lane] 1/4 scale from FREEing coming February 2024.

[be4nb4g]

Veronica and Jack Backstory

Veronica sat at a snazzy bar that rested on the top of Devalia’s highest skyscraper. Some people claimed it was the most luxurious place in the area, others claimed the number of people who fell to their deaths here was even higher than the building. Veronica made it her job to know everything about the location, but she wasn’t there for the view.

“I want this man dead,” said the fuming man as he slammed his hands on the table. Veronica looked between the man and her manager. These types were common. They came in ranting about their problems like they were in a therapist's office and then they would ask Veronica to do her job for free out of the kindness of her heart. Kindness didn’t pay the bills.

“He ruined- obliterated my reputation! I will never be able to make a deal again without that man- that fucking devil- filling my godsdamn-”

“Excuse me, Mr. Danvers,” Veronica’s manager calmly adjusted her glasses, “but we are a termination company, not human resources. The only way we can solve your problem is with information and incentive.” She flipped open Mr. Danver’s request file. “Based on who you are asking to have terminated, it will take quite a bit of both.”

Mr. Danvers, like every other businessman to step through Devalia, had wanted Jack Hallow dead. Veronica didn’t know too much about the man, but to be fair, nobody did. Hallow was one of the most elusive targets in all of the country. If not for the constant rumors, Veronica would have assumed he was long dead. He would have to be in his eighties at this point but he still managed to screw over guys like Mr. Danvers.

Danvers slipped a piece of paper across the conference room table. Veronica’s manager cooly picked it up and examined it.

“That’s the down payment. I pay double when he’s dead.”

Her manager placed the paper down in front of Veronica.

“I would like to speak to my client about your offer in private,” she motioned to the door, “If you could please wait outside for a moment.” Mr. Danvers grumbled but obliged, grabbing his coat and walking out of the room. “The door please, Mr. Danvers.” Danvers shut the door and Veronica’s manager remained silent until she heard the door click shut.

“It’s a good offer.”

“But?” Veronica asked while taking a look at the seven-figure digit written on the paper.

“But if this job doesn’t go through, it’ll be a black spot on your career.”

“You think I can’t do my job?”

“I think Hallow is a hard man to pin down. Many people have already tried to go after him. If you don’t succeed with Hallow, you may have to succeed in other places.” She motioned her head at the door and Veronica caught on easily. Veronica worked at a relatively prestigious firm and they couldn’t risk their most promising “terminator” failing at her job because of a high-profile mark.

“I understand.” She folded the paper and placed it in her pocket as her manager got up to let Mr. Danvers know of her decision.

Veronica did a lot of research leading up to the hit. She read news stories about companies Hallow was rumored to be a part of, looked at online business forums, and scouted out information at corporate events. She was one of the best in her field and yet she hardly found anything. All she knew was that he was responsible for the beginnings of magic in corporate, had devil horns, and was around eighty years old. Her own magic couldn’t seem to track this guy, it was almost like he was a ghost.

A week into searching she got a tip. There was a rumor going around that Hallow frequented the Red Room, a luxury bar and hotel that rested at the top of Devalia. A common hunting ground for Devalian businessmen. She threw on a slinky pink dress, some enchantments that would keep her from leaving any traces, and a knife which she tucked behind the back of her dress where it would be impossible to notice.

The bar was indeed filled with businessmen. She recognized all of them from her research on Hallow and yet there was no sign of her target. They were all ogling at the dance floor which was filled with all kinds of beautiful people who were hired each night to catch the night of a paying customer and give them the time of their sleazy life. Veronica looked up to see one exception.

A young man in his mid to late-twenties with a pair of ram horns had just walked in and was decidedly heading towards the bar. He sat down a few seats away and paid no attention to anything except the drinks behind the counter. Veronica moved to sit next to him right before the bartender walked over.

“I’ll have the Cotton Candy Martini please.” She smiled sweetly at the bartender as she placed three dollars on the counter and tapped twice with her finger. In Devalia, most bartenders were made aware of a tapping system and two told them to make the drink virgin. It was a common play that Veronica used to seem like she was getting drunk without alerting anyone. The guy next to her watched her gesture with keen interest and placed ten dollars on the counter. 

“Whiskey on the rocks.” He made a gesture of tapping three times as if he had any idea what the two taps actually meant. Just another playboy. The bartender took the money silently and left to make the drinks. The playboy turned his head to look at her and smirked.

“Come here often?” A very cheesy pickup line, but Veronica knew how to play her part. She giggled.

“No, first time here. I hope it isn’t too obvious.” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. 

“Nah, you blend right in.”

The bartender returned with their drinks.

“Wow! Thank you so much!” She turned back towards the playboy. “The drinks got here so fast!” She kept her voice light and dumb as she sipped her virgin martini

“Yeah, they’re pretty good here,” he said as he nearly downed his glass of whiskey in one shot. No doubt to try and impress her. Guys really were all the same.

“My name’s Jenny by the way! What’s yours?”

“Capricorn.” 

In most places in Devalia, people used an alias instead of their real name. It supposedly kept people from being tracked to the more shady places in the district. Not that fake names had ever really hindered Veronica’s ability to track her targets.

“Oh my gods! That’s my zodiac sign. How funny is that?” She giggled and touched his arm.

“I get that a lot.” Still smirking, playboy- Capricorn finished off his drink before waving the nearby bartender over for another.

“So, what brings you to this part of Devalia, Jenny?” For someone so young he sounded just as smug as any of the other men in the room.

“Well, I just heard so many good things about this bar so I had to come. The view is gorgeous up here! You can almost see all of the district.” She gushed.

“Yeah, it’s definitely something.” His eyes glanced over the dance floor and two young succubi winked and waved at him. He turned his eyes to the bartender who had returned with his second glass of whiskey. “Expensive though. How’d you get this far?” Veronica had her cover story ready.

“My dad works in sales so he was able to get me in,” she leaned her head and whispered. “There’s a lot of rich people here apparently.” Capricorn's smirk turned to one of honest amusement.

“So you’re here on business?”

“I guess you could say that.” She took a small sip of her martini. “I’m going to be an actress.” Capricorn looked her up and down.

“I definitely see you making it as an actress.” He grabbed his drink and spun his stool to face the crowd. Veronica followed his motion. “Let me help you out.” He pointed to a group of louder men who had seemingly made it their goal to catcall as many girls as possible. “Those three men over there are all in ad sales,” he spoke in a hushed tone as if telling her a secret. “Callaway, Monroe, and Wilden. They’re pretty egregious with women but they’re loaded so if you’re looking for finance, one of those guys will help.” He looked back at her. “For a price of course. I doubt there’s a man in here who would turn down a pretty lady looking to give them a good time.”

“What about you?”

“I got places to go and whiskey to drink.” He gave Veronica a sad smile that bordered very close to sincere. He faced the crowd again and started pointing out different men in the crowd by name. Every once in a while she caught him looking at her. 

By the end of the night, she had gone through 3 virgin martini’s and Capricorn had gone through more whiskeys than she thought anyone could possibly handle. They had talked about the other men there, what they thought about certain practices in Devalia, their favorite drinks. Hallow still hadn’t shown up and she was close to giving up when the subject of rumors came up.

“Gods, there are too many rumors in this industry.”

“In business? You're kidding.” 

“Oh no. The people who think women are the most gossipy haven’t been around an office on break. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff they come up with.”

“Like what?”

“Like-” He stopped mid-sentence and looked behind her. She moved her head to look at whoever he was fixated on.

The man who walked into the bar had to be at least in his fifties and even that was a generous estimate. He was old, yet cocky, and he had dark hair that just barely concealed a small pair of horns. Not breaking his focus, Capricorn kept their conversation going.

“The craziest rumors are about him. That he’s immortal. That he made a deal with the devil. That he is the devil.” He looked back at Veronica who tracked the older man to a corner seat at the other side of the bar. “If you’re looking for funding for your acting career, that’s the man to go to.”

Veronica looked back at Capricorn once she was sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Who is he?”

“That’s Jack Hallow.” Veronica whipped her head back at the man- her target- to make sure he was still there.

“I take it you’ve heard of him before.” Veronica looked back at him letting the shock play on her face.

“He’s infamous in the business industry. My dad talks about him a lot.”

“Infamous is a kind word for the attention he attracts.” Another gulp of whiskey. “He started showing up recently. Attracted a lot of people looking for quick money and I’d bet anything that assassins are gonna show up any day now.”

 Assassins like her.

“What makes you think anyone would want to kill him?”

“When you’ve been in the industry for a while you start to make enemies.” He pointed to Hallow. “That man has been in for decades so you can only imagine how many people he’s pissed off.”

Veronica looked back over at Hallow and watched a group of girls try to cozy up to him.

“I’d be careful getting involved with him.” 

She downed her martini and stood up. 

“Sometimes if you want to get far, you have to make a deal with the devil.” She started to walk over to Hallow before quickly turning back to Capricorn.

“Thank you for the help. It was really nice of you.” Before she could hear his response she was gone. 

She crossed the dance floor to join the group of women shmoozing Hallow. It wasn’t long before she made herself the favorite. He bought her drinks and eventually he brought her to his room on one of the lower floors. The room was fancy and Veronica noticed the lit candles and velvet sheets on the bed. Clearly, he had run this scenario before. 

She continued to play along. She told him to lay down on the bed and then straddled him. He made more than a few dirty remarks before she leaned in close to whisper, “Close your eyes.” He obliged and she moved her body down his. She pulled out a knife that was tucked in the back of her dress before stabbing him in the heart. His eyes flashed open in shock and pain right before she removed the knife. That was all it took though she got a decent amount of blood on her new dress as well as her hands.

She pulled herself off of him and left to clean herself up. The cold water felt good on her hands. The mission was relatively quick considering Hallow’s elusive past. It may have been luck but Veronica couldn’t say she wasn’t proud of herself. Not for a few minutes anyway.

After cleaning herself up, she looked for any trinket she could sell or maybe even keep as a trophy. The hotel room was pretty bare except for the candles and a small suitcase with a jacket on top. She crouched by the suitcase on the floor after checking to make sure her enchantments were still on and pushed the jacket off only to hear the small thump of a large wallet falling out. It was designer and it looked like it was bursting with money. Veronica picked it up and was about to see how much she had gotten as a tip. She didn’t notice how there were hundreds on either side of the stack to cover up a huge wad of five-dollar bills or even the ice cream member card. What caught her eye was his ID. Jonathan Williams. Not Jack Hallow.

Veronica found the man's phone and Googled the name and sure enough, the man she had just killed was not Jack Hallow. She grew livid as she scrolled through his phone.

The man was an up-and-coming scam artist who would apparently go to bars pretending to be someone with a lot of money and Hallow seemed to be a go-to for him. She threw the phone across the room, not flinching as it shattered a painting of a bowl of fruit. She had just killed the wrong man. It felt like such a rookie mistake and yet here she was. She would have to let her manager know and then take care of Mr. Danvers. They couldn’t let Danvers tell everybody what kind of business they were running. She sighed and rummaged around the dead man’s suitcase to find a pack of cigarettes. She used one of the candles to light it and cracked open a window.

All the way at the bottom of the building a young man with ram horns could make out the faint scent of smoke. The cold air pressed against Capricorn’s hair as he waited outside for his car to pull up. What a night it had been. The whiskey was fairly good but he would be an idiot if he came back here anytime soon. His own immortality let him develop a strangely high tolerance for liquor, that or the power fended off death by alcohol poisoning.

The valet pulled up with his car and got out leaving the door open for Capricorn to get in. He tipped the valet close to a hundred since the car looked completely undamaged for once. The valet closed the door for him and stepped back.

“Have a nice evening Mr. Hallow.”

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 4 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

there is a mild noncon scene in this chapter. read at your own risk or skip past it.

word count: 5.2k

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In that strange place between waking and sleep- that's where you currently existed. You made a home there, wading through the waters of confusion as the events of last night came flooding back to you. At first none of it felt real. It was all a dream. . . it had to be. 

But there was a foreign warmth beside you and something heavy weighing down on your chest, and while your limbs were numb with sleep you could still register that it wasn’t you. Not your arm. 

Not your warmth. 

So you opened your eyes and joined the land of the living once more. 

The mornings on Caladan were lovely. Light filtered through your curtains regardless of the frequent overcast, the sprawling farmlands vibrant and oh so alive all around you. Your childhood home was all blue-grays and greens. The halls smelled briney- slightly citrus during the spring and summer months. The air was always humid, despite the chill; moisture clinging to your skin and clothes. 

Feyd’s room was slate gray and black, slightly bigger than the one you had been sleeping in since your arrival on Giedi Prime. The air was acrid, the scent of iron so heavy in the air that it almost tasted sweet on your tongue. It was on your palate now, nearly causing you to gag when you took in a deep, steadying breath. 

You had wanted to go home the second you stepped foot on the industrial planet, if only because you despised change. You wanted your family, your horses, your ocean-side view. Now, looking back at how childish your home-sick reasonings were, you couldn’t help but feel naive. 

Not one, but many, had conspired against you. They had hopes that their pale prince would cut his losses and grow bored of you, but took it upon themselves to rid their hallowed halls of your presence. Anger began strumming through your veins, begging for release. 

You did not let the feeling take shape. Acting on hate alone would be your undoing, you knew that. Yes, you were not as strong as some of Geidi Primes weakest warriors, but you made up for it with your. . . inherited gifts. 

Your hand flew to your neck, hissing when your fingertips made contact with the tender skin. You groaned, your larynx screaming at protest. Did this mean. . . 

No. 

No, no, no.

You sat upright in bed, Feyd groaning as his arm was flung off of your chest due to your haste. Unable to process the reality that he had been touching you so casually, you instead focused on the fact that the noise you had just emitted sounded choppy. Garbled. Useless.

“My voice,” You started, eyes widening to the size of saucers as the words reached your ears. It was exactly as you feared. “I can’t use it.” 

You could barely speak normally, let alone be able to manipulate the Voice. How long would it take your throat to heal? A few days? A week? A month? It had only taken two days for a few of the Baron’s men to plan out their attack. Who knew when they would try to strike again? You were a sitting duck and you refused to die like this. 

“You won’t need it.” Feyd’s deep voice sounded beside you, the sheets rustling as his muscled body rolled over on the plush bed. 

You tried in vain not to be distracted by his naked chest- by the planes of perfectly toned abs and the swell of his biceps as he stretched them above his head. It was gross to be attracted to him; disgusting, really. 

Even in the light of day- if you could even call the murky gray that came in through the blinds light- the shadows seemed to pool around the bloodthirsty man. He wore them like a second skin. Had become them and learned to wield them at will. 

His face was once again spotless, no blood to be found on him from last night's activities. He had been utterly soaked just a few hours ago. It had dripped down his sword arm, his nightshirt clinging to his chest and shoulders. . . and he had washed it all away down the drain like the lives he had taken meant nothing. 

And it probably didn’t mean a damn thing to a man like him. Someone so used to reaping souls and shattering lives. 

Your chest swelled as you turned to face him, scooting as far back on the bed as you possibly could. When you had fallen asleep he was lounging on the couch. He must have slipped into bed once you were asleep, outwardly lying about the fact that he would put distance between the two of you. 

“I am not safe here.” You spat out, your broken voice still dripping with venom. 

He seemed bored, as if your worries were unfounded. “I will cleave the heads off of anyone that even looks in your direction.” He said simply. Not a threat but a crimson stained promise.

Gone was the starry eyed girl who saw nothing wrong with the galaxy. Your innocence had been stripped from you the second that the man’s hands had found their way around your throat. Your body finally seemed to register pain now that you were fully awake. Your back felt like hell- a purple bruise no doubt marring your skin where it had connected with the heavy dresser. And your cheek? You brushed your fingers over that spot next. It felt hot under your touch. 

“I can protect myself.” That was a lie. You could taste the horribly constructed fib on the tip of your tongue and it was bitter. Impossible to stomach. 

Feyd sat up on his elbows then, looking over your face. His eyes hardened on your cheek, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth when his eyes started to dip lower. How was it possible that anyone expected you to ever grow used to his presence? His eyes on you felt like a hot brand. You attempted to flinch away from him as his hand reached out for your neck, but he touched you anyway. 

“I should have savored that kill. Taken my time.” His voice was still gravely from sleep, but the anger was clear on his face. 

Seeing you like this, for whatever reason, enraged him. You didn’t want to know why. . . at least you told yourself that. A man like Feyd couldn’t possibly care for anyone and you doubted that he would ever be capable of such an emotion. 

“Do you truly take joy in murdering others?” You couldn’t understand him. There was no common ground between the two of you. He was a complete mystery to you. 

They hadn’t even been your deaths, and yet here you were, feeling torn about all of the blood that had been shed. Feyd had killed seven men last night. Were you really worth all of that? 

“I’m culling the herd,” He sat up then, his eyes sparking with a sick sense of delight that had your stomach roiling. This sounded like the ramblings of a madman.“They were weak, body and mind. Disobedient soldiers should always be purged. They were a disease, and I treated them as such.” The corner of his lip tugged up into a small smirk, as if he was reliving the moment that his blade cleaved through flesh and bone. 

“You went overboard on my behalf.” They would hate you more now. Those guards no doubt had loved ones, all of whom would be gunning for you now. 

“Would you rather I left them all alive? Given them a small slap on the wrist?” He was leaning in now, as if being closer to you would give him a better understanding of where you were coming from. 

The sheets wrapped around your limbs, acting like restraints as you tried to back away from him and his intimidating presence. You couldn’t help but feel as though he was sizing you up, questioning whether he could swallow you up in one bite. His eyes, lidded with sleep and hazy with something you couldn’t quite discern told you that he would eat very, very slowly. Your fingers twitched at your sides, his eyes narrowing as though he could smell your fear in the air that the both of you now shared due to your close proximity.

“No,” You hated that you were agreeing with him. “They would have found another way to kill me. I just hate that you had to make such a show of it all.” I hate that I couldn’t kill them myself. 

Who were you to decide if someone lived or died for their crimes? And yet. . . you were glad that they were dead. You couldn’t find it within yourself to feel sorry for them. They got exactly what they deserve, so why did you feel so awful about it? 

Because the “old” you would have begged for their lives to be spared. That sweet, innocent girl would have abhorred the blood and gore, which begged the question: who did that make you now? Has this place truly changed you so intrinsically in a matter of days? You hated the idea that you were adjusting to the environment. It terrified you.

Feyd could see the anger churning behind your wide eyes, no matter how hard you tried to mask it. You were beautiful like this, so accepting of his nature. . . and yet you still fought him. Still fought this. He adored you for it. Loved you for it. There it was again- that word. He let the phrase sink into his bones, settle inside of his chest. 

‘I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Look at what I can do for you. Let me kill again for you. Let me prove my worth. Let me have you. Let me taste you. Let me devour you until there is nothing left.’ 

He was so close now that the heat and smell of him was clouding your mind. Much like the smog outside, he was poisoning the air around you. The sheets tightened around your legs as you tried to kick them off of you, hellbent on escaping the bed and dressing for the day. You were starving, sore, and in desperate need of another hot bath. You still felt dirty after last night, like the stains hadn’t been completely washed away. 

He was looking at you with those eyes. God, his eyes. . . they were blue, bottomless pits and you were sinking. . . drowning. You found it hard to breathe while he was looking at you like that. He was assessing you with a heated gaze that unwillingly set your insides ablaze. His hands were suddenly on the sides of your upper thighs, the insides of his wrists brushing against them. You could feel skin against skin, your thin nightdress doing nothing to shield you from his touch. 

“You wanted them dead, I can tell.” And he smiled at that, a genuine one full of misplaced mirth. 

“I don’t want anyone to die.” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, so heavy that you suddenly found it hard to speak. 

“I didn’t take you for a liar, little Atreides.” His head tilted to the side as he licked his lips. He was so close to you that his tongue nearly brushed against your parted lips. 

And then he was pulling away, his warmth being ripped away from you far too quickly. Feyd left you on the bed as he sauntered over to his closet, unabashed of his half naked body- almost as though he was proud to show it off to you. His broad shoulders, toned back- it was well earned. It was the body of a warrior- of a killer. 

You had to remind yourself that he was a murderer, tearing your eyes from him. It was almost as though you couldn’t get enough oxygen. Your lungs ached as you realized that he had practically siphoned it out of the room with his commanding presence. 

He terrified you down to your very core. It was as though he was seeing your soul for what it truly was. . . 

And it was as black as his own.

The Na-Baron’s hand against the small of your back felt more like a collar than anything. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was how you appeared to others now, like nothing more than a pet. It was a silent show of ownership, as were his hardened eyes as he turned his head to glare at each and every guard that passed in the hall. Their familiar uniform had your knees buckling and your hands shaking. He must have felt those tremors, for his fingers tangled themselves into the fabric of your shirt, like he could anchor you to him. ‘You’re safe with me,’ the gesture seemed to say. 

The floor had been wiped clean of last night's massacre and it was almost as if it had never happened at all. You wished that you could delude yourself into believing that it hadn’t, but your aching bones were a constant reminder. An Atreides did not belong here. 

The distance that you craved was not something that Feyd seemed keen on granting. When you had finished bathing earlier, your skin scrubbed raw, you had found him lounging back against the bed, eyes trained on the bathroom door. His presence was stifling, as were the halls of this strange empire. They appeared to be tightening around you, reminding you of your lack of freedom. 

A canary in a gilded cage. 

“I’ve been filled in on the events of last night,” The Baron said as a way of greeting when the two of you found your way into the dining room. “You had your fun it seemed, nephew.” He didn’t sound angry, which was good you supposed. Then again, he didn’t sound very approving either. 

Feyd paused for a split second in the doorway, his lips pursing in confusion. You recalled him saying that the Baron always ate his meals in his own quarters. Your throat bobbed as Feyd’s hands urged you further into the room. Suddenly you were no longer hungry. Like a child, you wished that you could dig your heels in and refuse to make your way any further inside. While his nephew scared and confused you, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was an absolute waking nightmare. From his pale, unattractive face to his plump, gluttonous build- even his eyes seemed completely void of any light. Your quivering worsened because you knew, even if Feyd wanted to keep you alive for whatever reason, that he would not disobey his beloved uncle. You would never expect that of him. If the Harkonnen wanted you dead. . . then so it shall be. 

“It was very enjoyable.” Feyd said simply, sitting down in the chair directly beside you. 

The Baron, at his spot at the head of the table, felt miles away. He was assessing the two of you, his gaze bouncing from your form and then to that of his nephew. It wasn’t until Feyd placed his arm over the back of your chair that he finally smiled. It looked more like a sneer than anything else, and all at once you wished to punch those teeth right out of his skull. His ill treatment of your father would never be forgotten, forced marriage or not. 

“You two look. . . close.” He concluded, folding his hands in his lap as he sat back. His dark robes hugged all of the wrong places- he was greed in the flesh. 

Feyd didn’t say anything, but he did lean in closer. It occurred to you that he was acting almost like a shield between you and his uncle. All at once your shaking stopped, your eyes flickering up to meet his face for the briefest of moments before you finally looked down at your plate. Again, the food did not appeal to your appetite. There were no fresh fruits or vegetables. Everything was brown, beige and white. The meals here were void of any color or variety and you found it fitting. 

“We slept together last night, as it should have been from the very beginning.” Feyd said, no room for arguments. His tone was final- absolute, even in the face of the one person that he answered directly to. 

Your cheeks were suddenly blazing hot as you realized how easily his statement could be misunderstood. Your lips parted, as though you could defend yourself and set the record straight, but the Baron was already nodding. He didn’t care either way. You were sent here to procreate, afterall. What the two of you did or didn’t do meant nothing to him. As the daughter of Duke Atreides you were nothing more than a pawn- a bargaining piece at best. Your blood boiled as you stabbed your fork into whatever meat had been served. It was all you could do not to brandish the small serrated blade that laid beside your plate and shove it through one of Vladimir’s overly assessing eyes. 

“I just thought that she might have wanted her own space before the ceremony,” He started, gesturing towards you. It was as though you weren’t even in the room at all. “But I’ll make sure that her things are brought to your room.” 

You did want your own space. Desperately. This whole situation felt wrong, and yet you were helpless. A few more days in your own room was nothing, really. Not when the two of you would be sharing a room for the remainder of your lives. 

“It’s our room.” Feyd corrected, using his free hand so that he could take a sip of his drink. 

His arm brushed against the back of your neck as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly so that he could place the cup back down on the table. The brush of his skin against yours sent a chill down your spine. 

“Very well. Your shared room.” And the Baron seemed pleased.

The cogs started turning in your head as you stared at that expression on his face. Was that gloating that you sensed?

He looked as though he had won. 

It would make no sense at all for the Baron to be so concerned with the status of your relationship, and yet there he had been, smiling as if he had bested you. Did he know something that you didn’t? It would be dangerous to voice the thoughts that you were having- unwise. Feyd was sure to take his uncle’s side on everything. At the end of the day you were little more than a warm, wet hole to breed. . . right? 

Your skin crawled, your breathing growing more and more shallow as the seconds passed. What would your mother do if she was put in a situation like this? The urge to talk to her was stifling, and yet you were here alone. You had no allies here. You had been left to your own devices. 

“You aren’t going to beg me to train with you today?” Feyd asked from the open door of the bathroom. 

He’d left it wide open while he changed, as if he was daring you to gawk and stare. You were too busy panicking to even care that he could very well be naked mere feet away from where you sat on the bed. The Baron was guilty of something, that you knew with certainty. You bit down onto your lower lip, staring blankly ahead at the wall as you became more and more consumed by your frightening thoughts. 

“What are you thinking about, little one?” His voice was right beside your ear and you jumped back, staring wide eyed at where he was kneeling before you. 

He stared up at you expectantly, waiting for you to tell him what currently had you so quiet. His uncle had been unusual at breakfast, more so than Feyd was used to. The Baron was a busy man, and the last thing on his agenda was to eat with his nephew and his bride-to-be. He was cautious, and yet he didn’t want you to know. He would handle your safety from now on, even if that meant going against those that shared the very blood that pumped through his own veins. 

The expression on your face had him leaning closer. You were so meek. . . so fearful. The need to protect you was overwhelming. How could someone ever want to hurt you? His eyes flickered over your bruises for the one hundredth time that afternoon, rage settling like lead in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’m thinking. . .” You started, eyes becoming glassy. “That I was sent here to die.” 

Feyd, for the first time in his life, felt helpless. He did not know how to calm you down. The man didn’t know the first thing about comforting someone, but the thought of leaving you to your own devices and panic had a gasp escaping his throat. 

“Do you not believe me when I say that I will protect you? Have I not proved myself?” Actions spoke louder than words, or at least Feyd had always believed that, and yet you didn’t seem to understand what he was trying to say. His actions weren’t enough. 

“You’re protecting me because you have to. I understand that well enough, but that doesn’t mean that something won’t happen. You are the enemy Feyd. My enemy.” You spoke with so much conviction and looked at him like you hadn’t just gutted him. 

Feyd felt as though you had physically slapped him across the face. The chase was fun, but this. . . this wasn’t you acting hard to get. This was you drawing a very clear line in the sand. You didn’t like him and perhaps never would. And maybe it made Feyd even more despicable than anyone ever thought possible, but part of him did not care. You could fight it all you wanted, it did not negate the fact that you belonged to him. It did not negate the fact that he cared for you. . .

Cared so deeply that it had him questioning whether or not he had ever really known joy or a true sense of belonging before now. 

“I am not them.” He rasped out, knowing that you’d understand exactly who he was implying. 

He was not like the others. He never had been. He had a penchant for cruelty and a talent for killing, but he would never hurt you for sport. He knew of Harkonnen men that battered their women simply because they could, but the mere idea of putting his hands on you made him want to sink his blade into his own chest and twist. How could he ever explain that to you? Put his emotions into words when you knew so little about him? How could he tell you that he’d been dreaming of you since he was a child? Vivid, prophetic dreams that left him lonely and impatient. 

“But you are.” There was a strange glint in his eyes that had your words leaving you in a breathy whisper. You were being vulnerable with him. Showing him your worst fears and letting him know that you currently had no more aces up your sleeves. The Voice was useless to you right now, and no matter how skilled you were in combat, it would mean nothing if you were up against an entire planet of people that wished you dead and silenced. You had kept the fear bottled in for three days now, and you had no one to confide in. 

You would regret this, you knew it with a surety that nearly had you choking on a sob. This information could be used against you. He’d make sure that you met your end the second that you birthed him an heir. . . 

So why did he look offended by your words? 

His plush lips parted, blue eyes widening for a second as he fully comprehended what you had just uttered to him. Having you as his would be sweet, yes, but it paled in comparison to the idea that you would eventually care for him in the same way that he did for you. It lit a fire inside of him, and he didn’t understand how to make you see. 

Feyd needed you to open your eyes and understand that he was not your enemy. He was the only person on all of Giedi Prime that was absolutely, without any question or doubt, on your side. He would burn the entire planet to ash if he had to. He’d serve his uncle’s heart on a silver platter and let you eat your fill if it meant that you would come to understand his level of utter devotion. 

You blinked and suddenly you were on your back, a small grunt escaping you as his calloused palm pushed against your chest, too fast for you to even register. He was on top of you, straddling your hips. The weight of him on top of you had your teeth clenching, your traitorous body reacting in a way that sickened you. Civilizations had worshiped at the feet of long forgotten Gods that weren’t half as beautiful and cruel as Feyd-Rautha. 

“You are my wife-” He started to speak, but you were quick to interrupt him, refusing to back down. 

“Not yet.” You seethed. 

Feyd couldn’t help but want to fight you on that, to challenge the unnecessary bite in your tone. If you were so hellbent on treating him like an enemy then so be it. He’d push you to a breaking point. He’d make you love and trust him. He’d show your true enemies such cruelty that you’d have no reason to doubt his convictions. 

And before he could reign in his emotions, before he could feel any guilt, he was lurching forward. Long fingers tangled themselves into your hair as his lips pressed against yours. Unyielding, he dominated your mouth, teeth sinking into your lower lip. He needed to taste you- your mouth, your blood. 

Sweat, tears, slick. He wanted all of it on his tongue. 

The years spent waiting and biding his time had been worse than he realized, for the second his lips pressed against yours he found it hard to stop himself. The need that coursed through him now was more powerful than anything else he had ever experienced. You yelped against his mouth in pain, trying your hardest to flinch back at the sharp pain in your lip. The mattress and his unyielding grip on you kept you from moving even an inch. He took advantage of that small sound, his tongue lapping at the roof of your mouth lazily, the salty iron of your own blood invading your senses. 

And he was everywhere. His weight was on top of you, his arms on either side of your head, his fingers buried in your hair- and you couldn’t get away. You tried bucking him off, hands grabbing at his training shirt so that you could try and pry him off of you. The muscles in your arms strained as you pulled, thighs quivering as you tried your damndest to flip him over onto the bed. You would not kiss him back. 

No matter how badly your instincts were telling you to give in. That voice in the back of your head was loud, but the sound of your own pounding heart in your ears drowned it out. Your body burned as he slid his hips down slightly, changing his angle so that he could grind himself against you. The friction sent a jolt of what felt like lightning shooting up your spine. It took all of your self restraint not to moan into his mouth, which would no doubt motivate him to push this even further. 

You felt him. All of him, even through all the layers of clothing that separated the two of you. He was hard, to what must have been a point of physical pain, over a mere kiss. His lips were unexpectedly soft on yours, far softer than the very few men that you had kissed in the past. They moved languidly against yours, and you wanted to be disgusted by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. 

You hated the part of you that craved this. You could deny it all that you wanted, but the dull ache between your traitorous legs told you what your mind could not: a sick part of you wanted this. Maybe it was the very same part of you that had wanted those guards dead. 

You should hate him. You wanted to hate him. You needed to hate him. 

And then his hands were sliding down the back of your neck, his lips sliding down the base of your throat- 

“Stop! Feyd, stop!” You finally found your voice, sucking in a breath of air. You felt dizzy, and yet your body was more alive than it ever had been. 

Traitor. You were a traitor to your family. 

He sat up then, eyes glazed over, his thick lashes casting shadows on the tops of his cheeks in the dim lighting. 

“Do you hate me?” He panted out, voice thick with an emotion that you couldn’t quite place. It was as if he could read your mind. 

“Yes.” You lied. This lie was even harder to swallow than your last for whatever reason. Maybe it was the heady look in your eyes or your swollen, well kissed lips. . . but Feyd knew you weren’t telling the truth.

“I’ll fuck you until you want me,” And his harsh, horrible words didn’t quite match the tender way he cupped your cheek. “And then you’ll want me so badly that you’ll love me.” 

He got off of you then, forcing himself away from you before he made a mistake. Today was not the day to claim you, not with the previous night so fresh on your mind. He would figure out a way to apologize for his loss of control later. For now he needed a change of scenery, preferably one that didn’t have a bed. . . or a couch. . . or a table. . . or a counter- 

“Pig,” You spat in his direction, quickly fumbling to straighten out your now wrinkled clothing. 

“Your training clothes are in our closet. Put them on.” He was still breathing heavily, pacing around the room with his hands on his hips. His cock was straining against the confines of his pants, begging him to turn around and finish what he started- make good on the promise he just made to you. 

“Are you crazy?” You screamed at him, lurching up from the bed as though you were going to attack him. 

Slowly he turned to face you, his features twisting into something that looked a tad bit like forlorn yearning. 

“Yes,” And he nodded, not denying the fact. “Yes I am.” 

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Between Fire and Stone

Daemon Targaryen/Strong!female

summary: anxious about her approaching union to Aemond, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen seeks comfort | word count: 2.8k~ | warnings: incest, reader is described with strong features, fingering, p in v sex, arranged marriage, Daemon being a cheeky cunt

A/N: idek what I was on to write this cos I'm not usually a Daemon girlie but here we are besties. Tysm @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for beta-ing 😘 appreciate you

The cold mist nipped at the skin around her ankles, a shiver running up her spine as she struggled through the jagged rock towards the Dragonmont. Her fingers brushed against the stark stone for balance, the other holding the lit torch to light her way before her in the darkness.

It was one of her favourite things, taking a stroll through Dragonstone in the hour of the wolf. Peaceful. Quiet. Something she could have all for herself. Away from the prying of her maidservants and the overbearing boisterous nature of her brothers. Though Jace, now a man grown, still held onto those immaturities.

Yet another thing that set her apart from her siblings.

For she, only a mere year younger than Jace, was considered a woman, ripe for marriage and bearing children, whereas the same hastiness was not pressured upon him. She knew her mother had never intended to bestow such responsibilities on her, but she understood, it was inevitable. As that time loomed ever closer, she found herself roaming her home more often, as if to savour the feeling of once being a child.

Where her brothers could seek adventure with their dragons once they were big enough to saddle, her egg had not hatched in her cradle. She would not inherit the birthright of the blood of Old Valyria, yet another judgement cast upon her that only inflated her sense of belonging at her mother's side. With her moonlit hair and pale lilac eyes, each of her children could not have looked more different.

Before the incident, there existed only one other soul who could truly fathom the depths of her solitude. No dragon. Ceaseless taunts. The notion of isolation, even amongst one’s family. Any semblance of camaraderie had been extinguished the day Lucerys took his eye. That defining moment when Aemond—her uncle—seized his birthright had marked the fracture in their familial bonds. In the aftermath, her mother, alongside her new husband Daemon, orchestrated a grand scheme to mend the shattered relations, a plan that involved her betrothal to him at an opportune moment.

Try as she might, she couldn't conjure the image of herself as his wife. The thought of residing in King's Landing under his roof refused to coalesce into a coherent vision. It remained an elusive spectre, haunting her thoughts with its intangible uncertainty.

Whispers of tradition and duty echoed in the hallowed halls of her childhood, spun by the gentle tongues of Septas who spoke of the sacred rites of marriage. Tales of Lords and Ladies, of the solemn exchange of vows, and the anticipated consummation on the wedding night. Some stories painted a picture of pleasure and intimacy, of unions founded on mutual desire and affection. Others whispered of duty, of sacrifices made for the sake of one's spouse, regardless of personal inclination.

Caught in the web of uncertainty, she pondered which version of Aemond awaited her, a tender partner or a distant lord, bound by duty and tradition. The unknown loomed before her like a shadow, casting doubt upon her heart and stirring a quiet fear within her soul. She knew not what to expect, but the uncertainty itself was enough to unsettle her, to sow the seeds of apprehension in her mind. And as the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, she couldn't help but wonder, which path would her marriage tread, and would she have the strength to endure whatever lay ahead?

Amidst the towering peaks of Dragonmont, she sought solace in the embrace of ancient flames and the soothing hum of Vermithor's slumber. Here, amidst the rugged terrain and the ever-watchful gaze of the dragons, she found a fleeting sense of peace.

But it was not the Bronze Fury that sang to her. 

“Hen ñuhā elēnī:

Perzyssy vestretis,

Se gēlȳn irūdaks…

Ānogrose.”

She felt the rush of heat at the nape of her neck. Daemon stood straight, back facing her, his voice near-matching the hum of Vermithor’s deep exhales.

“It is late, Princess.” Unlike her, Daemon remained as he dressed during the day, shown when he turned to face her, with the self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “What troubles you?” he asked.

She tried to raise her chin, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil that stirred within. 

“My fate,” she said, her careful steps drawing ever nearer. "I am to be wed to Aemond, but I fear what awaits me in that union.”

Daemon hummed, as if curiously amused.

She had known no father figure since Laenor. And though she knew sooner than her brothers the truth that lay beneath the careful picture her mother had forged, since she had been wed to Daemon, he had taken practice with his own daughters and become almost a father to her alike.

She felt his eyes sink over her once before returning to her eyes.

"Marriage is a weighty matter," he said. "But is it the marriage itself that troubles you, or something more?”

She did not miss the lilt to his voice. The one, that like his eyes had done many times before, made something squeeze in her gut. A fire burning bright. A feeling that brought her shame.

He was her mother's husband.

“I cannot say exactly,” she confessed. “Perhaps it is leaving Dragonstone. Mother and my brothers. And being alone in the capital with no face I recognise with trust.”

Daemon nodded almost indistinctly, his fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair back over her shoulder, admiring her hair loose of its usual braids. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, a sensation both familiar and disconcerting. She fought to push aside the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, the warmth of his touch conflicting with the knowledge of their complicated relationship.

"Leaving behind the familiar can indeed be a daunting prospect," Daemon acknowledged, his voice a velvet caress, “But fret not. Within you resides the same fire that fuels your mother's resolve. Embrace it. You are as much Targaryen as any of them.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze, at the way he seemed to see straight through her defences. She knew she should be wary of his advances, of the way he danced on the edge of propriety with his words and his touch. But there was something undeniably alluring about the way he held her gaze, about the way he made her feel desired and understood.

"Thank you, Daemon," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your support means more to me than you know.”

Daemon's smile was a slow, seductive curve of his lips, his eyes alight with a fire that mirrored the flames of the Dragonmont. 

"Ah, but my dear Princess," he replied, his voice low and husky, "you have yet to discover the true depths of my support.”

She felt her throat close up, the feeling mirroring somewhat what happened between her thighs.

What could he possibly mean?

“Do you fear it?” he asked. “The act of consummation?”

Her cheeks flushed crimson at Daemon's bold question, his words sending a jolt of both arousal and apprehension coursing through her veins. 

“It… is perfectly normal, I would think,” she answered, words failing her.

"Princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing caress against her skin. "There is no shame in feeling uncertain. It is only natural to have doubts, especially when faced with such intimate matters.”

She felt he was circling her, as dragons did their targets. And felt her heart thumping in her chest.

“With Aegon, I dare say, I would join you in your uncertainty. But Aemond, on the other hand… is a different matter entirely.”

“How so?” she asked, breathing out when he disappeared out of her line of sight, his presence at her back, fingers draping past the material of her dress.

“I am afraid he may be less… forthcoming with expressing his desires,” he purred. “He may be cold, or at least that is how it may be interpreted.” Her eyes met his with bated breath as he appeared on her opposite side, closer. “He may not be so adept with the pleasures of a female body.”

She swallowed, a chill settling on her front, her body reacting thus. He remained silent, as if daring her to say what he knew was already on the tip of her tongue. So, she took the plunge. “And…you are?”

Daemon smirked smugly, and she knew she already had her answer., “What do you think?”

Her heart raced. Her mind struggled to contemplate whether she should be honest or not, for she had heard stories and rumours. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, playing with fire in the form of her mother's husband, but there was a part of her that couldn't resist the allure of his confidence, his charm, his undeniable magnetism.

"I... I suppose I never considered such matters," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the admission.

Daemon's eyes danced with amusement as he stepped closer. "Perhaps it is time you did," he murmured, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her spine.

Her skin vibrated with anticipation as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of his overwhelming presence. She knew she should pull away, should put an end to this dangerous game they were playing, but the lure of Daemon's charm was too strong to resist.

“Mayhaps I could demonstrate and put your worries to rest,” he suggested, crossing the imaginary but daring line seemingly without fear. “Rest assured, my experience in such matters is... extensive."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to maintain her resolve, her body betraying her with every flutter of her lashes, every quickened breath. “But… you and Mother—”

Her lips clamped shut with the bruising of his grip in the softness of her waist, urging her back to the rocky, hard wall. Only now, when faced with the Rogue Prince, did she realise just how small she truly felt.

“Your mother is preoccupied with her own affairs," he replied, his voice dripping with a dangerous allure. "She won't concern herself with our little... indiscretion.”

The realisation sank in that she was alone with Daemon in the secluded confines of the Dragonmont, far removed from the prying eyes of the world. And yet, she still felt her lips go dry when he hung the torch and trailed his touch upon her skin where he was taking her skirts with it.

She could not hide her nerves, or the beating rush of arousal, “Bu—but… with Aemond, I must—”

The air felt warm as her skirt was rucked around her hips. She squeaked when his calloused fingers swept through her folds, ashamed to find she was affected by what he was doing to her as her slick coated them easily.

Daemon chuckled, a pleased hum in his chest that she was wet and ready, while his other hand busied with the laces of his breeches, “Sweet girl. When my dear nephew has his cock buried inside you on your wedding night, he will not know the difference.”

His words, combined with the tight circles he applied to the forbidden bud tucked between her legs, had white hot pleasure burning in her veins. Her lips were parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was look upon his pleased face with a hedonistic expression, feeling very much like they were doing something deliciously wrong but could find no reasonable excuse to cease.

“Do not look so surprised. I have seen the way you watch me. Are you not ashamed for looking upon your own mother’s husband with lust?” 

The more he touched her, the more arousal he coaxed forth, the sound lewd and forbidden in the raw silence of the Draognmont. She could not answer his question without subjecting herself to further embarrassment. Even so, attempting to concentrate enough to form words as his two forefingers slid within her tight, hot walls, was near impossible. She gasped quietly, the feeling so foreign and yet not unpleasant. And like Daemon in any other scenario, while his motions were forceful, somewhat brutal, they were calculated, without effort. Like it came innately. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, his digits buried deep inside curved towards him, stoking a fire at the hearth of her.

“Answer me.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes—I am ashamed—”

It was all she managed before the feeling began to crest, building and building as if she were climbing some great height and was about to tumble off. But she only exhaled shakily as Daemon withdrew his fingers from her fluttering, sensitive walls, using the moisture to lubricate himself with a careful caress of his manhood.

He chuckled at the wounded expression on her face. “No need for shame, Princess.”

She caught the glint of his ring as he wrung the fabric of her skirts in his fist. Her eyes widened as the head of his cock disappeared easily between her swollen folds, with no real full feeling until he pushed forward, both with hesitation and a sort of evil excitement.

Her back pressed against the jagged stone, her lips only parted to suck in air where it had left her lungs. It was a feeling she could describe very little, the sting of being stretched around him painful and yet once sheathed fully inside her, hips pushing against her own. Daemon wrapped his fingers around her fleshy thigh to tug her leg over his hip, a flash of white hot pleasure creeping up her spine. He only grunted, her slick ridges gripping him greedily without any effort on her part. 

For a few moments, he stayed like that as if waiting for any complaint, but when he found none, began a steady rhythm, fingers creating crescent-moon shaped welts in her skin. He did not share in her reaction. He simply raised one corner of his lips in a pleased manner, watching her face, treating it very much as a lesson in pleasure more than anything else.

She could scarcely think with the violent push of his hips, the notch of his belt stabbing into her each time.

“My nephew does not deserve this perfect. little cunt.” He grunted from the effort. “Tell me, Princess—when he is fucking you with his narrow little prick, will you be thinking of this instead?”

Her eyes slipped shut, her head tipped back and fingers coming to her own mouth to muffle the lewd sound that threatened to come out. Her perceived embarrassment at her own enjoyment of this only seemed to motivate Daemon further, and he widened her hips with a soft nudge of his knee against her leg and groaned at the way she tightened around him.

“You liked that, didn't you?” He breathed against her face, looking briefly down between them to watch how he rooted himself inside her over and over, as if unable to believe this was really happening. “I bet he won't make you this wet. I doubt the little cunt will even know how to make you come.”

Her skirt fell from his hand as it drew down between them, and she resisted the urge to squeal when he began to apply pressure in tight, sure circles around her bud.

“You shall have to teach him those pleasures.”

Her fingers gripped his forearms tight as she climaxed, her tight, hot walls spasming around him uncontrollably. It was so utterly different to the way she had pleasured herself before. This time, the forbidden combination of Daemon stretching her open around him and the pleasure he coaxed from her with his fingers meant that this peak seemed to drain her entire body of energy. Her body feeling boneless in his hold, that if he let go, she would surely lose her balance.

A flash of fear cracked like lightning across her subconscious. Surely he did not intend to spill inside her?

He did not overstimulate her for much longer as he neared his own end. Rather, he savoured the feeling of her warmth sucking him in for just a few moments more before pulling out, stroking himself vigorously to completion, warm ropes of his spend coating her lower stomach.

In the quiet dead of night with only her laboured breathing to echo within it, she felt her eyes could not keep up with her mind as she glanced back up at him. His rapidly cooling seed began to dribble towards her thighs, swiftly covered by her skirts once more as Daemon lowered her clothing back into place. The reality of the dangerous and yet delicious sin she had committed with him began to rise into clarity.

Upon his fingers shone the damning proof of his sordid claim on her, pearly in the glow of torchlight. “What a waste. I’d have liked to see it dripping from you.

But that pleasure… I shall save for my nephew, sweet girl."

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

[eintausendschoen]

They grow up so fast.

Rhea's and Cronos's kids. Yes, all together for one pic. No, they didn't fight, I didn't bribe them, no one was hurt this was a peaceful affair I am totally fine and I totally did not stitch single portraits together because it was less of a hassle.

Oh, a few of them transitioned their appearance growing up. They have their reasons.

👀 Detail below from left to right (with a few shoutouts) 👀

Poseidon Enosichthon (Enesidaone) Themeliouchos — The pale, lively kid with the always busy hands. What happened to him? A younger brother and his detached father, basically. He's excited about life in general, but still very bad at saying no to his family (or anything else), so he'll end up doing everything at once and trouble always finds him. Being the middle kid ain't always easy.

Big shoutout to @rin-sith for the huge inspiration her Poseidon design was for his clothes and armour pieces. My Poseidon doesn't believe in clothes, usually.

Demeter Sito Thesmophorus — Though she isn't technically the big sister, she always took to the task of keeping her arms open for her siblings, no matter the grief it brought her. Always will she be singing songs, in part to forget the lot bestowed on her by her brothers and her father and keep on – but also in part to give the joys of life to gods and mortals who walk her realm and feel at ease with her. As Rhea's kid she'll uphold tradition gently and firmly, and feed everyone who comes to her table, even if it costs her.

Hestia — She might be gentle, but she can never be forgotten. To all that come to her hearth she will listen and grant them protection, even if this sacred solemnity cost her the arms of a lover. She is a lover to none, and loved by all, first she receives sacrifice. Herons gave her their wings to stoke flame, brush out cold cinders. She would rather her skin be stained white by flour than black by soot, though. Her baking is still the very best.

Zeus Olympios Panhellenios — Wide are the shoulders of this son of titans, and they carry burdens of judgement across all Greece. Over the years he aquired a thick skin on them, but never do the troubles of his family wear him down for long, although the same family has brought him to the brink of constant paranoia. The jewellery he chose to wear on the day Typhon cleared out Olympus is something he will never again take off, like the memory and fear of defeat it is part of him, conductor to lightning and passion.

A big grateful nod to @justcommander for the long and wonderful talks about Typhon, he is part of all my thoughts about Zeus now.

Hera Syzygia Alexandros — The sharp eyes of this queen of queens will trace you through darkest night. By her fathers sickle and her great veil she safeguards and upholds sacred laws and traditions and unions, and as protector of men her word triumphs. A guardian of women, she neither tolerates betrayal nor does she hold the cutting edge of her jealousy back for the sake of those who must obey discriminating law against those who the same law allows to overstep a hallowed bond of two. The shade of Baphomet suits you, honey.

Hades — In form and might and character he outgrew his father by far. He is still the same quiet and thoughtful person, but despite the darkness, he, too, is a guardian of life, a keeper of flames. In his gentle hand rests the light of life, on his other arm coils the means to give it, to take it away. Fiercely he rules over the line between realms, allowing hardly any crossing, but on a late summers evening he'll walk the golden shaded groves among the company of all flowers of the earth, too.

See, lovely @ruthlessness69 , how confident he has grown? The kindness of your Hades helped him. A lot! Ask Persephone, though, she'll tell you that he can solve his beloved crosswords without extra light, because he is still a big glowing kid in his heart.

All designs by me. Rhea's aspects come with a broader frame, more pronounced colours and animal traits, and no fear to show skin. Cronos shows in matters of lines, contrast and temper, and a certain tendency towards introversion.

So, what do you think? Next level eldritch? 🖤

[irlangelsdiary]

✿ A list of most (if not all) wicca holidays

✮ Lammas (Lughnasadh) – Pagan/Wiccan Aug 1st

Lammas, also known as Loafmas or Lughnasadh, commemorates the harvest of the first grains, primarily for breadmaking. Lughnasadh itself is named after Lugh, a Celtic deity associated with grain. Lammas celebrations include feasting, crafting corn dollies, and participating in games and contests as a way to honor Lugh and the bounty of the season.

✮ Mabon (Fall Equinox) – Pagan/Wiccan Sept 21st

Mabon, celebrated at the fall equinox, marks the transition to the approaching darkness of the coming winter months. Mabon celebrations involve giving thanks for the harvest, making offerings of fruits and vegetables, and performing ceremonies to honor the equinox’s change from the light half of the year to the dark. Decorations made of corn, squash, vines and pumpkins are common.

✮ Samhain (All Hallows Eve) – Pagan/Wiccan Oct 31st

Samhain today marks the end of the harvest, the start of the Pagan/Wiccan New Year, and the honoring of our ancestors and the dead. Samhain celebrations include lighting candles, setting up altars, and modern activities like costume parties, trick-or-treating, and jack-o’-lanterns.

✮ Yule (Winter Solstice) – Pagan/Wiccan Dec 21st

Yule, celebrated at the winter solstice, marks the day on which the “sun is reborn.” Yule celebrations include the burning of the Yule log, kissing under the mistletoe, decorating homes with holly and evergreen branches, and performing rituals to welcome the return of the sun’s warmth and light to the world.

✮Imbolc (Candlemas) – Pagan/Wiccan Feb 2nd

Imbolc heralds the first signs of spring and is dedicated to Brigid, a Celtic goddess of poetry and fire who was later canonized by the Catholic Church. Imbolc celebrations include candlelit processions, the lighting of a hearth fires, and sending blessings to the fields and farm animals.

✮Ostara (Spring Equinox) – Pagan/Wiccan May 21st

Ostara, celebrated at the spring equinox, marks the beginning of the light half of the year and the arrival of spring. Ostara is celebrated by the coloring and decorating of eggs, planting of seeds, and performing rituals that honor the balance of light and dark.

✮Beltane (May Day) – Pagan/Wiccan May 1st

Beltane is a joyful fertility festival that welcomes the height of spring and celebrates the divine feminine and masculine coming together in fruitful union. Beltane celebrations include dancing around the Maypole, wearing wreaths or crowns of flowers, the crowning of a May Queen, and the lighting of bonfires.

Litha/Midsummer (Summer Solstice) – Pagan/Wiccan June 21st

Litha, celebrated at the summer solstice, marks when the sun is at its maximum power and the longest day of the year. Litha celebrations include lighting bonfires, outdoor feasts, and rituals that honor the warmth and light of the sun and the season’s abundance.

[captain-joongz]

Abraxas; Masterlist

Pairing: mafia boss!Min Yoongi x police office!reader

Genre: humour, angst, investigation themes, dark themes, enemies to lovers, slowburn, eventual smut, some fluff

Summary: My downfall ended up being a story in three acts. The introduction, the seduction, the damnation.

Or; Young and fresh out of police academy, I set out to take down one of the biggest gangs in Seoul. I didn't expect the whirlwind my life would become after meeting the one and only Min Yoongi. Caught between two worlds, it was hard to say whether I was pulled down or returned where I always belonged.

Current word count: cca 100k

Warnings: dark themes, talks of illegal activities, murder, sexism in the workplace, brief reader x OC, eventual smut, innacurate description of police work, some slight stalking (reader tailing Yoongi), each individual chapter will have its own warnings

A/N: welcome to my new and very first series! I will attempt to update this every month, so it's done quicker. Hope you enjoy your reading, don't be shy and feel free to interact!

Taglist is open! Let me know if you wanna be added ^^

playlist / songs that fit the vibe : daylight by david kuschner, love again by dua lipa, let the world burn by chris grey, nothing matters by the last dinner party, killshot (slowed + reverb) by magdalena bay, a little death by the neighbourhood, adore adore by yoav, little girl gone by chinchilla, play with fire by sam tinnesz, the night by choi baek ho, astonist's lullaby by hozier, take me to church by hozier, smoke sprite by so!yoon!, all the good girls go to hell by billie eilish, my strange addiction by billie eilish, nobody's soldier by hozier, wet nightmare by bibi

Act 1;

Ch. 1 | Interlude I. | Ch. 2.1 | Ch. 2.2 | Ch. 3.1 | Ch. 3.2 | Ch. 3.3 | Interlude II. | Ch. 4.1 | Ch. 4.2 | Ch. 4.3 |Interlude III.

"That which is spoken by God-the-Sun is life; that which is spoken by the Devil is death; Abraxas speaketh that hallowed and accursed word, which is life and death at the same time. Abraxas begetteth truth and lying, good and evil, light and darkness in the same word and in the same act. Wherefore is Abraxas terrible."

- 3rd sermon, Seven Sermons to the Dead, Carl Jung

The First Companion | An Old Friend | Boy Warrior |

Act 2;

TBA

"The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas."

- Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair's Youth, Hermann Hesse

The Prodigal Son | Enemy of an Enemy is a Friend | The Golden Maknae |

Act 3;

TBA

"It is splendid as the lion in the instant he striketh down his victim. It is beautiful as a day of spring. It is the great Pan himself and also the small one. It is Priapos.

It is the monster of the under-world, a thousand-armed polyp, coiled knot of winged serpents, frenzy.

It is abundance that seeketh union with emptiness. It is holy begetting. It is love and love’s murder. It is the saint and his betrayer. It is the brightest light of day and the darkest night of madness.

To look upon it, is blindness. To know it, is sickness. To worship it, is death. To fear it, is wisdom. To resist it not, is redemption.

It is the delight of the earth and the cruelty of the heavens. Before it there is no question and no reply.

That is the terrible Abraxas."

- 3rd sermon, Seven Sermons to the Dead, Carl Jung

Epilogue

Taglist (open):

@wobblewobble822 @viankiss @jjkwifestyle @mortal-body-timelesssoul @fullmetalavatar54

@ot72025 @jalexad @eleni-cherie @m00njinnie @mysteriousgeminizone

@faesageworld

[radiofreesanjak]

When SecComm fell, we celebrated. This is the story my grandparents tell me, whispered once through the mines: when SecComm fell, we heard the gloating of our oppressors through the mines, and we celebrated it. We painted the ThirdComm symbol on the mineshaft walls, we used once again the tools of the pamphlet and the whisper network, we spat back at the dogs who would hold us down.

The story goes that at first we celebrated because we had heard what the new government said they prized. Three rules, all broken for us: the tools of life withheld when we cared to speak back, the surface of dear Sanjak made a border we cannot cross, the forces of Stone tying our hands to the pickaxe and the drill, forcing our labor against our will. The people the stonematrons feared had become ones who would care for us, we said, surely if we make ourselves known they will come and make this right.

So we grew loud, and riotous, and drew the symbols of this Third Committee in hopes they would come calling. But they did not come. It was these days that Ludra called us "Ungrateful" and gave us our name.

Here is a truth they will not tell you about Union: they believe so firmly in those pillars they hold dear but believe even more in stability. They save those who require it, so long as it does not jeopardize the supply lines for their hallowed Core Worlds. This is of course a flawed premise: on Sanjak we rose up and denied the mines and Union is still fed, yet they still do not come directly to our aid. Here on the omninet I hear voices telling tales of the vaunted liberator teams and each one stings anew because I have never seen one, nor have any of my comrades. When faced with our annihilation I'm told they stepped in to instead force the blockade. So here I ask you this question, dear omninet, what is the blockade not annihilation by another name?

Once again Sanjak is imposed the violence of a border. Once again that border's maintenence would have us killed. Once again each crossing is one that would sustain us but only because we have broken the rules they write.

There is a second reason we celebrated when SecComm fell. It was proof, to us, that with proper application of force the order can be toppled. That a new era is possible, we must simply make it. This is the lesson I remember when I hear the dogs spit our name: we can build a better future, we must simply take it.

[thel0v3hashira143]

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 ❞

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ a husband you never met and a runaway bride. what could go wrong? prince!suguru x princess!reader au

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ warnings: fem!black coded!reader but anyone can read, flufff and a lil angst, povs are lowk all over the place, aranged marriage trope, i totally thought of charlotte's dress from princess and the frog for reader, def not inspired by that queen charlotte scene, reader isn't like other girls, suguru just gives off such prince energy ahhhh :3

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ notes: my first fic omgg!! this was the poll winner from the other day and i will be releasing the others soon! as always reqs are open ♡ stay hot!! 🎀💕

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ 3.6k words, 20.4k characters

There were whispers in the Geto castle.

The news of Prince Suguru's betrothal, whispered in the hallowed halls of the castle, reaching everyone's ears like a chilling wind. Geto was used to the stares and hushed whispers, due to being the prince of the most successful kingdom in the land...but this was different.

He stood silently looking down at his kingdom, the vast sky, resembling an infinite canvas, adorned with shades of blue, purple, and gold, filtered through the window which cast a golden shadow over his features.

It was as if the gods smiled down on the land, offering love and tenderness throughout the whole kingdom which was preparing for a celebration. As the sun tickled his skin a conflicted look cast over his features, and his eyes, usually sharp and calculating, flitted around as he looked down at his people. His fingers traced the intricate patterns on the parchment, reading it over and over in hopes it would finally sink in.

Ever since the elders announced he was to be betrothed they seemed more over joyed than he was, finally finding a wife for him to wed and strengthen the kingdom. He had initially dismissed it as insignificant, firmly believing he would discover a solution, a way out, but now he found himself here. On the day he was to be married.

The kingdom was adorned in colorful decorations from head to toe, and Suguru almost felt guilty but he saw all the effort being put in for his wedding were not in vain. Every decoration was clearly placed with care; to celebrate the union of their prince and this mystery woman. Nevertheless, even with the stunning scenery around him, he couldn't shake the desire for it all to be over.

"Yo! Suguru!" A large hand clasped on his shoulder which pulled him out of his thoughts as Satoru's blindfold and snow white hair came into view. The tall man had a nervous grin and his face and he reached up to scratch the back of his head suspiciously, as Suguru looked up at him incredulously.

"Ah, Satoru. What's wrong?" Something was clearly going on, as Gojo wore his emotions on his sleeve. Before he could even get a chance to answer, all of the worst case scenarios were running through Suguru's head. He already felt a headache incoming.

"Oh, it's nothing...just your future wifey!" Suguru's eyebrows furrowed at his words as Satoru cringed slightly, knowing that wasn't even the whole of the news. After a awkward pause Suguru patiently asked, "Yes?" urging Satoru to continue while trying to contain his frustration.

Satoru let out a laugh and threw his arm over Suguru as the later let out a sigh and pushed him off. "Oh trust me, you're gonna laugh! We're all gonna look back on this an-" "Spill it, Satoru."

The white haired male tensed up as a bead of sweat formed on his brow. "...I may have...lost...her?"

Another awkward silence filled the room as the handsome prince's features contorted into one of disbelief. How do you lose a grown adult? This was new low for Satoru.

His first instinct was to look for her. After all, Satoru wasn't the most thorough when it came to these things. Perhaps she left her room only for a moment to speak to a maid, or maybe she wasn't spotted in her room...right? As much as he tried to distract himself his mind wandered to a worse outcome. Abduction or an assassination attempt. But what if she was just like him? Hesitant and perhaps she got cold feet? If she had spoken to the elders like they had him, there's no doubt they intimidated her.

The raven haired prince let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face as he began calculating all possible strategies to find her before the ceremony. He turned to Satoru who let out a sigh of relief at his words. "Alert our best trackers. We need to devise a plan to cover all the areas she might have gone."

Satoru nodded and both men began to stride out of the room. As he made his way into the long, winding hallways of his castle, the words of the elders rang in his mind.

You will learn to love her.

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1 DAY PRIOR

You were certain your life was ending.

You sat on the edge of your bed as you dramatically leaned against the post of your bed, eyed wide and face blank despite the whirlwinds of emotions inside you. Dozens of servants scurried around your room, packing trunk after trunk for your move. To your new home.

You flopped back on the bed with a 'omph' as the mindless chatter of the maids sounded like static in your ears. The gauzy silks and beautiful furniture of your childhood room began to close in on you, the weight of tradition and duty bearing down on your fragile shoulders. The room, once a sanctuary of comfort, now felt like a confining fortress.

Your trembling fingers traced the intricate patterns of a silver necklace, a cherished token your mother gave to you as a child. The impending marriage felt like the beginning of the end of all of your freedom. You would hardly ever see your beautiful gardens, your castle, or your parents ever again.

Despite this, everyone except you seemed to be convinced this was the best thing that could've ever happened to you. You remembered the elders words as you rolled you eyes.

This is a great honor for your family. You were chosen, out of all the kingdoms, out of all the princesses in the land, to marry the eldest son of the Shibuya kingdom.

Just as you let out a defeated sigh, a gentle knock on the chamber door disrupted you thoughts, and your mother came into view and your heart sunk. As she approached your bed she ushered all the maids out of the room before striding over to you gracefully. You sat up and sent her a glare through the corner of your eye.

"[name]. What's troubling you my daughter?", she said gently as she sat beside you. You whipped your head around with bated breath. "Mother," You began hesitantly. After one word, it was as if all your confidence was knocked out of you and your gaze was now fixed on the intricate patterns of the carpet.

"I...I don't want to marry Suguru Geto. I fear what life awaits me if I am bound to him. Besides, what if I don't love him? What if we are not compatible like the elders say?"

Your mother sighed, her eyes filled with a sense of understanding. "My dear, the union with Suguru is not solely about personal desires and it has nothing to do with love. Think of the kingdom, and our people. Arranged marriages have been a longstanding tradition that have proven to be good for us. Just look at your father and I, who also had an arranged marriage and have found joy in each other's company."

You let out a small scoff and you turn your head away from your mother. She just didn't understand...None of them did. Sensing your frustration your mother smoothed out her skirts before standing with a small exhale. "You'll depart later tonight and arrive in the morning, just in time for the ceremony." You didn't respond and a pregnant pause fell over the room. Just as your mother was about to depart she looked back at you sadly as she held the door open. "Give Suguru a chance. You will learn to love him my dear." She said softly before closing the large door with a soft click.

Now you were truly all alone, in your large room with near maddening silence. "Give him a chance...yeah right." you muttered to yourself with a furrowed brow. You made your way to the balcony and gazed down upon your kingdom as your mind wandered to your unknown prince.

Was he kind? Handsome? Cruel? Stupid? Ugly?

A breeze swept through, lifting the tendrils your hair. With every passing moment, you fell deeper and deeper within your pit of despair. You couldn't resign to a life dictated by others.

It just wasn't you.

The union, this man, this wedding felt like a betrayal of your essence. As tears welled up in your eyes, your decision became clear. It was daunting, yes, but who would want to be bound to a destiny they didn't choose? As you picked up your gown with new determination, your mind was made.

You were going to flee the wedding.

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Suguru was just about fed up.

It had been nearly 3 hours since the word of his bride's escape and despite him and the guard's best efforts, she was still nowhere to be found. He huffed exasperatedly as he wiped the sweat off his brow

He could just imagine the disappointed faces of the elders, his parents the kindgom...He couldn't be that repulsive to be wed to. Could he? As the sun hung high above the velevety sky, Suguru sat on a nearby bench carved out of the finest marble.

The raven haired prince placed his head in his hands as the sun beat down on the back of his neck. This is what he wanted after all he supposed, to not be married. But as he sat surrounded by winding paths and blooming flora stretched before him he wondered what it would be like. Could he have learned to love this woman?

Just as he got up to leave, he saw a flash of white from behind the foliage. An eyebrow quirked up as he got up to investige and as he slowly walked forward to investigate a soft murmur of hushed grunts and rustles of leaves reached his ears.

There, beneath a canopy of wisteria, Suguru spotted a lone figure. A young woman who her back turned to him and an lavish dress draped over her figure. A large array of lace, floral details and extravagantly large petticoats made into an over the top gown.

One that only could have been reserved for a princess.

Curiosity piqued, Suguru approached quietly, the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes masked by the soft rustling leaves. As he drew closer, he noticed the princess immersed trying (and failing) to scale the wall despite your nearly comically large dress, unaware of his presence.

Clearing his throat, Suguru spoke, his voice a velvety whisper that mingled with the silence of the garden. "Excuse me, are you needing some assistance, princess?" You turned with a bewildered look on your face, and a small gasp was let out at the sight of the man before you. As she studied the stranger who had interrupted your escape, you smoothed your skirts and tried to play it off.

"Uhm- No? No. I'm quite fine sir. Thank you." You responded annoyedly as you hiked up your dress and squinted your eyes at the man. He was handsome- there was no doubt about that, but you certainly didn't plan on getting caught. Where did he come from and why did he bother you? He might have recognized you because of your fancy appearance, but who was he?

"You can go and wait with the rest of those..gawkers for the ceremony. I know the prince must've sent you, but trust me. I'm perfectly fine."

Suguru's lips began to curl into a soft, amused smile as he took a step closer to you as you took one back. "I never doubted you were alright. You look perfectly determined and capable. But, do indulge me. What are you doing?" He asks with an entertained smile as he gestures to the wall.

Your eyebrows raised slightly and you took a sharp breath inwards. "I just told you. I'm not doing anything." You said exasperatedly as your hands balled into fist. This man was really messing with your escape (not that you were making that much progress in the first place).

The man raised an eyebrow at your words and you looked around before sighing and throwing your head back. "Fine. If you must know, I'm trying to climb this wall. And I can see you clearly find my failure amusing so I hope you're satisfied."

A pregnant pause fell over the two of you, and you hoped in revealing your purpose, he’d then mind his business and go away. "Climb...whatever for?" he questioned, genuinely intrigued by your confession.

"I-I..." You were getting more and more frustrated by the minute, and now you feared you revealed too much. "I...I'm escaping. I've heard rumors...he's cruel, and a monster! I would rather be alone for the rest of my than spend it with a demon I know nothing about."

Suguru's eyebrows flew to his hairline in bewilderment at your words. You couldn't've been talking about him...could you? He cleared his throat, obviously bewildered before inquiring further: "I-I'm sorry, but who are you talking about, princess?"

"I suppose that was rude..." you mumbled to yourself, as Suguru still stood bewildered before you awaiting an answer. You looked up at him, sensing he was wanting an honest answer before sighing. "The Prince! Suguru Geto...I know nothing of him and yet everyone expects me to give my life away to him...they turned their backs on me and my future...so I'm doing the same."

Realization dawned upon him as he nodded, absorbing your words. As your words sunk in a wave of sympathy washed over him. You were not as different from him as he had thought. You had dreams, aspirations, and hopes for your future.

As he stood with his solace you hoisted your skirts and turned back to the wall, putting your mind back on your escape and formulating a plan. “You know, if I grab there… yes!” you looked back to him over your shoulder, “You could assist me by lifting me up, you know." You say breathlessly as you prepared to scale the wall again.

He stared puzzled as he contemplated your ask. "But, marrying a prince couldn't be that bad? Besides, not all rumors are true...what if he's handsome?"

You rolled your eyes. "He could be the most handsome man ever and I wouldn't care. Looks have nothing to do with it and neither does personality. I just...want my own life. Now, here- come on. If you grab me here and hoist me up I could make it over the rocks and reach a carriage."

He considered your words as he watched you struggle, pondering the consequences. "But what will you do when people realize you're missing? And what about the prince- I'm sure he cares about your wellbeing." He says with a small smile as his eyes soften.

“I seriously doubt that, and besides I can worry about all of that later. Now, if you please…” you turned your back to him, still determined to proceed with your mission. “I just need a little help. Come. Hurry up.”

He licked his lips, caught in his own contemplation, before taking two slow steps forward. “I have absolutely no intention of helping you,” he declared, surprising you with his refusal.

At your surprise, you lost your grip on the vine and fell to the ground with a small grunt at the man's feet. Once you were untangled from your mass of petticoats you glared up at him, nostrils flared as you sat breathing heavily, almost as if you were giving him a moment to correct his words.

You marched towards him with sure steps, closing the gap between your bodies. "I am not a mere woman, I am a princess! Who is in need of help and you refuse? I ask- no demand you assist me in getting over the wall." you confronted him, your voice tinged with disbelief.

The man let out a laugh as he closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, or was it amusement? And after a moment of silence he replied, his voice filled with a twinge of playfulness.

"I only refuse when that princess is trying to climb over the wall to escape an arranged marriage with me." He declared, his words lingering in the atmosphere, exposing a reality that took you by surprise.

Shock rippled though through you, and you put your gloved hands up to your mouth and gasped. It felt as if all of your air had been knocked out of you as your eyes locked onto his onyx ones. This couldn't have been true...All the things you heard from your handmaidens, and your friends back home didn't describe this man at all. Yet here he was in front of you, a picturesque version of a prince every woman could've wished for. He was beautiful, with his dark hair and smoldering eyes, but you had noticed this when you first laid eyes on him. Back then he was just a random man, but now it all felt surreal. You eyelashes fluttered and your breath hitched and he closed the gap to grab your hands tenderly and press a kiss to the back of your glove.

He wore a smirk on his lips, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his gaze. He knew this whole time. “Hello, [name],” He said with a beaming smile. "I'm Suguru, the demon."

You stared up at him horrified, as he let out a small chuckle seemingly finding this whole situation funny. Standing there, trapped between amazement and doubt, your tongue seemed to have lost its purpose. You let out a noise akin to a squeal in embarrassment as he continued to laugh as you bowed deeply before him, your head nearly touching the grass of the garden.

"I-I'm deeply sorry," you said shakily as you slowly raised your head towards him. "please forgive me."

He lent his hand out from the ground and you stared at it bewildered, even wondering if it would be wise to take it after how much you disrespected him. Not sensing you would take it, he bent down to grab your hand and hoisted your mass of lace and flowers from the ground as you wobbled uncertainly in front of him.

"My Prince" you stammered, attempting to bow once more but he intercepted your actions smoothly. His hands gently caught your arms and as you stood up straighter his hands slowly guided themselves to your own, as your fingers intertwined. he gently guided your hand downwards with elegance, uniting your hands. The touch of his hand on yours captured your attention, as the sound of your heartbeat echoed in your ears.

"No, no. Please, I'm just Suguru to you. Nothing more." he corrected you in a soft-spoken manner, withdrawing his hand as he placed it on his chest.

"Suguru, I'm so sorry..." you began, but the words dying on your tongue in shame. "Please, you have to understand if I had known it was you-"

He interrupted you, his gaze unwavering. “You would have what? Not told me that you were trying to escape?”

“Well, yes. I mean…” Your words stumbled over each other, attempting to form a coherent defense. He laughed again, a sound you could get used to, but now it filled you with embarrassment.

"I apologize my prince." You said lowering your gaze in shame with a soft voice.

"Suguru." he corrected you once again, a gentle reminder. “Just Suguru.”

You smiled softly as you looked away in embarrassment as the weight of everything that had happened and all unspoken emotions lingered in the air. As he put a gentle hand on your shoulder, he leaned in close and whispered in you ear, a solemn promise to just you and him.

"I know what people say, and I know you don't wish to be wed to me...but perhaps if you'll have me as your husband, we could ignore all that and I could be just Suguru to you."

You gazed at him, your heart fluttering with newfound affection. The weight of his words sank in, and you found yourself captivated by the vulnerability he revealed.

You promptly defended yourself, asserting, "I never said that!," with a genuine tone in your voice.

He emphasized, "Oh, but you did," his eyes now sparkling mischievously.

You insisted, your tone slightly anxious, "I absolutely did not."

He persisted, his smile growing wider, "You definitely did."

You admitted, your voice becoming softer as you revealed your uncertainties and hesitations, "Well, I'm not sure… I don't really know you."

In a theatrical gesture, he pulled you close and straddled your back, "I don't know you either," his smile widening even further, "Except for the fact that you're terrible at climbing."

You smiled and smacked his chest playfully. "Hey! You try planning an escape in this." You said as you gestured to your elaborately made dress. As you looked up to meet his gaze once more, you found him already watching you, a broad smile adorning his face and a dreamy glint in his eyes. It was a contagious expression that tugged at your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile in response.

“What?” you asked softly, your curiosity piqued.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, contemplating his words. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a sincere and gentle admiration. “You are incomparable. No one told me my bride would be this beautiful."

You felt your cheeks heat up as you laid you head on his chest and you felt him lay his chin atop you intricately styled hair, not caring about how it looks. The sun was setting and it began to cast a golden glow over you and Suguru's silhouette's as love began to grow within the atmosphere.

Wedding long forgotten, you two basked in the desire within the garden, all doubts and fears left behind. Perhaps this wouldn't be this bad after all. With your Suguru, you had no doubts everything would be alright.

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ notes: OMFGG Y'ALL SHE'S HEREEE MY BRAINCHILD ik she's like a week late but i'm actually so proud of how this came out and i hope you guys like it!! i'll probably drop some hc's later this week but reqs are open!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ tags: @delicatelycraftedbambi @darious

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲 ♡

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𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚!

𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙡0𝙫3𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙖143 2024

[dryp106bryochargxergbhy]

I just realized that I have an old unfinished AU that I would like to share with the world. Its setting starts in the future, way past the Radiance's infection, where Hallownest gets its fresh new start like it deserves. New characters, a rare few familiar faces, and similar but different characters shall appear.

I'm excited to say that you all might be blown away by this one.

I welcome you to the beginning of:

New Hallows | Hallows' Union

[hahaifolded]

Can We Make This Work? (1)

Nanami Kento x POC!FemReader x Gojo Satoru (Masterlist) Chapter 1: Surprise, you're getting married! (Next) Summary: After finding out that jujutsu sorcerers were appearing outside of Japan, the higher ups propose a union to consolidate their power. Warnings: Racist themes, coercion

It was a random Wednesday in Tokyo. In Gojo Satoru's eyes, there was absolutely nothing special about today. The only remotely exciting thing about today was the scheduled higher up meeting that had been in his calendar for weeks marked important. 

Every meeting is important for these geezers, thought the sorcerer. These meetings were always the same… there’s too many curses these days, let’s kill the vessel, you need to grow up Gojo… same old same old. It was any other day for Gojo Satoru.

The meeting started as usual. The higher ups getting on Gojo for his lack of respect for tradition… whatever that means. 

“But no worries. This union should change you for the better,” commented a voice. 

Huh, that was new. 

“The balance of the jujutsu world has shifted once again. What we once thought to be Japanese phenomenon is no more,” announced a voice. 

Another voice began as soon as the first ended. “After your confrontment with Miguel, we decided to look into the possibility of others like him. And much to our surprise, it seems that Jujutsu sorcerers have been spawning outside of Japan for years now. Some of them have even joined forces and made a governing body among these foreign sorcerers. They’ve just now came in contact with us and have asked for guidance.”

A third continued, “the initial plan was to wipe them out. However, many of them have presented techniques that we once believed to be only found among us. Attacking them would end up being too cumbersome for us.” 

Gojo, tired of this exposition, spoke up, “so if wiping them out is not an option anymore, what do you need me for?” To his surprise, deep hallow laughter filled the room. He didn’t like that. 

“Taking a page out of your book, we decided on a less violent approach. We offered these exotic sorcerers a union… a union between one of their strongest and one of our own.”

They don’t mean?

The first voice continued, "and since we've halted on further attempts on your students, I don't expect you to have any qualms with this deal. Make us look like fools and we won't hesitate to do the same to you." The laughter returned.

“Don't look too glum, Gojo. Today is a special day. You’re getting married.” 

— — —

I can’t believe this man. Nanami was stressed, and it wasn’t even his wedding. Much to his dismay, the groom-to-be had asked forced the 7:3 sorcerer to be his best man a few days ago.

Now he was rushing to the groom’s suite, looking for Satoru who was about to be late to his own wedding. 

“You better have a good reason for this, Gojo,” scolded the younger sorcerer as he swung the door open. Rushing in, he expected to see Satoru napping or just playing dumb, but instead he was met with the complete opposite. In the grand suite sat a complete living room set, vanity, and full-length mirror and absolutely no sign of the groom.

Not sensing the man, Nanami looked around the room. His eyes suddenly fell to a piece of paper that laid on the coffee table. As he neared the paper, the sorcerer couldn’t help but feel nervous. 

He felt his veins bulge in his neck as he read the words: Sorry, couldn’t to this. Congrats, you’re getting married! P.S. Sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding, Nanamin.

I’m going to kill him.

Before Nanami could do anything, Principal Gakuganji walked in. “There you are, Nanami. The ceremony is about to start.” 

“I think there’s been—“ started the best man turned groom. However, he couldn’t get much out before the old man started to speak.

“You know when Gojo told us about your interest in this union, we thought the boy was just trying to get out of this. But after singing your praises and informing us about your uniques tastes for the exotic, the higher ups and I realized there was no better fit. A responsible, formidable grade 1 sorcerer, and... whatever these foreigners present. I can't picture a better union." Gakuganji smiled, or attempted to smile.

Nanami felt sick. He knew he couldn't stop this. The now-groom was nothing compared to the higher ups. He had always been and still was at their complete mercy. All he can hope that this union won't completely dismantle his life.

— — —

Kento Nanami always imagined his wedding would be small ceremony with a lot of heart. His and his bride's parents in the front as familiar faces filled the pews. Even when he reintegrated himself into jujutsu society and sidelined his dreams, the image of it never wavered.

What stood before him was the complete opposite.

Per request of the foreign sorcerers, the wedding was done in the Western tradition. The venue was filled with way too many unfamiliar faces, mostly from your side. His side was filled with fellow sorcerers and the Tokyo students. Yuji and Ino stared at him from their seats, whispering loudly about how come they weren't asked to be groomsmen or even told explicitly that this was his wedding. Nanami could feel a headache coming on.

To his dismay, the music starts. The doors at the end of the aisle snapped open as the wedding march began. Nanami couldn't help but feel nervous. His entire life was about to change all thanks to a certain menace. It also didn't help that his bride-to-be was completely covered from head to toe in a white veil. Nanami wasn't one to care for looks, but in this case, he just wanted to know what Gojo had gotten him into.

Did he get a glimpse of her and ran off, he couldn't help but think. Every possible worst case scenario ran through his mind as you walked down the aisle. What if he found she was a monster and- no despite everything, he wouldn't do that to me... right? As you got closer, Nanami's heart felt closer and closer of leaping out of his chest.

"Everyone, please take a seat," announced Principal Yaga. He smiled apologetically at Nanami. He realized what his older student did to the poor man before him. He let out a small cough and asked Nanami to lift your veil. Here we go, winced the sorcerer.

With his breath held, he slowly lifted your veil. The entire room completely disappeared as your face slowly came to light. Nanami was in awe. He was met with a sheepish smile and bright, kind eyes. A sight he didn't get to see much these days. You were truly a breath of fresh spring air, absolutely rejuvenating.

And with your face uncovered, your energy absolutely shook the room. For many of the Tokyo sorcerers, it felt weirdly familiar, but they couldn't put their finger on it.

As Nanami looked in your eyes, he thought, maybe this won't be so bad.

Word Count: 1160

Masterlist - Next

Author's Note: Y'all I was literally studying for my exam when this little thought popped up in my head. The way it festered and took a solid hold in my mind. So excited to write this!

I absolutely love how this chapter came out! I'll make a master list soon so stay tune!

[be4nb4g]

New magical girl just dropped

“New magical girl just dropped.” J placed a newspaper on the coffee table in the first-floor lounge of the Villains Union. It was a simple setup that consisted of a couch, a matching lounge chair, a lamp, and the coffee table. Garfield perked up from his spot on the chair. He had been looking at superheroes' Instagram accounts and silently judging. The recent one had decided to wear white pants after Labor Day, which was not a hard rule Garfield abided by, but he was also at a park supposedly rescuing some kitten. Who wears white pants to a park?

“Volatile things those creatures.” Cerulean sat on the side of the couch furthest away from Garfield with a book on thermodynamics and pyrokinesis. He hardly looked up as he reached for it. His eyes narrowed when Garfield jumped to it first.

“Ooh! What’s the theme of this one?” All magical girls appeared with a theme of some sort.

“Strawberries I think?” J took a seat on the arm of Garfield’s chair looking over his shoulder as he looked at the paper. The newspaper had a big image of the girl who did in fact have a strawberry-themed dress along with a matching jacket and hairband. “She’s the fourth berry-themed hero to appear in the last month.”

“Sounds like a berry-themed villain has been up to a lot of nonsense for four of them to appear in a month.” Jack Hallow was lounged into the unoccupied side of the couch and glanced at the newspaper in Garfield’s hands. 

The front door to the union opened causing the group to look up as Veronica walked in with a tall and lanky man who could best be described as dark cottagecore and could worst be described as a decrepit-looking pedophile.

“And there’s their bad guy,” Jack said under his breath as the two approached them.

“Gentlemen,” Veronica made steely eye contact with Jack, “Jack. This is our newest union member, Brambledark.” The man- Brambledark stood up taller than before and the dark vines that wound his arms seemed to move as if there was a draft.

“Hello, it is a pleasure to meet all of you. I have come here to solve the problem of my minions being destroyed by some of your heroic miscreants.”

“You’re from out of Jam aren’t you?” Jack asked in a way that implied he already knew the answer. It was sentiment lost on Brambledark.

“Yes. I am from the ancient dark grove of Cynthium where I have been researching the mystical berries of light.” None of this information was particularly interesting for any of the group although J did their best to feign interest. Garfield was mostly appalled by the foliage that appeared to be Brambledark’s outfit.

“You two hear about the newest magical girl?”

“Magical girl?” The tall mess of dark leaves questioned. “I thought magic was common here?”

Jack and Cerulean gave each other a look that ran along the lines of, ‘this poor idiot has no idea he’s going to be beat up by a group of sparkly girls’.

“Magical girls are girls who randomly receive great powers usually from some magical artifcast or familiar.” J explained.

“Emphasis on ‘girl’.” Jack snatched the paper from Garfield who hardly noticed as he was too busy taking mental notes of all the things he hated about Brambledark's appearance.

“Because they are female?”

“Because they are children.”

“The new girl is actual trans.” J piped in.

“Yay for representation,” Jack said sarcastically waving one of his hands in fake excitement.

“How old is the new girl?” Veronica left the new recruit to sit next to Jack and see the paper for herself. J opened his mouth to speak but Jack got to it first.

“She’s fifteen.”

“Fifteen?!” Bramble’s gapped in shock.

“One of the older ones actually,” Jack handed the paper to Veronica, “youngest was eight if you’re wondering.” Bramble stared in shock and walked over to the wall for support.

“I actually went to highschool with a magical girl. She was super popular.” Garfield said as he finally pulled himself from looking at Bramble.

“Oh! Which one?” J asked.

“Allison Crystalis.”

Veronica abruptly dropped the paper to her lap.

“You went to highschool with Allison Crystalis?”

“Yeah.” Garfield sounded uneasy as all eyes focused on him in a mix of surprise and suspicion.

“Isn’t she in the sidekick program now?” J asked trying to divert the conversation.

“Isn’t she still in highschool?” Jack asked closing in on Garfield. Cerulean seemed focused on doing the math in his head while Garfield tried to sink into the chair. “How old are you?”

Garfield mumbled something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nineteen.” He said just loud enough for the group to hear. Jack burst out laughing. Veronica and Cerulean were clearly surprised and Bramble looked like he was about to faint.

“You’re only nineteen?! How did you even get in the union?!” Veronica stood up and started to pace.

“The cutoff is only eighteen,” J mentioned.

“I am an adult.” Garfield protested standing up.

“You are a teenager. How are you even allowed to fight?” Bramble stammered.

“Come on you two.” Jack managed to pull himself together from his laughing fit. “It’s the Villain’s Union, what do you expect? So what he’s a kid? He’s still doing some pretty damn good work for his age and I’d rather him here than not. Besides it could be worse.”

“How could it be worse?” Bramble asked.

“He could be losing to a group of middle schoolers.”

“Has someone here lost to a group of middle schoolers?”

Jack smiled coyly at Bramble, “Not yet.”

[introverted-imagineer]

The Vikings Ambition and the Emperor’s Request (Part 23)

Warnings: Language, gendered themes, warfare, violence, themes of pregnancy and infertility, religious themes, and smut. Please be careful not to engage with the content below if any of these warnings are inappropriate or impact your well-being.

This is a long chapter with a bit of time jumping so please bear with it.

-The Introverted Imagineer.

The markets of Constantinople were busiest in the early hours of the morning. Families buy bread and produce for the day, fishermen trade their catches as they row in and out of the harbour, and farmers sell milk and eggs before they are spoilt by the burning sun. It was easy to lose oneself in the crowd, the crowding and bustling a welcome change to the quiet and control inside the Emperor’s palace. The Emperor had been unduly generous since our arrival in Constantinople. His unwavering kindness reminded me of sweet Kurya…but unlike Kurya, something about it felt rather sinister. The influx of luxurious gifts, the invitations to dine with the Emperor and Empress, and the constant influx of service people always insisting on cleaning and cooking for us. I remember, back in London, a life like this seemed a total dream, never having to worry about what to cook, your room always clean, everyone at your beck and call. But now that I was experiencing it myself, instead of being on the other side, I despised it. 

I quietly slipped out of our room, smiling as Twyla slept soundly in her basket Harald’s arm draped over the side, his fingers resting on her blanket. I gently clutched the bag close to myself, tip-toeing down the hallowed halls of the palace, and slipping out the closest exit. I never understood why I tip-toed, there was always a guard at every exit…there was no way to leave the place unnoticed. I clutched the bag closer as the sky gleamed with the rising sun, walking past a tired guard as he stood solemnly at his post. Getting things out of the palace was easy…getting stuff in was a little trickier. 

I blew a sigh of relief as I walked down the cobbled decline amongst the streets of Constantinople. I looked inside my bag, taking note of the items: a delicately embroidered scarf, a selection of soaps, and a white linen undershirt. The Emperor’s influx of gifts and goods had come in useful the past couple of months since we’d been here. I knew I should feel guilty, selling the things that he generously gifted, but the reality was not even the Emperor would notice that things were missing. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Harald or Mathilda. To them, this life seemed to suit them…but it didn’t suit me. While it was clear, these items were more valuable than what merchants were willing to pay for them, I had gathered a reasonable saving. But with the constant bustling of life within and outside the palace walls of Constantinople, earning coin, particularly undetected, was rather easy.  

It had been two months since our wedding, the Emperor and Empress’s grand union following a month later, and Mathilda and Consus’s only a mere week ago. Life had not slowed down enough to allow much time to spend as a family. I had spent most of my evenings alone, Harald usually coming back to the room well after we were asleep. Harald, though he tried, was kept busy by the Emperor and Empress. The Emperor was meticulous, cunning and driven; Harald knew that to help his campaign, he must help the Emperor with his first. 

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I wandered around the market stalls, looking for new merchants to sell to. While merchants I had sold to in the past would likely accept more goods, I was cautious to refrain from trading with the same people. I couldn’t risk building a regular business with individuals, that’s when people would start to ask questions. ‘Where did you gather these herbs? How do you make these soaps? Where were these goods made?’. Truth was, Constantinople was still a strange land, lies like this would have been easier to tell back in London, but here I didn’t know anything. 

An elderly man stood at his makeshift table, people walking past him without much interest in his goods. Small balls of thick yarn and strings covered his table, people likely judging that his wares would not be palatable for the summer heat. I approached him wearily, pretending to pick up a few of his goods and inspect them as I did. ‘Does anything here catch your eye, my dear?’ He excitedly asked. I put the string down, smiling at him as I put on my friendliest voice. ‘My sister, she’s looking for some thread, she’s unwell and has sent me to the markets to shop for her’ I reached into the bag, pulling the scarf from inside, holding it out for the man to inspect. He pulled it closer, running his fingers over the flowers and swirls that adorned the fabric, nodding impressed at the detail. ‘She likes to make scarfs like this, do you have any threads that are similar?’ He looked at me, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment. ‘Your sister has expensive taste, I’m afraid my wares don’t match the quality that your sister uses…’ I watched intently, inspecting him as he looked at the garment, impressed, almost intoxicated by the quality. This was the moment. ‘Well, between you and me sir, she’s really not well at all…if you are willing, maybe I can tempt you into buying it?’ He raised his eyebrow, looking me up and down. I purposely dressed modestly, careful not to wear anything that might alienate me from the ordinary worker in Constantinople. ‘Such quality of work is well beyond my means’ he said, tentatively placing it on the table. ‘Truly Sir, someone with such knowledge and taste like yourself would appreciate this better than I could…besides I’d be willing to part with it for a very agreeable fee’. I battered my eyelids slightly, cringing at myself as I took on the part of a helpless person, letting him believe that he could easily take the scarf for a tiny bit of what it was worth. He looked up at me again, pursing his lips together as he dug into his pockets, a sound of clinking as he shuffled his hand around. ‘This is all I can offer’ he said, sliding three copper coins across the table. I smiled, being sure to breathe loudly as I thanked him profoundly as if he were some sort of hero. ‘Bless you, sir, you are most generous!’. 

Another person approached the table as I slid the coins into my smock, leading the man’s attention away. ‘You know, that scarf looks as though it were fit for a King’ a deep gruff voice whispered in my ear. I jerked away slightly, turning to look up at the person. His body was so large it cast a shadow over me. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest, his words sinking deep into my stomach, a simmering panic bubbling in my stomach. Had I been too careless? Should I have chosen something less exquisite? I shielded the sunlight from my eyes as the man stood to reveal his full height. Through his thick dark beard, a set of smiling teeth gleamed. He held a small netted bag, contents filled with a selection of food and herbs. I felt my insides slither as I retreated into character. ‘Well I will pass your regards onto the maker’ I said, smiling as I tried to elegantly shift away from the man’s intentions. ‘You know, if you had anything similar I’d be willing to pay, certainly more than what you got for the scarf’. I shrugged my shoulders innocently. ‘Sorry, all I have is soaps’ I said, slowly wandering to the next table over. ‘Well that’s very lucky, my mother has asked for soaps too’ he chuckled, holding the bag of food up slightly. ‘Your mother is lucky to have such a devoted son’ I said, stopping to face him as I inspected him. His clothing wasn’t overly grand, the produce in his bag was modest enough. He smiled, nodding at the awkward compliment. ‘I’d like to think every mother deserves such treatment’. I nodded in agreement, thinking of my mother. I’d like to think that someone would have looked after her when I was taken into service. My thoughts were distracted as he dug into his pocket, the clinking sounding as he pulled out a silver coin. I hitched a laugh in my throat, his offering slightly too generous for a simple bar of soap. ‘That’s much more than any bar of soap is worth’ I said, turning my attention back to the stalls. ‘Well I figured, anywhere where you were able to get such a beautiful scarf, must also be selling soaps of high quality’ he said, dipping around and blocking my other side. ‘Also, anyone willing to sell a scarf for that price will likely need more than just a bit of money’. 

‘Is there something I can help you with?’ I asked, my tone short as his persistence began to irritate me. ‘Just a bar of soap’ he said, holding out his silver coin. I huffed, snatching the coin from his grasp, pulling out all 3 of the soaps and shoving them into his hand. ‘One for you, two for your mother’. He brought them up to his nose, sniffing at the floral scents. He smiled, closing his eyes. ‘A smell of home’ He noted, slipping one into his pocket and two into the small shopping bag with the merchandise for his mother. I knew I should walk away, but it seemed my mouth got there before my brain could stop it. ‘Why does the smell of home please you so much? You do not live with your mother?’. He licked his lips, his shoulders tensing slightly. ‘I have been summoned to serve in the Emperor’s army’ he said, his voice slightly distressed as he said it. This is opposite to Harald’s when he talked about armies and war. While the Emperor had kept Harald busy, I had not known exactly what the Emperor had kept him busy with…nor what Harald had been supposedly ‘helping’ the Emperor with. ‘The Emperor is recruiting an army?’ I questioned, curiosity and questions generating unwillingly in my brain. 

The kind stranger explained the political climate, how the Emperor was seeking to expand his Empire, and how he amongst many men was being recruited and sent to training camps. I could feel my insides boiling. I knew that Constantinople wasn’t a permanent home for us, but for Harald to possibly be so entwined with all this and not say a word. ‘I’m surprised you do not know of this, it is common knowledge amongst Constantinople that the Emperor is building an army?’. ‘I haven’t lived here long’ I noted. He nodded his head solemnly. ‘Might I be correct in sensing that is why you were willing to part with the scarf so cheaply?’. While he seemed well-meaning, his persistence and reference to that damn scarf had become annoying. ‘I don’t think that is any of your concern’ I noted, trying to end the conversation entirely. But predictably, he hadn’t finished. ‘Please forgive me…I couldn’t help but think we might be able to help each other.’ I clutched tighter to my bag, balling my other hand into a fist. I had seen these interactions growing up, and how they unfolded for women like my mother. ‘My mother has a rather spacious home, and with her being old, and with my call to service, she is seeking a new tennant to help her in her home.’ I could feel my grip loosening, a window of hope. ‘I only mention the scarf because nobody would be willing to part with such an item if they didn’t need to.’ 

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The elderly woman’s home stood on the far end of Constantinople. While most homes were stacked together and stood amongst the streets, a small village of homes stood independently amongst a field of green. While not isolated, many people walked amongst the grassy area; gardening, harvesting wildflowers, children playing and climbing the trees. It was a vision of heaven itself compared to the same walls inside the palace. I couldn’t help but feel butterflies in my stomach, a fluttering of comfort and calmness as the scene reminded me of summers from my childhood. The farmers, their children, and meadows of grass; something I had only admired from a distance. But this could be the opportunity to give my daughter what I never had. The kind stranger, who had introduced himself as George, wandered to a small straw triangle hut held together with dried hardened clay-like mud and woven twigs. An elderly woman sat out front on a large boulder, shucking a cob of corn from its leaves. ‘Mama’ he called, his arms wide-spread, his shopping hanging from one hand. The old woman dropped the corn, her hands coming to her face, gushing at the sight of her son. She seemed overwhelmed by his presence, speaking to him in a language I could not understand. I looked on curiously from afar as her slender frame circled her large son. She pulled him right down, gripping his cheeks in her hand and kissing his cheeks fiercely and repetitively. The scene was curious as if she had not seen him in some time. 

When she finally released her son, he handed her the shopping, she looked overwhelmed with happiness as she inspected the contents. He gestured in my direction, speaking to her in their language. She glided towards me, a smile on her face as she gripped my cheeks in her hand, kissing them fervently like she had her son. Her son’s voice emitted. ‘Forgive her, she has lived a long life, and can get confused.’ However, the feeling of tender mothering, the warmth of her hands, the pressing of her thin lips against mine, the feeling was almost intoxicating. Something I had so dearly missed,  I didn’t mind it. She gripped my hand, pulling me inside her home excitedly. 

The inside was sparse. A simple table and chairs, a fireplace, a straw bed in the far corner, and a set of shelves that were home to her cookware. Next to her fireplace, a pot simmered, a line hung from one wall to the other, a smell of honey wafting as her homemade candles rested on the line drying. A small archway with a curtain hung at the end of the room, which pulled back to reveal another small bedroom with another straw bed. While not as grand as the palace, it was more than what my mother and I had. Some baskets and a bucket full of water sat pushed against the wall of the smaller bedroom. The elderly woman quickly tended to the room, trying to fluff the pillow and straighten the blanket on the bed to make it look more appealing. I walked to the small window, opening the wooden shutters. The sun shone brightly, the grass shimmering with the light. George stopped his mother’s efforts. ‘Maybe it’s not quite what you thought?’ He questioned, his tone laced with a bit of disappointment. I turned back towards them, his mother clutching onto her son’s side, a tight lip smile as if she were trying to apologise. ‘What sort of arrangement are you suggesting?’ I asked, making the tall man smile with a sense of relief. ‘My mother needs help around the home, things like collecting water, going to the market, and helping her in her garden and with her sheep, things her body is too tired to do.’ ‘I have one stipulation’ I noted. George tilted his head curiously. ‘I have a daughter.’ His mother looked between us, confused by the language barrier. I couldn’t understand his translation, but there was one word I did. ‘Baby’. With that, the elderly woman seemed more spritely with excitement as she repeated the words, nodding with delight. ‘Baby, baby.’ 

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The room back at the palace was empty. Harald likely taken Twyla for a stroll like he did most mornings. I put my bag down, reaching under the feather mattress and pulling out the bag of coins, adding today’s money to the collection. I nervously slid the coins into my bag, wondering how I was going to tell Harald the news. Our marriage had been civil, but nothing more extended beyond fussing around after Twyla and sleeping in the same bed at night like two strangers forced to share. We could be independent, and Twyla would be around other children, endless fields to play and explore.  Maybe I was making a mistake?

The door creaked open, and I could feel my insides knotting themselves into tight circles. ‘Harald…I need to talk to you’ I said, turning around to face the door, only to find it was not Harald. ‘Such a content child’ her voice sounded, floating across the room, piercing my ears. I stood up, dipping into a deep curtsy. ‘Empress’ I greeted dutifully. She stood there, looking around the room curiously, Twyla sitting soundly in her arms as she looked at me. I could feel every instinct in my body become alert, my eyes bulging slightly, my jaw clenching my teeth together tightly. ‘I’m so sorry if Harald inconvenienced you’ I said, walking towards her and stretching my arms out to take Twyla. But Elena didn’t budge. ‘We have spent many mornings together haven’t we?’ She said, tickling her little stomach and making her squeal in delight. I could feel a vein protruding from my forehead, I could just imagine a cloud of steam radiating from my ears. ‘You have?’ I asked wearily. ‘Well with you going to the market so frequently, and my husband requiring Harald, who else is there to mother his little girl?’. She smiled, my body freezing at her comment. She knew what she was doing…and I couldn’t do anything to her. Elena was maddening, but the Empress was vicious. ‘Well, hopefully, you’ll be mothering your own baby soon’ I said, offering a friendly chuckle at the end to mask the sarcasm. She walked forward, placing Twyla in her Moses basket. ‘I intend to make sure of it’ she said, her smile polite as she walked out of the room. 

As soon as the door shut, I got busy. I opened every drawer, every bit of Twyla’s clothing, and a few pieces of mine, packing our belongings for our new home. 

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‘What are you doing?’ I jumped in surprise as Harald’s voice sounded. I tucked Twyla’s blanket into the bag, wiping my eyes before facing him. ‘I have found somewhere to live’ I replied so clinically. Harald’s eyebrows bent in confusion, as he looked around the room, his hands gesturing to the finely furnished room around us. ‘This isn’t a home Harald, it’s a constant watch guard’ I replied swiftly. ‘So you just decided without talking to me that we’re all moving?’ He asked sarcastically. ‘No, Twyla and I are moving, doesn��t seem like you’re staying here for long anyway.’ His face went stiff, the natural pink from his upper cheeks going pale. ‘You’re taking our daughter away from me?’ He asked, his voice quiet but his tone emitting one of panic and anger. ‘Harald, I would never take her away from you, but it seems as though you’ve allowed other people to mother our daughter’ I spat, slamming the contents into the bag violently, forcing them to fit. ‘Excuse me?’ He said, unlacing his weapon belt as he threw it on the bed. ‘Elena came in this morning, she seems to have been spending a lot of time with Twyla’ I put my hand on my hip, firmly placing my feet on the floor as if to match his large stature. ‘Even had the nerve to tell me that she had been mothering our daughter because my husband was too busy running around after the Emperor’. Harald quickly walked toward the other side of the room, closing the door quickly but quietly to not disturb the sleeping baby. ‘Y/N you must not be so careless! Elena is now empress and we must speak of her as such’ he spoke quietly, his body now inches from mine, his hot breath warming my cheeks. ‘And I have not placed our daughter in the care of the Empress, if you are not back from the market, which you spend a suspicious amount of time doing, by the way, I bring her back to the room myself or yes on a rare occasion Inaya would bring her back for a sleep.’ He sighed, brushing his sweaty hair away from his forehead. ‘The Emperor has requested mine and Leif’s presence a lot this week, so I confess Inaya has been caring for her a bit these past days.’ 

‘Is the Empress at these meetings?’ ‘No, she simply dismisses herself…the Emperor has only confided in the help of Leif, his general and some of his men, and I’ he spoke, but I could tell by the way his forehead creased, that both our minds were rattling with questions. ‘Is it true the Emperor is raising an army?’ I asked curtly. Harald peeled his eyes away from mine, focusing his attention on Twyla as he watched her soundly sleep in her basket. A pang of guilt washed over him as he exhaled loudly. ‘The Emperor has appointed me as part of his personal Varangian guard…the Emperor wants me to go to his camps and train his men should the moment arise that would require an army…’ I crossed my arms as he sat cautiously at the end of the bed. ‘I spoke to the Emperor and he insisted that you and Twyla would still be cared for here at the castle while I fulfilled my new duties, I wasn’t going to just leave again. My family is my first priority.’ he said, shaking his head, as he glued his eyes to Twyla. The bed dipped as I sat down gingerly next to Harald. Harald’s entire life revolved around his ambition to be King of Norway, to return to his home once again and rule. His admission that his family was now his priority was unexpected. I waited for Harald to break the silence. But instead, he gently slipped his hand into mine. 

‘So, tell me about where you intend to live’ he said. 

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Whispering winds sang across blue skies, the grass danced with the breeze's rhythm, and birds chirped like a choir in church. It had been nearly a month, and now, every afternoon was like this, sitting in the sun, our toes curling in the blades of grass, dandelion seeds and wisps slowly nettling into the locks of my hair. A baby who rested solemnly, playing with whatever her hands could grasp, finding a world of fascination in the things we forget to appreciate. The feeling of steady ground beneath my feet was pure ecstasy. We would sit for hours, listening to the sounds of nature, enjoying the sounds away from the city of Constantinople, watching children run in the meadows, people picking wild mushrooms and herbs for medicines in the secret secure spot that lay outside the walls of the city. I would tell Twyla stories of her grandmother, of her guardian angel Kurya, whether she would retain any of that information I couldn’t know…but it felt right to tell her. 

These days were blissful, and too long overdue. Like the small farm from my childhood, this field of seemingly nothing was now everything to me. 

The change of pace was wonderful. To have purpose and routine every day. To cook one’s own meals, to freely walk around without a guard watching your every move, to become part of a community where other people lived their lives simply and happily. Our elderly landlady, Emera, while we didn’t speak the same language, seemed overtly grateful for our company. She loved to help with the mundane tasks of parenthood, like bathing, feeding, playing, and dressing Twyla. She was knowledgeable in tending to her garden and precise in demonstrating how to identify and pick weeds, to use and dry manure to effectively fertilise the soil. She was even happy to invite her neighbours over, often slipping extra herbs to them when she had them spare. It seemed she was motherly to all, she was the essence of tenderness and love. 

It was almost ironic, how living apart, we had seen more of Harald than we had since living in Constantinople. Harald would make the effort to come to the sparse little village each evening, his new Varangian uniform often catching the excited attention of the children. They would flock to him, trying to spar him with twigs and sticks, the way they would gleefully giggle when Harald would put them over his shoulder and spin around. It was a side of Harald I had not seen, but one that was easy to love. He would often sit in the grass with us, holding Twyla up by her hands as her wobbly legs tried to balance beneath her. She would inevitably giggle, falling so gaily into his arms on purpose. Like she knew, her daddy would always catch her no matter what. Emera would also try to slip Harald her homemade salves, but he would always sweetly put them back on her shelf without her knowing. Harald joined us for meals most nights, sneaking bits from the palace kitchens to make fragrant and delicious foods. 

Today’s visit, however, Harald seemed to have something heavy on his shoulders. Instead of playing with the children and Twyla, he held her close and tightly. I watched wearily, unsure of what was to come. Emera watched warily, an essence of uncertainty as she looked between Harald and me from her garden. I feared what Harald had to say, but I dearly hoped I was wrong. 

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‘The Emperor is sending me to the camp to train his men to fight’ I closed my eyes, the sky now dark, the only light coming from the huts. The only sound Emera singing to little Twyla from inside. ‘How long?’ I asked wearily. ‘I cannot say’ he said, with just as much despair. While I knew the wise thing to do was to accept the information and discuss what this would mean for our future, my stubbornness was much too strong. ‘The Emperor does not care that you have a family, that you have a child? Not even the decency to tell you for how long you will be separated?’ I asked, adrenaline radiating through my body as I stood up, scuffing and kicking the grass at my feet. ‘I don't think the Emperor quite understands…’ he wearily noted in a quiet tone. ‘He's married! He should understand, but being the so-called leader that he is I bet he's not even leaving the comfort of his palace is he?’ I exclaimed more viciously. ‘Shhhh’ Harald said, reaching out and grasping my forearm. ‘The Emperor is looking to expand his empire, but this could benefit us too.’ ‘Benefit us how?’ I questioned. ‘The Emperor has made an offer; any people I can recruit, I can use to build my army’ he said so diplomatically. ‘We can leave Constantinople, we can go back to Norway, we can build Twyla a real home, teach her about her culture, her ancestors’ he said, standing up, placing both his hands on my forearms. ‘Don’t make this about us, this is your army, your ambition’ I said jabbing my finger into his hard chest. ‘We agreed y/n, Constantinople wasn’t forever, where did you think we were going to go?’ He fiercely retorted. ‘No, no, no, you can’t use this, building an army to get us home excuse as a valid reason to just leave us in the shit’ I exclaimed, stepping out of his grip, and throwing my arms up. ‘This isn’t about the Emperor, it’s about you! Every single thing is about Harald Fucking Sigurdsson!’ ‘You have no idea what I’m trying to do’ he seethed back. ‘There are some dangerous people here, and there are some dangerous plans in place, and I am doing what I can to keep you and Twyla safe and keep this family safe’ he said, trodding heavily after me as I walked aimlessly through the field. ‘You know what, I believe we were starting to become a family, but here’s the god-damn truth Harald, there are dangerous people everywhere, and dangerous things that happen everywhere, so forgive me if I don’t fucking understand how building an army and trying to take the throne in a country that you haven’t been to in some time I take, is going to keep us any safer than we are here!’ ‘Might I remind you, that my family and Twyla’s family extends beyond you!’ He spat. 

I stopped in my tracks, turning back in the direction of the house. ‘Well Harald Sigurdsson, I’m so pleased to know that you’re willing to risk all our lives so we can all go back to Kattegat to chase ghosts from your past, who may or may not fucking exist anymore, but why am I surprised? This is Harald’s world, we’re all just living in it! God forbid that you or your children don’t become Kings and Queens of Norway!’ I spitefully yelled, walking right past Harald, and back to the house. 

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As the days passed, I couldn’t help but wonder about Harald. Had he decided to stop visiting altogether or had the Emperor already sent him to the training camps? Only once had Emera tried to ask. ‘Harald, no?’ She had asked, pointing at the house on a sunny afternoon in the garden. ‘No’ I responded curtly, digging into the soil for potatoes. 

However, the days turned into weeks, and there was nothing. I worried that Twyla had noticed, the way her father had stopped coming. I made sure to play with her every afternoon the way Harald did, encouraging her to stand, to walk, to fall into my arms. I had also spent time wondering about Harald’s other child. Were they even alive? Where were they? What did they look like? Did she have a brother or a sister? Would she ever meet them? I remember my mother making her special concoctions and herbs she would take every day. Had the woman from Harald’s past also taken such precautions? I hadn’t thought so much about Harald’s other child, but since that night the questions kept creeping into my head. How I, as a child, had so desperately wished for a sibling, someone to play with every day, to cuddle up to at night when the nights were cold, to have a friend that wouldn’t judge my birth status. But then again, I wouldn’t wish such a lonely existence on any child, and I was determined to make sure that Twyla had friends. 

The markets themselves had become a little less busy, Emera’s son George hadn’t been seen since the day we met. Slowly word spread that people were being sent to the training camps, but it didn’t stop life in Constantinople. 

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I sat outside the house on a wooden bench, the sky turning orange as the sun began to make its way to bed. The village was empty, everyone inside cooking their evening meals as smells wafted with the gentle breeze. Twyla sat on my lap, clinging onto strands of my hair, fighting her eyelids that were heavier than her will to keep them open. 

‘Beautiful Twyla’ a voice sounded. I could feel my neck click as I whipped it around to the voice. My heart dropped slightly, that the presence that I had hoped was not there. The Emperor stood with a smile, two guards stood behind him. I stood, dropping into a curtsey as Twyla nestled her head against my shoulder. ‘Emperor’ I greeted. He looked around, taking notice of the small little huts, the gardens sparse compared to his own. I could only imagine what he was thinking. ‘She chose this over the palace?’ ‘I hope you have not gone to such trouble just to visit little Twyla’ I said, forcing an enthusiastic smile on my face, breaking the silence. He walked forward, gently holding his hand out. Twyla reached forward, gripping his hand, gently tugging his fingers close to her face as she poked and prodded at the jewels bedazzling his hand. ‘Be careful, she’s taken to putting just about anything in her mouth these days’ I said. ‘She has grown much’ he said, gripping onto her fingers, giving her hand a little shake. He sat down on the bench, gesturing for me to join him.  His friendly presence, now solemn worried me. 

‘You must know y/n, I hold your husband in the highest regard’ he said. I nodded in agreement. ‘I am visiting and telling you this as a friend y/n.’ I could feel my insides crawl, forcing my face to remain neutral. It felt improper, sickly even for the Emperor to regard me in such a way. Friend. While the Emperor had been generous in many ways, he had been cruel in others. ‘Has something happened to my husband?’ I asked, a sudden panic dawning on me. Why else would the Emperor come other than to deliver the sad news to his widow? ‘Harald is fine for now, his campaign is successful, and he is proving worthy as my Varangian guard’ he said, offering a friendly laugh. But I did not share his amusement, my teeth grinding together as I held the Emperor’s gaze. 

‘I intend to expand my Empire, this army, with the help of Harald, and my general, my army is strong.’ I could feel my palms sweat, my body getting hotter by the word. How these men played childish games at an expensive price. How war was treated as such a normal part of life. He placed his hand on my knee, patting it to soften whatever blow he was about to deal. ‘My army will be leaving for the South West soon, and I will not lie to you, I don’t expect our entrance will be welcomed’ I could feel my nails dig into my palm. An ambition I couldn’t understand. How could someone with so much demand so much more? ‘As Harald is my dear friend, and you are his wife, I am telling you that it is possible that Harald will not return for a long time.’ I clutched Twyla closer, my grip disturbing her as she tirelessly wriggled, a small grunt emitting. ‘Sorry Emperor, could you excuse me for a moment?’ I said, more than asked, excusing myself quickly. 

I opened the door to the house, Emera sitting soundly next to the fire. Her calm and content expression turned to one of concern as she pulled herself from the chair, reaching out and cupping her hand to my cheek. She swiped her thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear I didn’t even know was there. I returned her kind gesture with a tight-lipped smile, handing Twyla over as Twyla instinctively leaned into Emera’s reach. I turned back to the door, steadying myself to face the Emperor again. 

The Emperor’s message was simple. His army is going away, and Harald might not come back at all. As much as I was annoyed at Harald, how harshly our last meeting had ended. I had only one thing to say to the Emperor. 

‘Take me to my husband.’ 

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*Knock knock knock* 

He opened the door wearily, just so much that I could see only half of his face. He clenched his eyes slightly, adjusting to the bright lantern in my hands, making out my features in front of him. ‘Y/N?’ He whispered, carefully opening the door slightly more as he carefully assessed the environment behind him. ‘What are you doing here’? he whispered nervously, his conscience wavering if he was going to let me in or not. ‘I need to talk to you’ I whispered. ‘I need to talk to you too’ he whispered back, his chest rising and falling as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. ‘The Emperor already told me…I just came to say goodbye I guess’ I murmured. He opened the door only slightly, grasping my wrist and pulling me inside the tiny room, closing the door with an agonising squeak. I looked around. His shirt lay on the floor torn and withered. On the small table a collection of battered weaponry and a shield. I glanced at Harald’s back noticing the bruises and scrapes. I could feel my heart drop into my stomach. If this was the state training had left him in, what would the real battle be like? 

He stood still, our eyes locked as we waited carefully, listening intently to be sure that nobody else in the camp was awake. The only sounds being the quiet breathing, and the sound of the flame flickering from the lantern. ‘Harald I’ I began to whisper, a depth of sorrow in my tone. ‘Shhh’ he whispered, pressing his ear against the wooden door. A sound of gentle footsteps cascaded down the hallway, stopping right out front of the door. A gentle tap on the door sounded. ‘Harald…’ The Empress’s voice gently carried. ‘Harald, are you in there?’ Harald ducked his head, his stray hair falling in front of his eyes as he tightly pursed his lips together. 

Maybe this was a mistake. I started to reprimand myself, you stupid idiot. Had I indulged too much in a fantasy that we could be some happy family? But the Emperor’s words were like an explosion as if only now, I realised that Harald Sigurdsson was an integral part of my life. My husband, my daughter’s father…my ally in this strange place. ‘He may never come back’ the Emperor’s words kept ringing in my head. Against all consciousness, against all good reason, against all the hurt caused in the past, against my own self-discipline, I had to say goodbye. But here she was, the Empress knocking on his door in the middle of the night. How would this end? Would it be easier to just let him go…to finalise whatever wishes he may have if he never did return? What should I tell our daughter? The Empress’s voice whispered again, this time closer to the door. ‘I can see the light from under the door.’ Maybe it was best to just accept defeat. I took a step forward, only to be gently pinned against the cold solid wall, as Harald’s hand cupped over my mouth, his body pressed firmly against mine. Our eyes locked, his eyes alert, but the skin underneath them was dark and sagging. He gently lifted his other hand, bringing his finger to his lips to ensure my silence. I nodded, his palm, however, was still firmly placed against my mouth. The sound of her heels clicking together sounded outside as she uncertainly paced outside the door. Another voice sounded, one much deeper than her lilted tone. ‘Some of the men have gone for a meal, but I must insist that I escort you back to the castle, this is not the place for a lady, the Emperor’s orders.’ The man’s tone reasoning, but firm in conveying this was a direct order of the Emperor. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor sounded as the pair walked down the long corridor, away from Harald’s door. 

Harald removed his palm, but his body stayed firmly pressed against mine, his forearm mounted on the wall above my head. ‘Why are you here? Is Twyla okay?’ He asked, his eyebrows knotting in worry as the lines on his forehead involuntarily creased. ‘She’s fine, she is with Emera’ I whispered. ‘I just…I wanted to apologise’ I whispered. ‘I never knew my father, it was just me and my mother. I don’t even know if he knew I existed at all. But it was wrong of me to accuse you of using your children like pawns to get what you wanted.’ He dropped his eyes to the ground, breaking eye contact. ‘And I’m sorry for dismissing your other child…I just, when I saw the Empress, her holding our baby and her arms, and things had been going so well since we moved away from the palace, and maybe I was just too naive in thinking that we were all going to be some happy family’ I just…I just’ I stuttered. ‘I promise you. You are my wife, and you are Twyla’s mother.’ He took his arm from the wall, tracing his finger gently down my arm as he wrapped his hand around mine, the heat from him his naked torso exposing me to the cold as he walked over to the bed. He patted the spot next to him, offering me a seat. ‘This could be treasonous’ he said, battling with whatever thought was running around in his brain. ‘The Empress confided in me that she does not know if the Emperor was capable of giving her children.’ He whispered. I looked back at Harald, a quizzical look on my face. ‘It’s only been a short time…surely that is not enough time to?’ I said, miming a bulging stomach with my hands. ‘She had expected to be at least a mother to his children from his previous marriage…but he had not sired a child at all.’ I looked at our hands, realising they had reconnected, my fingers mindlessly trailing around his palm. 

It had begun to make sense. It was no secret Elena was infatuated with Harald long before we stood on the shores of Constantinople. But her effortless flirting and amorous suggestions around him…her need to sire an heir to secure her own marriage.  While her desire for Harald was still longstanding, her efforts since her wedding had been newly developed. Having Harald to herself would be a bonus, but having a child would be everything for her. As a woman, as a wife, but in her position, as an Empress, not bearing children for her husband was not an option. ‘I promise, I have been a faithful husband to you since we wed’ he insisted, wrapping his other hand around mine like a security blanket. My heart felt heavy for The Empress…her desire to have a child. Something I hadn’t ever struggled with myself. ‘Speaking of Twyla…when she’s older she may ask questions about her father…and if you weren’t to come back…’ I whispered, bringing my other hand to cup Harald’s. He let out a heavy sigh, his forehead pressing against mine. Something neither of us wanted to think about, but we both knew we had to be practical about it. He took a deep breath, his hands giving a gentle squeeze. ‘Tell me about your father y/n’ he quietly questioned. 

I leaned back, looking at him cautiously. My stomach was turning in knots. It felt like a forbidden subject. I remember asking my mother when I was younger, but her response was clear. Never ask. We had never discussed it, but nobody had ever asked me. ‘When I asked my mother about it…she scolded me. There was no attempt to lie or make something up about it. She just said it wasn’t worth discussing ever.’ I shrugged my shoulders, it didn’t seem as much of a deal to me as it appeared to Harald as he glared at me with a pitiful look. ‘I remember I would wonder, for a period of my childhood always intensely looking at the men my mother was around, trying to find any similarities between us. It drove me mad for a while… I suppose I just learnt to live with it.’ Harald nodded, taking in my words as he sat pondering in contemplation. ‘What about your father?’ I asked, sliding further onto the comfort of the small bed. 

‘My father Sigurd Syr, he wasn’t a man who chased political ambition as much as his sons. My brother Olaf, my father was very supportive of his leadership and command. But he was modest with his wealth, and took much care of his properties…he was promised the throne…but he didn’t seem to mind so much that his sons wanted it more.’ I admired the way he smiled when talking about his father, similar to the way he smiled when he was with Twyla. Deep down, maybe Harald was similar to his father, a simple family man. But Harald was also very dutiful to his famous lineage, with an equal desire to keep the legacy of his ancestors alive. But how was Twyla going to fit into all of this? 

His fingers twined with mine, the words dragging out sorrowfully. ‘I don’t want Twyla to worry about me. That is too cruel a fate to force onto a child’ he whispered, leaning forward slightly. I didn’t know what that meant, but I too didn’t want the same fate for our daughter. I simply nodded, sliding off the bed, and placing my feet gently on the floor. ‘If we don’t see one another again, I will make sure she knows that her father is kind, loyal…and brave’ I mustered out, my throat tightening as the words came out. The aura was depressing, I wanted to leave…but part of me didn’t want to leave Harald Sigurdsson just yet. I stood up slowly, unravelling my hand from his as he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. I gently cupped his cheeks, bringing myself down and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. I leaned down and whispered against his ear, his long hair resting on my lips. ‘Come back to us.’ 

His eyes rose from the floor, connecting with mine, his eyes flickering as they searched my face. It was like a trance, my limbs no longer in control of my body, an urgency taking over. Instead of slipping my hands away and walking to the door as I planned, instead, my hand moved across his face, smooshing his lips into an awkward purse as my fingers squeezed his cheeks. I knew it would just make things harder…but I couldn’t resist. I pulled his face to mine, pressing my lips tenderly on his. Our lips locked together in a sweet embrace. Harald’s hands quickly cupped my cheeks, pulling my face tighter towards him as he stood up, his lips desperately chasing mine. I slid my hands down to his neck, tenderly pulling away from his lips to connect my lips with his neck. 

Gentle pecks on his neck turned greedy as I softly nipped and sucked on his salty skin. He groaned gently, his hands wandering down my chest, one hand cupped gently on my breast, the other balling the fabric of my dress into his palm. I begrudgingly pulled my lips from his neck, the hairs on my arm standing as I whispered into his ear. 

‘Take it off’ 

He didn’t hesitate. Our hands almost fought as he clawed at my dress, the fabric of my dress emitting a gentle rip as he pulled from the collar, revealing the skin of my shoulder, his lips attacking my newly exposed naked skin. I pulled him closer, my hands on the firm curve of his bottom, a firm bulge pressing into my stomach as I dipped my thumbs into the waist of his trousers, basking in the feeling of skin I had not touched in so long. I ran my thumbs around the perimeter feeling the soft hair around his pubis. I reached my fingers inside the front of his trousers, gently slipping one hand to cusp the bulge. He let out a heavy groan, but in typical Harald fashion, was not willing to relent control that easily. 

He reached down, pulling my hand from his groin, spinning me around, his hands running from my shoulders, down my arms, until his calloused hands gripped tightly to my wrists, pinning my hands against the wall. His lips attacked my neck, as he pulled my dress down, his lips trailing down my body following each inch of exposed skin. When my dress finally pooled to the floor, my naked body fully exposed, I couldn’t feel the cold anymore. He placed his hands on my hips, spinning me back around the face him. His trousers were only slightly unbuttoned, exposing just the top of his erection. I so desperately wanted to fall to the floor with him, to feel his skin pressed against mine. But instead, his hands still gripped my hips, he pushed me back against the wall, his tongue gliding down from my belly button, as he seamlessly hooked one of my legs over his shoulder.  

The pressure of his lips, the swift kisses, the running of his tongue. I quietly tried to contain my moans, but the feeling was too electrifying. But as my hot breaths turned into pants, muffled sighs turned into moans, this only encouraged his efforts further. It was like my skin was on fire, a powerful surge radiating, my legs becoming weaker. 

Harald unhooked my arm from his shoulder, sliding me down the wall by my hips, pulling my chest firmly against his as I straddled him, a new wave of pleasure rushing over me as my pulsing heat grinned against his still-clothed bulge. Our tongues collided, but instead of a rushed desperate kiss, it was slow and sensual. I desperately rubbed against him, my hips grinding as my hands caressed his back, pulling him closely so that no gap was left between our skin. He slid his hands around my wrists, pulling my arms around his neck, his arms then looping around my lower back. With no warning, with no effort, Harald lifted me, shuffling onto his knees, and lowering me gently onto the floor without even breaking the contact of our skin. Finally, he reached down, pulling his trousers off. 

I waited desperately for contact, for that feeling I hadn’t felt for so long. I arched my back in anticipation, pushing me further against his chest. ‘Do you want this y/n?’ He whispered, the hair in my ears standing to attention. I lifted my neck from the floor, looking straight into his eyes. ‘I want my husband’ I breathlessly moaned out. Harald’s lips reconnected instantly with mine. 

As he entered me, I let out a little squeak. The feeling was so tight, I had not expected it after having a child. He stopped immediately, trying to pull out gently. But I ran my hands down his back, gripping onto his butt cheeks to halt his movement. ‘Stay. Right. There’ I whispered between kisses. He stayed there, our lips doing more work as I slowly pushed his hips forward until I felt him completely inside me. Slowly he began to move, the slight sting going away, and the feeling of him inside me became electrifying. His movements were slow, our foreheads pressed together. The only sounds emitting from either of us were our panting breaths. 

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We lay on the floor, our legs tangled into one another, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead as I rested in his arms, my arm lazily draped over his stomach. It was like the high was pouring from my body, where I had felt full, I now felt low and empty. My brain rattled, wanting to scream my innermost thoughts. ‘Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave us. Let’s just take a boat and run away.’ My mind racing with any possible scenario, any way of escape. But I knew Harald too well. His loyalties to his family, to his men, to his duty were strong. 

‘You have endured so much my love…so I will not lie to you, but I will do everything I can to come back to you both’ he whispered, pulling a blanket from the bed with his free arm, draping it across our bodies as we lay solemnly in each other’s arms. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but the emptiness of his words hit me hard. This could likely be our last moments together forever. 

When I finally parted from him in the early hours of the morning, our final exchange was simple. ‘Goodbye, Y/N’. ‘Goodbye Harald Sigurdsson’.

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True to his style, the Emperor wasn’t going to lead his army off into battle without the grandest of ceremonies. I held Twyla on my hip, Mathilda at my side as we watched from the crowds as the Emperor grandly announced how he had trained and built the finest army the empire had ever seen. The Empress sat dutifully at his side, clothed in grand gowns and covered in expensive jewels. 

‘Let me introduce to you, our experienced, loyal, and skilled warriors. Harald Sigurdsson!’ The crowd roared in applause, I clutched tightly to Mathilda’s hand, the noise overwhelming. The Emperor stood on the stage, his smile visible from afar, beaming as Harald walked on. He was adorned in uniform, a large helmet within his grip as he obediently bowed to the Emperor, waving at the crowd. ‘He looks so natural up there, don’t you think?’ Mathilda spoke. I simply nodded. But I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so happy standing up there, considering the circumstances. When the crowd’s cheers began to die down, the Emperor need only clap his hands together for his constituents to fall to obedient silence. 

‘I also introduce, my personal choice, a great and skilled warrior indeed, General George Maniakes!’ The crowd emitted even larger screams and cheers as the General began walking up the stairs. Like Harald, he bowed to the Emperor, but it was only when he stood and faced the crowd that I realised I had met him before. I leaned into Mathilda, my heart racing as she gripped tightly onto my side, steadying herself with my weight now leaning against her. ‘What’s wrong?’ She asked in a panicky tone. ‘That…That’s him…that’s…it’s his mother’s house’ I stammered. ‘He looks so different…’ I stated, confused by his imposing presence on the stage. My eyes flicked to Harald, who looked tensely at the General. 

The Emperor handed a goblet to each of the men, the priest having blessed the contents. The Emperor offered a cheers to the crowd. But the General struck my soul. I looked at him, his eyes directly on me and Twyla. He smirked a sinister smile, lifting his goblet in my direction, laughing deeply as he took in the expression on my face. His face said it all. ‘I know exactly who you are.’ 

Fuck. 

[ddagent]

Happy First Day Back at School!

"Good morning." The receptionist didn't look up. "My name is Margaret Reynolds?" Still no response. Margo wrinkled her nose as she explained why she was here at all. "I'm the new substitute?"

At that, the receptionist at Spiro T Agnew High School looked up and gave Margo what she needed: ID, class list, directions to her classroom. The receptionist eyed her carefully, taking in the support bandage around her wrist, the welts on both. The slight crack in one glasses lens and fashion that was 'Soviet chic' (which it was). But then she blinked, and moved on to getting Margo the rest of her paperwork. No doubt she thought Margo just another retiree dragged out to help the state's teaching crisis. Certainly not a Russian defector who had been tortured by Russian state police not one week earlier.

"Head down that corridor, ask for Mister Bezukhov. He's the head of Physics; he'll help you."

And just like that, Margo began her illustrious, if temporary, teaching career. "Thank you."

With a nod, Margo moved down the corridors of the Iowa high school. She had rarely stepped foot into such academic halls; Emma had always rejected any invitations for her to speak at graduations, careers events. Margo hadn't wanted to stand on a podium and be an inspiration: she'd wanted her work to speak for itself. The work. That was why she was here after all. That was why she was hidden. After eight long years sitting in a Moscow apartment staring at the walls, Margo was on the cusp of returning to what she loved most.

All it had taken was a major accident on an asteroid and a coup in the Soviet Union.

But until NASA had the report from Roscosmos – and until the CIA could be sure the KGB wouldn't kill her for her re-defection – Margo was stuck here. In Iowa. She wasn't allowed to return to Houston without her handler. Not permitted to contact Aleida. Not permitted to even try to find—

"Sergei."

Margo couldn't believe it. It had to be someone else. There was no possible chance that the CIA would have stashed her away in the same town they were keeping another high-profile defector. But it was him. Same bright, unyielding smile. Same eyes that missed nothing, whether it be calculations or trajectories or some kid heading off to smoke in the bathroom. Same love of sweaters. He looked good. So good. Better than the last time she had seen him in person: he wasn't coughing up blood into a handkerchief, his face wasn't gaunt, his eyes not always cast over his shoulder, waiting for the next KGB blow.

But as she took in Sergei Nikulov, her heart filling with something akin to joy, she caught sight of his right hand, and the wedding band nestled on his finger. Of course he was married. Of course he'd moved on.

Margo was suddenly experiencing a depressurisation event. All the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think, couldn't function. She just needed to go. Couldn't face him; couldn't ruin the careful existence he'd carved out for himself. A life. With a wife and a job and a house and all the things Margo never could have given him. I need to go.

She stumbled back, right into a group of twelfth graders. There were a few cuss words offered that reinforced Margo's continual decision never to procreate. And then Sergei was behind her, telling them to be more respectful, to be professional in these hallowed halls of learning. They got five paces away before the kids cackled. Do you hate this? Margo wondered, staring straight ahead at an emergency exit. Or is this better than staring at the walls?

"I apologise for their conduct; they are not all like that." Margo could not turn around. Could not greet the smile that was no doubt waiting for her, before it faltered at the sight of her. "You are Ms Reynolds, yes? I am Sergei Bezukhov. I have been looking forward to having another engineer here."

He laughed. It quickly died in his throat. He took a step closer. "Is everything alright?"

Margo turned around. What else could she do? She turned around and watched as the colour drained from his face and she satisfied an eight year old promise she had never thought she'd keep. "Hello, Sergei."