#My posture right now? Impeccable

[charonean]

Breaking news: doing things that are good for you are, in fact, good for you.

[lamaery]

This time it is Rlain's turn to gaze. :D There's a reason mateform makes you unfocused. Here is Renarin looking back

ID: The first image features Renarin through Rlain's loving eyes. In all, Renarin glimmers with handsomespren. In none of them is Renarin looking back at us. They paint a beautiful vision of being in love with a man who prefers not to make a lot of eye contact. In the first drawing, Renarin looks out from a slightly ducked posture, his attention focused elsewhere and his expression privately delighted, as if he'd just thought of something wickedly clever that he hasn't yet shared. The light catches his features in an alluring way, and the viewer knows exactly what Rlain loves about his boyfriend's brilliant mind. In the second drawing, Renarin looks out into the middle distance, his expression serious and emotionally neutral, but somehow weighted with responsibility. His wide Blackthorn jaw seems slightly clenched, but unconsciously. His collar is tantalizingly open, allowing Rlain to enjoy the elegant length of his neck and that secret hollow of his throat. In the third sketch, Renarin is seen from above. He's leaning back in a chair, his head resting comfortably and uninhibitedly, supported by the chair's curved back. He's looking in the opposite direction from the viewer, but he smiles with teeth. His collar is wide open, and he looks so comfortable in his own skin. Like, he's so completely relaxed, so uninhibited, like sharing his personal space bubble and his body with Rlain is effortless. In the fourth sketch, Renarin stands across the room, about twenty feet away. His weight is subtly on his back foot to compensate as he holds up at an arm's length an impeccably pressed, regal knee-length Kholin jacket. In his other hand, he holds his shorter Bridge Four jacket, in a way that will keep the collar from being creased. He's wearing an undershirt that my heart knows was custom made for his measurements with a pair of pants with a line of coy, delicate little buttons down the split in his lower pants leg, from knee to lower calf. The split shows a tantalizing sliver of calf, and he doesn't even realize how handsome he is. His pants make his butt a little flat, but we all must cope with devastating trials in this mortal realm. He has elegantly boned feet and there's a slim musculature behind his leanness now, and isn't that all that really matters in this universe? Rlain thinks so. In the fifth drawing, Renarin leans over a few scribbled pages, one hand pointed outward as it presses flat against the table.  He seems deep in conversation with Glys, attention focused inward as he focused on the complexities of a mystery.  He's wearing a buttoned-down version of a fancier outfit: a tailored cross-body vest that emphasizes the slimness and sleekness of his build. and matching trousers.  Beneath that is a button-up shirt with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves, because Marie loves us and she wants us to be happy. The second image, at the top right, is a very cartoonishly minimalistic and humorously stylized illustration of mateform Rlain standing with absolutely zero chill, his arms crossed in a way he wants you to think is relaxed, but clearly isn't relaxed at all.  He's staring forward and sweating, the words "Trying very hard to concentrate." snaking around his head.  He's also wearing a very wide open collar in harmony with his stouter overall physique.  He also has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because everyone deserves to see their favorite forearm circumference represented in media. 3 and 4 are a trio of very quick and sketchy but also ADORABLE illustrations, Rlain grabs a surprised Renarin's vest front, which draws a deep blush and a very enthusiastic and eager little grin.  Surprises are not always great, but he's 100% down with this one!  They meet in a kiss, craning over the table between them, Rlain's hand still clutching a fistful of Renarin's vest and Renarin reciprocating with passion, cradling the back of Rlain's neck with one hand, one finger running up the bare skin where neck meets skull.  Passionspren fall thickly around them.

[anachronismstellar]

I'm still in a weird mood, but at least I'm writing lol

This was supposed to be a fun/cute cumplane fic, but my brain got taken over by @mysteryteacup post about Airplane being a good writer he just couldn't afford the time to write.

Hope you guys enjoy it!

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"Do you think we would have met before?"

The question came a bit out of nowhere, disrupting the soft mood of the bamboo house. The weather was warm, rain hitting the roof in a soothing pattern, the open doors bringing in the green hues inside the living room along with a gentle breeze.

Shen Yuan closed his book, setting Airplane's latest story aside. The plot was not so terrible now that they had stepped down as peak lords. Retirement had a good look on him, made his shoulders relaxed and his posture elegant, as if he had finally made himself comfortable with his body, fear a mask long forgotten.

"What do you mean?" Shen Yuan didn't pick up his fan as once he would, his own insecurities whispers from the past. Instead, he just turned his face at Airplane, both watching as smoke curled up from Airplane's long pipe.

Outside, thunder rolled over them like the Gods were dragging clouds heavy as stones.

"Before," Airplane waved at the scenery in general, and it didn't need much for Shen Yuan to catch what he meant. "I mean, I didn't participate in any of the big conventions they invited me, but..."

Shen Yuan hummed, head tilted to the side, imagining how would he react if he ever met Airplane under other circumstances. It would have been disastrous for sure, both of them struggling with the different challenges of a world without flying swords and demons. Would they even be friends? Probably not. Shen Yuan had spent so much of his time stuck on his own head, going from doctor after doctor, too bitter to enjoy nice things, dedicating his whole life on hating a poorly written book. And from other conversations, he knew that Airplane had been bitter as well, sacrificing his words and his world in the name of the next meal, the next rent.

"I don't see how," he reached for his cup of tea, heating up his cold hands against the warm porcelain. "Like you said, you never went to the conventions. I didn't either, to be honest. Too many people."

Shang Qinghua nodded slowly as he filled his lungs with smoke, letting it go through his nose. Shen Yuan waited for a bit longer, curious to see where Airplane wanted to get with his question. He was almost picking up the story again when-

"I was just..." He started as he put his pipe down to comb his hair with his fingers, putting the strands behind his ears. Another big change from when they had passed their mantle to the next generation: Airplane had started to wear his hair down, Northern braids adorning the sides of his head, silver beads glittering among chocolate brown. "Is the book good?"

The sudden change of topic made Shen Yuan blink. However, it wasn't as if he weren't used to Airplane's mind jumping around, so he just took it in stride, nodding slowly.

"I enjoyed how you developed the main character relationship with his old master, although I still think you should stop killing mothers left and right."

Airplane couldn't help but chuckle, his smile making his eyes curve into half moons.

"Leave some tropes for me to work with, bro, there's so much this poor writer can come up with!"

Shen Yuan could only roll his eyes at the other, picking up the book once more, touching the pages without actually reading it, just enjoying the feeling of paper on his hands.

"Well, it is an improvement. And as always your beasts are impeccable, I'll give you that."

And he regretted immediately the compliment when Airplane dramatically clutched his robes, pretending to faint. The little shit.

"Oh! Oh praised be the Heavens! A compliment from the immovable Peerless Cucumber! Oh my heart! My heaaart-"

Shen Yuan did his best to hold back his frustration and just throw his fan at the writer. Good thing that Airplane calmed down again, chin up so he could stare at the top of the bamboo trees outside. Only then Shen Yuan realized that the entire time Airplane hadn't looked at him.

He felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, heart squeezing tight.

"Are you going to tell me what is this about?"

Airplane took a long drag of his pipe, bending his head back a bit further to blow little circles in the air. He should be thankful that Shen Yuan had worked on his patience in the past decades, or he would have been hit with a fan already.

"I was thinking of your first review for Proud Immortal Demon Way," he said as he tapped the pipe on a little vase Shen Yuan had offered him earlier to use as ashtray. "You were so mean... I couldn't write for like two days."

They had commented about their forum fights before, they have even apologized for some things they had said to each other back then, but Airplane had never-

The thought of hurting him so bad to the point of making him give up on writing was-

"Huang Hua..." He whispered as he took the writer's hand close to him, brushing his thumb over the callous on his forefinger.

"Don't look at me like that, bro... Don't mind me, I'm just-" he cut himself off with a sigh, squeezing Shen Yuan's hand back. "I've been in a weird mood that's all."

Shen Yuan understood, he understood a bit too well. For all they enjoyed the benefits of magic and cultivation, they weren't meant for this immortal world, Huang Hua and him, human beings who had always had a clock ticking over their heads. He would get stuck on his own head, too, sometimes; making Binghe walk around him with soft steps and prepare his favorite foods.

He loved his husband food more than anything blessed be Airplane for deciding to make the main protagonist a good cook.

But Binghe couldn't prepare him a burger the size of his head with golden french fries.

"Well, I think the new book is going great. And to answer your question, well-" Then it was Shen Yuan's turn to pause, trying to imagine how their meeting in the real world would go. Poorly, for sure, but also... Shen Yuan was old enough, wise enough to admit that if he knew Airplane's struggles, he would probably have helped. He had been so rash in his comments because he had seen the potential, the grandeur of Airplane's mind, while describing the fauna and flora of Proud Immortal Demon Way.

"I don't know, I think if we had met, we wouldn't become friends," he admitted with a shrug, keeping his face towards the forest, feeling his cheeks burning. "I was... I was going through a lot and you had your own problems too. But depending on the day I might would have asked for an autograph." And what an embarrassing thing to admit. And while holding Airplane's hand nonetheless! Muscle memory made him take his fan and snap it open, the sound muffling Airplane's giggles.

"Well, I can't autograph your Binghe body pillow-"

"Shut up it was a collectable item!"

"- but I can autograph this copy if you want." and then he tapped the book on the table with his pipe, Shen Yuan's eyes going wide as plates.

"What?"

"I had to change a lot of things... Mostly the names and places, but-" Airplane nervously played with his hair, stealing glances at Shen Yuan's direction. "I thought, now that everything is kinda over, why not write it properly, right? Besides, the entire Proud Immortal Demon Way had never had a beta reader, although I thought about asking you sometimes way back but uh-"

"I've could have been your beta reader?!"

"Well, yes, in a way you kinda were- wait. Haven't you noticed?" Airplane let go of his hair to turn his entire body to Shen Yuan, surprise written all over his face. "Bro, you're the only person I answered more than once on the forums. Most of the time I couldn't take your ideas and use them, that would be insane and asking for a lawsuit, but when you gave me writing advice? Or when I needed to remember which wife was which or who had died? I used your comments to remember what had been happening in the last chapters."

Shen Yuan's hands got tingling all over, his face heating up to the point of boiling. He had always thought Airplane had despised him, and it was with reason. He knew he had been a hater, to the point of Airplane remembering his name after years, but he had never known that Airplane actually had paid attention, he had actually-

Wait, rewind, write what properly-

"Hold on, you're telling me that-" he picked the book again, scanning the first page and then the second, recognition downing upon him. It had felt familiar when he read it for the first time, but he had thought it was just him being used to Airplane's stories. But this...

"Proud Demon Immortal Way could have been this good?" He gasped as he turned to stare at the author, shaking the book on his hand. To which Airplane had the audacity to shrug, light pink dusting his cheeks.

"Told you many times, Bro. No time to edits, had to pay the bills."

"Airplane, how many drafts you wrote before posting that monstrosity?"

"Uh." He turned his face away again, scratching the back of his neck, then his cheek. "I mean I didn't have a draft. I wrote it down in one sitting most of the time-"

Shen Yuan was going to pass out. No wonder the story made no sense most of the times! And he still was able to follow some type of plot?!

During their lifes as cultivators, Shen Yuan faced many situations in which Airplane had his turn to shine. He might not be aware of it, oblivious writer that he was, but he could be insanely smart and think fast enough to avoid wars between tribes that any other person would fumble and make it worse. So he knew how intelligent and smart Airplane was, although he wouldn't straight up compliment him like that.

But this... Six thousand six hundred and sixty-six chapters with no draft or beta reader? This... Was insane.

"You better honor Shen Qingqiu's past this time," he heard himself say, mouth moving before his brain could catch up. And funny enough, he had mean it. "You better give him closure so I can at least glare at Yue Qingyuan without feeling guilty."

This time Airplane threw his head back and laughed, hand over his belly, the other tapping the table. Then he turned to look at Shen Yuan with his sly fox smile, forefinger moving side to side.

"Nonono, I'm sorry, bro. I'm not writing to make the readers happy this time," he said with a sharp nod, tapping his fingers against his temple. "There's a story to be told, and I'm not gonna mess up a second time."

And Shen Yuan felt as if he should be angry, he should shake Airplane by his shoulders and scream, but at the same time... He felt like Airplane had passed his test, one he wasn't aware he had set for the other.

He huffed, sliding the book over the table until it was closer to the author, opening the first page.

"You better think of a hell of dedicatory then," he said as he got up to pick writing materials, warmth spreading through his chest to the sound of Airplane's laughter.

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Shen Yuan is going to find out some things about Binghe and Mobei in the book lol

Again, thank you for giving it a read!

See you next time~

[lovehotelreservation]

chapter one: hi it's me you're all in danger summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: pg-13 (rating will increase across certain chapters) pairing: f!reader/task force 141 next chapter

as a longtime charli xcx fan, can't say i expected my brat autumn to be spent writing about the cod mfs 😭😭

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10 AM. London. Shangri-La. Hotel bar.

Somehow, being surrounded by opulence, prestige, and elegance made particular four men currently seated in the back of the space feel a bit out of place.

But they were here on a mission.

Or rather, a job now.

The days of being out on the field in camo fatigues were of the past. Now they were all seated together in suits–black and white, jacket, tie, pants and polished shoes–gin and lemon water on the table.

There was a bit of restlessness in the air and it was starting to spill out in the conversations shared amongst the four.

“Simon, would it literally kill ya to show yer mouth, man? Dae ya want the lass to think yer sick as a first impression?”

“A bit of mystery could be fun, no?”

“Are ya Scooby fuckin’ Doo or somethin?!”

“Johnny, can you keep it down? Your mohawk’s already gotten us enough looks as it is.”

“And what’s so wrong with a lil’ business casual, Kyle?!”

“Can you muppets keep it down!?”

The harsh lash of Price’s tongue had postures straightened and lips hushed.

With a sigh, he brought his fingers to his temple, wondering how he managed to save the world over and over again with these three. Still, his eyes flickered to his watch as he checked the time, a conversation from a month ago coming to mind.

“Price.”

A hand was extended out to him. Fluorescent lights at the American embassy in Paris hung above. Murmurs of French and English lingered in the air as the day proceeded.

Price grinned, returning the exchange with a firm handshake. “Miller. Good to see you standing, old friend.”

Moments later the conversation was held at Miller’s office, a familiar place during the times Price had visited. What stood out to him most was the newly framed photo of Miller and his blushing bride, Priscilla.

A miraculous matrimony all things considered.

Miller, an American ambassador. Priscilla, an activist whose loud and mighty voice helped push for change within socio-political and environmental spaces.

It wasn’t as if it was absolutely impossible for the two to meet–rather, it was just the fact they met after being held hostage alongside other world leaders and activists during a goodwill gala held at Berlin. Terror wished to deliver a haunting message to all of the world, with similar sieges held at other massive events, but thankfully the work of 141 and other allies blocked the reception.

Price glanced down at Miller’s desk, where a few pictures of a glamorous woman were splayed across files: a pop star by the name of Dollface. Formerly part of beloved girl group 4EVA, now setting the music scene alight with impeccable music production, godly vocals, and captivating choreography.

Or so he’s heard.

Right beside her was a clipped out headline from a newspaper:

Glastonbury Saved! Tragedy Averted from Terrorist Threat!

A job well done–courtesy of a certain phantom soldier.

“–I know your days of military campaigns are over, but this has been tearing Priscilla apart,” Miller sighed morosely. “While I know this is the fault of no one and she understands that change in the world comes at a cost, the fact that terrorists would target her niece’s festival performance has been haunting her.”

“Revolution does not come easy, that’s for certain,” Price mused as he glanced over at his friend’s face with an affirming nod. “Even so, it’s something still worth fighting for.”

Miller sighed out in agreement. “Of course.”

“So then.” Adjusting his posture, Price then continued, his tone light, “What can I and a few recently retired soldiers do for you, mate?”

His shoulders relaxing, Miller then reached down for one of the photos of the pop star, pushing it over towards Price. “Watch her. Protect her, please. She’s been an anxious mess ever since Glastonbury.” Gazing down at the newspaper headline clipping, he continued, “Her career’s at such a critical point and her first solo world tour’s been delayed enough as it is. Pressure’s everywhere–label, fans, the media. I know she wants more than anything to finally move forward. But–”

Gingerly picking up the photo, Price took in every single detail of the woman.

Of you.

Turning his focus back to Miller, he grinned, brows raising. “A bit of Price Protection and Co. could do wonders, yeah?”

“You’d be doing miracles, friend” was the response received, along with a vigorous nod.

Price held out his hand.

“It’s a deal.”

And now, the gang was all here, even though the gang was currently driving Price up the wall. Still, if there was anyone who he trusted to get the job done on behalf of a dear old friend, it was Gaz, Ghost, and Soap.

Or rather, from here on out: Kyle, Simon and Johnny.

It didn’t hurt that the gig paid quite handsomely–your label desperately wanted you to get back on stage one way or another. Since the Glastonbury incident, you’ve since been spending your days in London, far too afraid to leave anywhere. The plan was to slowly draw you out of your shell by planning all promotional endeavors around the UK before you would travel the world as intended.

Before any of that however, the first key matter of business is for the five of you to meet together.

10:15 AM. London. Shangri-La. Hotel bar.

“What do you lot think? Full glam or lowkey?” Kyle spoke up, now peering over to look at Johnny’s phone, who had brought up one of your music videos.

Price glanced over, seeing slick skin, big curls, gyrating hips, rouge lips, white heels, and sparkling eyes.

Such visuals were definitely not on Miller’s desk when discussing the job.

“Like right now?” Johnny queried back.

“Lowkey without question.” Simon folded his arms across his chest, his eyes peeking at Johnny’s phone, his expression reflective.

A sudden tap on the back of Price's shoulder just a moment later soon caught his attention. 

“Mr. Price…?”

He immediately turned back, the others following suit.

Johnny’s eyes widened, immediately switching off his phone to shove into his pocket.

Lowkey was correct.

A cap, oversized t-shirt with shorts hidden beneath, hair down, tennis shoes, a pair of sunglasses that were soon slipped off.

The contrast between who they saw on screen to who they were seeing now couldn’t be any more apparent.

Still, even by the way you stood before him, posture shrunken back slightly, eyes a bit downcast, voice softer than the usual bubbly vocals of your music, there was this grace, this aura that you exuded–one that spoke of a true bonafide performer rather than a mere average person.

Smiling warmly, Price held his hand out towards you for you to shake. “That would be me, dear.”

“Uncle Miller’s told me lots about you.” You smiled, bringing your hand up to take his.

So much smaller than his, he noted to himself, chuckling as he responded with, “I hope they’re my finer moments.”

Giggling in response, you affirmed, “As he said, only the best unclassified stuff. I’m Doll–” You quickly stopped yourself, opting to give your first name instead.

“Face pretty like a doll’s still,” Johnny murmured over to Kyle, who nodded in agreement.

Simon didn’t say anything but instead allowed his arms to rest by his sides, continuing to quietly observe you.

A world-renowned pop star with four former soldiers tasked to serve as her bodyguards.

Should be an easy enough job.

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thank you for reading !!! i know i tend to not really do multi-chapter pieces but idk the ghost of brat summer took over me after seeing a clip of soap and simon banter so i've been genuinely locked in with writing out this tale 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

subsequent chapters are going to be loosely tied together but i hope you enjoy my take on cod yumejo with this pop star otome 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

next chapter's up next friday !!! 🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️

[cece693]

Secretary (Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Summary: Hannibal told Crawford that his secretary was 'pre-dispositioned by romantic whims' and traveled to the United Kingdom. However, it's rarely as simple as that.

tags: reader is Hannibal's ex-secretary, possible Stockholm syndrome, no established relationship, Hannibal being himself, kidnapping

You've been doing everything right—not disturbing Dr. Lecter unless absolutely necessary, keeping his records meticulously filed, and, with much reluctance, keeping Mr. Chilton occupied whenever he threatened to storm into Dr. Lecter’s current session to demand more of his time. Your job wasn’t easy, but you excelled at it, surpassing even Dr. Lecter’s expectations. Perhaps that should have been your cue to quit.

But you didn’t. And now, standing in the center of this impeccably furnished home—with its locked doors and an alarm system ready to blare at the slightest escape attempt—you understood the truth. Dr. Lecter would never truly let you go. He might grant you the illusion of freedom, but he would always keep tabs on you. Because, at the end of the day, he found you interesting. So much so that he didn’t kill you outright when you finally saw him for who he really was.

It had been an accident. You weren’t like the other secretaries who snooped and whispered about his peculiarities. You didn’t eavesdrop. You were just…there at the wrong moment. Gathering your belongings after a late evening at the office, you opened the door to leave, only to be greeted by Dr. Lecter standing outside. He was composed, as always. But then you noticed it—the splatter of blood decorating the bottom of his suit sleeve. Your eyes weren't quick enough to look away, and in that split second, you saw his expression change, just the barest flicker as he crossed his arms behind his back and straightened his posture.

"Ah," he had said, tilting his head slightly as if you were a particularly intriguing puzzle piece that had just fallen into place. "It appears I've caught you at an inopportune moment. I trust you’ll keep what you've seen to yourself?" His eyes were not asking. They were demanding. You swallowed hard, barely managing to nod.

"Yes, Dr. Lecter," you stammered. "Of course." He smiled then, a small curve of his lips that made your stomach drop.

"Good," he replied smoothly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "It's always refreshing to know who values their… position."

That had been the end of it. Or so you thought. Days turned into weeks, and you convinced yourself you had been imagining things, that perhaps you had misread the situation. But then came the gradual transition: the dinners you were "invited" to, the unspoken requirement to be available whenever Dr. Lecter saw fit. And finally, the inevitable—this place. His home.

Back to the present, you hear the front door click open, the soft thud of polished shoes on the wooden floor. Your heart jumps to your throat, but you force yourself to remain still as Dr. Lecter enters, his eyes immediately locking onto you with an unsettling intensity.

“There you are,” he greets, as if he were a husband returning to his spouse after a long day. “I trust you’ve been keeping yourself entertained?”

You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady. "Yes," you reply, clearing your throat. "I…tidied up."

"Wonderful." He removes his coat with precise movements, placing it on the coat rack before turning to you, his gaze predatory yet casual. "Today was most eventful," he begins conversationally, crossing the room toward you with a grace that should make you feel comforted, but instead sets every nerve on edge. "One of my patients had quite the breakthrough. It’s fascinating, really, how easily one can guide a mind to certain…realizations."

He pauses just in front of you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in an unsettlingly intimate gesture. "You’ve always had such a strong mind," he murmurs. "That’s why I like you. And why I believe our arrangement will work out perfectly. Don't you agree?"

You swallow, searching for words that will appease him without sealing your fate even tighter. "Of course." you say carefully, hoping the neutrality of your response will satisfy him. He smiles again, that chillingly serene smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

"Good," he purrs. "Now, why don't you join me in the kitchen? I believe a little conversation over dinner would do us both well. After all," he pauses, his gaze darkening, "what's a home without a bit of warmth and companionship?" With a gesture, he beckons you toward the hallway, and you follow, each step a reminder of the delicate balance you must now maintain in this life you never chose.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

The Beast Wants to Tempt the Little Rabbit (Matias vs Clavis)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.

Clavis: "Haha, found you. So this is where you work."

Emma: "Prince Clavis!?"

After completing my duty as a belle, I returned to my peaceful life, but then Clavis appeared out of nowhere, causing me to drop the book I was reading on the counter.

Clavis: "That reaction. You missed me that much, huh? Then feel free to leap into my arms."

Emma: "I'll pass. Anyway, who's that gentleman next to you?"

Standing right behind Clavis was a man I didn't recognize. Despite his rugged appearance and equally imposing presence as Clavis, he had an impeccable posture and charisma that naturally drew attention.

Matias: "Pardon me. I'm Matias Asbrink, a friend of Clavis. Nice to meet you."

Emma: "Nice to meet you. I'm Emma."

Matias: "Are you also a friend of Clavis?"

Emma: "Um, no, we're just acquaintances."

Clavis: "How can you say that? You and I have been through so much together."

Matias: "Is that so?"

Emma: "You're right. We experienced all sorts of things together. You convinced me to be your partner in crime for all your mischief-making and even dragged me all over the palace."

Matias: "I see."

Emma: "So, why are you here, Prince Clavis?"

Having endured countless misadventures thanks to Clavis during my time at the palace, I couldn't help but be cautious.

Clavis: "That's because I've appointed you as our tour guide!"

Emma: “Tour guide?”

(What's that supposed to mean?)

Clavis smiled and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Clavis: “You see, Matias here is the prince of Acroite, the land of snow and law.”

Emma: “Prince!?”

Clavis: “It’s only natural to entertain the honored guest, so I thought of organizing a Rhodolite tour.”

Clavis: “Emma, you’ve been living in this city since you were born.”

Clavis: “That means you know more about this place than I do.”

(Well, I might have a bit of confidence in that.)

Clavis: “Therefore, I’d like you to assist with the tour.”

Clavis: “And having a woman around like Matias would add to the charm, don’t you think?”

Matias: “She seems to be a bookstore clerk. Aren't we bothering her?”

(He seems surprisingly reasonable for someone who’s Clavis’s friend.)

I know firsthand that nothing good comes from being involved with Clavis, but if I refuse now, it might inconvenience Prince Matias.

(Yeah, there’s no way I can just ignore it.)

Emma: “Owner! Did you hear our conversation?”

The owner peeked out from the back of the shop.

Akatsuki: “No problem. Be careful out there.”

Emma: “Thank you very much.”

Clavis: "Haha, I knew you'd definitely help."

Matias: "I'm sorry if it feels like we're forcing you, but thank you, Miss Emma."

Emma: "No, it’s fine. I'll do my best to make you enjoy Rhodolite."

(I need to keep a close eye on Clavis to make sure he doesn't go off the rails.)

Most of the time, the words peace and safety escaped me when I was with Clavis.

Unfortunately, this time, too, it seemed to have already escaped me.

Emma: "Um, Prince Clavis."

Clavis: "What's up? Are you impressed by my thoroughness?"

Emma: "No, I was just wondering why there's a white horse here."

As we exited the bookstore, I saw a quiet and wise-looking white horse tethered nearby.

While it wouldn't be unusual for a means of transportation to be there, the fact that there was only one raised some questions.

(It doesn't look like they rode together.) 

Matias: "It's a magnificent horse. Is it a warhorse?"

(Prince Matias seems surprised as well.)

Clavis: "Yes, he's Chevalier's partner. But today, he's your companion, Matias."

Matias: "What do you mean?"

Clavis: "You'll be riding this horse to get around from now on."

Matias: "And what about you and Miss Emma?"

Clavis: "We have important tasks to attend to."

Flashing his brightest smile, he signaled to Cyril, and he reluctantly brought over two baskets.

Upon seeing what was inside, I tilted my head in confusion.

Emma: "Rose petals?"

Clavis: "Yup, you'll be in charge of the rose petals with me."

Emma: "Prince Clavis, what the hell are you planning?"

Clavis: "I'm glad you asked."

With a lively expression, Clavis took out a red sash worn by princes during ceremonies.

Noticing the unusually placed sash before me, I couldn't help but groan.

Emma: "I understand."

Emma: "Prince Matias, let's run away."

Matias: "Are you suggesting that we elope?"

Emma: “Elope?”

(Why are his eyes so serious?)

Clavis: "Haha! Hold on a second, Emma. You seem to be misunderstanding something."

Emma: “I'm not misunderstanding anything. I've seen through all your plans.”

Emma: "You're going to put that sash that says 'today's star of the show' on Prince Matias and have him march through the streets on horseback, aren't you?"

Clavis: "My goodness."

Clavis: "I knew you were brilliant, but I never expected you to be this perceptive!"

Emma: "Let's run, Prince Matias!"

Matias: "And then, we'll find an eternal paradise where no one else can enter."

Emma: "Prince Matias?"

Matias: "Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought."

(Did I hear him say something weird just now, or am I imagining things?)

Clavis: "Matias, here, take this."

Emma: "Ah!"

We were unable to escape in time; Clavis had already handed him the sash.

Matias: “Rhodolite has an unusual way of sightseeing.”

Clavis: “You’re a special guest, so you need to be welcomed not only by me and Emma but by the town citizens as well.”

(Yeah, it’s over.)

Clavis: "People, behold! Make way for our distinguished guest!"

In the end, there was no way a girl like me could stop Clavis, so I reluctantly scattered the petals and followed along as Matias, riding on a white horse, moved forward.

Woman: "What is Prince Clavis up to this time?"

Man: "He's a distinguished guest, apparently. I'm not quite sure what's happening, but maybe we should just go along with it?"

Being used to Clavis' antics, the people of Rhodolite quickly adapted to the situation.

Every time Matias passed by, people applauded and cheered. Before we knew it, we had become the center of attention.

Matias: "This also requires a strong spirit."

Emma: "Prince Matias, if it's uncomfortable for you, I can stop..."

Matias: "No, it's fine. If this is Rhodolite's way of welcoming guests, then so be it."

Matias: "By the 62nd precept of the Asbrink family motto, let us proceed."

(What's with that motto? "Accept the kindness of others," or something like that?)

Making up his mind, Prince Matias waved to the cheering crowd and made the surroundings even livelier.

Woman: "He's quite charming, isn't he?"

Woman: "Yeah. But goodness, his overwhelming charisma is almost suffocating."

(It looks like Prince Matias is especially popular among women.)

(Well, I can understand why. He's so handsome and has tremendous sex appeal.)

Woman: "If only Prince Clavis would stay silent and just be a feast for the eyes."

Woman: "Yeah, he's handsome, but only on the surface."

(Clavis is getting quite the remarks.)

Clavis: "Hm."

Clavis: "This is rather unsatisfactory."

Part 2 ╎ Matias End ╎ Epilogue

[yan-lorkai]

Good Morning/afternoon/evening! Can I request a headcanon with a reader who comes back to Twst (after they have returned to their world) and finds yandere Idia made a robot (like Ortho) that looks like them and have the same personality as them? Thanks! ✨💖

Returning to Twisted Wonderland this time was a choice you made after thinking and rethinking the pros and cons, after remembering everything you would be leaving behind. But the pros were greater than the cons, at least you thought. And when you came back, you knew what you wanted to do, look for Idia.

It wasn't really difficult to imagine where he would be, even though a few months had passed you knew he wouldn't have changed that much. However, you should have known how wrong things were when you saw Ortho and he looked surprised, and fearful, trying to dissuade you from opening the door. Trying to keep you from seeing what his brother had done.

But his attempt was futile. You opened the door, received Idia's permission and entered. But nothing could have prepared you to find your own face staring back at you when you entered Idia's room, the emulated expression of surprise making everything more uncomfortable. You and Idia were paralyzed for different reasons, inert, not knowing how to react. However, you recovered faster while he were still processing the entire situation.

"What the fuck is this?" You curse as you look with a mix of admiration and apprehension at your copy. Every little detail was exactly perfect, the same as the original, the same skin tone, the same hair, even the gestures were the same. It wouldn't matter if Idia had a plausible explanation for this, it was clear that he had created a robot to take your place to fill the void in his chest when you left. And it made you feel a little sorry for him, just a little.

"W-well, you see..." Idia can only mutter and whisper gibberish, his hair turning completely pink at being caught with such a strange creation. All this while said creation continues to maintain an impeccable posture, erect and proud, observing you, analyzing.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Yuu." The robot introduces themselves, without knowing or noticing the tension around them. It's so strange. There is no life behind those eyes like there is in Ortho, it is empty and dull plastic. It's uncomfortable to look at. "I'm Idia's lover and we're planning our wedding for after we graduate. Should we invite them, honey?"

Silence. It's embarrassing, invasive and wrong, this all felt too much, should you feel betrayed? Sad? Happy? Or honored that Idia created yet another robot? You didn't know at that moment. All you knew was that you needed to get out of there and you needed it now. But the door was now closed and locked, and no matter how many times you open it or yell at Idia nothing works. He has you now, he doesn't want to let you leave again. He can take your fear, he can take even your hate but having you leave again, even if only for your old dorm? That he can't handle. He won't.

"Prototype Yuu, shut down." He announces, finally recovering from his shock. He acts nonchalantly but you know he feels really awkward and anxious. "Listen, we can talk about it. It's not what it looks like."

You scoff. "Lover? Marriage? Yeah, it's exactly what it looks like, Idia. You created a robot that looks like me, that sounds like me. Because you still don't know how to deal with loss and you need comfort in the only way you know how to receive it."

Touché. He looks like a wounded dog that you kicked. But you find that you don't care at all. "You didn't have to call me out like that, you know." He mumbles but doesn't deny how right you are. "Plus how I was supposed to live without you? I felt so empty, so cold. But I didn't want to stop you from going home because it would hurt you. I can always destroy this prototype if you want, just please don't leave me again!"

He grabs both of your hands, holding onto them as if they were his lifesavers that keep him above the water so he won't drown while he stare at you without blinking, tiny little tears starting to run down his face. Now, can you forgive him or not?

[mtchacffinz]

to be loved for you

prompt!!! Dan Heng never dealt with jealousy. He learns bitterly that sometimes, he can't deal with it rationally!

content!!! SFW, gn! reader, fluff, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, first kiss, clingy! Dan Heng

note!!! I love him too much. So far, all he's been getting from me is fluff 💔 frankly, i cant muster any freaky-freaky stuff with this man 🤔 got anything? my asks are open 🩷

To be someone who relied on relations by circumstance, you would always cherish each and every one of those who cross your path. May they be old and wise, or young and restless— Greeting them with the brightest smile, they'd always find themselves enamoured by your energy. Maybe this is why you attract so many people? Dan Heng was aware of that. He never spoke up about it, though. After all, he was one of the many who was caught bulls eye with each strum of his heart.

He knew you were capable of fending off threats yourself. He knew you were somebody who could defend someone from harms way.. and he especially knew just how gentle and kind you treat everybody.

Oh, what is he doing? Sulking all by himself in the archives. Dan Heng's thoughts ran rampant the past minutes. This happens when he's alone or sitting idly by. The poor man's thoughts catch up to him leaving him disgruntled. The thing is, you could always see it in his face.

You've been out and about for a while. He misses you, you know. Not that he would admit! Dan Heng's stubborn, just like that. He's definitely not mulling over how you're attention has been elsewhere, either. He doesn't mind. You have the freedom to do what you want! Just leave him sulking here in the archives unattended, it's okay.

The teal eyed prince clicks his tongue. That chatty, flirty, touchy writer. At first, Dan Heng thought that he was quite a man. The writer guy was nice and respectful with a golden gaze for things that were held high. That said, the Author quickly took interest in you.

He was never one to be possessive. Why should he? You're not even in a relationship. But sometimes, as soon as the guys hands find their way towards yours, intertwining in a clasp, something in him dims. Suddenly, his eyes can't leave your figure. It was your smile again, and Dan Heng's not at the receiving end of it.

You're not on the express today, either. A shame. Seriously, that guys been hogging you all week! What's up with that? Don't even get him started on "(Y/n), my muse. Accompany me today?" bullcrap! It's nothing but a sappy excuse to get into your pants so bad! Seriously, the absurdity. Dan Heng shakes off the thoughts before they continue. Did you know? Just by his gaze alone, someone could freeze in their place— like daggers against their back.

"Hmm? Mr. Ferr, are you okay?"

"It's nothing, my sweet, I strangely caught a shiver in my spine.." the author, Ferr, replied calmly.

"Okay. So about your first draft.."

Draft this, draft that, can't he got an editor instead?!

Irk marks basically float up his head just thinking about what they're talking about right now. Can you blame him? He's been neglected.

Dan Heng slaps himself, hard.

Woah. He's getting way ahead of himself. Him? Neglected? In what way? Again, it's not like you're both in a relationship. It's not like he's entitled to your affection in any way. Dan Heng really needs to calm down. Lately, all he's been doing is updating the archives. He's also learned of what you will be traveling for next, and added data with a note addressed to you as well. His calloused hands were flipping through various pages all day, pulling apart scrolls and wiping away holograms.

His thoughts become strangely quiet. His presence was like frost.. constant. A little chilly. He starts to fiddle with his fingers, his gloves, and his nails.

He really misses you a lot.

Can you come back soon?

Dan Heng sighs. He stands up with his impeccable posture as usual. Those arms held scrolls and books, and puts them back where he got them from. At this point, he's zoned out. He exits the Archives, strolling near the parlor car. Light footsteps echo throughout the space with Dan Heng taking in the air of tranquility within the express; It seemed like everyone had their own agenda today.

Well, except for one.

"Dan Heng," Himeko's sweet, gentle voice called out for him. The boy turned towards her, a little surprised. She smiles, and beckons him to sit with her. Her silky locks framing perfectly on her face, she put a stray strand behind her ear. "Come, I have coffee to share."

Dan Heng was indeed in dire need of indulgence. Without hesitation, he walked over to the red head and sat down. He forgot how comfortable the sofa was.. his nerves began to relax. Himeko starts to pour the hot beverages into elegant coffee cups, befitting if her style. It was comfortable silence, the stars glistened into glass windows— reflecting the beauty of life. Himeko seems to have noticed his aloof vibe, joining him to stare at the stars. Opening her lips, Himeko starts.

"You've been busy for a while."

"Being an archivist is a lot of work, huh?"

"I have."

"It's fine." The gentle lady can't help but chuckle. He's so dry. This only confirms her hypothesis. That daunting look on his figure may intimidate some, but not Miss Himeko. Never Miss Himeko. She doesn't want to expose her hidden agenda now, but she just can't wait to run her mouth. After all, Dan Heng's been down the weather and it's very obvious as to why.

"(Y/n) wanted me to prepare these for you. Enjoy them." She takes a sip. His expression softened. Dan Heng can't help but think bitterly. It'd be lovely if they were her to prepare these herself, but the teal eyed prince quickly take back the thought.

"I'm thankful.. but why? Is there an occasion? I don't seem to recall any." He speaks in a cautious manner. The woman only sighs, a palm on her cheek.

"Be honest with me, Dan Heng." Her tone quickly changed. Now her eyes are staring into his. Like it was rummaging through his soul. Dan Heng's feet were cold. He couldn't contest her gaze, so he averts his eyes. Himeko frowns at this, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"Your eyes betray you greatly."

He was a little taken aback. His eyes? He was never expressive. He was sure he'd been called at least poker faced and stoic before.. Dan Heng's brows narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

Himeko only chuckles, dismissing her last claim. "I'll tell you what. They'll be here soon.. and they're going to leave just as quickly." She adds the last statement with dramatic disdain before the elegant lady takes a sip once again. Dan Heng's stomach drop. Ah.. he's lost the appetite to even finish his mug. Himeko continues. "Ferr is taking them to a space station for one of his projects. Given the current circumstances, they have no reason to refuse."

His face scrunched in annoyance upon hearing the name again. Mr. Ferr this, Mr. Ferr that! He's getting sick of him. Taking (Y/n) on a space ship? How long will that take? Is it some sort of rendevous? A date?

..will you come back?

"i don't think that decision befalls to us. (Y/n) is capable of making decisions.."

"I don't want them to go."

"..on their own because— wait, what?"

Himeko chuckles dryly. "I don't want (Y/n) to go, you know? It's selfish thought, I know. But, it's good to be selfish once and a while now, right?"

That was a half baked lie. First of all, Himeko fully supports what (Y/n) wants. But Ferr.. isn't exactly known for his patience. Himeko knows full well as soon as (Y/n) steps in the spaceship— he'd pull something like a proposal! A profession, a deal! She's not stupid, Himeko is far from dense. The Scientist knows that the Author has a huge thing for you, and it shows. And knowing Dan Heng? He'd just nod along albeit against it. She can't just stand here and let them distance each other! Himeko's seen it.. that prying gaze of a distraught, pining lover.. the watchful eyes of a lovestruck persona. The only way to get a stubborn man to act, is through tremendous pressure!

Dan Heng's lips pursed.

"And you want me to.."

"You don't have to, really."

"But.. if it will benefit them, should we encourage it? After all, they're energetic and knows their way with words. There must be some sort of good reasoning behind his invitation."

"I don't know. Do you want them to go?"

"I.." Dan Heng couldn't finish his sentence. He couldn't form a response at all. Does he want you to go? If you would enjoy yourself, he'd love to allow it.. If you'd return with a smile on your face, tell him all about what happened, he'd love to receive you with utmost sincere..

Even if it took atleast a hundred years for you to return to him.

...Hundred years his ass! You will not spend a hundred years with that man!

"If (Y/n) wants to, I personally don't see why not." Dan Heng's thoughts actively contrasted his responses. A stubborn man.. Himeko sighs, an apologetic smile on her lips. Finally backing away, the lovely lady puts down her mug and sits straight.

"It's okay to be honest. After all, they.. wish for something."

Dan Heng replies quickly in a heart beat. "I will be honest, then. I want their wish fulfilled."

"Then you better greet them in tip-top shape." Himeko winks saying this, standing up to excuse herself. Dan Heng tilts his head in this, not quite sure if what the she's implying. Himeko only had that knowing smirk on her pristine face. The lady excuses herself promptly, leaving Dan Heng all by himself. The man is once again left alone with his thoughts, except this time, he has new material to work with.

"Great..." He huffs bitterly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just.. splendid." God, his head hurts. He's tired and he's drowsy. At this point, he doesn't find anything of urgency at the moment— only thinking about grasping that sudden warmth the sofa beneath him exerts. Dan Heng would like to find peace of mind at least once in a while. Both that in mind, his eyes find their way to the Parlor ceiling, half lidded and tired.

Slowly, his breathing calms down.. and slowly, his eyes drift closed, consciousness slipping away from his grasp.

Slowly.. the darkness embraced him, and his body rested in slumber.

You stand a little surprised.

After all, Dan Heng was casually sitting upright— his eyes closed. Is he napping? Is he okay? You're not sure, and you're concerned. Frankly, you were supposed to be here for him— feeling that he deserves at least an apology that you haven't been getting back to his messages in a while. But looking at the sight.. he looks like he's accompanied at the moment.

Such a hard working guard. The guard of the express, the unmatched Archivist of the Nameless.. the one who would always hold your heart gently. You swore if he blew air on your figure, you'd crumble immediately. The only one who'd sway your heart. That's how much power he holds, his whole fingers wrapped around your being with an invisible string keeping you binded to him.

You curb a grin. Strolling near your quarters, you pick up something warm. A blanket. You envelop his stature in a comfortable tuck, pausing for a moment to take in the melancholic state Dan Heng's exhibiting. The handsome prince's eyes fluttered closed, lips slightly apart. If he's sitting upright sleeping, then he must be atleast tired enough to sleep but still be on his feet.

But he doesn't know that, he doesn't need to.

"Ah.." was all Dan Heng could muster. You look back at him in a awe, but quickly recovered. You didn't remove his hands on your wrist, you held onto them instead. The archivists eyes softened, his brows relaxing. You attempt to give him a smile, defusing the tension.

Your sightseeing was cut short when Dan Heng started to stir, his eyes fluttering open. It was for a short moment, the first those greyish teal eyes found their way towards yours.. and the way they slightly widened upon meeting gazes with you, Dan Heng's slender, warm fingers slowly snuck their way toward your wrist; apprehending their movements further. Dan Heng held onto you like you were unreal, like you were unbelievable. Oh, he looks stricken. He looks.. almost as surprised as you. Dan Heng doesn't say anything yet, the blanket that was once on him fell off just a little while ago.

"Hey. Sorry. It looks like I woke you up.." You offer an apologetic smile. He quickly shakes his head at this, responding to you in haste.

"No.. no. Don't apologize."

"I have a lot of apologizing to do."

"No, you.." before he could finish, he cuts himself off. Why must he be so accepting? He keeps brushing his feelings aside, and before he knows it, he utters something he doesn't even mean. No, he's not okay. No, it's not fine. You upset him greatly. He couldn't focus on anything because you weren't answering his messages. Your phone was unreachable.

You had Dan Heng worried sick. What if something happened to you? You reckless, Trusting, thick skulled—

"Everything good?"

Your voice immediately snaps him out of his thoughts. Dan Heng let's out a small breath, his hands still clutching yours. He was still sitting down, and you were towering over him. God.. just by your gaze alone, he's already so full. If you could just stay with him a little longer, he feels like this churning in his stomach would go away soon. He wants you so bad, he needs you so bad.. he doesn't want you to let go anytime soon.

To your surprise, Dan Heng himself removed his hold on you. His movements were slow and languid, like a flow of water within the rivers. Moving in chorus, mellifluous.. elegantly. You can't take your eyes off him at all. Dan Heng clung to your waist. His warm body enveloped your lower half, nuzzling deep into your stomach. You let out a surprised yelp.

Suddenly, your face is hot. Your stomach was dancing with abundant butterflies, and you don't know where to put your hands. As if the archivist could read your mind, his hands led yours into his head, fingers entangling itself into those dark locks. They were so soft.. so warm and lovely. Your hands run through his hair gently— cherishing just how close he is to you at this moment. What's up with him? He seems to be a little more laid back.

Dan Heng shifts in his place. That's when he finally looks up at you. His arms around you, eyes looking directly at yours. You could see his expression.. eyes soft. Gentle. A slight pout— face flushed. It looks like he wants to say something, and it's still processing in that pretty head of his.

Dan Heng's hold on you tightens, you didn't fail to notice. He wants to be selfish for once. Let him be selfish for once. Just once. With a small breath and a soft tone, he finally utters.

"Don't go."

It was getting harder and harder to calm your heart down, and that didn't get any better.

Your heart immediately melts, and your knees almost gave out. What? Go where? Has the rumours already spread? Whatever it was, it's not happening. Especially if he asked you, it's already set in stone. "I won't. Not anywhere." You respond tenderly. Dan Heng's eyes lit up. You swore his fingers even twitched just a little bit. A little more after, his face suddenly scrunched. The archivists' frame was decorated with blazing hues of red. Whatever he's thinking seems to strain him so. Not even bothering to give you time to further analyze, he stands up from his seat, arms still around you. This time, you have no idea what'll he do. Dan Heng's eyes averted yours, hesitantly taking a step closer. My.. your palms are starting to sweat. This is the effect of anticipation.

When he pulled back from you, Dan Heng quickly analyzed your expression to see even a tinge of displeasure. Now you.. face decorated with the hue of peony, looked awe struck. Absolutely enchanted.. bewildered, blown. Gathering your nerves to work back up again, your eyes slowly trailed back to his nervous ones: awaiting your reaction.

"..You can hit me after this." Dan Heng suddenly says, making you tilt your head in confusion. So carefully, he cupped your cheeks. Whatever that was you were going to say was caught in your throat. There was a bubbling feeling in your chest, waiting to pop open; and as soon as his lips brushed past yours, it popped so beautifully vibrant it blinded your vision for but a moment. As your eyes fluttered closed and his eyes half lidded, he greedily drank the sight of you from his eyes.

Dan Heng's eyes widened once you grabbed his collar— smashing your lips back to his. The kiss you've given him burned with fervor, impatient, like you've been yearning for more. You were starved of his lips— like a lone hawk hunting for aeons.

Now that the opportunity presented itself, might as well make the most of it.

The archivist had a hard time keeping up with you, keeping the both of you straight by holding the small of your back. Your arms were in Dan Heng's chest— eagerly taking him in yours. By the time you both ran out of air, you were standing in amidst the parlor car— with the stars accompanying the moment being the sole witness. You could hear Dan Heng's heartbeat whilst you rest your head on his chest. Clutching his jacket, it was tempting to go for another one again.

There was silence. A lot of words hung out in the air. The first to cut through the already light air around you was you.

"For how long?"

Dan Heng breathed heavily, burying his nose into your hair. He thinks about it for a long time before finally answering.

"Quite a while."

i went a little overboard sorry! (⁠●⁠´⁠⌓⁠`⁠●⁠) edited it a lil bit

[prophecyofwinter]

Se Riña Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | IV

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | Slowburn, TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed, tags to be added

Prologue | Chapter III | Chapter V | Masterlist

Chapter IV | First Day of the Rest of your Life

“Pull yourself together and present yourself properly. This is my mother, the Queen. Do not make anyone regret allowing you here.”

His voice shocked you, the way he gripped your arm shocked you. Nothing like the way he caressed your hand and spoke low compliments into your ear less than half an hour before. You’ve done nothing to offend him and yet he’s holding you like a parent scolding a child. Looking at his expression all you can read is a slight annoyance, otherwise it’s a look of indifference.

Allowed? You were not ‘allowed’ you were asked, if anything you allowed yourself here.

“Release me! Is this how guests are treated in Westeros?” You say through clenched teeth roughly tugging yourself out of Aemonds grasp.

If this is how it shall be, so be it.

Aemond looked shocked by your sudden aggression, a momentary slip of his mask. His jaw tightened and let out a huff like a little boy.

“I am treating you far more kindly than what others will. Heed my advice.” Aemond ends the conversation there by knocking on the carriage door with the back of his hand, not breaking eye contact.

The door opens and Aemond moves to leave first, extending his hand to help you out of the carriage.

You take his hand hesitantly, there is no other choice for the sake of appearances.

You gaze up once you are standing on solid ground and without obstruction you see the Red Keep in all its glory. The red stone and towers that blocked the sun to the point where you were surprised the town didn’t spend most of the day in darkness.

Your mother told you many stories about her nefarious ‘activities’ she got up to while living here. Of course for most of these you spent covering your ears and begging her to stop.

Aemond linked his arm with yours, leading you forward across the dirt floor of the courtyard. You stopped your gawking in favor of looking towards the Queen. You haven’t seen many people with red hair before, it must be common here. She holds herself with impeccable posture, something your mother would imitate to mock Westerosi women for their piousness.

“Welcome to King’s Landing, Y/N, I hope the journey went without trouble. I know the sea can be moody this time of year. I’m glad Aemond got you from the port in one piece.” Alicent greeted you with a soft smile. You could see her eyes glancing over your clothes. It made you feel as though you were standing in front of her naked.

“Thank you Queen Alicent, I am grateful for the invitation. The sea has treated me well, as has Prince Aemond.” You gave a curtsy to her, gripping Aemonds bicep harder. You could feel every function in your body working at full speed, embarrassing yourself is your worst fear right now.

“Thank you, my Queen.” The armored man next to Alicent spoke up. He was clearly a guard of some kind, with black hair, facial hair, and a judging expression directed at you. “You live in Westeros now, she is your Queen.”

A silence fell over after the man’s words, both Alicent and Aemond gave him a short glance of confusion while you froze up.

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it I swear-“ You said trying to save yourself.

“Do not worry sweet girl, Ser Criston meant nothing by it. He is just bothered that Aemond is late to his training session. Why don’t I take you while Aemond trains?” Alicent steps forward to rub your upper arm and give a slight tug to signal you to let go of Aemond.

“That would be very lovely, my Queen.” You smile and relinquish your hold on Aemond in favor of standing closer to Alicent. She begins walking expecting you to follow, and you do. While walking you glance back and notice Aemond staring back at you while walking his own way.

—————

Alicent makes small talk with you about small things like foods from Essos, what Volantis is like, how your mother is fairing and so on.

The halls of the keep are long and filled with many trinkets along the way. You gaze out the windows when you pass by, you can see a rather large forest within the walls and out another you see the ocean with a garden with gazebos and walkways. The scent of fresh flowers passes through your nose making you feel relaxed.

“Excuse me my Queen. As much as I love this tour, I am rather tired from my voyage.” You say trying not to sound rude but you were feeling really tired. Alicent so far has been kind so you thought it would be alright to request to be shown your quarters.

“Of course you are. I don’t mean to keep you for much longer, but first we must get you checked by one of the Maesters.” Alicent said while leading you down a cobblestone staircase deeper into the bowels of the keep.

You hadn’t even realized how far down you were, surely this was the last level of the keep with windows. You knew exactly what she meant. Your face started to heat up and your heart was beating fast just by the premise.

“By getting me checked, do you mean…”

“Checking to make sure you’re still intact. Unless that is an issue…?” Alicent stopped at the bottom of the steps looking at you from the side, her demeanor unchanging.

“No of course not! It just sounds… uncomfortable.” You twiddle with your hands to ease your nerves. You can’t quite think of a word to describe how having an old man look at your most intimate area makes you feel. If there is even a good word to use.

Alicent, seemingly happy with your response, begins walking deeper down the stone hall and you walk fast to catch up.

“Maesters are men of the faith, they have no care for intimacy. They have seen hundreds of women. Our current Maester helped me birth all four of my children and will help you birth yours.” The way Alicent explains it makes sense but, men without desire? Every kind of man everywhere has visited a brothel at least once, no? You shake the thought from your head for your own comfort.

She stops at a wooden door and grabs the handle but doesn’t open the door.

“If it helps I will be in the room with you.” Alicent gives you a small smile and opens the door. You follow her in, trying your best to not let your gaze wander to the floor.

“Maester Mellos. I believe I informed you some time ago I would need you to make sure Aemonds betrothed is intact.”

You saw what you had expected to see, an old man dressed in bland clothing. The shelves lined with all kinds of medical devices and other things you couldn’t even guess the purpose of.

“Ah yes, I do remember. Have no worries I have been doing this for longer than you’ve been alive. I even saw your mother for a time.” The Maester went on for a little too long. You don’t think you needed to know that last part, everyone knows how that went.

You were guided to remove your lower small clothes and lay on the table, resting your head on a pillow. Alicent assured you it would only take a moment. Still, you laid there with your hands clasped together digging your nails into your skin. You began to count the pieces of stone on the ceiling to ignore whatever was happening on the other end of the table.

“All is well on this end, perfectly intact.” The Maester stood up and declared his final result. The second the words left his mouth you instantly got off the table and moved to put yourself back together.

“Fantastic news, thank you once again Maester, that’s all. Come Y/N.” Alicent states bluntly and once again begins to move without waiting. You rushed to finish putting your small clothes back on and chased to catch up.

————-

“Your chamber is fairly close to Aemonds, there should be no trouble navigating between rooms once you are wed. Two handmaidens have been assigned to you, they will wake you in the morning and make sure you’re dressed.” Alicent stood by the door while you wandered around your chambers, checking out every square inch.

“This is more than enough! I don’t even know how to thank you for your kindness, my Queen.” You walked up to Alicent with a big smile on your face. Everything was perfect, you could almost forget the hectic day you’ve had. There was even a wide balcony that looked over the gardens.

“It is just one of the many duties of being Queen. I fear I’ve kept you far too long, get some rest. I will send for you in the morning.” Alicent said before taking her leave, leaving you alone in your chambers.

You fell back first onto your bed and let out a big huff. You pray you made the right decision, who knows when or if you’ll go back to Volantis. You can’t expect to be liked instantly, being legitimized won’t change much if you don’t make the effort. You can already tell Prince Aemond and Queen Alicent aren’t too fond of your origins. Alicent is very good at hiding it which you can at least appreciate.

But, Mental crises can wait until tomorrow, you’re too tired to tackle that beast.

Simply too tired to put on any clothes to sleep in, you strip everything you are wearing and climb into bed. Rolling around in the new found comfort of such a big bed, it even had sheer curtains that made you feel even better. Sleep takes you quick, dreams of food and wine take root in your mind.

The first day of the rest of your life has come and gone.

——————

🏷️: @toodlesxcuddles @blackgirlmagicforever @yourwonkywriter

[hisui-dreamer]

wooden charms

Pairing: Floyd Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: His beloved Shrimpy has been avoiding him, oh what is an eel to do?

Tags: miscommunication, comfort, fluff, Floyd calls you shrimpy, jade leech is a good man<3, bot proofread

Word count: 1.3k+

Notes: floyd fluff! this eel has been occupying my mind since the camp event started hahaha

i don't love the language in this fic, so there might be changes made here and there every time i have an epiphany lol

Floyd sank into the worn-out couch, his lean figure spreading out lazily across the worn-out cushions. Dishevelled strands of teal hair cascaded untamed over his forehead, casting a shadow that mirrored the clouded thoughts in his brooding eyes. Beside him, Jade maintained an impeccable posture, emanating an aura of refined elegance.

The two settled into the plush seats of the Mostro Lounge's VIP room, their weary bodies finding respite in its luxurious embrace. It had been yet another day consumed by the relentless demands of work, leaving Floyd's nerves frayed and restless. The dim lighting cast an ethereal glow, but it did nothing to quell the tempest swirling within Floyd.

A heavy sigh escaped Floyd's lips, his voice tinged with a touch of melancholy. "Jade," he whined as he nudged his brother. "I dunno what's gotten into Shrimpy lately. I don't get it, they used to be all over me, like a little fishy clingin' to my side. But for a while now, they keep saying they’re busy and can’t spend time with me. But then I saw them hanging out with the Guppy! What's the deal?"

Jade, ever the diplomat, maintained his business-like facade, though his eyes hinted at a deeper understanding. "Floyd, relationships can be like that. It is rather odd that the prefect has been avoiding you, but I'm sure they're just extremely busy. It’s to be expected given they’re the headmaster’s errand runner…. And Epel is a first-year student, so it is likely they would study together. Just be patient, I'm sure they’ll come around."

But Floyd's eyebrows only furrowed more at Jade’s words. "But it feels like they’re ignorin' me completely! What in the world has got Shrimpy so preoccupied? It's drivin' me crazy..." he complained, absentmindedly running his hand through his messy hair. "I miss Shrimpy…," he murmured, his voice quivering with unspoken pain.

Jade's voice softened, trying to reassure Floyd. It wasn't often that he saw his brother so vulnerable. "Well, if you genuinely think something is wrong, I think you should confront them. Humans always stress that open communication is crucial in relationships," he suggested softly. "Ask them what's going on with them. Let them know how you feel. You won't change anything if you don't try to understand them. Perhaps there's a deeper reason behind their distant demeanour that you're unaware of."

Floyd sat still, absorbing Jade's words, his calm understanding offering a soothing balm to his troubled soul. He nodded slowly, the weight of their conversation sinking into him. "I guess you're right, Jade," he replied, his voice carrying a newfound determination. "I need to go talk to Shrimpy. I can't take this anymore."

The vibrant ambience of the restaurant clashed starkly with the sombre storm brewing within Floyd's soul. The cacophony of the customers' chatter and laughter grated against his raw nerves, an unwelcome intrusion on his troubled thoughts. Every incoming order felt like a burden that continued to weigh him down. With each passing moment of his arduous shift, he felt the urge to go and squeeze someone intensify.

He had desperately wanted to find you and have a heart-to-heart talk. However, Azul, ever the entrepreneurial mind, had devised yet another business venture to propel the Mostro Lounge's profits. And now, Floyd found himself trapped in a whirlwind of responsibilities, with hardly a moment to rest as he navigated managing a fresh batch of unfortunate souls who were just so useless as servers.

"Can you just hand me the damn plates already? I don't have time for this," Floyd muttered through gritted teeth, his words oozing with impatience and exasperation. The weight of his fatigue lent an edge to his voice, underscoring the strain he endured.

But then, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, you walked through the restaurant's entrance, piercing through the clouds of his irritation. Floyd's eyes widened, a wide grin stretching across his fatigued face, erasing all traces of weariness.

"Shrimpy!" Floyd exclaimed, his lazy drawl transformed into an exuberant melody. Ignoring the bustling crowd around him, he darted towards you with infectious enthusiasm. "You're here! Did you miss me?" He spoke eagerly, closing the distance between you.

In a surge of affection, Floyd enfolded you in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly, fearing you’d suddenly disappear. Soon, he sensed your tapping on his back, a gentle reminder that his hugs were too strong and you struggled to breathe. He reflexively released his hold, though he remained intimately close.

"Hahaha, I missed you too, Floyd," you laughed, unable to resist his endearing antics. The sound of your laughter erased any trace of the weariness that had burdened him moments before.

"I've missed you too, Shrimpy. I haven’t seen you in so long!" he giggled, before remembering what had troubled him and pulling back. "You kept hanging out with Guppy and ignoring me!" he accused, a hint of lingering frustration colouring his words.

"Oh, Floyd, I'm sorry," you murmured, reaching up to delicately cup his cheek. His face instinctively leaned into your touch, melting at your warm touch. "I had something to do, and I needed Epel's help, but I promise I can spend more time with you now." The warmth in your voice carried the reassurance he longed for, gradually easing the tension between you.

At your words, Floyd visibly lit up with a flicker of excitement and relief. "Really? That's great!" he exclaimed, a joyous sparkle igniting in his eyes. "Now I have Shrimpy all to myself again!" With a burst of enthusiasm, he grasped your hands and shook them.

But then, his attention was drawn to the peculiar texture beneath his touch. Floyd's gaze shifted to your hands, his eyes widening as he noticed the bandages delicately wrapped around your fingers. A flicker of anger kindled within him, fuelled by a potent blend of concern and protectiveness.

"What happened to your fingers, Shrimpy?" Floyd's voice trembled with a mixture of anger and worry, his brows furrowing.

You gathered the courage to explain, recognizing the need to calm his simmering anger before he took it out on someone. "It's nothing serious, really," you began, your voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "I just... I wasn't careful enough. I know it looks bad, but please, don't be angry. It was purely accidental."

Floyd's anger began to wane, replaced by a cautious curiosity as he leaned in, eager to understand the circumstances surrounding your injuries. His tone softened as he asked, "What were you doing that hurt you? Tell me, Shrimpy."

A sheepish smile graced your lips as you reached into your pocket, retrieving a meticulously crafted wooden shrimp charm, intricately carved with precision and love. "Well," you began, a touch of uncertainty in your words, "I wanted to make something special for us, something that would remind you of me when I’m not around. I thought maybe phone charms would be something you would always carry around, so I made this," you explained.

With a deft and fluid motion, your other hand retrieved your phone, revealing a dangling eel charm attached to it. "See?" you whispered, a hint of vulnerability lacing your voice. "I know it’s not the prettiest, but we can match, Floyd."

As Floyd's eyes took in the shrimp and eel charms, his features softened, his anger dissipating like a receding tide. A surge of affection and understanding washed over Floyd, and he reached out to carefully take the wooden shrimp charm, his fingertips brushing against yours as he did so.

"Shrimpy," Floyd spoke softly, his voice filled with newfound tenderness. "I had no idea... This is so cool! You made that for me?"

You smiled at his reaction. "Yeah, I don't really have enough money to buy fancy gifts, and handmade gifts are always more heartfelt, don't you think?"

He encircled you in his embrace once more, this time more delicate and loving. "Thank you, Shrimpy," he murmured, his voice carrying a depth of emotion. "I’ll keep your Shrimpy charm safe."

As he drew back slightly, you noticed a slight pout gracing his features. "But please don’t avoid me again, okay?" he whined, before mushing his cheek against the top of your head.

"It's unbearable without you," he murmured.

[fanfiction4sooya]

Loyal dog (Sub A! Seulgi x Dom O!Reader)

This was a request, but I think I lost it somewhere 😭 I hope y'all like it babies!! 💖💖💖💖

tw: abo dynamics, unprotected sex, edging, crying, reader is a little rude, jerking off, nipple play, cum swallowing, etc.

Last board meeting went hectic. You were the head of the meeting, conducting every single detail and discussion, very focused on finding the solutions the other shareholders needed. One of them was pushing for a sale you were reluctant to accept because you really didn't find any benefit on it. A stupid alpha that couldn't think ahead like you could.

"It's not up to you to deny anything" The alpha said, her eyes were cold and her demeanor was definitely disgusted; Many alphas didn't like omegas in position of power. You felt in the depths of your soul she really wanted to say Omegas had no say in anything.

"Well, Ms..." You looked down looking for a paper with her name. "Park, isn't it?"Lifting your head, you could see her eyebrows slightly lift in this contained anger. "Ms Park Sooyoung, I do in fact have a say in this since I'm the head of the board and my success rates are high. Higher than any of yours, I might say"

She tried to make you back down by staring at you, her pheromones strong as she tried to make you submit. That was so disrespectful and rude to do on a work setting that you felt your anger bubble inside you. When you were about to say something, a more sharp voice cut your phrase through, the sound reverberating around the meeting room.

"If you have any decorum, I advise you to stop this little attempt of strength play with your weak pheromones and leave this meeting" You looked straight at her, Kang Seulgi. Pretty, collected and overall avoiding of you. Your eyes quickly scanned her and you lightly scoffed.

Another brainless Alpha trying to assert dominance.

"I don't need a knight in a shiny armor, Ms Kang. I can handle insubordination myself" You said before the other Alpha could respond. She lowered her eyes, looking at her hands as she clenched her jaw. "But since you said it, it is against the company's policy to try making anyone to submit on the clock, specially in democratic meetings" You took a deep breath a little affected by Sooyoung, but your poker face was impeccable. "This meeting is over, for now" You said seeing red, dismissing all the others and going straight to your own office.

Anger seething, your blood boiling for so many reasons. You stood by your window trying to collect yourself, wanting nothing more than to jump onto Park's neck, end that little arrogant look. You fucking hated those types of alphas.

And Kang Seulgi? Oh she was so much worse with that condescending tone and those eyes, those fucking lowered eyes...

Next thing you knew you had already asked your secretary to call her to your office. You needed to see something by yourself.

"Did you ask to see me, boss?" She entered your office, closing the door behind her; perfect posture, secure of herself and her surroundings.

"Indeed" You said. Your glasses perched up on the tip of your nose, staring at her. You called your secretary, your voice ice cold as you spoke. "Ms Kim would you mind telling me if we hired any bodyguards for me, please?" You simply asked, still staring at her. You saw her avoid your eyes again, slightly looking down.

"There are no bodyguards on the record, boss. Why? Do you need one?" Yeri asked, a bit concerned.

"No, not at all" You said. "I was just checking, thank you" That anger was still there, mixed with a little bit of curiosity.

Narrowing your eyes, you tilted your head to the right.

"You do not get to speak for me" Poison dripping, you fixed your glasses on your face.

"It wasn't my intention, I was-" She looked anywhere but you, her posture tense now. "I didn't like the way she spoke with you and that stare... You don't deserved it" She cleared her throat. "It was unprofessional"

Now that she looked at you, you could see how she wasn't being condescending. It was something else and that was definitely something... good.

"Oh, I see..." You got up, going around your desk, crossing your arms under your breasts and leaning on it. "Maybe you don't want to be my bodyguard..." You said, eyeing her down. Her grey suit was perfect on her figure, but you could see the bulge forming inside her pants. "A loyal dog, maybe?"

You saw in first hand as a sharp exhale left her lips, her hands clenching by her sides.

"Oh, you would like to be my loyal dog" She finally returned your stare, her eyes pleading in an embarrassed, conflicted way. You got up to lock the door.

"I-" She gave a step towards you and you quickly shut her off.

"Stay" Was all you said and, much for your surprise and pleasure, she did stay; a tent on her pants as she looked down. "What an obedient dog..." Your tone changed to an alluring one. Standing in front of her, you smelled how aroused she was. "What a rare finding..." You traced her tie with one of your fingers and she whimpered. "Look at me" You commanded and she promptly did so, her eyes following how you licked your lower lip.

"I will do anything you want, boss" She finally said it, eyes locked into yours. You scoffed.

"Everyone does that already" Your cleavage fully on display made her dick pulse hard and she gulped. "What makes you different from everyone else, Ms Kang?" You got closer, heat emanating from her body to yours.

It felt so fucking good to be in full dominance mode with an Alpha like Kang Seulgi. It made you feel millions of times hotter. You always pushed away your omega nature, specially against some traditions the dynamics between Alphas, Betas and Omegas required.

"I can do whatever you ask me" She pleaded, her low voice was basically a whisper. "I am very good at obeying" You took a deep breath. Wet was an understatement, you were completely soaked and your lacy panties ruined.

You pondered, really thinking about it. Office sex wasn't something abnormal. If anything, office sex was the most normal thing in this situation.

"Sit down, hands on your sides" You told her, glancing at your leather couch and she did so. You unbuttoned your white button up just enough to pull your breasts out of your bra. Seulgi visibly shivered and you stood in front of her. "If you cum unauthorized I'll stop" You said, unbuckling her belt and pulling her dick out. "If you try to scent me I'll stop and kick your ass out of here" You have a good look to her cock.

It was was absolutely hung and veiny, throbbing on your hand as you pulled your pencil skirt up on your thighs and your panties to the side, sinking in next. Yes it was big and stretched you just fine, but you didn't express any type of reaction. She moaned, her eyes attentive on yours.

"If you manage to obey me until the end I'll be your dom" You told her, rolling your hips against her cock and she grabbed at the couch, whimpering. "If you want to stop you can just ask. Understood?" You said through gritted teeth.

"yes, b-boss" She stammered, her eyes rolling back a little.

You started riding her like there was no tomorrow, your cunt sinking deliciously on her cock and coating it with your slick. You tried to, but couldn't resist her pretty lips when she made all those sinful moans, kissing her roughly with your hand tangled on her beautiful wavy hair. You pulled it back, exposing her neck to lick and bite as you set an impossibly harder pace, your hips slamming against hers.

You moaned against each other's lips and she stopped kissing you to grab one of your boobs between her lips and you yelped, her tongue felt deliciously hot against your nipple. You stopped bouncing on her lap and started humping, your clit grazing against the fabric of her pants and a little bit of exposed skin. You were about to cum, clenching and unclenching on her big cock completely stretched.

"You want to cum inside me so much, I can feel it" You decided to play dirty as she sucked on your nipples very sloppily, coating your breasts with her saliva. "Aren't you an alpha after all?" You gather every ounce o strength you had not to moan while saying all that, but the woman was a rock. Holding herself in the most painful, delicious way.

In a last attempt to make her cum before you, you grabbed her neck while kissing her, squeezing it just right to a perfect chockehold. She shivered, her body shaking so hard it felt good under you.

You were still mounting here and absolutely losing the battle, cumming so hard on her cock you saw nothing but blank spots, body slumping forward on hers as she kept taking deep breaths with her eyes closed. You tried to catch your breath, swallowing hard when you managed to look at her face.

Absolutely beautiful and that little dumb look was pathetic but oh, so fucking hot. You kissed her roughly again, holding her neck.

"You did good, congratulations Ms. Kang" You said and she bit her lip, smiling. "I could've let you cum inside me..." You got off of her lap and she hissed, you felt your legs weak. "But I didn't told you to suck my breasts" You scoffed, sitting by her side.

"I am so sorry boss, I-" You shushed her, pulling her head to your lap, commanding her to lie down on the couch and she did, her dick standing proudly erect and furiously red from all the action and no cum.

"To show you I am no monster, I'll make you cum" You said, pulling her mouth to your nipple, your hand going to her cock. "Suck as hard as you can, but tell me when you get closer"

"Yes, boss" Her beautiful brown eyes glimmered and you bit your lip. "Thank you so much" She said, putting her mouth to work as you spat on your hand then started to pump her cock up and down, swirling your hand against the tip, your thumb rubbing at her slit.

She moaned against your breast, releasing a lot of precum as her body shook. It took less than a minute of you jerking her off, that's how needy she was.

"I'm close" She said, tensing and you completely stopped letting go of her cock. She whined, her mouth still sucking hard on your nipple and you whimpered.

She didn't protest, didn't even stop sucking. She held herself again, like a good girl. You caressed her hair, starting all over again that beautiful torture, jerking her even harder, her hips shaking as you stopped once again, feeling her hot tears on your lap. Fuck, she was so beautiful.

"Shh, it's okay" You cooed as she sobbed still sucking your breasts, her eyes locked into yours. Her nose was red and her eyes puffy. A masterpiece. "It's okay Ms Kang, this it the last time..." You said.

Going back to jerking her off, you could feel on the way she tossed against the couch how painful that was but she didn't complain once. You felt your pride grow, coaxing her into her climax. It hit her hard as your palm rubbed specially against the tip.

She came hard, ropes and ropes of her thick cum filling your hand and you kept swirling her tip. She was still crying, your breasts purple with how forceful her sucking was, but you didn't mind in the slightest.

You kept saying sweet nothings onto her ear, helping her to recollect herself and to come out of subspace, her sobs felt electrifying against your skin but you knew she couldn't take anything anymore.

You took your hand to her mouth and she licked it clean, sucking on every bit of her cum she could take from your hand as you caressed her hair, being careful not to scent her.

"Good girl... you were perfect Ms Kang" You whispered and she nodded, still sucking on your fingers. "Now you are my good loyal dog" You said, excitement taking over you when you realized how this finding was uncommon...

[halfmoonshines]

Hey! I saw that your requests are open and I wanted to know if I could get a fluffy angst with Damon Salvatore x poc(or ambiguous appearance, if that's easier for you) fem reader, in which she is his girlfriend and consoles him after Lily's death and understand why he reacted the way he did and don't judge him, please?

thank you for the prompt; it got me to write today!!

send any fic requests here!!

Unrepenting

damon x f!poc reader

summary; Being untouchable was one of the only things Damon had ever had a chance of being in control over. He didn't like sentimental threats to that carefully crafted shield, but if his mother dying again didn't splinter it, your love for him certainly would

angst/fluff

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

Damon didn't know he was holding his breath until your hand landed on his back and he gave a sharp intake.

"I thought I would find you out here." Your warm, lilting voice was a balm over the ice that had been frosting his skin for the last hour. Since the incident.

"You know this is my favorite place to drink. The view is impeccable." Damon had always favored your family home, nestled at the edge of town right on the forest line.

The house was nice, large property and wrap around porch with perfect seating to watch the sun rise over the trees. He would always sneak out of your bed in the early hours of the morning and sit in one of your fluffy reading chairs that he swears are over the top, just to watch the sky pink on the horizon. Since having to give up the boarding house, he's basically moved in.

He wasn't relaxing in a lounger now, though. He was leaned against the railing of the porch with a glass in his hand, posture indicating nonchalance but the tightness in his shoulders told you everything you needed to know.

Your hand came around from his back to his chest, eyes trying to demand his attention. He was distracted for a moment, by how beautiful you always are. Ever-soft hair and skin a darker shade of brown than any time in the sun could do, lips that always smiled at him. Even when other people didn't.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked quietly, mouth worriedly pursing instead.

His hand that had been rising to meet yours dropped, jaw clenching as he turned back to face the treeline. "Nothing to talk about. She's dead and conveniently left us with the problem of her insane boyfriend."

His words were venomous, a swift gulp from his glass following them. You knew Damon, knew the ins and outs of his bravado and his trauma. You knew that his hatred for his mothers actions, and his grief over losing her in so many ways were not mutually exclusive. They roiled together inside of him like angry lions staking a claim.

You leaned up next to him, eyes searching for his again as he favored the sky. "We definitely do have a problem we still need to handle. And she is gone. Really gone, this time."

His tumultuous feelings simmered in the back of his throat, coating his thoughts in the same black ink reserved for all of those that he had loved too much. "Are you here to lecture me on how unhealthy it is to pretend I don't care that my mommy is dead?" He said it like a joke, some small child asking for extra desert. "Because I'm not pretending. That bitch did everything but be a mother, and now I have someone else chomping at the bit to murder me or send me to eternal prison because she couldn't even handle being a martyr correctly."

Your body shifted in front of his quickly and efficiently, shimmying yourself between the deck and him, demanding his full attention. His eyes met yours reluctantly after your hands came to rest on his chest, thumbs rubbing soothing circles through the fabric there.

"She was unhealthy, Damon. She never once chose you when it mattered, and all you wanted was what all kids want from their mothers. Love. She couldn't give it to you, and no matter what everyone else thinks - there's no right way to heal from that. You were expected to process a lot of things emotionally very quickly, and to be honest, I'm not sure she deserved your forgiveness. No one can tell you how to feel. I'm just so proud that you're allowing yourself to feel anything."

His hands coming up to touch your face almost distracted you from the mist in his eyes, and you offered him a small smile while he sought comfort at your touch.

Damon wasn't very sure about anything in his long life, even the emotions battling inside him now were ambiguous and clouded. But the dark haired man knew with every fucking fiber of his being that you were going to destroy him one day. The tears threatening to fall from his eyes an indication of the hold you had on his soul. He didn't want to think of his mom. The abandonment, resentment and lies. It bled into everything else in that little box he keeps tucked away. His father and Katherine and Stefan and Elena and everyone who had ever promised to protect him but ripped him to shreds instead were pounding at their confines, begging to wreak havoc on him.

"This really fucking sucks." His voice was almost a whisper, tears falling just as silently.

Your posture changed to match his, mirror images. Stood bent over each other, hands cupping the others face. Your fingers moved slowly, wiping the moisture from his cheeks. "It does fucking suck. You can feel however you want about that. However, we will be together in this. Whatever this is. Always."

You loved him before he saved your life, but now he was ingrained into every part of you. That night a year ago changed nothing about how you felt for Damon - he was always meant to be yours.

"Can I hold you?" Damon needed something tangible to ground him, your satin curves molded to his chest.

"Let's go inside, babe." Your smile was the same as it always was for him, large and glittering, as you grabbed one of his hands from your face to lead him inside.

You were thinking of just how much Damon Salvatore had grown over the last few years while he was moseying after you into the house, drink dangling from his fingers while he thought of what wedding ring would fit your beautiful umber colored hand best.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

my works

[jump-in-the-whump]

idea: living weapon whumpee relapsing after whumper finds them and they murder caretaker's friend.

Ohhh yes yes yes!! Such a good idea, my brain just wouldn't shut up about it, so i wrote a drabble out of it. I hope you like it! ;)

The evening began in hues of gold and crimson, sunlight pouring over the horizon and casting the cozy kitchen in a warm glow. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the tea Caretaker had set on the wooden table. Whumpee sat in the corner of the room, hunched slightly, their sharp silhouette softened by the oversized sweater Caretaker had gifted them. The sleeves were too long, covering their hands, but it was clear that Whumpee found solace in the garment. They always did, hiding in its folds like it was a shield against the world.

Caretaker’s friend, a jovial man with a kind smile and a laugh that could fill a room, leaned back in his chair, gesturing animatedly as he recounted a story from his travels. Whumpee’s mismatched eyes flickered to him occasionally, a shadow of unease tightening their shoulders with each rise in his voice. But they didn’t flee the room, nor did they lash out. Progress, Caretaker thought, as they carried the tea tray to the table.

“Another success, you’d say, right?” Caretaker’s friend grinned, lifting his mug in a toast.

Caretaker smiled back, glancing at Whumpee. “Absolutely. Baby steps are still steps.”

Whumpee blinked slowly, their lips parting as if they meant to say something. But whatever words they had died in their throat as the air in the room shifted. A shadow passed over the golden glow of the setting sun, and with it came a suffocating pressure.

Whumpee froze.

Caretaker felt it too, the strange, electric prickle along their skin that preceded Whumpee’s episodes. They turned, their brow furrowing in concern. “Whumpee, are you okay?”

But Whumpee’s expression was vacant, their breathing shallow. Their hands twitched under the sweater's sleeves, and a low, almost inaudible whine escaped their throat. The teacup before them shattered as their fingers clenched convulsively, shards scattering across the table like broken promises.

“Whumpee?” Caretaker’s voice rose slightly, alarmed now.

And then, there was a knock at the door.

Whumper stood on the porch, their polished boots gleaming in the dying light. They were dressed impeccably, as always, a figure of composed malevolence. Their smile was a thin, cruel thing that barely reached their eyes, and in their hand was a briefcase, as if they were here on some casual business.

Caretaker opened the door hesitantly, instinctively stepping in front of their home like a barrier. They didn’t recognize Whumper, but something about them set their nerves alight. “Can I help you?” they asked, their tone polite but guarded.

“Ah, you must be Caretaker.” Whumper’s voice was smooth, disarmingly pleasant. “I’m an old… associate of Whumpee’s. I heard they were here and thought I’d pay a visit.”

Caretaker’s blood ran cold. Associate? No. Whumpee had never mentioned anyone, let alone someone who looked like this, a predator cloaked in civility. “I’m sorry,” they said, their grip tightening on the door. “Whumpee isn’t receiving visitors.”

“Is that so?” Whumper tilted their head, their smile widening. “Well, I think they’d want to see me.”

“No, they wouldn’t.”

The response wasn’t Caretaker’s. It came from behind them, a voice so sharp, so venomous, that it barely sounded like Whumpee at all. Caretaker turned to see them standing there, their face pale, their eyes wide and glowing faintly in the encroaching twilight. Whumpee’s hands were trembling as they were holding a kitchen knife, but their posture was rigid, their entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

Whumper’s expression shifted, their amusement deepening. “Ah, Whumpee. It’s been too long.”

What happened next was chaos. Whumpee moved faster than Caretaker had ever seen them move before, faster than any human should be capable of moving. One moment, they were standing in the doorway; the next, they had tackled Whumper, the two of them rolling off the porch and into the grass. The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed in the still evening air, accompanied by Whumper’s low, mocking laughter.

Caretaker’s friend appeared in the doorway, his face pale. “What the hell is happening?” he hissed.

“Stay inside!” Caretaker barked, rushing down the steps. They hesitated, unsure of how to intervene without putting themselves in danger. Whumpee was a blur of motion, swinging the knife here and there, and yet, Whumper seemed unbothered, catching Whumpee’s wrists and holding them still as if they weighed nothing.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” Whumper said, their voice calm despite the violence. “But you’re sloppy. I told you before, Whumpee, you’ll never beat me.”

Whumpee let out a guttural snarl, twisting free and aiming a blow at Whumper’s throat. But then Whumper whispered something, a single word that Caretaker couldn’t hear, and Whumpee froze. Their glowing hands dimmed, their entire body shuddering violently.

“No…” Whumpee choked out, their voice trembling with a mix of rage and fear. “No, no, no.”

Whumper’s smile returned, smug and triumphant. “That’s it. You remember now, don’t you? You remember who you are. What you are.”

Caretaker couldn’t stand it anymore. They stepped forward, their hands outstretched. “Whumpee, listen to me! You don’t have to—”

Whumpee turned on them, their glowing eyes wild and unseeing. “Stay back!” they screamed, their voice laced with panic. And then, in the next breath: “I can’t— I can’t stop it.”

It happened in an instant.

Caretaker’s friend, trying to help, stepped out of the house, calling Whumpee’s name. Whumpee’s gaze snapped to him, and in their frenzied state, they didn’t see a friend. They saw a threat. Their body moved on instinct, the weapon inside them taking control.

So Whumpee threw the knife in their hands, and Caretaker’s friend didn’t even have time to scream. The knife struck him square in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

“No!” Caretaker screamed, rushing to their friend’s side. But it was too late. His eyes stared blankly at the sky, his body unnaturally still.

Whumpee staggered back, their trembling hands raised to their face. “No, no, no,” they whispered, over and over, as if denying it would make it untrue, while tears streamed down their face. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Whumper said, their voice dripping with false sympathy. “But that’s the thing about weapons, isn’t it? They don’t get to choose. They just… do what they’re made to do.”

Whumpee sank to their knees, clutching their head, their body trembling, their hands stained with the memory of what they had done. Caretaker knelt beside their fallen friend, their shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Whumpee whispered, their voice breaking. “I didn’t want to… I didn’t mean to…”

Caretaker didn’t respond at first. They couldn’t. Grief and anger warred within them, tearing at their heart like jagged claws. But when they finally spoke, their voice was quiet, hollow. “Go away.”

Whumpee gasped, not sure that they understood what Caretaker had said. “C-Caretaker, I…. I don't….”

“I don't care!” Caretaker shouted, their grip on their friend's lifeless body tightening. “I told you to go away.”

“Caretaker...” Whumpee sobbed and reached out to Caretaker, who instead pulled away. Then Whumper, who was watching the whole thing with a wicked smile on their face, spoke. “Did you hear that, Whumpee? He's chasing you away…. But if you want, I'll welcome you with open arms.”

Whumpee sighed through tears, raising their head to look at Whumper. Right, where else would they go but to Whumper?

Thank you so much for the ask!

[reallygroovyninja]

A Time of Wolves Among Vipers

On the sunlit practice field, Clarke squared off against her trainer, a veteran warrior named Rhea. Her sharp, appraising gaze held a hint of respect for the young alpha, yet there was no mistaking the firm resolve in her stance. Rhea’s movements were smooth and measured, as if she were already predicting Clarke’s every attempt before she even moved. 

"Remember, Alpha," Rhea began, her tone carrying both authority and wisdom, "a true fighter isn’t led by their blade but leads it. Balance your mind with your body, and your sword will follow." 

Clarke nodded, gripping her sword tighter as she watched Rhea's stance shift slightly, a silent invitation to begin. Clarke stepped forward, her blade slicing through the air in a quick strike, but Rhea met it effortlessly, their swords ringing out in a clash that reverberated through the field. Clarke attempted another series of strikes, faster this time, only for Rhea to counter each one with practiced ease, her feet shifting and weaving with impeccable timing. 

"Your strength and speed mean little without control," Rhea remarked, deflecting a particularly forceful blow that Clarke had hoped might throw her off. "The greatest alphas command their power through patience, knowing when to strike and when to hold." 

Clarke huffed, feeling the sting of frustration rise as Rhea parried every advance, leaving Clarke almost dancing to keep up with the older woman’s graceful footwork. Each misstep Clarke made, Rhea would capitalize on with a well-placed strike, reminding her of how crucial timing and balance were. 

The sun climbed higher as they continued, and though sweat began to form on Clarke’s brow, Rhea remained steady and composed, her breathing controlled, her focus unbreakable. Clarke forced herself to calm down, slowing her breathing, studying Rhea’s rhythm—there, just before she would counterattack, Rhea slightly overextended her reach with her left foot. Clarke made a mental note and adjusted her stance, waiting for the right moment. 

"Never let emotion blind you, Alpha," Rhea said, her gaze sharp. "Anger will close your eyes to opportunity and dull your instinct." 

Clarke nodded, absorbing her trainer’s words. With renewed focus, she drove forward, leading with a feint to Rhea’s left before pivoting right. Rhea’s blade rose to block high, and in that split-second, Clarke saw it: the slight gap in her defense, the opening she’d been waiting for. 

With a swift strike, Clarke lunged through the space, her sword finding its mark just above Rhea’s guard. Rhea staggered, momentarily thrown off-balance, and Clarke pressed forward, her blade now poised close to her trainer’s shoulder. 

Rhea paused, then slowly nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. “Well fought, Alpha. You found your way past my defense through patience and observation. Remember this—every opponent has their rhythm, their moment of vulnerability. Learn to see it, and even the strongest will fall before you.” 

Clarke lowered her sword, chest heaving with exertion, but pride warming her heart. She had bested Rhea not through sheer force but with keen perception and focus—traits her trainer had known she’d need, both on the battlefield and beyond. 

Clarke wiped the sweat from her brow, her chest still heaving as she sheathed her sword. She turned to Rhea, a grateful smile breaking through her exhaustion. 

“Thank you, Rhea,” Clarke said, inclining her head respectfully. “Your training has taught me more than I could have imagined.” 

Rhea’s eyes softened, though her posture remained as sharp and upright as ever. “It’s been an honor, Alpha,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice. “You’ve shown today what separates a true leader from a warrior—a willingness to learn, to watch, to be humbled. Power and title alone do not define an alpha.” 

Clarke nodded, absorbing her words. Rhea took a step closer, placing a steady hand on Clarke’s shoulder. 

“Remember this,” she continued, her voice low and firm. “You are strong, yes, but strength without wisdom will shatter like brittle steel. Trust your instincts, but do not become a prisoner to them. A true alpha knows when to strike and, more importantly, when to hold back.” 

Clarke met Rhea’s gaze, feeling the weight of her words sink in. “I’ll remember that.” 

Rhea’s hand dropped from Clarke’s shoulder, her expression softening. “One more thing, Alpha,” she added. “In battle, the fiercest warriors are those who fight not just for power but for those they love, for something greater than themselves. When you face a challenge you cannot see past, think of the people you protect and the future you want to build. Let that be your guiding blade.” 

A quiet moment passed between them, and Clarke felt a surge of resolve fill her chest. She knew that Rhea’s words weren’t merely advice for swordsmanship—they were lessons on how to lead, how to be a ruler worthy of the crown she would one day wear. 

With a final nod of respect, Clarke took a step back. “Thank you, Rhea. I won’t forget any of this.” 

Rhea offered a rare smile, her gaze proud. “Good. Then you’ll be more than ready when your time comes, Alpha.” 

Clarke watched as Rhea disappeared across the practice field, her mind still processing the weight of her trainer’s words. Before she could turn to gather her things, she heard hurried footsteps approaching. She turned to see a young messenger, breathless, his expression serious as he stopped before her and bowed. 

“Alpha,” he said quickly, catching his breath. “The Elders request your presence. Immediately.” 

Clarke raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was rare to be summoned by the Elders—rarer still with such urgency. Her interactions with them were often formalities, ceremonial gestures to maintain tradition, but an immediate summons was unusual. 

“Very well,” Clarke replied, sensing the gravity in his tone. She fell in step behind the messenger as they moved swiftly through the corridors, her mind racing with questions. Why now? And why the urgency? 

They soon arrived before the heavy wooden doors of the Elders’ meeting chamber, guarded by two solemn sentries who stepped aside at her approach. The messenger gestured to the door, indicating that her presence was expected inside. Clarke took a steadying breath, pushing the door open and stepping into the dimly lit room. 

Inside, the chamber was silent, illuminated only by flickering torches casting shadows across the stone walls. The Elders sat in a semicircle around a large, imposing table, their expressions unreadable. At the head of the table sat the Head Elder, an elderly man with snow-white hair and a weathered face, his eyes sharp and assessing as they met hers. 

“Alpha,” he spoke, his voice carrying a quiet authority. He gestured to an empty chair positioned directly across from him. “Please, take a seat.” 

Clarke crossed the room, feeling the weight of their collective gaze on her. She inclined her head respectfully before sitting, her mind still searching for answers as to why she had been called here so urgently. 

Once she was seated, the Head Elder continued, his gaze unwavering. “You are likely wondering why we have summoned you,” he began, his tone measured but laced with a hint of something Clarke couldn’t quite place—anticipation, perhaps, or maybe even concern. “Know that we do not call upon the heir of Arkadia lightly, nor without cause.” 

Clarke leaned forward slightly, her full attention on the elder, sensing that whatever he was about to say would shape the path ahead of her. 

The Head Elder regarded Clarke with a calm but firm expression, his voice steady as he began to speak. 

“Alpha Clarke, the clan has reached a decision,” he announced, his gaze unwavering. “After lengthy discussion, we have entered into an alliance with the kingdom of Polis. To solidify this alliance, it has been agreed that you will join with the king of Polis’s eldest omega.” 

Clarke’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise—and something darker—flashing across her face. She leaned forward, her voice edged with disbelief. “An alliance with Polis?” she questioned. “With all due respect, the animosity between our kingdoms runs deep. Our history is drenched in blood. Do you truly believe a union can bridge such wounds?” 

The Head Elder’s face softened, though his resolve remained evident. “I understand your hesitation, Alpha,” he replied. “The pain between our people is long and not easily forgotten. But times are changing, and we must choose the path of peace, not further conflict. We believe that this union—your union—will be the first step toward healing and mending the divide between Arkadia and Polis.” 

Clarke felt her chest tighten as the weight of the decision settled upon her. The thought of joining with a stranger, an omega from a kingdom she’d been raised to view as an adversary, felt like stepping into a storm of the unknown. And yet, she could sense the unwavering determination in the elder’s words, the vision they held for a future far removed from the struggles of the past. 

The Head Elder’s voice broke through her thoughts, measured but unyielding. “The joining ceremony will take place in one month’s time. Preparations will begin immediately. Should you have any further questions, you may speak with your father. But know that the matter is settled.” 

With a final, dismissive wave of his hand, the Head Elder signaled that the discussion was over, leaving no room for argument. Clarke felt the burn of unspoken words in her throat, but she swallowed them, nodding stiffly as she rose from her seat. She cast one last glance around the room, feeling the weight of the elders’ expectations settle heavily upon her shoulders. 

Without another word, she turned and made her way to the door, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions as she left the chamber, knowing that in one month’s time, her fate—and that of her kingdom—would be forever altered. 

Clarke strode down the stone corridors of the castle, her mind churning with thoughts as she made her way to her father’s office. She needed answers, and only King Jacob could provide them. Reaching his door, she took a steadying breath and knocked. 

“Enter,” came his deep voice from within. 

She pushed the door open, finding him seated behind his desk, poring over maps and documents. He looked up, and his face softened as he saw her, though he couldn’t miss the tension in her expression. 

“Clarke,” he greeted, gesturing for her to sit. “What troubles you?” 

Without preamble, Clarke sat across from him, her gaze sharp. “Father, I’ve just come from the Elders. They’ve informed me of the alliance with Polis…and of the marriage arrangement.” 

King Jacob’s face grew somber as he folded his hands, nodding slowly. “Yes, I know this news must be sudden for you,” he said. “The alliance has only recently come to fruition. Polis reached out to us, seeking peace. To ensure the alliance’s strength, the king of Polis offered his firstborn omega as a joining gift, a symbol of unity.” 

Clarke’s jaw tightened as she absorbed his words. “And the Elders believe this will bring peace and prosperity? Even after a hundred years of animosity?” 

King Jacob sighed, his gaze distant. “They see an opportunity, Clarke. Our people have not forgotten the bloodshed and betrayal, nor have they healed from the divisions of the past. The wounds remain, raw and deep. But an alliance, secured by a union between our bloodlines…they believe it could be a bridge, a chance to move forward. The Elders hope it will foster a lasting peace.” 

Clarke leaned forward, her voice filled with uncertainty. “But can a single union truly bridge the gap? Will it be enough to change centuries of distrust?” She hesitated, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her resolve. “What if it does more harm than good, stirring resentment rather than unity?” 

King Jacob met her gaze, the lines on his face deepening as he considered her words. “That is a possibility,” he acknowledged. “But sometimes, to heal the wounds of the past, we must first take a leap of faith. Trust and unity are fragile, yes, but they are also powerful. If we approach this alliance with hope and open minds, there is a chance—a small one, perhaps, but a chance—that we can move toward something greater. Peace is worth taking the risk.” 

Clarke fell silent, her father’s words settling into her heart like stones in a river. She wanted to believe in the possibility of peace, but the fear of failure gnawed at her, whispering that unity might be nothing more than an illusion. 

King Jacob reached across the desk, placing a reassuring hand on hers. “You are strong, Clarke. I know that the weight of this decision is heavy, but you carry it with honor. This marriage is a path forward, one that will test you but also allow you to show the strength of our family and kingdom.” 

Clarke nodded, a mixture of determination and doubt flickering in her eyes. “I will do what is asked of me, Father. But I hope the Elders understand the risks they are taking with this union.” 

King Jacob gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “They do, and so do I. But we must hold onto faith, Clarke, for without it, peace will never come.” 

Clarke drew a deep breath, steadying herself as she prepared to ask the difficult questions lingering in her mind. “Father,” she began, her voice measured, “what…what exactly will this joining entail?” 

King Jacob looked at her, his gaze softened by understanding but firm with the reality of the situation. “The ceremony will follow the traditional vows of Polis,” he explained. “They will bind you and the omega in their sacred tradition, uniting our families in the eyes of both our people.” 

Clarke nodded, feeling the gravity of it settle in. But one detail remained unclear, one that carried its own cultural significance. “And…what about the mating mark?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral. “Polis requires mates to mark one another as a bond of loyalty.” 

Her father shook his head, his expression resolute. “No, Clarke. On this, we held firm to Arkadia’s tradition. The mating mark will not be required. You may choose to do so later, should the bond deepen and both of you desire it, but it will not be forced upon either of you as part of the union.” 

Relief touched her features briefly, though it was tempered by the many unknowns still looming ahead. The traditions of Polis felt foreign, heavy with demands she’d never anticipated. 

King Jacob hesitated for a moment before continuing, his gaze steady. “However, there is one matter that must be addressed, and I want to be clear about this. The consummation of the union will need to be…verified.” 

Clarke’s expression tightened, recalling tales she had heard about “watchers,” guards or attendants positioned in the room to ensure consummation occurred. A shudder crept up her spine at the thought, and King Jacob, noticing her reaction, quickly clarified. 

“No one will be in the room with you, Clarke,” he assured her. “The Elders of Polis have agreed that such traditions will not be followed here. Instead, they will send someone to…inspect the omega the following morning to confirm the act.” 

Clarke grimaced but gave a short nod, the weight of her role and responsibility pressing down on her more heavily than ever. It was humiliating, and yet she understood why Polis would make such demands. This union was more than ceremony; it was a symbol, a fragile bridge of trust, and they would be ruthless in securing its integrity. 

After a pause, she forced herself to ask, “Is there anything else I should know?” 

King Jacob’s expression grew more solemn, and he took a deep breath before he spoke. “There is one final stipulation. It is non-negotiable, Clarke. The omega must be with child within one year of your union. Should that not happen, the alliance will be called off.” 

Clarke felt the weight of the words settle heavily on her shoulders. She was being tasked not only with marrying a stranger, with bridging a divide between two worlds, but with producing a child to solidify this delicate peace. The pressure of it all threatened to crush her resolve, and yet she straightened, her chin lifting with determination. 

“I understand,” she replied, though her voice was softer than before, marked by a vulnerability she rarely showed. The enormity of her duty—the duty to bring forth life with someone she had been raised to view as an adversary—was daunting, and she could feel the toll it would take upon her heart and spirit. 

King Jacob reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know this is not easy, Clarke. I know this task asks much of you. But you are strong, and you are capable of leading our people through this change. Remember, you are not alone in this. You have the strength of your ancestors and the support of your family behind you.” 

Clarke nodded, swallowing hard as she steadied herself for the road ahead. She knew that with every step, she would be walking a delicate line between trust and duty, between tradition and change. And somehow, she would have to find a way to make it her own. 

[tonycries]

You gem. You absolute masterpiece of God. You shining piece of gold. You are a piece of art, that the Angels drawn angels Earth,and forgot the paint brush. You have a freckle on your neck. Did you know that?

It´s rather cute.

You are absolute,astoundingly gorgeous and that´s the less interesting thing about you. You are Ethereal. A Heavenly Angel that God send down to Earth to put a smile in people in the worst days. You are so beautiful that you holy light cures depression itself. You are the pinnacle of perfection.

You are the most gorgeous person that i have ever seen. You hair is one of the most gorgeous that i´ve ever seen. And you smell like strawberrys.

You are always so happy and kind to people, it´s like a big breath of fresh air when i walk into the street and see you! You haven´t worn makeup all week? Damn, you´re gorgeous! You carry yourself with much more maturity than most people on the Internet!

I love talking to you. You dress in a stunning way,and you look really nice every day. You look just like your mother,she was a beautiful human being.

Damn,that confidence looks really sexy on you! You think your beauty is on your considerably big breasts? Look up! I adore you. You are a real life Mona Lisa. You are the breathing,talking,living equivalent of a piece of art. I love seeing your smile,it brightens my day every time. I wish i could make you laught like that more often. You´re beautiful all the time,but when you smile like that,i swear my world stops!

I cannot believe how incredibly smart you are. Amazingly smart. Beautifully smart. Q.I. of 100 smart. Higher than Einstein Q.I smart. Einstein would be envious os you. You could decyphre the secrets of the universe if you could,and you will one day.

You´re that "nothing" when people ask me what i´m thinking about. You look great today. You´re a smart cookie. I bet you make babies smile. You have impeccable manners. I like your style. You have the best laught.I aprecciate you. You are the most perfect you there is. Our system of inside jokes is so advanced that only you and i get it. And I like it. You light up the room. You should be proud of yourself. If cartoon bluebirds were real,they would be sitting on your shoulders singing with you right now. You´re a great listener. I bet you sweat glitter. Jokes are funnier when you tell them. Your bellybutton is kind of adorable. You´re irrestible when you blush. Babies and small animals probably love you. There´s ordinary,and then there´s you. You´re someone´s reason to smile. You´re even better than a Unicorn,because

you´re real. How do you keep so funny and making everyone laugh? Has anyone ever told you that you have a great posture? The way you treasure your loved ones is incredible. You´re really something special,you´re a gift to those around you.

Did i mentioned that i love you?

*SOBS*

For someone that yaps uncontrollably, I genuinely have no words omg 😳

Now I can die happily knowing what those shoujo protagonists feel like, are you by chance looking for an alpha wife, user jxdenix?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’M HERE FOR THE TEA please can we see Mama Rosehearts seeing Trey again?? You know the boy she probably blames for leading her son astray with SUGAR 😆 maybe throw in the Clover siblings or Clover parents too? Only if you want to though!

Scalding hot tea to go with those banned strawberry tarts... 👀 (Not gonna lie though, it's so funny to me that Mrs. Rosehearts may see Trey, one of THE most normal and mild-mannered dudes in the main TWST cast, as some kind of twisted degenerate that peddles an addictive white powder to her child 🤡)

While writing this, I kept thinking of the passive aggressive dinner scene in Shrek 2 (that eventually turned into a full-blown food fight) 😅 Trey can be Shrek since he's green and Mrs. Rosehearts can be Fiona's dad since they're both protective parents-- (I decided to keep it to Trey, Riddle, and Mrs. Rosehearts! The rest of the Clover family would be a lot of people to account for in one interactions.)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Trey was used to cutting cakes, not cutting tension. The vice dorm leader job description had said nothing about the latter—yet here he was, newly saddled with the responsibility.

To his right was Riddle, forcing himself to maintain impeccable posture for afternoon tea. Back straight, head up, eyes forward, as he wove a teaspoon through a cup of warm liquid. Normally, he would slightly sweeten his tea with honey—but he went without it today, only stirring on reflex.

A ha-RUMPH! sounded as Riddle set the teaspoon down on his saucer. Their guest was disapproving, as Trey had expected. He gathered his strength and muttered a silent prayer to the Great Seven.

"Tea?" Trey offered the woman to his right, teapot at the ready.

Mrs. Rosehearts tapped a dagger-like nail against her arm. She had painted them a deep crimson, the exact shade of the red velvet cakes Patisserie Clover whipped up—though with the scathing expression she wore, Trey figured the last thing she wanted to hear about was baked goods. The woman looked like she was out for his blood, rich and oh-so-red.

"Okaaay, no tea then." Trey carefully returned the teapot to its spot and reached for a plate of the least sweet item avaliable. "How about a finger sandwich? We've got all different kinds of fillings, so just pick the one you like."

Mrs. Rosehearts didn't so much as pass the poor sandwiches a glance out of pity.

"Alright, I guess that's also a negatory?"

Her icy eyes bore into Trey, silently judging him. The tension thickened, turning heftier than a filling pea soup (though he doubted she was in the mood for any food at this point).

A hand reached over and plucked a sandwich from the top of the pile, staving off some rigidity in the air.

"Thank you, Trey." Riddle offered a small smile.

"You're very welcome. Don't eat it all up in one bite now. Remember to save some for everyone else," Trey joked light-heartedly. "You've got a smoked salmon on whole wheat there. I tossed the fish in lemon juice, salt, and pepper, then mixed it with a little cream cheese, dill, and minced onion."

"Is that right? It sounds delicious and healthy," Riddle said carefully, emphasizing the final word. He delicately nibbled at the crusts--still left on--while eyeing the contents of his teacup.

The table settled back into a stiff silence. Riddle staring at his drink, his mother staring at Trey, and Trey staring at the wall behind her. If he made eye contact, would she explode?

Trey rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. His hand came away damp with perspiration. He dared to say what was on everyone's mind.

"Well, uh... This is awkward."

There was an audibly sharp intake of breath. Riddle, paralyzed. His thumb pressed down hard on his sandwich, puncturing a hole in the bread.

"You're the eldest son of the bakers," Mrs. Rosehearts declared, her first utterance as prickly as thorns. "The boy who led my Riddle astray with sugar."

She makes it sound like I was peddling something way worse than what it actually was! It was only a slice of strawberry tart...

Trey bit back his protests and tried at a smile. He and Riddle had spent hours reviewing and rehearsing their game plan for this dreaded moment. "Don't challenge her, don't instigate," his dorm leader had instructed him. "Be agreeable. Lie if you must. Whatever it takes for us to come out of this encounter unscathed."

His had confidence wavered, worry in his big eyes. A flash of fear, and Trey saw the sad little child from years before, the fat tears that had been dribbling down Riddle’s contorted face. Sobbing, apologizing, pleading.

He had tipped his head and nodded. A mere card soldier obeying his queen. The line he parroted so often was spoken once more: “Yes, dorm leader.”

Trey reached within himself for the best he could manage. "It's nice to see you again, ma'am."

"If only I could say the same!!" Mrs. Rosehearts huffed dismissively. She then snapped, quick as a whip, to Riddle, who flinched. "It’s no wonder why you came home in such a sorry state for the holidays! I suspected it for a while now, but this confirms it. You’ve been reintroduced to bad influences at school."

“That’s not exactly…” Riddle trailed off, his voice weak. His mother continued to rant, undaunted.

“NRC has its fair share of students that cause trouble,” Trey confessed, tactfully cutting in. “Still, that’s to be expected of teenage boys."

“My Riddle rarely ever behaves in such a disrespectful manner,” Mrs. Rosehearts retorted. Rarely stung like a slap to the face. “Were it not for poor choices in friendship, he would never act out.

“Why a prestigious learning institution like Night Raven College would allow such riffraff in, I’ll never understand! They only ruin it for the others. It only takes one bad seed to spoil the whole bunch.”

She didn't name names, but it was clear who she was talking about from where she directed her intense gaze.

“I don’t know about spoiled apples, but bruised ones can still be used,” Trey pointed out, eager to divert the heated topic. “They don’t look the best, but they still taste fine. Bruised apples work for lots of recipes. Salads, sauces, ciders, jams..."

The smoked salmon sandwich slipped, falling into Riddle’s untouched tea. His eyes widened. Then Trey’s slowly followed. Both of them caught the misstep, their times staggered.

The scowl on Mrs. Rosehearts deepened, her crimson lips forming an almost bloody line. “You would just love to stuff my son with more of that sugary poison, wouldn’t you? Just like you’ve filled his head with your poisonous thoughts!!”

“What? No, I wouldn’t… I haven’t—” He instinctively pivoted to providing a defense, something to placate her.

It was an ill-advised mistake.

"Young man!!" Face red, she rose from her seat, slamming both hands on the table. The fine china and silverware clattered violently. "First you feed him that horrible junk food, then you've graduated to feeding him all these untruths!! You've done quite enough damage to my son."

He had one foot in the rabbit hole now, the situation spiraling into chaos. Trey braced himself against the verbal barrage, wincing as her volume climbed higher and higher, her features distorting from rage.

A part of him wanted to cry out. To argue, to shout. But fear clawed at his throat, seizing his tongue.

"Look where hanging around you has gotten him! He comes home over the winter break spouting nonsense—nonsense he no doubt picked up from you. I thought I had done all I could to rid us of the pests buzzing around him, but clearly even those efforts haven't been enough!"

"M-Mother, please... I can explain!" Riddle insisted, jumping up. His teacup wobbled, threatening to topple over and stain the table and rug. "I implore you, don't blame Trey--"

"A mother knows what's best for her child! I'll be speaking to the headmaster about this, and there WILL be some changes around here!"

Riddle recoiled, defeated. He balled his hands into fists on his lap—to stop them from shaking.

It's happening, Trey realized. Again, it's happening...

The edges of his vision blurring, his throat closing up. A distant memory of his parents profusely apologizing to a screaming woman. Riddle huddled behind her, in tears, tugging, begging to be heard. Him, standing frozen, unable to act.

"Riddle..." Trey made to place a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, but a protective arm blocked his path. He met the livid face of Mrs. Rosehearts.

"Don't you touch a hair on my son's head.”

His hand jerked back but refused to fall limp to his side. He frowned slightly, brows furrowing in hesitation.

But he pushed himself forward and tumbled deeper down the rabbit hole.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Trey said very evenly, "I get wanting to support and protect him, I really do. That's part of my job as his vice dorm leader—but Riddle doesn’t need it all the time. He’s not the fragile flower you seem to think he is.”

He was the thorns that warded off enemies. He was the stalk, morally upright and willful. He was the roots that burrowed deep and anchored the group.

He was anything but a rose.

“Frankly, I think you sorely underestimate how strong Riddle really is,” Trey continued. He must be, if he has the courage to speak up for me when I couldn’t do the same for him. “I don’t mean just in magic either. He has the will of a queen too.”

Mrs. Rosehearts drew back, positively appalled. Her nostrils flared. "And just what are you insinuating?!"

Shock replaced the delicate discomfort on Riddle’s face. “Trey, you…”

“Ahahah… Sorry, Riddle.” He passed his friend a faint smile. “I guess I couldn’t help but meddle this time. I broke my promise to you. My bad.”

“No, don’t be.” His response was quiet, like the trace of a whisper on a breeze.

“I understand now. It’s not the school that needs changing, but you,” Mrs. Rosehearts snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger at Trey. “I’ll have you expelled from this school!! You won’t ever be put in a position where you can sink your venomous fangs into my…"

"Stop, mother...!!"

"Riddle?" Mrs. Rosehearts looked expectantly at her son. She had stiffened, the fire in her eyes now petrified to stone.

He hesitated under her gaze.

"... Hey. It's okay. You've got this," came a soft voice from beside him. From Riddle's right, his right-hand man. "No one else can speak for you but yourself."

Riddle swallowed. He tried to maintain his cool, but his words came out shaky.

"Mother, I..." He stopped and started again. "You may see Trey as a villain, someone who leads children astray from the good and morally righteous path with a house of sweets. But that's not what he is.”

Riddle remembered the scene well.

In a garden of rose hedges… Collars turned into fluttering playing cards. Then the pitch black had consumed him. A light he had reached for. The hand that had reached back. Someone calling out to him, panicked.

That person was…

"At my darkest moment, Trey was there to stop me from sinking lower than I already had. When I sought a hand in the void, it was he who reached back for me. His hand is what pulled me up when I was down.

“For that, I will always be grateful, no matter what you may think of him. He is worthy of standing by my side as Heartslabyul’s vice dorm leader. That is my decision—a decision acknowledged by all.”

His mother bristled. "You would side with this… this boy over me? Your mother? Your family?"

“I’m suggesting that raising a complaint to the headmaster wouldn’t change the circumstances. He, too, is aware of Trey’s merits as my second-in-command and would wish for him to stay.”

Riddle shared a small, knowing smile with his friend. Indeed, Crowley had been present for the debacle—and indeed, he would promote their support of one another. To save face and reputation. (“Wh-What nonsense is this!! Of course my students are well-mannered and cooperative! What would make you think anything less of them?!”)

“Clever,” Trey mouthed.

“Well, I never!!” Mrs. Rosehearts huffed, abruptly rising from her seat. “The depths of depravity know no bounds!! To think you’ve magically convinced the entire school that you’re good…!!l

“I’ll do my best to show you my good points too, ma’am,” Trey replied. He couldn’t stop a smirk from making its way onto his lips. “After all, everyone at NRC’s like a diamond in the rough. All they need’s their time to shine.“

At this, Riddle coughed into a fist to conceal choked laughter. “… Yes, one could say such a thing. Rest assured, mother; I’m in good hands. There is no learning institution more fit for me than here.”

At our Night Raven College.