#also ignore my terrible lighting
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recent art dumppppp
#aaaaghhh i have had NO time to post or even think hard ab pjsk recently its been making me so stressed out#sorry for being dead on here.. Im Still Here…. Just havent been having any good wxs thoughts recently.#i do have a lot of ideas for art i wanna digitalize though so ill get to that when i have the chance#prsk#pjsk#project sekai#my art#project sekai fanart#prsk fa#tsukasa tenma#rui kamishiro#emu otori#mizuki akiyama#ena shinonome#ichika hoshino#also ignore the terrible lighting#i suck at taking pictures
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reject cleans lines be messy its fun i love doing whatever i want forever yay
anywho, grammar? i hardly know her! .. sorry
#gravity falls#gravity falls stanford#gravity falls ford#gf stanford#stanford pines#art#fanart#gravity falls fanart#stanford pines fanart#i fucking love this guy#ignore my terrible joke#im funnier than this i swear#also ignore the poor lighting#took like 3 tries before i gave up djdhdn#i swooped his hair to the wrong side#its too late to fix that
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have u gotten any presents till now? if yes then haul pls 😖😖
also why are you so good at reading minds i was planning to make a similar gif like the on on haekyun that’s crazy.. psychic perhaps?
okag my tumblr is being shit rn BUT
i got a bunch of stuff 🫠 I GOT THIS PERFUME it smells so good (god everything reminds me of djj bc why did i read "notes" on the back of the perfume n start giggling like a maniac) n also pocky !!! the box of the perfume n pocky are in terrible condition bc my brother is annoying n he likes crushing stuff .... AAAND a bunch of other chocolates which I ate the minute I got them but anyways .. i also got new jeans 👖👖 (the brown ones in the picture 🫣🫣) n i got 1.5k I FEEL SO RICH RN I can buy cute stationary now ...
unfortunately I couldn't meet my friends today bc I didnt want them to get sick bc of me so idk what they got for me .. 😞
also HELLO !! great minds think alike i must say
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Something based off a moment I had with my baby god brother
(Sawyer is @jackgiggles' Fallen London character, Samuel is another one but for some reason I didn't realize he was in the conversation)
#Fallen London#Ambition: Light Fingers#light fingers spoilers#Fallen London OC#Sawyer Wolff#Samuel Wolff#Clarabelle#Hybrid#my post#also ignore my terrible grammar I was still actively watching the baby
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LOOK WHAT I MADE 😁😁😁
#diary#so excited to print these. hehe. also ignore how messy the screen is i fucked the emulsion bad#also shocked myself with my UV light today ???? that was terrible and haunting. whatever
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What trope you will NEVER write ?
While there are tropes that I really don't care for (Enemies to Lovers, Childhood Friends to Lovers), I don't really think there is a trope that I wouldn't write? I think the only thing that would come close is Fake Dating. Not because I have anything against it, I just don't see how it would ever take a part in any of the fics I would want to write. And there also may be a bit of a skill issue with that one too. LOL
But as a whole, I don't really write according to tropes. I don't really care for tropes as a whole. Some of my fics may contain tropes, but it's not purposeful. I just want to tell a story in the way I see fit. If it contains a trope, that's because it fit in with the story I wanted to tell. I always have goals when I write things? I want the fic to achieve certain things. But like fulfilling a trope is never one of them. Idk. I don't read for the trope. I read to read a good story. And that's how I write.
#about me#that being said there are tropes that i'm interested in as concepts#i love the concept of one sided enemies/rivals to lovers#there's something hilarious about seeing someone like 'I HATE YOU' and the other person just like..... chillin#there are also some other tropes i'm interested in but they're not fit for like.... fanfiction. more original fiction stuff#but even then i wouldn't consider them 'tropes' because i wouldn't consider them that popular?#there are just certain dynamics done in fiction that i am absolutely obsessed with#there's this manga/light novel called the wolf-lord's lady#about a noble girl who fell in love with her servant? but in the end the servant headed a coup to take over the... duchy i think?#turns out the noble girl's family was a bunch of dictators that did terrible things to the commoners on the regular#however the noble girl was 'innocent' because she did not know the things her family was doing. but regardless in the end she was executed#the story starts off after she is reincarnated into her second life#she feels she needs to live her life in repentance for her ignorance and the harm it caused#what you find out is that the servant truly loved her as well but was forced to put her to death. he couldn't save her#anyway it's a complex story#but i really love that 'trope' of ignorance and paying the price of it#and the 'trope' of the tragedy of killing the one you love because it is necessary to do so#that would be impossible to add into a fanfic HAHA#but as for the classic tropes like one bed or enemies to lovers or rivals to lovers etc etc etc#idk i........ they don't really appeal to me as concepts?#to me they're just tools#if a story is a 'project' i want to use the right tools to create my 'project' properly. however i don't discriminate between tools#however some people base their 'project' around the tools they aim to use because they enjoy using that tool#that isn't really me
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Lap continues to be heavily disputed territory.
#saga of mrs. browne#saga of the lord mayor#ignore the terrible mess i just got home and just threw everything all over the place so i could pass out in my chair#they are both currently in my lap together after a brief but dramatic showdown that i tried to catch on video#but i couldn't angle myself right so it's blurry and also the lighting sucks
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me irl and how I wish I looked
I want to be blonde sooo bad. or have white hair. either one really. I just wanna be that girl where her hair is short and fluffy and blondeeee (think beverly marsh. or, if you're insane like me, 1961's the parent trap girls that most certainly ruined my life and definitely turned me gay as a kid (god I love that movie go watch it))
hello friends!! @ferdieinceladoncity @mist-fire @ottern0t @shadownote0828
starting a tag game cause i'm bored and i hate my notifications :D
WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE IRL
WHAT U WANNA LOOK LIKE
picrew: here!
tagging @random-doctor-on-the-internet @cataperat @discoveredreality @ladykiller-yt and @midnights-dragon
#I think it's a little funny how different in tone mine is#I'm practically just saying “I wish I wasn't me” which is FACTUALLY INCORRECT!!!!!#I am mine we are doing okay together and her face is pretty in the right lighting tho her eyes are terribly intense and her eyebrows are !!#also ignore that I have a shirt on in the first one and that the jacket is black#my new jacket is cream colored and I usually don't wear shirts unless I have to#I just wish I was not so feminine. most people cannot seem to tell my gender upon first glance but I look at her and I see it#she's still she. we like she/her just as much as anything. but also it is not Everything we are#aka I am a misogynist but only toward myself FJNFVNJFVJN#tag game
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i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one
his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.
ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication
ok yknow what Edit: i shouldve made it even more explicit at the end of this post, i hadnt thought i would need to since i started the post with this, but i think a few too many people are missing my point so i just wanna clarify. i shouldnt have said 'really clashed' and left it at that because yeah they did, but it wasnt just their opposite methods of communication, it is also very much that toshiro was experiencing microaggressions via laios. it may have been unintentional on laios's part, but it still happened and wore him down, made it harder for him to communicate on top of both the more subtle social cues that he was raised with and his own communication difficulties. i also want to say that the fandom reaction to toshiro and the complete ignorance of this point is also racist tbh or at the very least ignorant. i understand that the anime did not cover this panel, and neither did the manga, as this was an omake, but im gonna be real with you guys. there are enough context clues within the story to clue you into this. if you didnt pick up on it thats ok, but i think this is a good lesson in picking up subtext in the stories that youre watching and/or reading. kui shouldnt have to explicitly say 'by the way laios was racist to toshiro' for this point to be understood, and at the very least, when the author portrays a character in a sympathetic light (as kui clearly does) it should make you question Why they are doing so and what makes them sympathetic, rather than youre immediate and only reaction to be 'well i hated what this guy did/said so i hate them and they suck'. idk exactly how to finish this, just. idk. question your biases and gut reactions to things you see in media and stories, and think about whether or not theres subtext that youre missing.
#dunmeshi#dungeon meshi#shuro dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#toshiro nakamoto#dont get me wrong i understand relating to a character and hating whoever wrongs them cause youre protective or you relate really hard#but i think toshiros been getting the short end of the stick for a long time now 😭#even his love for falin is misunderstood#he literally states all the reasons he likes her#and none of them are superficial#but hes so closed off and has such difficulty expressing himself that instead of asking her out or smth he just#proposed to her out of the blue 😭#leading a lot of ppl to just assume that he went 'white woman spotted' and proposed#do Not misunderstand me i am#a HUGE farcille stan#obviously#but i dont think toshiros feelings are surface level and i think theyre absolutely crucial to understanding him and his motivations#as a character in this story
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demon slayer hcs: the hashira men as boyfriends
characters: tengen, sanemi, giyuu, rengoku, muichiro, obanai
AN: i don’t write for gyomei srry
TENGEN
- this isn’t just a little fling
-mans doesn’t wanna be ur bf
-he wants to be your HUSBAND
- and he’s gonna make that happen ASAP
- and when y’all get married you’re not just getting a husband
- ur getting 3 wives too
- it’s a package deal
- overprotective!!
- the way he made his wives promise to prioritize their lives over the mission
- my heart was bursting
- carries u around
- when tengen is around ur feet hardly ever touch the floor
- doesn’t matter how big or tall u are
- he’s bigger and taller
-he's big all over if ykyk
-nicknames include: sweetheart, princess, baby
- and don’t think he’s saying those to be cute
- he’s absolutely mocking you
-which brings me to…
- this man teases the HELL out of you
- but with love
- he loves you just as much as he loves his wives
- in his mind ur alrdy married
- and he is NOT letting you go
- or letting any harm come to you as long as he can help it
- 4 lifer fr
- id marry him
SANEMI
-i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again
-he’d tear it UP
-and i’d let him
- loves you so much
- doesn’t show it in public
- but in private?
- clingy as fUck
- he’s like ur shadow fr
- will follow u around all day
- hands on ur waist
- arm around ur shoulder
- holding ur hand
- he will not let go of u when ur alone
- in public he’s a lot less touchy
- but he will still stand near you
- jealous af
- every slayer knows by now to stay tf away from you or face the wrath of the wind pillar
- you belong to him
- makes sure they know it
- makes sure you know it
-hickey MASTER
-no i will not elaborate
- everybody knows sanemi is a little rough around the edges
- so there are days when it’s hard for him to open up to you
- but he does try
- he’s got a reputation to keep up!
-gotta act tough
-no weaknesses!!
- except for u
-he’s so soft for u he can’t help it
- nicknames: dumbass, idiot, & feather (my personal favorite)
-like i said he is almost always physically connected to u in some way when ur alone
-ignore him? he's throwing u over his shoulder
-he's strong he can manhandle u all over the place
-sheeeeeshhhhh manhandle me however u want sir
-claims ur super light no matter ur size
-hence the nickname "feather"
-i love him
GIYUU
-ik damn well this man had EVERONE in a chokehold from the first second he showed up
-speaking of chokeholds... ;)
-put me in one pls sir
-anyways
-awkward as fuck
-but he tries for u
-terrible with physical affection
-but we all know he's SOOO touch starved
-you'll have to initiate any type of physical touch
-and make sure he's not uncomfortable
-but really there's nothing he wants more than to touch you
-takes a very long time to say "i love you"
-but can u blame him??
-every good thing the poor man has ever had has been ripped away from him :(
-because of this he's veryyyy protective
-cause he'll be damned if the last person he has that accepts him and loves him for all he is
-is hurt or killed
-100% will die for u without a second thought
-not really a nickname type of guy
-remember he's awkward as hell
-most you'll get is a "-chan" attached to ur name
-and even that is only when y'all are alone
-but still
-even if he doesn't always show it
-you are always on his mind
-he's on a mission and walking through a market?
-he's buying you a hairpin or som
-walking through a forest and sees some flowers?
-"i wonder if she'll like these"
-AND HE'S PICKING U A BOUQUET
-ugh soft for bf giyuu
RENGOKU
-sunshine boy!!!
- epitome of golden retriever boyfriend
-all smiles all the time
-follows u around like lost puppy
-shows off for u
-yk when ur around kids and they're like "watch this" and then they jump and spin a circle lmao
-thats him
-"did you see what i just did?!"
-if u didnt...
-he's doing it again
-wants to impress you so bad
-also you will never have to lift a finger in his presence
-service bf!!
-you need the dishes washed and the floor swept?
-he's on it
-you need help styling ur hair?
-welcome to rengoku's hair salon
-will attempt to dress you in the morning
-and by dress you, i mean he's tugging ur shirt over ur head
-zipping up ur pants
-and tying ur shoes
-brags about you to anyone and everyone
-the other hashira can't have a single conversation with him without him bringing you up somehow
-compliments compliments compliments!!!
-he loves you and isn't afraid to show it
-nicknames from him: my love, my beautiful girl, sweetheart
-constantly confessing his love
-also lowkey speaks poetry for u
-some shit like
-"my light in the darkness, the one who gives me strength, you set my heart ablaze just by allowing me the privilege of seeing your smile"
-ugh he's the sweetest baby
MUICHIRO
-my airheaded angel baby
-i love him sm stop
-baby boy has a terrible memory
-that we alrdy knew
-but!
-he tries so hard for you
-keeps a little journal with notes and information about you
-so if he forgets he can remind himself over and over
-when he's on missions away from you he reads it so he can think about you to pass the time
-can not and will not remember anniversaries
-unless they're written in that journal
-will pick u flowers
-hope ur not allergic cause he's not gonna remember that
-but it's the thought that counts
-the fact that he's thinking about you at all counts
-you wanna go on a date?
-your dates consist of watching the clouds and taking naps together
-maybe a picnic if ur lucky
-no nicknames from him
-he calls you by your name
-its all he can remember
-he's the cutest
OBANAI
-like sanemi, he's a lot less affectionate in public
-however, he's not afraid to express his thoughts about you
-at least not to the other hashira
-might not be glued to your side
-but he's got eyes on u at all times
-and someone is talking about you?
-the second he hears ur name leave somebodies mouth
-he's tuned in
-and they better not say anything negative either
-mans turns murderous
-they will wake up to a snake in their bed
-will prob threaten them within an inch of their life
-don't have to worry abt other people while he's around
-cause he's got everything
-and i mean EVERYTHING taken care of
-protective but not pushy
-i feel like obanai trusts you and your ability to handle yourself
-but thats not gonna stop him from watching over you
-you're not drinking enough water?
-here comes obanai with a cup and u better drink it all
-haven't had lunch yet?
-he's sharing his with you. and will force feed u if need be.
-on a mission with him?
-he's not gonna push u behind him or anything
-but nothing is gonna get the chance to bring any harm to you either
-he's got ur back
-he's pretty vanilla with the nicknames
-nothing too crazy
-especially in public
-mostly uses ur first name
-might add a "-chan" in there every once in a while
-when ur alone he'll call you "sweetie"
-acts like a hard ass
-but he's soft for u
#demon slayer#anime#demon slayer x reader#kny x reader#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#giyuu x reader#obanai x reader#sanemi x reader#muichiro x reader#rengoku x reader#tengen x reader#tengen uzui#giyuu tomioka#obanai iguro#muichiro tokito#rengoku kyojuro
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like snow on the beach
pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
word count: ~2.8k
summary: You're on a work trip with your boss, who you don't like and who you're convinced doesn't like you either. Unfortunately, there's only one bed.
tags/warnings: only one bed trope (ayyyy), fluff, idiots in love, alternating povs, reader has hair that drips down her neck after showering at one point but there are no texture or color descriptors, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, my nonexistent knowledge of colombian geography which i'm asking you to ignore for the sake of this silly story THANK YOU
a/n: my entry for the summer lovin' challenge brought to us by queens @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy <3 i got the moodboard you see in the header and the location by the water. i'm also posting a little early but i'm too excited and it's almost midnight here so i think it's gonna be fine hehe
biggest love to @sizzlingcloudmentality who held my hand through writing this and patiently listened to all my complaints lol. i love drinking more caffeine than pedro and writing with you while getting distracted by cats <3
dividers by @plum98!
find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs to get notified when i post a new fic :)
You’re hot, too hot.
It’s disorienting, as you blink awake, slow to get your bearings. Arms are wrapped around you, caging you in, engulfing you in the warmth of the body pressed against your back. Hot air is fanning against your neck, accompanied by a scratching sensation on the sensitive skin.
Your surroundings are unfamiliar, faded wallpaper in an unappealing shade of green and light filtering in through the battered up blinds. It comes back to you in pieces, the motel you’re staying at, the small Colombian town where you’re hoping to get a hold of one of the Cali cartel men.
The obnoxious scent of Peña’s aftershave is flooding your nostrils, paired with the traces of tobacco that follow him everywhere he goes. It’s honestly embarrassing, how easily you recognize it.
It clicks into place now. The arms around you, the warmth. The scratch that you now realize is his mustache as he’s breathing against your neck.
You start wriggling around, causing the man behind you to stir, a confused groan coming out slightly muffled, his mouth still so close to your skin. He lets go of you after a second, allowing you to turn around and glare at him.
His face is already forming his signature annoyed scowl, an expression that you’re more than well acquainted with.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
He sounds different like this, voice still thick with sleep, a hint of the disorientation that you’ve shaken off by now.
“What am I doing? I woke up with your arms around me, Peña.”
He blinks, shifting to sit up and lean against the headboard. You mirror him, putting as much space between you as the rather small bed frame allows.
“Sorry,” he allows after a beat, running a hand through his hair, tousling the mess of black strands that has formed in his sleep. “That wasn’t… appropriate. I apologize.”
If you weren’t as annoyed right now, you’d probably think that he looks adorable like this. The you from a few months ago would most likely go wild at seeing Javier Peña right after waking up, after he held you in his arms no less.
The you from a few months ago hadn’t experienced what an asshole of a boss he could be yet, hadn’t been taken off investigations again and again, because Peña thought you weren’t ready. She also hadn’t heard about his terrible reputation with women, hadn’t been subjected to all the office gossip that surrounded him yet.
Now, after days of practically begging him to take you along on this trip because the whole investigation was based on information that you had gathered, you’re stuck in this motel room with him. Something about your booking of two single rooms accidentally having been processed as one double room, with no other rooms available because of course there weren’t.
Peña had offered to sleep on the ground, or in the car, but you had waved him off, thinking about how often he had complained how his back was getting worse the older he got on the drive here. You hadn’t expected to wake up to him all but wrapped around you.
Maybe a small, very small part of you is still going wild about it. A part that you can easily swallow down though. He’s objectively attractive, yes. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s an asshole.
“Just forget it,” you mumble, heat rising belatedly in your cheeks. Gathering your clothes for the day, you flee to the bathroom, eager to wash the whole decidedly weird situation off your body and out of your mind. You’re here because you have a job to do, not to get flustered around your boss.
When you reemerge, wet strands of your hair dripping down your neck, he’s already dressed, clasping his hands in a way that almost seems nervous. If you weren’t pretty convinced that Javier Peña isn’t physically able to get nervous.
“I– I’m really sorry,” he repeats, raising from the worn down arm chair he’s been sitting in. “I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position. I’m not– I’m not exactly used to sharing a bed.”
A scoff leaves you at that. Sure, Agent Peña, who’s notorious for sleeping with his informants and with at least half of the female staff of the American embassy, isn’t used to sharing his bed.
“Don’t worry about it, Peña.”
You turn away before he can reply, collecting your notes on the investigation that you hope will come in helpful eventually. You don’t catch the remorseful look in his eyes, or the way they linger on you as you open the door, the early morning light illuminating your figure.
It’s another day filled with nothing but waiting and growing frustration, just like the one before. The sun is beating down on the car that you’re occupying, the heat suffocating even with the windows rolled down and the cool bottle of water that you’re pressing against your neck.
Minutes tick by, turning into hours that go by too quickly and seem to last forever at the same time. Peña is surprisingly quiet, not goading you in the way you had expected him to.
“Maybe the information was bad,” you mumble eventually, sinking deeper into the car seat. The leather is sticking uncomfortably to your skin and you can’t shake the growing feeling that you’ve insisted on coming out here for nothing.
He slowly turns his head in your direction, regarding you through the dark tint of his aviators.
“I looked at it. We wouldn’t be here if it was bad.”
You huff, your patience running short and shorter at the subtle indication of his superiority, his quiet arrogance, always so fucking sure of himself.
“You weren’t exactly thrilled about coming here, remember?”
He raises a brow, a hint of impatience on his own features.
“I wasn’t thrilled about you coming here.”
You roll your eyes, openly scowling at him now.
“It’s my intel.”
“Doesn’t make it less dangerous, does it?”
Biting your lip, you force your blood to not boil over. He’s still your boss, at the end of the day, someone you probably shouldn’t start cussing out, no matter how openly he underestimates you and how badly it annoys you. And you’re gonna have to share that wretched bed with him again tonight.
Javier watches your face, watches you swallow down your anger, watches your teeth digging into your plush bottom lip. He understands your frustration, understands that no part of this trip is turning out the way you expected it to.
You’re still new to the workfield, not yet experienced with the hours upon hours of waiting, more often than not without a satisfying result to show for it. If he’s being honest with himself, he isn’t mad about it this time. He’ll rather have you frustrated than in danger.
You want to prove yourself, you’ve made that abundantly clear. You work hard, determined to bring in results, hungry for praise. It’s not that he doesn’t see that, doesn’t think that you’re capable. But he’s seen enough, enough injuries, enough psychological trauma, enough deaths, to know that he wants you far away from that side of your work.
Even if that means you’re angry at him more often than not, a glint of bitterness in your eyes every time he refuses to send you out yet again.
After another few hours, accompanied by the increasing rumbling in both your stomachs, he finally calls it quits for the day.
“We can drive back to Bogotá tomorrow,” he quietly offers on the way back to the motel, after picking up food for the both of you and refusing to let you pay for your share. “Gather more information, see why we didn’t find anything.”
You huff in return, irritated about the whole situation. The one chance you had to convince him to take you seriously, and this is what you get. “Fine,” you agree, gritting your teeth. Maybe your intel was bad. Maybe you just aren’t that good at your job.
“Keep to your side of the bed tonight,” you grumble later, after the bored woman at the reception told you that there still aren't any other rooms available.
“Of course,” he sighs, sliding under the covers with the biggest possible distance from you.
You nod, closing your eyes and willing for sleep to take you, but it’s a losing game. You toss and turn, feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time, unable to find a comfortable position and to get the voices in your head to shut up.
When you roll over yet again, his voice rings through the dark, somewhat agitatedly asking what’s wrong.
“Nothing,” comes your frustrated reply, pressing your face deeper into the cushion, your eyes squeezed shut. After a few more breaths and zero sign of your brain slowing down, you turn towards him, only able to make out his silhouette in the dark. Your judgment is probably hazy with how tired you are, but the words are out of your mouth before you can think them over.
“Can I ask you a question, Agent Peña?”
“Javier is fine.”
Your heart gives a tiny flutter, despite your conflicted feelings about him, despite the question that you’re about to ask.
“Why do you not like me?”
It’s inappropriate, especially right now, lying in the dark and sharing a fucking bed with him. But you think that if you don’t ask now, you probably never will, and you need to know.
“Why would you think that I don’t like you?”
You huff, squinting at him. “It’s pretty obvious. You don’t trust my work, you never send me to go out, dismiss my intel most of the time–”
It’s silent for a long time, safe for his quiet breaths.
“That’s not–” He sighs deeply, turning his head towards you as well. “That’s not true. You’re making it about yourself when you shouldn’t. I treat you exactly like your colleagues, you’re the one taking it personal.”
It’s curt, dismissive. Laced with carefully feigned indifference, bordering on coldness. Too carefully. You didn’t think he’d lie to you if you asked him this directly, but here you are.
Blinking back angry tears, you roll onto your back again, unseeingly staring at the ceiling. You don’t understand why it hits you like this. You’ve had shitty bosses before, far worse than Peña. You’ve just never wanted them to like you the way you want him to.
“Good night, Agent Peña.” You turn onto your other side, your back towards him.
“Good night,” comes his solemn reply.
You don’t wake up with his arms around you again, thankfully, but he hasn’t exactly kept to his side of the bed either. One hand is curled over your shoulder, like he had to reach out and hold onto you in his sleep.
You’re the one taking it personal.
Clearly he hasn’t been reaching for you specifically. It’s probably just second nature for him, something that usually goes well with the women sharing his bed.
You’re able to shake his hold off without waking him up, something that you’re grateful for.
When he wakes and repeats how he thinks you should abandon the investigation, you don’t argue. It’s a quiet affair, packing up and getting ready to leave.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, he turns to you, his brow furrowed into that moody expression you’ve gotten used to. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins, eyeing you warily. “We’re not far from the ocean right now. Have you been to the beach since you came to Colombia?”
You raise an eyebrow in mild suspicion, curious where he’s going with this.
“I haven’t been out of Bogotá since I landed there. But–”
His eyes grow softer, his hand twitching like he almost reached out towards you.
“No buts. At least then it won’t have been a total waste of time to come here, right?”
The dig towards you, towards the reason you drove all the way out here for nothing isn’t lost on you. You don’t have it in you to argue against it, so you just nod, staring straight ahead.
Javier realizes how badly you misunderstood his words as soon as they’re out of his mouth and he sees your face. He doesn’t know how he consistently manages to fuck up his interactions with you like this. It’s not him, the blundering, the words constantly coming out all wrong, but you make him nervous in a way that he hasn’t experienced in years.
He starts driving, hopeful to somehow still be able to turn this trip around. There’s a whole day on the road ahead of them, and he’d much rather spend those hours without feeling like he’s made you hate him.
You do soften at the sight of the ocean, the sound of waves rolling against the shore having a soothing effect almost instantly. It’s beautiful, the water a brilliant blue, the sun glittering on the surface. You can’t be mad right now, not even at Javier, who’s keeping his distance, letting you wander along the shore by yourself.
You focus on taking in the scenery, hoping to somehow take it with you to when you’re back in your bleak, government issued apartment, staring at the vastness of gray buildings that is of Bogotá.
When you turn back to him, his eyes are already on you, less tense, more open than you’re used to. You don’t know how long they’ve been lingering on you, how little attention he had been paying to the nature surrounding you. How good it had felt, to see you like this, without the usual distaste in your face that you have come to regard him with most of the time. The silhouette of you against the bright sky, your skin glowing under the beaming sun.
“Thank you,” you say, actually smiling at him. A spark of warmth grows in his chest. “This was a good idea, I– I enjoyed it.”
“I’m glad.” He eagerly returns the smile, allows himself to reach out and graze one finger against the soft skin of your hand. Finding himself unable to stop touching you, now that he’s had a taste of it.
Confusion crosses your face before you quickly avert your eyes, but you don’t pull away. It gives him a sliver of hope, that maybe you’re starting to understand what he doesn’t know how to tell you.
After a mostly quiet drive back, both of you too exhausted to talk much, Javier drops you off at your apartment, his hand once again hovering over yours before you get out.
“Good night,” he breathes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. After a moment of hesitation, he continues on. “You– you’re doing good work. Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay?”
You manage a nod, murmuring thank you, Javier before opening the car door and stepping out onto your street, illuminated by the glow of yellow lights. You only realize that you used his first name by the time that your apartment door falls shut behind you. It doesn’t bother you as much as you thought it would.
Breathing in the familiar scent of your own place, a deep relief washes over you, reveling in the knowledge that you’re gonna sleep in your own bed tonight, alone. You turn on your shower, eager to let the warm water soothe your muscles, stiff from spending the entire day in a car.
When you exit the bathroom, wrapped into a towel and with a cloud of steam accompanying you, your answering machine is blinking. You press the button to let the message play, moving through your apartment to put on your comfiest sleepwear and ready to fall straight into bed.
You stop in your tracks when Javier’s voice rings through the room, tripping over the words in a way that’s difficult to associate with the calm, self-assured man that you know.
“Hey, it’s Javier. You– you’re probably showering, or already asleep. I just– I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings these past days, or– or any day, really. I wanted you to know that. You’re good at what you do, you really are, but– I worry about you, I guess. And I know that I shouldn’t, that I shouldn’t treat you differently. It’s– it’s not because I don’t like you. I like you too much, if anything, and– and now I know what it’s like to sleep next to you, and– anyway, I’m– shit, I’m making a fool of myself. Just– just call me back. Please.”
Your hand finds your phone as soon as the recording ends.
thank you for reading! as always, reblogs, comments and asks are love and absolutely make my day <3
#SummerLovin24#javier peña#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena x you#javier pena narcos#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña x female reader#janas fics
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⟡ COZY & SPOOKY | A. HARKNESS
PAIRING :: agatha harkness x reader
CONTENT / WARNINGS :: established relationship, agatha is reader’s wife. domestic & fluff. soft agatha. gender neutral reader. petnames (dear, honey, love & cinnamon). agatha is weird and doesn't like hocus pocus — movie of the century 🤷♀️
WORD COUNT :: 2k
A/N :: happy halloween, witches <3 just a bit of soft wife agatha for the soul. also, i never meant for it to be this long, jesus christ. sorry? or you're welcome. i don't really like this, i dunno
MY MASTERLIST
The soft rain poured outside and you watched as the raindrops raced their way down the kitchen window’s glass. You could hear the sound of your wife and son playing and laughing together in the next room, a soft smile playing on your lips as you finished making hot chocolate for your Halloween movie night, adding cream to Nichola’s cup and cinnamon to Agatha’s, just the way they liked it. “Honey, could you come help me carry the food?” You call out, your head poking out of the kitchen door. You watch as your wife nods, planting a quick kiss on your child’s forehead and ascending from the couch. She gives you a quick peck on the lips as she slips into the kitchen, grabbing the popcorn and the chips. “You're not going to make me watch that ridiculous excuse of a witch movie, are you, dear?” She raises an eyebrow at you, her tone a mixture of annoyance and affection.
Your hands move to your hips, mouth hanging open in the purest form of offense. “If you're talking about Hocus Pocus, yes, I will. And it is not ridiculous! It's a Halloween classic that made history. Be more respectful.” She laughs with amusement at your words, shaking her head. You're pouting, bottom lip sticking out in a childish manner. She uses it to her advantage, tugging it between her teeth playfully and making you gasp. “I’ve never seen you defend your own wife the way you defend that movie. But fine, just because Nicky likes it. But just so you know-!” You sigh, carrying the hot chocolate and marshmallows to the living room and ignoring your witchy wife blabbering about how Hocus Pocus is a terrible stereotype of witches and that they do not use brooms — even though you know she used to, centuries ago. You give Nicholas a hug as you sit down, pulling him onto your lap and ruffling his hair. “Ready for movie night, baby?” You ask softly. He nods enthusiastically and you smile at his happiness.
“Hey, that's my spot!” Agatha’s voice invades the room as she walks in, offense etched into her features as she refers to your lap. Nicholas laughs and his tongue sticks out of his mouth as he hugs you tightly in order to make Agatha jealous. “Oh, young man, you don't want to see me mad!” She says playfully, organizing the food on the small table in front of the TV and dragging it closer to the couch so Nicholas could reach it with more ease. The two of you spent the entire morning decorating the whole house while Nicholas was asleep; fairy lights everywhere, paper bats glued onto the walls, a few skeletons around the rooms and small witch hats here and there — definitely your idea, Agatha hated them. Your wife would never reveal the upsetting truth about the disappearance of maybe two or three of the miniature hats; she got rid of them, muttering something about ‘ridiculous stereotypes’ before throwing them in the trash and covering it with an empty package of whatever snack she found.
Agatha plops down onto the couch next to you with a contented sigh, her arm snaking around your shoulders as she gives you a sweet kiss on the forehead, then on Nicky‘s. She rubs your arm covered by your pumpkin sweater and nuzzles your neck, inhaling your scent before pulling back, snatching the remote from the armrest and turning on the TV. “I’m assuming we're watching Pocus Hocus.” She nagged, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain, saying the wrong movie title on purpose to piss you off. It works, she notices, when she whips her head to the side and finds you with narrowed eyes. You hear your child giggle on your lap, shaking his head exaggeratedly. “No, mama! It's Hocus Pocus! Not Pocus Hocus!”
With a smile, you watch your wife feigning offense and confusion, a hand flying to her chest dramatically. “What? Are you playing tricks on me, young man? It's obviously Pocus Hocus!” You blink in surprise at how quickly Agatha snatched little Nicholas from your lap, laying him down on the couch and tickling his most sensitive spots, causing the child to kick and wave his arms around in a failed attempt to stop his mother’s actions. The sound of laughter fills the room, your heart swelling with love towards your little family. You take the opportunity to press play on the movie and adjust the volume, your own legs bouncing with excitement — even though you watch this movie every October 31st. You hear an excited gasp escape Nicholas’ lips as he hears the movie starting, breaking free from the witch’s cruel torture. He rests his head on your lap, his legs comfortably resting on top of Agatha’s. A smile tugs at the corner of your wife’s mouth as she reaches over to caress your son’s wild curls, pooling around his head like a halo. “Little angel.” She mutters, not loud enough for him to hear, curious eyes glued onto the image on the television.
Without a word, your head falls to the side, resting on Agatha’s shoulder, soft hair grazing against her cheek. The three of you spend the entirety of the movie in the same position, occasionally reaching over to grab something from the snack table that you prepared with much love. Nicholas laughs as he throws a popcorn inside of Agatha’s mouth, cheering when she catches it with perfection, pretending to wave and blow kisses towards the non-existing audience. You feel lucky. Lucky that you found the woman of your dreams, terribly lucky that she chose you. In a world where she could choose to build a family with a powerful witch like her, she chose you instead; the awkward neighbor next door with big, curious eyes that kept stealing adoring glances towards her. The only person who never judged her after discovering she was a witch or the things she has done in the past. The person that made her feel at home.
After a quick bathroom break, you start up a second Halloween movie. You would be lying if you said you paid attention to the name or even to whatever was happening in the story, head tipping forward as you fought against the sleep that threatened to wash over you. It seems you lost the battle, being awakened by Agatha’s voice against your ear, her hands gently shaking you. “Honey, Nicky fell asleep. I’ll get him to bed, you stay right here, alright?” She mumbles quietly getting up from the couch. You feel the weight being lifted from your lap as she picks up your son’s sleeping form, cradling him lovingly in her arms. You rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand as a yawn leaves your lips while you wait for her to come back, legs being lazily thrown over the couch’s armrest. Your eyes flutter close once more, feeling yourself falling asleep again. Until you feel something poking your cheek, turning your head to glance at Agatha standing over you. She smiles and pinches your cheek. “Sleeping Beauty #1 is tucked in. Now, come here, it's time for Sleeping Beauty #2.”
You let out a whine as you feel yourself being lifted from the couch by her strong arms, your own wrapping around her neck as you nuzzle against it and shower the warm skin with kisses. She chuckles, making her way upstairs carrying you like it's nothing. She kicks the bedroom door open and slips inside, repeating the gesture to shut it closed. You whine when you notice she ignores the existence of your cozy, perfect bed, going towards the bathroom instead. “Nuh uh, no complaining. Let's get you a bath, okay? Then you can sleep.” An annoyed grunt leaves your mouth, but you don't say anything, allowing her to sit you down on top of the toilet seat. With heavy eyes, you watch as she gets the water started, humming a song that you're sure she just made up. Like a child, you put your arms up, delicate hands slipping your sweater off. She tugs at the waistband of your pants and you lift your hips, a pout lingering on your lips at how carefully she undresses you. She keeps a hand on your lower back as you get into the bathtub filled with bubbles to ensure you don't slip.
The water splashes as you kick your feet like a child would, a sigh escaping your lips. Agatha sits down on the edge of the bathtub, hands massaging your shoulders. You groan, feeling your body relax under your lover’s skilled touch. “If I wasn't so tired, I'd ask you to wash my hair. Your hands are so damn good.” You breathed out, eyes narrowing at the teasing chuckle that immediately leaves Agatha’s lips. “Pervert.” “I didn't say a thing.” She quickly responds to your insult, putting her hands up defensively. A comfortable silence washes over the bathroom as she keeps massaging your shoulders and neck. As you yawn exaggeratedly, she dips a finger into the water, noting the temperature is turning cold. “We should get you to bed now, love.” No matter how long you've been together, whenever she spoke in that soft tone of hers you simply melted. And she melted too, a soft smile playing on her lips as she notices your adoring gaze.
Quickly getting you out of the tub, she sits you down onto the toilet seat once more to dry you with her purple towel. “Is this gonna make me smell like you?” You question cheekily with a raised brow. She chuckles lightly, planting a kiss on your cheek. “It might. Is that good or bad?” Instructing you to put your arms up, she dresses you with care; in her clothes, of course. You look down at yourself, your body now protected from the cold air by Agatha’s long, black pajamas. “Good.” You mutter as you wiggle your feet after she finishes putting on the pair of white socks. “You know I have my own clothes, right?” You tease. Your yelp is loud as she throws you over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, your hands clumsily reaching to grip the back of her shirt. She throws you onto the bed, making you frown playfully. “But you look so much better in mine.”
You turn on your side, curling up. Agatha throws the covers on top of you, kissing your nose. You hear the brunette walking into the bathroom, assuming she's changing into more comfortable clothes. Eyebrows furrow when you notice she's brushing her teeth. Reluctantly slipping out of the warm bed, you sauntered to the bathroom, standing next to your wife and grabbing your own toothbrush. She watches with a raised brow. “Need to brush my teeth too, or else they are gonna get all gross and you won't love me anymore.” She looks amused at your words, an arm wrapping around you as you brush your teeth together. “You could have stayed in bed, dear. I’d just wake you up by shoving toothpaste and a brush in your face first thing in the morning.” She whines when you nudge her with your elbow painfully.
When you're done, you leave Agatha behind and rush to the comfort of your bed, jumping on it like a child and giggling. “Be careful.” You hear her say, glancing back to find her leaning against the doorframe while drying her hands. Turning your back to her with a huff, you miss the way she shakes her head in amusement and throws the hand towel on top of the sink — which would definitely earn her a scolding in the morning. She shuffles into bed behind you, hugging you and kissing your neck a few times. You hum in contentment, pushing back against her. “Goodnight, cinnamon. I love you.” She speaks against your ear, making you shiver. Cinnamon. That's a new one, you think. You barely have time to mutter a response before drifting off to sleep, melting into her arms.
#written for aria’s coven ★#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness fluff#agatha harkness#agatha all along#wandavision#marvel#marvel x reader#kathryn hahn x reader#wlw fanfic#nicholas scratch
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Unheavenly Creatures | Feyd Rautha/reader (NSFW 18+)
Summary: Feyd Rautha has taken a liking to you, a handmaiden accompanying your mistress on a diplomatic visit to Giedi Prime. He decides it's time to add another darling to his collection.
Warnings: knife stuff, blood stuff, mentions of murder, sex, a lil cannibalism, sex sex sex, dubcon-ish tones? lots of biting, it's feyd rautha it's not gonna be all sunshine, but he is also not as terrible as canon entirely so idk
Word count: 6k
Check out my feyd rautha playlist!
Tags: @austinswhitewolf @aeilani @maneater17 @serrendiipty
The Harkonnen palace was a cold place, not in the sense that the air was crisp and you could see your own breath, but rather that the austerity of its halls and monochromatic decor felt positively frigid. As if even the buildings weren’t meant to harbor life on this toxic, forsaken rock anymore. Everything you had seen of Giedi Prime so far had felt the same—stark, brutal, inhospitable. A barren wasteland with blinding white skies and dark acid rain.
And yet, House Harkonnen seemed to thrive beneath the black sun, growing numerous and powerful and rich. Before arriving, you had heard horror stories, rumors of what Baron Vladimir and his nephews were like, none of them pretty. When you had been informed you’d been chosen to accompany your own House’s leaders on a diplomatic trip to the Harkonnen homeworld, you’d considered pretending to be sick to get out of it. Faking your own death had seemed like a valid option at that point.
But with little choice of your own, you were forced to follow along as a handmaiden, and from the moment you set foot on Giedi Prime, you were determined to keep your head down and hope that the meetings went smoothly so that you could return to your own planet as quickly as possible. As you walked dutifully behind your Lady, hands folded and eyes trained on your feet, you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose at the putrid, chemical air, unaware of the dark eyes watching you.
“My nephew, na-Baron Feyd Rautha,” Baron Harkonnen rasped, his voice like dry gravel. His words had you glancing up to finally look at what the Harkonnens considered royalty, and what was supposed to be a quick peek turned into a curious stare. The Baron himself was a large man, and he was levitating, wearing a long black robe that touched the ground even while he was so high above it. Tubes connected him to what you could only assume was some sort of breathing apparatus, a dark, spherical thing floating behind him. Standing behind him to his right was a much younger man, dressed in black and staring directly at you.
You felt a chill fly up your spine.
Feyd Rautha tore his eyes away from you and inclined his head in acknowledgement, looking to your Lord and Lady as formal pleasantries were exchanged. You kept your eyes down once more as you finally moved indoors, where the air was fresh and stale at the same time, and the walls were imposing and cold.
You followed along as your Lady was given the grand tour, a journey that ended at the guest wing. You were shown to your room and all but locked inside, left alone to inspect your temporary lodgings. If the rest of the palace was bleak, this was entirely featureless—a single boring bed sat in the center, a small table off to the side. There were no windows, not a shred of natural light despite how high the ceiling was. How anyone could willingly design such a place was beyond you, and you counted yourself lucky to only have to endure it for a short time.
Dinner was served that evening, hosted by the Baron and his nephew. You were permitted to join, dressed in a plain white gown as you sat in silence, doing your best to disappear. You could feel Feyd Rautha’s eyes upon you as you ate and tried to ignore him, cutting into what must have been meat and realizing it was rare at best, perhaps an organ from some large beast. Nonetheless you ate it, finding it adequate and perhaps even tasty, eating in the calm and measured manner expected of you back home.
Suddenly, Feyd barked a laugh. “A pet at the dinner table?”
You glanced up at him and found yourself fascinated once more. His pale skin, nearly white, was completely smooth; you had yet to see a Harkonnen with hair, though you did not know whether they removed it or simply never had it in the first place. His blue eyes were so dark they appeared black in contrast, and as he grinned at you, all you saw were black teeth, and it was somehow beautiful in that brutal, gruesome way of Giedi Prime.
“Do your pets always dine with you?” He rasped, his tone mocking.
“Na-Baron, she is not a pet,” your Lady said sternly, and you felt safe knowing that she would defend you. You were loyal to your House for a reason, after all; you knew your leaders would bring you home safe and sound. “She is my attendant.”
“You must forgive my dear nephew,” the Baron said. “Your customs are not ours.”
You expected a rebuttal, but none came, and Feyd Rautha’s eyes remained glued to you as you ate.
-0-
The negotiations seemed to stretch on.
After dinner, you had helped your Lady retire for the night and then returned to your chamber, laying in bed as you stared at the distant ceiling. All the stories you had heard of the Harkonnens swirled in your mind, and you thought of their recent extermination of House Atreides and shuddered. Your House was desperate to stay in their good graces, you knew, and who could blame them? No one wanted to end up slaughtered like the Atreides.
You told yourself that you were safe. Even if the Harkonnens had lured your Lord and Lady to Giedi Prime under false pretenses, you were only a servant; there was no reason to kill you as well. Aside from Feyd Rautha’s comments at dinner and the stark discomfort of the palace, nothing had happened to make you believe you were a target, and though you knew it was borderline blasphemous, you took some solace in the knowledge that it was more worth their while to kill your masters than you.
When you finally relaxed enough to close your eyes, however, sleep came surprisingly easily, and your dreams were simple and comfortable.
In the morning, you prepared the Lady for the day, and then she and the Lord entered their meeting with the Baron, leaving you alone. There was nothing to do but wander the guest wing, though that only occupied you for a short time as there was absolutely nothing to look at. Nothing in the way of art decorated the walls, and the architecture was so smooth and so plain you quickly grew bored of it. You doubted you would be permitted to participate in anything that even semi-resembled entertainment, and as minutes stretched into hours, you realized your feet had taken you out of the guest wing and into a corridor you had no memory of.
You turned in a circle, seeing nothing and no one familiar, and made the decision to continue on. Surely someone would have informed you of any off-limits areas upon your arrival, and with absolutely no guards in sight, it couldn’t be that bad for you to wander this area as well.
Your steps echoed around you, breaking the oppressive silence of the hall. The architecture was bafflingly different compared to that of your home, where wood and warm stone blended together to create buildings that felt welcoming. On Giedi Prime, everything was harsh and inhospitable—including the people and their homes.
Though your interactions with the Harkonnens had been brief thus far, you could confidently say that they weren’t winning any popularity contests, except perhaps amongst themselves. Nearly everything you’d ever heard about them was bad, and so far, you mostly found them strange; the Baron was fearsome in the way a sick, desperate animal was, with those eyes that followed people as if he were wondering what it would be like to crush their necks in his hands just because he could.
His nephew, on the other hand, was fearsome in the way a predator was. His movements were smooth and confident at dinner the night before, his eyes calculating as if counting how many moves it would take him to press a knife into your gut. You had heard of Feyd Rautha, the pretty boy of Giedi Prime, but you had never seen him before yesterday, and quite frankly, you had expected something else…but then again, what had you even expected at all? The na-Baron was surely cruel just as his uncle was, but he seemed…different.
The clang of metal followed by the sound of a muffled thud startled you out of your thoughts of Feyd, and with a start, you realized you were standing outside a closed door. It was the first noise you’d heard that wasn’t your own all day, and your heart pounded as you quickly stepped back. Perhaps you should run, lest you be caught outside the guest wing. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter at all, as no one has explicitly ordered you to remain in your chamber. And, above all else, perhaps you were curious about what lay on the other side of the door, and you took a step forward again.
It was only a heartbeat later that it opened, revealing Feyd Rautha.
“Well, well,” he said, voice rough, “what do we have here?”
He was dressed in all black, in what you assumed were casual clothes for the Harkonnen royalty.
“Apologies, Feyd Rautha,” you said quickly. “I was passing by and heard a sound.”
You could feel his eyes raking over you as he listened. Then, a smirk crept across his lips, and he help up a bloody dagger.
He did so slowly, and you knew it to be an attempt at intimidation. He wanted you scared. He wanted to shock and disgust the outsider who came from another great house, who had surely never encountered anything like him before.
But you were tougher than that. You may have been a handmaiden for a spoiled aristocrat, but on your planet, hunting was common. You’d had your fair share of field dressing game, and you weren’t one to shy away from a knife.
You eyed the dark blood dripping from the blade, then focused on his face once more. “I apologize if I have caused an interruption.”
“Not at all,” he said, brow twitching as he tilted his head slightly. “Though you are to address me as na-Baron. Only my darlings may use my name.”
“Of course, na-Baron. My apologies.”
“Why are you not in the guest wing, little pet?”
“I have nothing to do, na-Baron.” You shrugged.
This time, he grinned, baring black teeth. If he expected you to cringe away, he would be surprised to find that you seemed almost unimpressed with the display. “So you walk freely, as though you own this palace. I could kill you for the insolence.”
You looked at him boredly.
“I could gut you.” He took a step towards you. “Stick this knife into you. Right. Here.”
He was standing before you, the tip of the blade poking your belly, still grinning. At your lack of reaction, however, the grin faded slightly, nearly faltering.
“Not there,” you replied, a bit amused by his lack of skill.
“What?”
“If you aim to gut me, that’s a terrible place to start.” You wrapped a hand around his and moved the knife over slightly. “This is better.”
He watched your face. “You’re a Bene Gesserit witch.”
“No,” your lip quirked in a small smile. “No, I’m experienced in the ways of hunting and traditional field dressing. Our House is known for them.”
“You’re a hunter? A weak, little thing like you?” He pressed the blade against your dress and laughed.
You considered stepping back, away from the na-Baron and his knife, but you recognized the growing fervor in his eyes. He wanted to hunt, to pursue, to drive the blade forward until he could feel your blood on his skin. Feyd was like a hunting hound, eager to follow the scent of his prey, easily triggered by the chase. So you stood still, studying his pale, smooth face.
“The Lord and Lady enjoy hunting on the estate.” You finally answered. “I often assist in dressing the game after.”
“But have you killed?”
“My uncle took me hunting when I was young. I learned much about the ways of nature and the hunt.”
“You speak so formally,” he taunted, leaning in.
“I do, na-Baron,” you replied curtly. “I do not wish to offend.”
With a sick smirk, he leaned into you even further, lips brushing your ear. “Have you killed a human?”
You watched him from the corner of your eye, and he watched you.
“Na-Baron, I fear I’m lost. I’ll return to the guest wing promptly if you’ll point me in the right direction—“
“Don’t change the subject, pet.” He drew back. “Lying to me is unwise.”
You swallowed hard. “Why do you wish to know?”
“You’ve caught my eye, little one,” he withdrew the blade, leaving the smallest stain on your dress. “And you’ve already told me all I need to know.”
You felt a chill, the back of your neck tingling as you watched him raise the bloody knife and lick it clean. Feyd Rautha was dangerous. More dangerous than you knew.
“Return to the guest wing,” he rasped. “I must attend to my darlings. They grow lonely without me.”
You stared, perplexed, as he strode away, an uneasy feeling washing over you as you turned and hurried back the way you had come. The sooner you could leave Giedi Prime and its unnerving House, the better.
-0-
“What?”
“Hush.” Your mistress scolded you, but you barely heard her.
Your head was too busy spinning.
“You are to remain here,” your Lord repeated. “In the employ of the na-Baron Feyd Rautha.”
Your heart dropped in a sickening way.
“You’ve been so very good to me,” the Lady said. “You’ll serve House Harkonnen very well, I am certain of it.”
“But I-I—I’m…” you paused, trying to catch your breath and quell the panic tightening your chest. “I’m loyal to our House, milady. And I want to return home, to the palace, and serve you.”
“Baron Harkonnen was insistent,” your Lord said flippantly. “It seems Feyd Rautha approached him sometime after our meeting yesterday, and this morning as we finalized the agreements, it was decided you’d be included in the negotiations. Imagine that, a fresh alliance with House Harkonnen and a fine sum for a handmaiden!”
“You…sold me?” You asked, your voice sounding incredibly small.
“Now, I’m sure you’re nervous, but really, these Harkonnens are nothing to worry about. Those nasty rumors back home are simply that, and I’m sure you’ll be well taken care of. Now, we must depart at once, and you are to be shown to the na-Baron’s chambers.”
“Ta ta, dear one!”
And just like that, your entire world was shattered.
As you followed a Harkonnen servant through the corridors, you kept your head down. You felt furious and lost, anger twisting in your gut. So much for loyalty—never before had you been made to feel so easily replaced, and yet they had given you away so willingly you could hardly believe it. Whatever negotiations had been made, whatever new deals struck, you had been deemed unimportant enough to your House to simply be left in the care of a dangerous man, and now you felt your very life was suddenly in grave danger.
“We have arrived, milady,” your guide said timidly, hunching her shoulders and clasping her hands tightly as you turned to look at her.
“Thank you,” you replied, brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “Am I to…enter?”
“Yes, milady,” she seemed to bite the words, not angrily, but in an effort to get them out quickly.
“Is Feyd Rautha inside?”
“Yes.” Came the whispered affirmative.
The bald woman was nearly trembling, and you felt as though perhaps you should be, as well. Feyd Rautha had been intimidating every time you interacted with him, and now that he had made the baffling decision to demand you remain on his planet, you were beginning to think you ought to fear him.
But he was only a man, you reminded yourself as you faced the door. Not a god. Not some supernatural being. The na-Baron was flesh and blood.
With a deep breath, you opened the door.
“You enter unannounced?” A familiar voice rasped.
Feyd Rautha was indeed inside what appeared to be living quarters, and the room seemed lavish by Harkonnen standards. A large bed with black sheets sat against the far wall, before which was a simple sitting area featuring oddly shaped sofas, all black as well. A mirror was mounted on the wall near the bed, and you chose not to wonder about its placement. You spied two doors on either side of the room, and in its center, stood the na-Baron.
“I was told to come here,” you said, voice tinged with irritation.
“And so you have,” he smirked, twirling a dagger in his hand as he approached you. "Obedient."
When he reached you, invading your space and nearly brushing against your chest with his, he caught the way your nostrils flared angrily and grinned. His black teeth, previously so fascinating, brought only annoyance now, much like the rest of him.
“May I ask what exactly is going on, na-Baron?”
“Oh, I simply couldn’t let you leave,” you felt his blade as the flat of it pressed up against your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “I had to have you, pet.”
“I am not a pet,” you spat, unable to contain yourself any longer. “And I demand to know exactly why I’ve been sold as one.”
The knife was pulled away as Feyd circled you. In the mirror near the bed, you could see him looking you up and down, appraising you freely now that the two of you were hidden from the rest of the galaxy.
“Your masters gave you away easily,” he said, stopping behind you. “They did not realize your true potential.”
“My potential?” You hissed, head jerking to the side to watch him from the corner of your eye. “And what might that be, na-Baron?”
In a blink, he had leaned in, rough hands suddenly gripping your sides as he brought his lips to your ear. “Call me Feyd.”
His too-hot breath on your neck and the tone of his voice caused your anger to stutter. “I-I thought only your darlings called you by your name?”
“Oh, it’s a clever pet,” he taunted, nipping your earlobe sharply. When he saw that you stayed still and didn’t flinch, he seemed pleased. “What do you know of my darlings?”
“N-nothing, I don’t even know what that means,” you answered truthfully.
“My darlings,” he began, a hand moving up to brush through your hair, short in the style of your position—former position—within your—former—house. “Are the most beautiful creatures. They are very special to me.”
You were in danger.
You knew it.
“I want you.” He said simply, pressing his lips to the back of your neck, and you knew he meant in every way. “Give yourself freely.”
“Why me?” You asked, mustering your courage to speak above a whisper.
He chuckled at that, running his tongue up your spine to the base of your skull. “You are just right, the perfect addition. You are unafraid. You have a taste for meat. And you have killed.”
You were silent for a moment, jaw squared. “I never told you that.”
His hands were creeping over your hips now, across the front of your dress. When he spoke, his voice was low and heady. “Who was it?”
Another long pause came as you wrestled with yourself, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth as you finally tried to speak.
“My father.”
As Feyd Rautha let out a guttural groan at your admittance, you stared at yourself in the mirror, and nearly didn’t recognize the person you saw.
“You and I are alike, pet,” his hands squeezed at you harshly while his nose pressed into your hair. “I killed my mother.”
A part of you felt sick at the suggestion that you were anything like the monster that was Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. Another part of you felt a strange comfort in the knowledge that you weren’t the only one in the room who had committed parricide.
“I haven’t shared that in a long time,” you admitted.
“Did he fight it?”
You could feel his arousal as he pushed his hips against you, the sensation bringing an unexpected fire to your core.
“Yes.”
“Did he deserve it?”
You stared at yourself in the mirror and saw an unexpected harshness in your eyes, the polite handmaiden now completely absent, replaced by what you had feared you truly were ever since the day of your father’s death; a killer.
“Yes.”
But if you had feared that you were bad for it, that you deserved punishment, Feyd Rautha seemed determined to prove otherwise. He turned you in his arms, never letting go, and brought his lips to yours in a greedy kiss.
“I need you now,” he breathed, almost sounding vulnerable for a moment.
“Take me,” you said against his lips, determined not to stop and think about what exactly you were doing.
If you were going to be kept and tortured by a Harkonnen prince, you may as well enjoy your last moments, right?
Feyd Rautha guided you to his bed in a way that was somehow both smooth and rough, gentle and demanding. He didn’t want to break you, but he wanted to see how far he could bend you before you snapped. He wanted to test you.
Your dress was quickly thrown to the wayside, torn by his dagger, his clothing following suit. As you lay on your back, fully bared to him, he crept over you, eyes taking over your body as he continued his earlier appraisal.
“So strange,” he muttered as he brushed his fingers over the soft hair between your legs.
“Are you…truly hairless?” You asked, eyeing his smooth groin. “You don’t…remove it?”
“Hair is…barbaric.”
You could have laughed at the irony of him of all people calling you a barbarian.
“I do not hate it on you,” he decided after careful consideration. “Perhaps you will keep this, for now.”
You had the odd feeling that you should feel grateful for the honor.
“It will set you apart from my other darlings,” his body moved over yours, eclipsing you as his hand reached between your legs.
He stroked you there, rubbing in a way that wasn’t gentle, wasn’t harsh, and wasn’t patient, all at once. When his lips captured yours once more, your mind spun—but it was a decidedly more pleasant spin than that short while ago when your entire world came crashing down. Feyd Rautha, while somewhat terrifying, was exhilarating, and as his fingers plunged inside of you and his kisses turned into demanding bites, you thought that perhaps this wasn’t so bad.
“That’s it,” he breathed, voice husky. “I want to hear you.”
Your whines and moans filled the heavy air. Feyd Rautha sought to conquer you, you realized; as you came, it wasn’t so much a favor to you as it was an ego boost for him. Either way, you benefited, and as he sheathed himself within you and his hips began rocking back and forth, you were glad for the warm up.
“F-Feyd,” you panted, nails digging into his back as you wrapped yourself around him.
He answered you with a low moan, face hidden in your neck. The na-Baron was merciless, driving into you over and over…but the heat that bloomed inside of you, that feeling that stemmed from your belly and ran all the way to your fingertips…was exhilarating.
He leaned back, one hand gripping your hip harshly, no doubt leaving bruises. The other found your throat and his fingers wrapped around it, squeezing, reminding you who he was. The heir to the Harkonnen throne. The pride of Giedi Prime.
Feyd Rautha.
Your face tingled as he held you, eyes seeking out his. The blue was nearly black, his pupils huge, like a big cat hunting in the dark. He was watching you, frenzied, feral in his ministrations, as if you were his prey and he had finally caught you. Just as your vision began to tunnel he let go and you gasped, gulping in air as he suddenly pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, manhandling you easily as you sank down onto him once more.
His hands were like a vice, pulling your hips down as he pushed up into you, still fucking you mercilessly even in this new position. You would never have expected this from him; you felt too powerful on top of him, too in control of someone who gave you every reason to assume that he wanted to be. That he would be the one weighing down on you, that he would forever and always be hovering over you as he made harsh demands. He was, truly, not as harsh as expected...not that you had ever, for a second, expected to be there with him.
He watched your tits bouncing above him, so much flesh laid bare for him to enjoy, and he soon pulled you down. When you expected him to return to your swollen lips, however, he instead moved his mouth to your chest, greedily sucking and biting your soft skin. He sank his teeth into you, reveling in your sharp gasp, answering it with a beastly groan that was so low and so loud you half imagined it must have shook the walls. The sound had your stomach twisting delightfully, your head fuzzy as Feyd Rautha pulled you closer, closer, closer, until you hardly knew where you ended and where he began. Half-formed thoughts swam in your head, none of them coherent, all of them about him as you desperately clawed at the arms that held you so tightly. He had wanted you, and now he had you, completely, all of you, in every sense of the word.
In that moment, you didn't hate it, or him, or that place; you wanted more. You wanted more of him. As your orgasm mounted, breaths coming in gasps, eyes glued to the pale man below you, you felt happy. Later, you would try to reason with yourself, tell yourself that it was simply chemicals in your brain that brought this on, but in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to do this over and over and over again with him.
"Yes," he rasped, voice muffled by your breasts. You felt the wet heat of his tongue in your cleavage, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth as he pulled you down onto himself. "Take it."
"Feyd," you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as your fingernails dug into his scalp. "Feyd!"
It came out as a half-scream as you felt the sting of his teeth, and it was enough to push you over the edge, plunging down into the abyss that was Feyd Rautha's love. His breath stuttered as his hips drove up against you, a growl sounding from deep within his chest as he came inside of you.
You felt his heart pounding as he held you, a sheen of sweat covering his smooth, pale body. You slumped over him, arms falling onto his shoulders limply. You thought you heard him laugh lightly.
"Good," he said, more to himself than to you.
He moved you easily, rolling you off of him and onto the bed as he pulled himself out. You felt slick and thoroughly used, not in a bad way, but in the way you imagined lovemaking should feel. You had never expected to feel such passion from Feyd Rautha, of all people. From a Harkonnen.
"Come." he stood and slipped his arms under you, scooping you up. Your arms immediately hooked around his neck, and as he carried you to one of the adjoining rooms, you wondered at how natural it felt to be with him now.
The door opened to reveal a steamy, dark bathing room, a large basin filled with dark liquid positioned in the floor. Feyd Rautha sank down into it and as you leaned your head against his shoulder, you heaved a sigh. The liquid was thicker than water but thinner than mud, like nothing you had ever felt before, and it was warm, soothing your bitemarks and sore muscles.
"What is this?" you managed to ask after several minutes of silence.
"Hmph." Feyd Rautha laughed, his whole body moving with the sound. "Oil and blood."
He paused, waiting for your reaction.
"...Ah." you said, wrinkling your nose for a moment as you looked down at the bubbling goo. "...It's nice."
His lips spread into a wide grin. "You don't find it disgusting, my darling?"
"It feels too nice to be disgusting right now."
Feyd Rautha moved a large hand to the side of your head and held you against him, pressing a kiss to your temple in a way that was almost tender. "Rest now. You will need it."
Too tired to ask why, you simply nodded, sinking into him as the blood bath steamed around you. If this was to be your fate now, you didn't mind it; and if he killed you tomorrow, at least your final day had turned out somewhat enjoyable.
-0-
"Do you like it?'
The question was simple, only four words, and yet it was never one you had expected to hear Feyd Rautha ask.
You had been living in his chambers for a week, sleeping next to him, eating with him, wearing what he chose and accompanying him wherever he went. You saw more of the Harkonnen palace--the training room was a frequent haunt, and you realized that it was the room you had wandered to on the day of your first conversation with him. You saw more of Feyd Rautha, as well, and you noticed how quickly he often decided to kill those around him.
But not you.
Never you.
He had yet to do anything worse than bite or scratch, occasionally bending your limbs too far when he tested your physical capabilities in his bed but always letting you go just before any real injury occurred. You often felt the smooth metal of his blades, but they never cut deep; he mentioned once that perhaps he would mark you with one soon, leave a scar that only he would ever be allowed to see, but he had yet to enact that fantasy. You weren't sure if that was good or bad.
Now, you stood before him, wearing a simple black dress that clung to your body and shone as if it were always wet, and your head felt too cold.
"I...don't hate it," you decided as you looked at your reflection.
"Good." he ran a hand over your smooth scalp.
"Will it grow back?"
"At first." he said in his accent that was growing more and more familiar to hear. "Eventually it will stop."
"And the rest...?"
He smirked, turning you to face him. "I told you, that will set you apart from my other darlings."
At the mention of their collective name, a hiss sounded from across the room.
You twisted your head to the side, spying the two women you had been introduced to three days earlier. One--who you had learned had been Feyd's the longest--sported a thick black line down her forehead today, but they were otherwise identical. They watched you curiously, bald heads tilted as they looked at you with big, black eyes. Their dresses were similar to yours, and as you glanced back at the mirror, you realized how you really didn't recognize yourself anymore.
Your teeth had been stained black already, your hair and eyebrows shaved and then the skin treated with something that the servants had explained would keep the hair away. You had already undergone one strange Harkonnen beauty treatment in what you had come to learn was a medical spa, and it was the only one that had frightened you--a strange machine had bared down upon you and done something to your eyes, injecting something that changed them and yet didn't change them, causing them to become big and black like Feyd's other darlings. You actually thought your eyesight was better now, somehow.
You matched them now, you realized, like a member of a set. Feyd Rautha's third concubine.
It was an upgrade from your last job, you supposed.
"It suits you." he pressed his lips to the base of your neck. "My darling."
"Thank you, Feyd," you said, growing more and more used to calling him by his name with every time you said it.
You felt him smirk against your skin. He was no doubt very pleased with himself, having managed to completely transform a murderous handmaiden into a sinister harpy in the course of only one week. Granted, Giedi Prime's days were significantly longer than on your home planet, but it was still a commendable haste.
"Come." he rasped in that gravelly voice you were beginning to love. "All of us. It is time for the arena."
He set off towards the door and you waited for the others before falling in behind them, moving as if the three of you had always belonged together.
"Will there be food?" one of them asked in a harsh, hissing voice.
"Yes," Feyd said gleefully.
"Hearts and lungs?" the other asked hopefully.
"Only the best for my darlings."
"Human?" she demanded clarification.
Feyd looked back over his shoulder, his eyes finding you even though he knew you had not asked the question. "Of course."
You stared back at him, swallowing hard. Human?
He grinned, and the others looked at each other excitedly. They both glanced to you and you gave the best black-toothed grin you could, not wanting to give any of them any reason to be displeased with you. Not after you had done so well all week.
Feyd Rautha led the way to the arena you had learned he loved to fight captured Atreides soldiers in, and after a short preparation (during which he killed at least two servants), a guard led him away while you and the others were taken up to a viewing room.
When you stepped inside you saw that a feast had already been laid out, platters of rare meat covering a short buffet table. As sunlight--or a lack thereof? Giedi Prime's sun continued to baffle you--light the room in that strange, black and white, infrared way, you stared at the food. You recognized it. Despite its human origins, you had no reason to be disgusted by it--because you had already eaten it, on that very first night, when Feyd Rautha had watched you cutting into your meal and commented on your presence at the dinner table.
As the others approached, picking out their favorites--lungs for one, a heart for the other--a grin found its way onto your face. Yes. Perhaps this was exactly where you belonged.
The crowd outside erupted in a roar of cheers as Feyd stalked into the sandy arena, and as you settled in next to the others to watch, you smiled to yourself. There was nowhere else you'd rather be in that moment than on Giedi Prime, eagerly awaiting the moment you could return to Feyd Rautha's chambers and celebrate his victory.
PART TWO
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I'm seeing some confusion out and about over the title A Companion to Owls (generally along the lines of 'what have owls got to do with it???'), so I'd like to offer my interpretation (with a general disclaimer that the Bible and particularly the Old Testament are damn complicated and I'm not able to address every nuance in a fandom tumblr post, okay? Okay):
It's a phrase taken from the Book of Job. Here's the quote in full (King James version):
When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness. My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me. I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. --(Job 30:29)
Job is describing the depths of his grief, but also, with that last line, his position in the web of providence.
Throughout the Old Testament, owls are a recurring symbol of spiritual devastation. Deuteronomy 4:17 - Isaiah 34:11 - Psalm 102: 3 - Jeremiah 50: 39...just to name a few (there's more). The general shape of the metaphor is this: owls are solitary, night-stalking creatures, that let out either mournful cries or terrible shrieks, that inhabit the desolate places of the world...and (this is important) they are unclean.
They represent a despair that is to be shunned, not pitied, because their condition is self-inflicted. You defied God (so the owl signifies), and your punishment is...separation. From God, from others, from the world itself. To call and call and never, ever receive an answer.
Your punishment is terrible, tormenting loneliness.
(and that exact phrase, "tormenting loneliness," doesn't come from me...I'm pulling it from actual debate/academia on this exact topic. The owls, and what they are an omen for. Oof.)
To call yourself a 'companion to owls,' then, is to count yourself alongside perhaps the most tragic of the damned --not the ones who defy God out of wickedness or ignorance, and in exile take up diabolical ends readily enough...but the ones who know enough to mourn what they have lost.
So, that's how the title relates to Job: directly. Of course, all that is just context. The titular "companion to owls," in this case, isn't Job at all.
Because this story is about Aziraphale.
The thing is that Job never actually defied God at all, but Aziraphale does, and he does so fully believing that he will fall.
He does so fully believing that he's giving in to a temptation.
He's wrong about that, but still...he's realized something terrifying. Which is that doing God's will and doing what's right are sometimes mutually exclusive. Even more terrifying: it turns out that, given the choice between the two...he chooses what's right.
And he's seemingly the only angel who does. He's seemingly the only angel who can even see what's wrong.
Fallen or not, that's the kind of knowledge that...separates you.
(Whoooo-eeeeee, tormenting loneliness!!!)
Aziraphale is the companion.
...I don't think I need to wax poetic about Aziraphale's loneliness and grappling with devotion --I think we all, like, get it, and other people have likely said it better anyway. So, one last thing before I stop rambling:
Check out Crowley's glasses.
(screenshots from @seedsofwinter)
Crowley is the owl.
Crowley is the goddamn owl.
#good omens#good omens 2#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#aziraphale#crowley#there's probably a few thousand words more I could say about this but. I think I'll just hang the implications deliciously aloft for now.#something something tfw the embodiment of all your worst fears and self-doubts shows you the only real kindness you've known for centuries#you can't help but love him and you can't help but fear him but above all you TRUST him the way you're supposed to trust God but don't#brrrrrrr#do you think Crowley would vibe with being an omen of spiritual devastation or do you think he would get drunk about it#good omens meta
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HELP ALAA ACHIEVE €6,000 IN THE NEXT 2 DAYS!
THIS IS URGENT! Please have a look at this fundraiser. It belongs to Alaa Amsee ( @alaakh99 ) who is a loving mother to two beautiful children named Maria and Hamza.
Alaa has had her tumblr account terminated for the SECOND TIME, resulting in her being unable to continue her efforts to campaign for herself and her children at a VERY crucial time. It should infuriate you to see this happen, especially in light of the recent smear campaign against palestinian gfms. We can assume now that many of the Palestinian blogs have been deactivated, because of baseless reports of being scams.
THE LAST DONATION CAME IN 23 HOURS AGO. PRIOR TO THAT, SOME DONATIONS CAME IN 2 DAYS AGO!!
We CANNOT let this fundraiser be stagnant. Alaa and her two children are suffering from hepatitis, and malnutrition. Their lives are on the line and they need medical care ASAP!
Her life wasn't always like this! Before October 7, Alaa led a peaceful life with her family which consisted of her children, husband, in-laws and immediate family, but soon the nightmare began and came to a head on October 28, when her neighborhood got bombed in its entirety.
Alaa escaped certain death that night as her house collapsed and trapped her family in. Debris choked them all, and they had to be rescued from under the rubble and shattered glass. Alaa describes what she witnessed that night as "unimaginable"- death, corpses and blood, surrounded the family.
Even after this tragedy, the pain did not let up and chased them to the Rimal neighborhood. The bombing continued and Alaa had to put wet masks on Maria and Hamza, so that the children could endure the terrible smoke and burning smell. Things got so bad throughout the next few months that Hamza who is only 3 years old, now talks only of bombings, rockets and tanks.
I want to remind you that Maria, Alaa's little daughter, has contracted hepatitis after being displaced for the third time, where they had to flee to Rafah. Being overcrowded, one can only access shared bathrooms which are primary causes of such viral infections. The children have suffered from epidemics and skin diseases, and the little tent Alaa has managed to acquire can barely sustain life in summer heat
On top of that, there is hardly any nutritious food and clean drinking water- which means that at one point, the family had to survive on weeds and bread made from animal feed. I cannot tell you how horrible this is! How Alaa and her children still suffer even now. In fact, at the moment of writing this post, Alaa messaged me about her tent shaking due to bombings nearby.
So I urge you not to ignore her, please, and help her reach her short term goal of 6K within the next 2 days !!
Her fundraiser has been up since May and has only reached €4543 which is a little above 4% of her end goal! Please donate and share! I also request you to follow Alaa ( @alaakh99 ) and help her save her children from this genocide!
( verified by 90-ghost )
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love letters and second sons | part 1.
Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.
Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The Bridgerton girlies have got me. Congratulations to you all. So before you read this, please read: I Hate Accidents by @i-hate-accidents AND Over The Garden Wall by @homeofthepeculiar AND The Ultimate Deception by @maximoff-pan. These stories are some of my favorites and really inspired this fic.
Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader
Word Count: 5.4k
Author's Note: To those who have read my other works, you'll notice that the author Mercutio's stories are something special
My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,
I am pleased to welcome you all to the start of another social season. Of course, people love and look for love all year round but each year the season just seems to invite love to blossom. I hope all of you find the match to your souls. Marriage is a business but can it not have love as well? A business built with love surely must be a business that tries to last. I ask our respectful citizens and subjects of the United Kingdom to make love a part of their search.
I would also like to ask about businesses that do not involve marriage or love. How are you? In the business of health, is everyone safe from all sickness? In the business of finance, does everyone have enough to eat and clothe themselves without falling into poverty? Are businesses afloat even if only by a small margin? How are you? Truly, I want to know. If you would like to write to me, please do so. The royal mailboxes should still be in perfect condition.
Of course, if you have something urgent then I am sorry but you must come to the palace and request an audience. My valets hold all letters for a day or a few out of safety for everyone. But rest assured, I read every letter once received.
I would also like to say that I can feel the winds of the ton calling me to grace their presence and to stop being rude by ignoring them. Naturally, the wind is very rude to say this and then cut through my dress and chill my bones even when it is snowing. But I digress, the wind is right. The time for introduction must be soon. And a lovely time that will be. I cannot wait to meet you all.
Yours truly,
A Not So Young Anymore Youngest Princess Y/N Hanover (Truly, I need a proper surname and not just the name of my father’s house)
My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,
Would you like to know what I have learned yesterday? I know the Americas are still a touchy subject for some but I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, just to share my studies. Philadelphia is the center of American debate. So many great men (and women that have probably gone unnamed but aided their counterparts in their quest of education) have lived and are currently still living there.
Going to America simply for a debate sounds terribly dreadful. But what if we had one here that wasn’t relegated to just the universities. An entire city becoming a center of debate seems incredibly foolish, not to mention disruptive to its current residents, but buildings of debate do not seem like a bad idea.
Even if some feel like they aren’t smart enough, they should participate. Ideas are nurtured by sharing them. May some debates lead to great compromise and understanding and maybe even propositions for laws.
I, for one, debate with my father every day on which science is the most important to teach to young children and which science can wait until university should they like to pursue that path. He believes all of it. I believe that medicinal science is too much for a young mind and they only need to be taught how to mind their health until they can understand better. What do you think? I am delighted to hear your opinions. Maybe mine will be swayed.
Yours Truly,
Youngest Princess Y/N Buckingham (I am trying out new surnames until one I like sticks)
My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,
I apologize if my stance may be radical but nothing in society ever got done if the start wasn’t a little radical. I believe that young women should be properly taught about relations… let me just say it, sex. Not when they are children, no, but when they are about to debut. Consider it. You all know that as a royal, despite being a woman, I have been taught all things. Everyone is aware that I know what sex is. But if I and my sisters were taught sex so that we may be aware of malicious advances and be able to protect our virtue first rather than waiting for our virtues to be saved by someone and risk them being too late, then others should as well. Therefore, I implore all mothers and governesses to teach their young ladies about to debut what sex is. And to fathers who may be without wives, please find any woman to teach your daughters.
I shall return with more radical ideas for a better and more prosperous United Kingdom.
Yours truly,
Youngest Princes Y/N Kew
The printed letters delivered to London, had everyone enthralled in the early morning. Some people that lived close enough to the central town square didn’t bother with the prints and went straight to the wooden pin board there to look at the princess’ handwriting on the original letters. Whenever the Young Princess or the author Mercutio Quick wrote, people stopped and paid attention.
Princess Y/N was the people’s princess. The one who listened to their complaints and wasn’t cheap on her charitable acts. She was so much like her father, Farmer George. Even with his illness he still ran a good country… when he was in charge. So much better than her eldest brother, George IV. Then again, any royal sibling was better than their eldest brother, even if only by a very small percentage. Everyday the public hoped another child would challenge George the Younger. They would rally their support behind them.
They were hoping that any day George IV’s daughter, Charlotte, would have an heir. If she was pregnant then it would be so easy for the public to support her and convince either George IV to step down or convince Parliament to present a motion to King George. They would have a ruler and an heir. Charlotte the Younger would be the easiest transition for George IV to understand.
But neither her father nor husband seemed to care about the lack of heir. But the thought of succession and coups and duels was forgotten for a moment to read the Young Princess’ letters welcoming them to the new social season with new balls, debutantes, and drama.
In the Bridgerton house, the family ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. They were trying to get ready to present Daphne to the Queen while also trying to read the Young Princess’ letters. Benedict laughed as he slapped his copy of the letters.
“Mother would have a fit if she had to speak with Daphne about sex.”
“I’m surprised she would even suggest such a thing,” Colin said as he returned to reading the first letter, thinking he might actually write to the Young Princess about his familial concerns and wanting to travel desperately but being unsure about leaving them.
Eloise finally smiled as she came downstairs with the rest of her siblings. “I for one think it’s rather refreshing. She is right. Our mamas should be teaching us more than just how to meet the Queen… Daphne! You must make haste! Do you think she heard me?”
Colin rolled his eyes. “She most certainly did. But on the matter of the princess, what is wrong with a woman’s husband teaching her about sex?”
“Everything is wrong with that.”
“Hmm.”
He looked down to reread the paper, wondering if he could understand what the princess actually meant. Even though the letters were left at home, talk of the princess never ceased. How could it? The monarchy’s youngest princess might actually be joining them. Everyone wanted to know what she would look like, not in the face of course. Even her fourth brother didn’t take off his mask until after five months of being introduced to society and he was the shortest time it took to see the royal children’s face.
“Do you think she will be tall like her eldest sister or short? Plump?” Eloise asked as their carriages started their way towards the palace. “I’d imagine I’d be very lovely and plump if I could be stuck in a palace all day with the most wonderful food imaginable. Not that anyone should ever value a woman based on her body but Penelope has stated that her sisters are terribly upset because all the dress makers have started saying that plump is going to be in fashion once again in only a few years time and by the time they become plump it’ll be out of fashion again.”
Daphne looked out the window. “I wonder if she’ll look like the Queen or the King. Oh, what makeup do you think she’ll wear? What mask did she have created for herself? When do you think we’ll actually see her face?”
Violet touched the knees of all her girls. “Whatever she is like, do not be rude and gawk. The poor thing will already have the vultures’ eyes on her all night. If she even comes out tonight. Perhaps it will be at a ball this week. That would be quite a fantastic introduction. I do hope she at least meets us this season.”
Francesca smiled. “I imagine her dance card would be quite full.”
“She’d have bracelets of dance cards going up to her arm,” Daphne agreed.
“But she isn’t coming into society yet. She’s just introducing herself to us,” Eloise said.
“She’s still a princess royal. A very well-known one at that. There’s no way the men would pass on an opportunity to dance with her. They’d want to start making their intentions known now, get ahead of everyone else.”
The boys’ carriage was speaking of a different matter entirely. The princess and Mercutio had written to the ton at the same time. With the presentation to the Queen taking up so much of the day, most people wouldn’t be able to read his work until later that evening. Colin and Benedict simply couldn’t wait. Colin sat with his brother as he drove the carriage and read the story out loud:
“Arsehole,” Cecilia muttered.
Ignoring the sharp stinging of her backside, she hopped off the bed to find something to put on. All she needed to accomplish was getting back to her room, clothed. She knew there must have been some spare clothes in their dressers. It was just a matter of sorting through which garments were hers and which belonged to the others. She had been sorely mistaken to ignore the three members of nobility behind her, thinking they hadn’t heard her.
Lovell scrunched up his face, resembling a rat. “Is receiving another punishment something you really care for? Because this attitude you’ve acquired is going to earn you one.”
“Piss off.”
“Is that any way to talk to your dominants?” Madison asked, adjusting herself in Tommy’s arms.
Cecilia scoffed as she walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob. “Lavender.”
The other three faces fell at the use of that forbidden word. Cecilia’s hand reached up ever so gently and wiped away tears. She wondered if the tears were for her former lovers or for finally realizing her mind was deluded to think she would be with anyone above her station such as Lovell.
“I don’t want this anymore.”
“Cecilia.”
“You never believe that I don’t enjoy breaking our established rules. You only listen to Madison.”
“Cecilia.”
“It is clear you both like her more than you desire me. I am down.”
“Cecilia.”
“You shall see me around this manor, doing my job as I always have. But that is the extent of our relationship.”
“Please, just give u—”
“Good day, Lord Parham. Lord Newall, Lady Wilcher.”
“Riveting,” Colin said as he finished reading. “Mr. Mercutio has done it again.”
Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has. I was a bit worried when he announced that he wanted to dabble in the themes of erotic pleasures in his stories but this was just as enjoyable as all the others.”
“Agree… Oh, it says here that they have earned a publishing deal. The penny stories will still come out once a week, chapter by chapter but readers can also purchase a book if they would like to keep the story properly or are in a rush to read it. I for one will be buying the books.”
“I second that.”
“I wonder what his next story will be about. Actually, no, I wonder what our dear sisters and mothers can be talking about.”
“The princess, no doubt.”
”Do you think any of our brothers will approach?” Eloise asked in the women’s carriage, more to herself than anything.
That made Hyacinth’s face light up. “If one of them marries the princess does that mean we get to be princesses too?”
“As if any of our brothers even could or want to.” Francesca pulled her face away from the window.
“If anyone is going to bring them to the marriage mart,” Daphne started as she fanned herself. “It would be the princess. Anthony would be a good match for her.”
Violet laughed, thinking of the idea. “A viscount and a princess are a perfect match.”
All talk of the princess stopped as they approached. The worst thing that could happen could be a footman overhearing them and mistaking their speech for malicious gossip rather than light-natured and report it to the princess or the queen or even worse, King George himself. They would forever be ostracized from society.
From upstairs, you watched from a window where you knew no one could see you even if they looked up. How you desperately wanted to be down there. All the men were dressed up and looking like penguins. Handsome they were but still penguin-like in silhouette. And the women’s dresses. Some, while upper class, were of a lower social standing and wore older dresses that looked just as gorgeous as the empire and rather shapeless dresses of today.
But today was not your day. You actually weren’t sure when your day would be. Your mother and father let their children choose when they would be introduced to society. Of course you all had to wait for a certain age and it had to be a date at the start of the social season but you could pick the day. And unlike your last sibling, you wanted it to be at a ball instead of the selection of the Diamonds. You didn’t even care which ball it would be. Perhaps it was selfish but you did want a day all to yourself or at least a day with you as the main focus. But that wasn’t this year. Or any year perhaps.
You were excited to finally leave the walls of the palace if you were allowed, having proven yourself capable of not causing an incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say you had proven yourself without illness. You weren’t that lucky. You and all your siblings were locked inside until the royal physicians could observe and confirm that you weren’t sick with whatever madness your father had. They didn’t have to observe you. That was also why you picked a ball instead of today. You wanted to prove you didn’t need a chaperone literally holding your elbow. You wanted freedom like your siblings. Freedom to explore that you weren’t sure would get because of your illness.
After a nearly fatal drowning in the lake — an event your siblings still get chewed out for at least once a month — you started showing symptoms like George did. For you it wasn’t about if you would be as sick like your father. It was about how bad and how quickly the illness would get.
You didn’t get to see George as often as the others. The doctors thought you shouldn’t be around him for prolonged periods of time unless it was after an episode. They thought that too much exposure would make you more like him instead of better. They wanted to send him to Kew but you promised that you wouldn’t go to his quarters as long as he got to stay at Buckingham.
Charlotte, silly as it may have been, had hope. They caught your sickness early. Nine was a very young age to almost go mad. Maybe you could be saved from a cruel fate unlike George. They were too late for him but not for you. Of course this only brought jealousy from your siblings who didn’t feel like they got as much affection anymore. Every time you even twitched, it became about you. They could never hate you. It wasn’t like you asked to be sick. But it was hard to be around you. Everyday visits became once a week. Still, you cherished those visits. Like the one yesterday. They expressed their sympathies and hopefulness that you would get to introduce yourself and maybe it could even be this year or maybe this month.
You could have scoffed. After what you did just two days ago, you were unsure. The daylight came into your room before you were prepared for it and you had been convinced that Buckingham was on fire. You couldn’t be calmed down until you jumped into the water fully clothed. Immediately, you pulled yourself out of the trance but no one really cared. The royal physician had been called anyway and you had ruined all chances of attending the presentation to the Queen.
“Your Highness!” a voice disturbed your thoughts and your eyes from looking at your siblings’ carriages leave in the morning. Your lady-in-waiting approached you with a paper, an entire pamphlet. “It’s already spread through the ton like a fire. We haven’t read it yet. We figured new literature would be a treat for you.”
“Thank you, Pandora. Shall we read it in the kitchens this morning when we return home?”
“Not your room?”
“I’m so terribly sick of my room and the washroom and the balcony and the bedroom.”
“You are getting restless.”
“It’s only a matter of time. Maybe even tomorrow it’ll happen. And soon it will only be a couple of years at most before the mask is gone. By the way,” you said as the two started to leave. “Did you hear about the Feather girl that fainted? Is she alright?”
“Oh yes, she’s fine.”
“Good. Have someone send flowers to her tomorrow with an inquiry about her wellbeing after taking such a tumble. Oh and no flowers to the Diamond. I want to meet her myself one day. Now, let’s read about this… Lady Whistledown. She already sounds like an interesting woman.”
Interesting it was indeed. The maids and kitchen staff hung onto your every word as you read the pamphlet. You weren’t exactly sure how you felt about the pamphlet yet but Pandora was right about one thing. It was literature. Lady Whistledown seemed bold enough to list subjects by name. By their entire name as if she wasn’t afraid of any repercussions. You supposed she wouldn’t be since Whistledown was obviously not her real name.
It wasn’t the subject of what she published that bothered you. A lot of it was standard gossip that goes around during the social season but it was her personal opinion. She almost seemed to want the ladies she wrote about to have miserable ends like inquiring about Daphne Bridergton’s flame burning out quickly. The lady must know that what she published could ruin a reputation. Gossip is no longer gossip when publicly written down. It has the potential to become fact.
You slapped the pamphlet against your hand. “Well, I suppose Mercutio Quick from York will no longer be the entertainment of the ton. Sad, and right as I earned a publishing deal too. Perhaps, I should take up a different art. Like making dresses for all my days or learning to play the harp and cello properly so it sounds better than a dying whale according to my brothers.”
The cook shook his head. “Your stories are very entertaining. Even Lady Whistledown couldn’t stop that.”
“Thank you for saying that. I am rather jealous that she is penning under a woman.”
“But you have chosen a name based on your favorite characters, have you not?”
“I have but maybe I should’ve chosen better. This Lady Whistledown might be making more change for women then I hope to accomplish.”
At this, the staff scoffed. Pandora cleaned up your dishes from the kitchen island in front of you.
“Your Highness, with the utmost respect, you are the one who is going to do more for women than this Whistledown. Everybody already wants someone other than your kind brother on the throne. They’re all praying your niece gives them any child so they may protest for her with the added benefit of an heir. They love her and what you write about in your letters make her seem even better. Hell, they love you and they don’t even know you. They listen to you. And with your words, Princess Charlotte the Younger will be on the throne and you will prove women are more than capable of whatever and we might have real change. Is she still on board?”
“Yes. She hates her father as much as anyone else does. George is nice once you get to know him… sort of. But Lettie approves as long as I agree to be in her court. I said yes of course.”
“Then it is settled. Thank God we might actually get change in our wretched lives. Now you must wash up and oversee the Bridgerton gowns before they are sent off. Shall we pick certain ones from your wardrobe?”
“Give the Diamond the one with lace and her family’s colors. Pick whatever you want for the rest of them. Oh and patterns must be on the Feather mother’s dress. I noticed she wears the most ill-favored ornamented dresses but she seems to like them. And put in an order with the modiste, I should like to do this often if this first gesture goes well and the gift wardrobe will need more clothes than it has at present. Clothes for the lower classes as well, nothing that could get them attacked and the clothes stolen off their bodies.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And, by the way, I already washed up.”
“Yes, but now you’ve been sitting amongst smoke and smells.”
You gave up your fight and nodded as you jumped down from your stool and began the walk to your room. No one was around today. They wouldn’t be for most of the social season as they had other duties, including watching your siblings. Despite your madness, you weren’t the biggest concern at all. It was your rakish brothers in brothels, your sisters constantly leaving their husbands or suitors, and all of them sneaking away. You paused for a moment before walking quicker until you reached your room.
Why couldn’t you sneak out? Now would be the perfect opportunity. And no one was looking for you. It would be so easy to scale the vines up the garden wall and just have fun for a moment. You washed up quickly and put on a very simple dress — one more like the style of today rather than your father’s time. Grabbing a cloak and your mask, you put them down on the bed before sitting down at your writing desk to pen a letter. The slam of the door nearly made you jump out of your skin. You calmed as you realized it was just Pandora.
“Oh, good. It is just you.”
“I have the Bridgerton and Featherington dresses but what do you mean it is just me, Y/N?”
You stood up, abandoning the letter now that someone was around. “I am going out to see the ton.”
“What?”
“It is still dark. I have a map, my cloak, and the mask. And I have a very clear destination with vehicles that will get me back in the most discreet of ways should I need to use them.”
“Your Highness.”
“Pandora. I am nearing my introduction to society. You will all have to let me go at some point. I know everyone cares for my wellbeing but my happiness is gone. I am seen as nothing but my illness. Before I have an episode in public like the king, let me meet the ton. Let me not be Farmer Y/N for a brief moment of my life before I am a farmer forever, before I stay in that garden just like Father.”
Pandora’s mouth shut. She simply locked the door and unlocked the window. “You must return before your midmorning promenade and snack. Since you ate downstairs, I can convince them to overlook your absence of a breakfast request. And don’t take your mask. It’s better if they don’t know who you are at all.”
She gasped as you hugged her.
“Thank you, Pandora! Thank you! You are truly the bestest friend a woman could have.”
“Just go so you can come back quickly and I can have my sanity back.”
You closed the window, shocking Pandora as you pulled a picture frame off the wall to reveal a staircase that led outside. The door was hidden behind the trellis covered in vines and flowers. You pulled the hood over the cloak over you. The last thing you did was check for your bracelet and if your papers were inside. Until you were introduced to society, all the royal children had bracelets that couldn’t come off unless cut off. There were just in case measures with the eldest two but became necessary after so many nights sneaking out. The bracelet wasn’t going anywhere but you didn’t want to lose your birth certificate. It was your first safety measure. Even if you were kidnapped or harmed, you’d be returned to the palace for a pretty penny. You did pull your sleeves down so your bracelet wouldn’t be noticed.
You couldn’t contain your smile at the excitement of being out. London was so different without all the noise. The brothels and pubs were starting to close down for their few hours of rest and relaxation. You stuck to streets where you could see all the action but wouldn’t be easily spotted. No one bothered you until you arrived at your destination.
The footman stood to attention. “May I help you?”
“Yes, hello. I bring a package from Buckingham House for the Bridgertons, courtesy of Princess Y/N.” You handed him a letter with your official stamp at the end of it.
The footman’s eyes went wide as he handed you back the letter and ran inside. The Bridgertons looked up at the frantic knocking, pulling slips over Hyacinth and Daphne before telling the footman he could enter. The Bridgerton boys came upstairs after hearing the heavy pounding of their employee’s footsteps running up the multiple stairs.
“Is there a problem, Marshall?”
He panted before taking in a deep breath. “The Young Princess’ lady-in-waiting is here, bearing gifts.”
“WHAT?!”
The Bridgertons collectively yelled before the scramble happened. You tilted your head when you saw the windows open and a maid shake out some bedsheets. She squeaked when she looked down to see you. You laughed as she ran back inside. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you were escorted into the house by a very out of breath footman. The Bridgertons stood on the steps at the end of their entrance hall in chronological order with their mother starting the line at the very bottom step. Nervous smiles graced their faces when you finally reached them. You curtsied to which they curtsied or bowed back.
You gave them a second to assess you before speaking. Even though it wasn’t true in the slightest, everyone thought the ladies-in-waiting and manservants were reflections of the royals themselves. Not in character or value but in appearance. They figured they could form some sort of picture as to what the young masked royals looked like. If you were ugly then surely the princess was too. You hoped they at least found you to be average looking in appearance.
Anthony Bridgerton — the new head of house from what you remembered of your studies — stepped from behind his mother to greet you formally. He bowed once again, deeper, before offering up his hand. You settled yours in it to receive a chaste kiss.
“To what do we owe this sudden pleasure, Mrs…”
“Beckett,” you lied, just using Pandora’s last name.
“Mrs. Beckett?” He didn’t recognize the name as one belonging to an upper class member of the ton. He wasn’t sure he recognized the name at all.
“Apologies, I should explain. The princess doesn’t distinguish in her court, we are all there to work. All women are ladies-in-waitings, all men are valets. Regardless of station, regardless of marriage.”
“So, I am to take it that my earlier statement was incorrect.”
You nodded. “Simply Miss Beckett.”
“Well that sounds like very forward thinking actually. All the same, it is our pleasure to meet anyone in her highness’ court.”
Violet smiled as she watched the interaction. If her son was close to anyone in the princess’ court, especially someone that seemed so close to the princess as to be sent here, then he would be able to meet the princess with good graces. He’d be ahead of any man by leagues.
“Princess Y/N has sent me on her behalf. She extends warm greetings to the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons whom I will meet after our encounter. The princess congratulates Miss Daphne Bridgerton for earning Diamond of the Season as well as congratulations to the Dowager Viscountess for raising such a fine woman and to Viscount Bridgerton for chaperoning and keeping the family together therefore allowing his sister to shine.”
He cleared his throat and started to smile. “Please give the princess all of our thanks for the most kind of compliments.”
“And she would like to assure Miss Bridgerton that I have not been sent on behalf of any princes. Her brothers will not be bothering you today.”
They all chuckled when you laughed.
You set the first box down on the table next to you and opened it. “The princess has brought new dresses for the ball. The Diamond and the rest of her family should have the opportunity to shine with the utmost and wholehearted respect and support of the Crown. Please, enjoy them.”
The family ran to the table, picking out dresses and suits and matching them to the person’s name on the paper pinned to each garment. They kept singing praises and admiring the outfits. Violet turned back to you.
“When are you planning on visiting the Featheringtons?”
“In an hour or so, I must be back before the princess’ morning promenade. She has a very busy day afterwards.”
“Will the princess be introducing herself this season?”
“Hyacinth!” Anthony and Violet yelled at the same time.
You laughed. “It is no trouble. I’m at liberty to answer as the princess’ head valet.”
“Valet? I thought you said they were all men. They are usually all men.”
“If the princess should become heir to the throne then she will receive a male valet alongside me. For now, it is just me. The Crown believes someone of the same gender should always be with her should she need to confide in someone about very personal matters.” You took a breath before testing the waters. “Such as affections of the heart.”
It had dawned on you in that moment that you could spy on the ton. When the time came, you would still have to dance with all the bachelors of the United Kingdom but you at least you would have a better picture of them. You’d have to apologize to Pandora for the countless strokes she was about to earn from you but you couldn’t make this your only time sneaking out.
Violet smiled, knowing she was right. “Well, would you like to stay for breakfast?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It would be no trouble at all. We have more than enough room. Eloise, dear, if Penelope is to come over please request that she do so now.”
(part 2)
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