#and ofc shade is a joy

[untilyouremember]

Magical Girl Dandelion

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[pvlvsdog]

How would Sinners react to a proposition of skinny dipping? You don't have to write all of them ofc :3

Ohhh, you are going to be the end of me /pos /nm the way I had to ponder this for so long. I’m dying

Unedited! Slight nsfw themes (mentions of nudity) ahead!

Hmm, I think Don is all for it as a fun adventure. Like, oh cool you want to swim in a lake together, this will be so fun, you can find something to jump into the water from or splash each other. If she’d be excited for having sone fun in the lake with someone, it’d be you. Those are her thoughts for exactly ten seconds before it hits her that skinny dipping also includes both parties being naked, preferably away from everyone else and pretty intimate. Her eyes get a bit wide as she’s hit with that realization but she’s Don, of course she won’t back down. Might blurt out something like ‚naked?’ Just as that thought enters her mind, not that she minds. She just doesn’t have a filter. And is very eager to do the activity with you still. Still, her openness doesn’t mean she’ll be normal about it. I could see her making quite a ruckus about sneaking off with you (not even to show off and let others know, she’s just like that plus you gave her a lot of positive emotions to process) so your little skinny dipping session will be anything but a secret. Bonus is that for a good while after you ask, you could swear her cheeks turned a semi-permanent shade of pink. The shoes stay on of course. Even when you question her about it, she’ll respond like you’re the one being silly for expecting anything else

Again with sinners being anything but normal, we have Sinclair. He’s another one who will ask the same question of „…Naked?” But in his case it’s not prefixed with excitement and joy. Not that he wouldn’t want to do it. He just didn’t expect you to propose that and even if you did, he’s still a bit surprised that you proposed that to him. He just simply… wasn’t expecting this. And with the insight I have from reading his book, I would guess that the whole concept would bring him more stress than joy. First of all, he doesn’t like himself all that much, so the perspective of stripping in front of somebody he likes… is anxiety inducing. Besides, despite keeping it all well hidden and marinating in his brain, his mind - more often than not - leads him uh. Places. He starts thinking about things he… really feels bad for thinking in relation to his favourite coworker. About your body and the connotations of your proposition. Lewd possibilities cross his mind and with each one he feels more and more awful. This is much worse than the ambiguously wet dreams plaguing his mind (as they do in the book), since at this point he at least doesn’t realise who the motherly figure in them is. But he knows you. And he feels like he shouldn’t be thinking about you in that way. You’d find that disgusting, find him disgusting. You probably already do. And he wouldn’t blame you for that. In the past (again, in the book), it took one lewd comment about a local shopkeeper from his schoolmates to get him flustered to the point he gave up on coming to the store. And he’s not much better now. A huge part of him, one that dislikes both the inside and outside of his own self, is screaming at him to decline. But there is something in the way you look at him so kindly, waiting for his response, that pushes him to ignore his innate instinct to run. You swear you could see cogs turning in his head and steam rising (sorry, that metaphor was uh, not purposefully crafted) as he mulled everything over to finally agree. But not before asking if you’re sure. I mean… you did ask. But he’s so stressed, he would rather make sure that you mean what you’re saying. The last thing he’d want is to make a fool of himself in front of you. You reassure him that your proposition still stands and you meant it. However, when push comes to shove he probably would still, albeit apologetically, ask if he could maybe stay in his shirt and boxers. Especially after seeing you strip. With a lot of encouragement you could maybe get him to give that up, but it would take a lot and he would be… rather guarded. Either way, as time in the lake goes on, he would relax a tiny bit and it would be fun. Mostly staying emerged in water though. Give him time. And uh. Don’t look down when you two get out of the water. We all know what is happening there as his eyes nearly drill holes in your figure, but I think he would actually die permanently if you acknowledged his hhh. Reaction

Rodya is much more chill with it. She gets excited right away and praises you for the good idea. When you tell her that it would be just the two of you and that she was the first person you thought of when the idea popped into your head, she grins. Well obviously she was, who’s more fun on this bus than her~ despite the self assured words and tone, there is a bit of pride as she says it. She proposes to make it a little adventure, to sneak out and make it a fun secret between the two of you. Definitely not because she’s a bit salty that you were the one to come up with the idea. I mean she likes you, she “should” come with something special to add here to impress you. Though it’s a bit reassuring that you thought that she was the best person to share this moment with. She makes the whole event ten times better, coming up with a way to sneak off unnoticed. Even if you are concerned about Vergilius finding out, she waves you off. She’s been in deeper shit than this, no need to worry. She has a way with words, as she claims. As you two strip, she teases you a bit and shamelessly takes off her clothes, fighting against herself not to show just how much she’s seeking out your starstruck gaze. Again, she tells you to relax as she watches you strip, letting slip a comment or two that are bound to rattle your brain for the next week. But for now you two enter the water. She yelps a bit and complains that it’s colder than she’d like. Overplaying the act a little bit, though you can definitely tell she’s cold. If you’re taking the temperature worse, she’d comment on it, saying how it’s crawl who the ‘cultured’ folk is. ‘Lowly ones are too used to freezing colds, it’s very easy to see~’ she says about ‘commoners’ in a playful but matter-of-factly tone. You could easily imagine Heathcliff contemplating drowning her on the spot on a bad day if he was present. But there’s no one around. Only you and her. And despite her poorly masked insecurities, this little activity you share is sure making her feel special

I firmly believe that asking Outis to skinny dip would leave you more flustered than her. Maybe she’d be surprised at first. Taken aback. You could see something in her demeanour shift as she lets out some semi-flustered explanation that it could be amateurish considering your “service” to the company. But she has a soft spot for you. So, after asking Dante (yes, she has to ask them, it’s the ‘professional way to conduct such procedures’) she informs you at what time she’ll be waiting for you. The initial surprise has worn off and from then on, oh, you’re cooked. She’d strip in a very matter of factly fashion and when she stands in front of you in all her glory, it’s hard not to blush. At the slightest hesitance she informs you that this is nothing to be embarrassed about. Her tone both confident and a little… affectionate? You could swear there was a glint of warmth in her eyes when she said it. Genuine warmth shining through her collected exterior. Times at war are (you don’t dare to correct that with a ‘were’) tough and back in her day she had seen contless soldiers in such situations. This is nothing to be ashamed about. Didn’t you request this bonding time between the two of you? It’s a good way to bring you two closer. She proclaims so with confidence, but as her words hit her, she adverts her eyes and adds that it’s good for teamwork. So what are you waiting for? It’s hard to disagree or prolong the ordeal, so soon enough both of you get into the water. She sways effortlessly along with the current and for once you can see her expression soften a little as she goes along with your attempts at small talk. Sure, that civil, personal part of her is a little rusty, but it glimmers though the cracks as she recounts some little facts and situations from the passing days. It’s hard to let her guard down. But as she watches you, submerged in the water beside her, she feels like it’s not impossible to feel something else than a calculated need for survival

As you ask Ryoshu to indulge you in your request, she takes her cigarette out of her mouth and quirks her eyebrow at you. ‚What For?’ She questions you with amusement. No matter your reasoning, she ponders for a second, snickering a little. It’s… sort of cute you want to involve her in your plans like that. Especially since it’s a bit of a bold ask, all things considered. Finally, a smirk plays on her lips as her eyes travel up and down your figure and she replies. ‚Alright, Why Not’. She’s not bothered by the whole concept, though your daring request is for sure positively interesting to her, as I said. You two set the time (well, you do, she’s chill to go along with anything really) and she tells you to lead the way. She’s not too bothered to just walk out even if you want to go during company time. She’s curious to see where it’ll go. Only when you two did yourselves of your uniforms does she change her demeanour a bit. She’s a woman of the arts after all. And there’s nothing shameful in her gaze as it drags across your body, noting every curve and scar. She definitely has eyes of an artist. And in that moment, you feel like the finest muse she had ever had (which… could be concerning considering the type of art she dabbles in, but this time her thoughts are definitely going different places than gore. For the most part). She’s fun to spend time in the water with. Witty and attentive, she gazes at the scenery around, though each time her eyes end up on you again. Albeit she’s an enigmatic woman, it’s very clear that this experience made you two somewhat closer

The real issue when asking Faust to go skinny dipping with you is to get a straightforward answer from her. Or just any answer that would tell you what she’s thinking. But it’s Faust we’re talking about. So, when you ask her if she’d be down to go skinny dipping with you after Dante officially ends the work day (you know she wouldn’t agree if this wasn’t the case) she tells you that ‘all employees are permitted to use the next twelve hours as they please, to rest, use the restroom or destress’. She says it as if she was stating the obvious. Well, she is, in a sense, but it doesn’t mean she’s making herself clear in this context. She’s doing anything but that. After you press her a bit and explains, that her response was, indeed, a “yes”. Although a very faint smile is tugging on her lips, as she asks you about the time and for the briefest of times you could swear that her (usually very distant) gaze settled on you. Still avoiding the eyes, but as it falls below your face, you wonder if it’s about something different than her habit of avoiding looking at faces this time. With how enigmatic she is, she isn’t giving you much to go off on in terms of decoding her thoughts. Even when she shows up at the time you two agreed on (seems like she appeared just as the clock struck the exact minute, but after getting to know her, that doesn’t surprise you at all). Gracefully, her hands work their way around zippers and buttons until the last item of clothing slides off of her body, only to be folded and set aside for later. Her soft, pale skin seems radiant and she waits for you to rid yourself on the uniform as well before emerging herself in water beside you. When you look at her, her eyes barely leave the surface, tracing the lines of the ripples her movement makes against the current. However, each time you look away, you can almost feel the burning gaze that settles on your figure and takes it all in

A gentle, happy smile settles on Hong Lu’s lips as you present him with the idea. How curious! Is this some sort of a ritual or a pastime poor people have? He would love to do it, he never had the chance to~. First being hungry and now taking clothes off and getting into dirty water for fun, this job is giving him so many new experiences! He asks what the purpose is. Of being naked and swimming in some (probably at least slightly contaminated) water. You didn’t suspect he knew about the horrid state of things outside of his bubble, such as water being bad/polluted, but his state of surprise seems to be contagious when you find yourself wondering about the degree to which his ignorance is a choice. As your expression clearly changes at his words, he gives you a lazy, quizzical smile. His questions need to be answered and I, dear reader, wish you good luck because you will need all of it to explain to him why you want to be in the water - alone and without clothes - with him specifically. After he seems satisfied (though you’re sure the last one or two questions were asked in an effort to fluster you), he tells you to get him when you’re ready to depart and head towards the destination of your ‘curious activity’. Once there, he gently pulls off his clothes with a bit of excitement, clearly looking forward to taking part in your plan. Before you get a chance to lead him into the murky liquid, he happily shows you his folded stack of clothes. They look… a bit unconventional in the way he had put them, but he acts with such glee that it’s hard to stay indifferent to his achievement. He tells you that he had other people handle such things before, but since that’s a thing of the past, he had learned to do it on his own. He’s very happy to share this new skill with you. It’s after that, that you two finally go thought with your plan fully. Shivering a bit, he asks if the water will be heated up. It’s up to you if you want to inform him that it’s not how natural bodies of water work or spare him such information and assure him that the longer you two stay emerged, the warmer he’ll feel (omitting that it won’t be due to any manmade mechanisms). All in all, even something you wouldn’t personally call “and exceptional experience” is like a brand new adventure with Hong Lu by your side. His musing and eager inquiries never let you drift off or grow bored. And if you’re unsure about how stimulating a chat with him can be, I assure you that his body will provide a whole array of visual stimuli as well, all on display for your eyes to explore

Next 3 couldn’t have been written without the help of my friend (you, dear anon haha^^) and I hope I didn’t disappoint~

If you were hoping for a distinct reaction from Heathcliff, you are in luck because it is indeed, definitely strong. When you ask him if he would like to skinny dip with you (either because you like the idea and want company or have just heard of the concept and want to try it out, having picked him as the best suited companion) he looks a bit… taken aback. Sure, he can be loud and most definitely wouldn’t categorise him as shy, but he’s also not blind to the implications of you offering to strip in front of him like it’s some casual activity (it’s not to him, definitely). There’s a lot of things left over from his past and even now, it clearly shows in his approach to intimacy. Not only was he ‘undesirable’ before, he had grown to expect to not have his desires met easily and without fighting for each instance of genuine affection (such as his… favourite coworker offering to be so intimate). In his head it’s still more easy to accept being The Other, the one who pleases those he cares about, someone who constantly tries to earn each instance of affection. Despite his… quite innate state of emotional constipation, he is fond of you and by extension- thinks quite highly of you. For someone who had it so reinforced from an early age that he is below the good and pure people (well, especially one person), it makes sense for you to just be your lovely self instead of initiating anything on you own, directing your attention and intimacy towards him so blatantly. Besides that he uh… well, he is all bark no bite in a sense that he didn’t have a lot of instances where he could get experience. At best he had something like this happen once or twice when he was much younger. Both the way he is and the lingering idea in the back of his head of ‘saving himself’ prevented him from familiarising himself with more. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the question came from someone else. But you get him worked up on daily over much less than skinny dipping. Heck, even when you look at him a bit too intensely during a bickering session he looses track for a moment each time without fail. But he wouldn’t be Heathcliff if he unpacked all of that. So instead your question will get a very annoyed ‚what for’. I mean. Your intentions aren’t that clear to him, like I said, he feels more natural when he’s chasing an idea, than when his desires become something writhing reach, something he doesn’t have to work for. Whatever you tell him to explain your request, it won’t be completely understandable to him because of that. But in the end a strange pull he feels on the inside (again, he’s not unpacking that) pushes him to grumble out something that is almost in agreement to your question. In turn he spends the remaining time being filled with way more tension that what would be considered reasonable. He’s not snappy, but something about the way he holds himself is very different. So much so, that Rodya calls it out at one point. Only then does he let his full annoyance out and while a few sinners muse on what could have set him off like that again, you’re left to wonder if you were the reason for his strange behaviour. He’s stuck between snapping at your coworkers and spacing out. His mind going back to the plans you two made. Each time, he finds that his gaze landed on you again and lets out a frustrated huff. As you two finally depart on your off time, he walks right by your side. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes looking somewhere off to the side. On the inside he is torn. A part of him wishes to rush towards the body of water and the other part tells him to run back to the bus. In the end he simply walks shoulder in w shoulder with you. Saying nothing until you two arrive at the place. Something stops him from undressing and compels him to instead aim his gaze at you for the first time since you guys departed. It’s then that he finds himself stuck, watching you slip out of your uniform, fabric sliding off of your form 1/2

Hungrily he notes each soft curve and sharp edge that makes up your form, his eyes taking in all the ways in which light and shadow engulf your body, creating a sight he realises now, he yearned so hard to see until now. No beauty mark, no hair, no scar escape his sight. When you turn to him, you could swear that his pronounced chest is rising up and down way pre intensely than it has any business doing so. Heath doesn’t know what to do with himself for a moment. Seeing you so bare, so purposefully there - it makes all the repressed urges inside him turn into a devouring fire that leaves his body sweating and muscles tense. It somehow feels both wrong and cathartic to have someone be here with him so wholly, with such intent. This is not like fleeting glances and meek brushing of the skin that he was told over and over he was undeserving of. This here doesn’t feel wrong or undeserved. Whatever you meant by your invitation here, he can feel that you meant it. He can’t think of what he did to deserve to be chosen out of all the coworkers you two are close to. In all fairness this is so unusual because he is sure that he did not do anything. He didn’t have to dress up nicely, speak differently, act more “civilised” (we… won’t unpack that here hhh). No amount of favours and flowers caused you to trust him enough to bare yourself like that. Somehow, you just did on your own accord. Undressing takes him a second, all those notions racing in his head, having a hard time getting through over his much more thirsty thoughts as he is battling a hard time of his own. The mere fact that his is not sporting a full on erection is more of a miracle than whatever Dante does to bring him back from the dead after battles. Finally you two are naked and if he wasn’t as worked up over you, he’d get an ego boost from the way you looked at him as well. As strong as his self restraint is, even the cold water can’t keep his member flaccid once you two get into the water and he looks at the way droplets explore your body, dripping down each time you emerge from under the surface. They shine and shimmer on your soft skin before falling down and it’s safe to say he’s getting more worked up with each second. It’s even more evident when you try to hold a conversation. Although you will have to deal with his frustrated demeanour and lack of focus, he still makes it worth a while and there’s nothing to regret once your little adventure comes to an end 2/2

As soon as the question exits your mouth, Ishmael cocks her head at you. It that really what you want to do? She also asks you ‘what for?’ Though she’s certainly not as worked up about it as Heathcliff was. There’s no doubt that she has experience with bodies of water and she is the first person to inform you that bathing without any clothes is about the least practical thing you can do. Of course, jumping in with your full attire on wouldn’t work well either, but a minimal amount of clothing is actually very beneficial. She’s not judging you, but don’t expect her not to question what kind of ‘fun’ there is in skinny dipping. So it’s a whole thing and people like to partake in it? Doesn’t make much sense from a practical standpoint, but as you explain to her why it’s actually the whole point to take your clothes off when you two do it, a little smile tugs on her lips. Perhaps she does find your methods of seeking alone time… unique, but she’s not oblivious to the fact that this is you initiating an intimate moment with her. The length to which you’re going to convince her of the vital part of being naked during skinny dipping makes it hard for her not to point it out. She asks you one or two final questions that are solely spoken to fluster you a bit, but ultimately she’s open to try this out. It’s Ish that insists on setting the time and follows through to a minute, waiting to be lead by you towards your set destination. As you undress, she checks out the body of water, humming to herself and giving you updates on her finds. When she’s satisfied that no harm could be caused by your little activity, she turns to face you. Though she acts very casual, her cheeks and ears come close to matching her hair as she eyes you up and down. After a brief pause she begins to take her own clothes off. The sudden change of temperatures leaves you shivering as you two go deeper in, but Ishmael acts unphased. She notes that she did warn you that your fun adventure could turn unpleasant and lead to you catching a cold. With a small sign, she swims closely to you. Body heat transfers underwater just as easily as it does on the surface. Thus, she proposes that you two entangle your bodies closely to keep you from suffering the cruel coolness of the liquid you were so eager to submerge yourself into. Her strong arms wrap themselves around your frame and your chests press together. Though decently athletic, she’s soft and definitely warm. She holds you until it’s time to get out, making sure you don’t freeze. At least that’s the reason she gives you ;3

Right from the start, though calm and unassuming in his demeanour, Yi Sang would be pretty receptive to your idea. All nervousness you might have felt disappear as soon as he responds to your question. He might be a little quiet but it doesn’t mean he’s prudish or judgy, quite the opposite actually. So all he does is nod in agreement and ask what would be the most convenient time for you two to depart. After that, if you are vigilant enough, you might feel his eyes on you a decent amount of times. At one point you can even hear Rodya question why he’s ’smiling to himself like that’ though his answer it too quiet to decipher (and probably a bit too ambiguous to get a proper read on him). In the end he approaches you as your working hours come to an end, asking you if you’re ready to go. He’s so casual about it that it’s hard not to feel at ease, even though his veiled eagerness is definitely a bit flustering. On the way there he engages in pleasant musings with you, listening to your thoughts about the latest happenings or life in general and gladly sharing his own. He’s a bit more relaxed now, whether it’s because he’s off the clock and away from the crowded bus or because he’s speaking with you. He grows a bit more flustered when he sees you take your clothes off and avoids eye contact more than usual when he sees you looking at his naked form, but still manages not to make things too awkward. All in all it’s not a bad time and despite being somewhat a distant person, he is definitely staying pretty close to you physically, sneaking glances each time you gaze at the water you two are submerged in

With Meursault I can’t imagine a scenario that wouldn’t be a bit silly and surreal because that man really just considers private affections and urges to be not a part of his work contract and thus fails to see the purpose in carrying them out. I firmy believe even getting morning wood is a conscious choice to him. It’s not in his contract, thus he refuses to succumb to it. However, he does value your input. Whether it’s affection or ‘simple appreciation for your efficiency in the workplace’ he is willing to hear you out. It doesn’t mean you won’t have to explain and validate skinny dipping as a pastime, both in excruciating length and detail. You might have to get Dante involved, asking them to please issue an official statement allowing you to depart in purpose of decreasing stress and thus increasing productivity. Yes, it has to be phrased like that. If you get your dear (and confused) manager to comply, Meursault won’t argue. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go. But his wants are not relevant. He is an employee first, after all. It shows in the way he completely disregards any of his personal feelings on the matter. Just hums quietly and agrees. If he is flustered or nervous, it doesn’t show. The best sign you will get from him is that he seems pretty receptive, all factors considered. Another sign that he might be a bit more interested than he is lettting on is that, after your work hours end, he heads towards you with such purpose that one could assume that Vergilius himself had ordered him to. With little to no shame he says ‘the work day ended. We can go through with your plan to go skinny dipping now’. It’s said in front of everyone and you can be sure that at least a few of your fellow coworkers will have a blast bringing it up and teasing you for the next week or two. But it is a worry you will have to mull over later as, just like Meursault said, it is time for you two to leave and head towards your destination. As you lead him towards the water he stays silent and promptly begins taking his clothes off when you two stop. Even in such an intimate action he is very stoic and graceful, leaving his uniform folded by the shore and offering to fold yours as well. Without any shame in his naked, exposed self, he submerges himself. If he is cold, there’s no indication of that. It is after hours though and if you are attentive enough you will see his eyes trailing across your figure. He is yet another sinner that, if you find yourself shivering, will offer to transfer some of his warmth by standing and holding you closely. The action seems almost formal, but it’s doubtful he would propose such thing if it wasn’t you. Silence with him is comfortable. In case you initiate a conversation though, he will respond, carrying the talk effortlessly and casually. Or well, as much as his usual uptight demeanour allowed him to

There is no other way to describe the state you put Dante in other than ‘sheer panic’. For a split second they even start to wonder if they should be getting into the water at all, given their mechanical head. Only to realise that this is no different than the showers they take and will not jeopardise their life or ability to bring sinners back. If it was physically possible, you would definitely see more than one droplet of sweat rolling down their face as they look around and fiddle with their fingers. Suddenly it feels like their limbs had grown too long and their body is all wrong. They shift under your gaze, making a few surprised sounds. If you were hoping to make your poor manager a flustered mess, you sure got it. Finally they ask <is that even allowed?>. And I mean. They are the manager, so it’s not like you’re the one to tell them. They get flustered at that realisation even more. Muttering something that almost could be considered a coherent confirmation they look mortified with their own decision making skills. I mean. They are used to being mocked and used by the sinners, disregarded as a weakling by most (and that doesn’t even cover the way they get treated by those who can’t hear their speech). So it’s surprising that out of everyone you could invite, you felt the most comfortable undressing in front of them. Sure, you make a point to treat them well on the daily, but they always assumed you didn’t think very highly of them, that it was pure courtesy. The more they think about your proposition, the more anxious they get. They like you. A lot. But your question could mean that you are more fond of them than they initially assumed. And they like you so so much. Oftentimes your interactions make their day, making them feel better even after the worst of days. But they always thought it was one sided (why wouldn’t it be? You’re so lovely and they are, as of now, not even the bare minimum. Just some incompetent ‘resurrection machine’ with no memories of the past and ‘questionable humanity’). If this is some sign that you’re sending, if you really like them, they would feel bad for giving into their selfish urges. You deserve someone stronger. Someone more capable. They get so worked up over that, that when you two finally get to it and it’s time to undress they are hit with a new wave of anxiety. Once again their whole body feels so inadequate and out of place. As you stand there naked they can’t help but shrink into themselves the more your beauty hits them. They don’t even remember what is considered attractive. They know their head is definitely a turn off but as they stand with their arms folded tightly like a shield, they start to wonder if any part of them is even remotely appealing by common beauty standards. You have to snap them out of their half horny-half self deprecating gaze and lead them towards the water by their hand, making their stomach fill with butterflies. It certainly takes a while for them to relax, though they do their best to respond every time you say something. All whilst desperately reminding themselves that you aren’t able to see where their eyes are looking 0///0

Gregor is no less caught by surprise and the half grumble-half squeak he makes is definite proof. Your surprising question is definitely at least a bit dreadful. Unlike in the the scenario above, Greg is more so concerned with the physical aspect of things. He treads carefully, trying to gage if you’re not making fun of him, mocking his appearance like so many have done before. Of course, up to this point you were nothing but kind, but after being let down and made to feel lesser by everyone, there is a (rather large) part of him that wonders if you’re not about to join the rest in reminding him just how much of a lowly gross looking pest he is. His suspicion is not very subtle, so you would easily catch on. I mean, after having witnessed so many times just how awfully people spoke to him/about him, you wouldn’t struggle to, at least partially, understand the source of his approach. All you can do is be kind and hope he can read your true intent (since he won’t verbalise his exact fear, he doesn’t like to bring up his modifications if he doesn’t have to). Surprisingly, it somewhat works because he reluctantly agrees to at least try. If he changes his mind, he can just stay on the shore. That kind of setup does make things a bit better for him. If push comes to shove he figures he can just opt out, you’re not putting much pressure on him. Still, he sighs deeply and sighs, muttering something about how he ‘should be smarter at his age’. Please, that man is acting as if he’s on his deathbed whilst being 35, someone talk some sense into him…. Well, either way he follows through in his promise and goes with you at your agreed time. When someone comments on you two ‘sneaking off’ it does nothing to make the situation any more loaded. The closer you two get to the body of water, the more visibly stressed he is. Instead of engaging in his usual small talk, he stays silent as he often does when he gets reminded of his painful past. If the walk was any longer you could safely assume that he would go through his whole pack of cigarettes, if not two. He sort of catches himself spacing out by the end and tries to act like everything’s fine (I mean, in the improbable - in his eyes - scenario that you just genuinely like him, it is a pretty bad look for him to be so silent and gloomy), but there is something heavy in the air. As you reach the shore, he stands to the side. Piece by piece your uniform uncovers your naked body. Only when you’re fully undressed does he start to contemplate yet another issue that could put him in a horrific predicament. While a decent chunk of other sinners, in they were in his place, would be most worried about getting a very obvious boner, he is too preoccupied with just now beginning to stress over the sudden upsurge of strong emotion making his body transform or act on its own. And there is a definite upsurge of emotions when he lets his gaze settle on your figure. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask if he wants to join you. He’s somewhere between flustered and worried, looking anywhere but at you whilst telling you all the ways this could go bad. Hurting you. Scaring you. Making you repulsed. That last one he doesn’t say out loud but it weights on him nonetheless. Eventually you could maybe convince him. Pressure doesn’t work but letting him know that he has a choice and you are simply glad he accompanied you is going to go a long way. Something something being denied autonomy his whole life. Or something. Aaanyways. That might just get him to join you in the water, after having taken off his clothes as well. He… doesn’t like his looks in general. As a friend of mine put it - he figures the arm at least takes the attention away from everything else. Ouch. But undressing in front of you is a huge step! Kind of has a what are we????? Ringing in his head and making his face red but he won’t say that hhhh. Only when you two go in deeper (he’s very actively trying to submerge himself in the water, though he wishes he was a bit more secure if only to have you above the surface) does he chuckle nervously

2/2 and informs you that he cannot swim. At all. You're happy to learn more about him as always but also that kind of information would be handy to know beforehand. He still doesn't trust his modifications not to act up if your naked body were to get any closer to him, so you two stay a reasonable distance away but refrain from getting ant deeper. As he relaxes a tiny bit, you get to experience his uninterrupted yapping and forget about the earlier worries for a bit. His subtle cynicism shines through his goodnatured jokes and comments and for the first tine in a while he gets to relax a bit. It might take him long to let his guard down fully but it's hard not to smile seeing him at least a bit less beaten down. All i can guarantee is that he will absolutely go over this adventure again and again in his head and for days to come will get flustered in the most random moments. But out of all the outcomes, it's not so bad to have that effect on him, is it? ;3

[enter-the-rickyverse]

Here again with a 2011 ricky and 2007 penny. Maybe him giving her a kiss on the cheek?

Hi!! I very much enjoyed drawing this Jane for the first time and doing a little something different with the shading. And ofc Elliott Ricky is Always a joy. Thank you very much!!

Edit: Sorry anon, I do believe I hecked up and drew you the wrong thing

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Royalty Clad In Silver Armor Chapter 1: Silver Threads and Sworn Oaths✨

Knight! Joel Miller x Princess! OFC

Series Masterlist

A/N: Ahh! This has been a long time coming. I had a sudden wave of inspiration and decided on an OFC for this, so I’m really excited to finally get some traction on the story. I hope you will love it like I do! Super nostalgic write for me 👑 If you’d like updates, please follow my notifications blog @mermaidgirl30-updates

Chapter Summary: Princess Lily finds out that her old knight is getting replaced with someone new. But she never expected her new protector to make her feel like her world just got tilted off its axis.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags: Yearning, pining, feelings, new introductions, age gap (Lily is 25, Joel is 40), Princess x Knight pairing, Lily is Princess of Ireland

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

 The countryside of Ireland slips into my peripheral view as I sit in front of the lavish mirrors of my rose-colored armoire. The glittering gold crown sitting atop my head reflects in the clear glass; my glossy pink lips and shiny eyeshadow dazzling against my bright green irises. I inhale deeply, drinking in the lush smell of clover and wildflowers that carry through my open balcony and brush through my long, strawberry blonde curls that lay smoothly against my shoulders. 

  My bedroom suite is filled with natural light that shines brightly over the marble flooring, making shadows dance against the pristine walls bathed in intricate, hand-painted flowers of every sort, fading into the silk tapestries that bleed the colors of cream and light pink. Rich jewel tones and luxurious fabrics fill the room, and my king-sized bed is draped in mesh hangings with silky sheets that feel like a bed of fresh roses. 

   My favorite place of all though is my open balcony. The one that overlooks the ocean and the never ending shades of green that cover the land. I love the scent of the saltwater, the wildflowers, the grass clippings that smell like fresh dew every morning. It’s just so peaceful. On my balcony, I can be someone else who’s not trying to impress the people of this land. I can just be me—the girl without a title, a princess that has no duties. I’m just another part of this beautiful land up here. Just another flower in the wind that carries me over the waves of the ocean.

   Home. I love Ireland, love how deep green and vibrant it always is. One of my favorite colors, my royal color that paints my closets in jewels and expensive gowns. Ones I wear on special occasions to display my pride and joy for my country. But mostly, I have to wear them because I’m royalty, a princess, the future queen of this land, and it’s my duty to make my parents proud. 

   I will be queen one day, but wait. There’s that sinking feeling humming in the pit of my stomach again. A sign that brings nausea rolling to the surface. I’m not sure if I’m quite ready to take on that role just yet. I’m only twenty-five, which is too old to still be searching for a husband, as my parents say. But I want to find love, not just a warm body that might smile at me a few times and give me a child. I want to be in love, but those dreams are far and few. That’s what daydreaming is for. My father and mother were in an arranged marriage, but they slowly fell in love after some time together.  

   But me? I’d like to fall in love like all the romance books I read. Slowly, achingly, until the yearning consumes me into flames. That’s how I want to fall. I shake my loose curls, sighing as I stare into the distance, letting the blue waves of the coast ground me back to reality. 

   I’m a princess, and the duty I have is whatever my parents deem next, which is marriage. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t royalty at all…

   Just as I start to drift toward the balcony to get lost in the glow of the morning, my lady-in-waiting, Serena, comes barging through my double doors. “Princess, your father wants to see you in the main hall,” she says meekly, curtsying when she enters.

   “Must I go now?” I sigh. “I was just about to take my tea outside.”

   Serena smiles and waves toward the large doors. “He was pretty adamant about coming quickly. Said it was urgent.”

   Urgent? What could ever be so urgent that he’d interrupt my morning routine?

   “Oh, alright. Guess my tea and daydreaming will have to wait until later. Thank you, Serena.” She bows and leaves me alone to look once more into one of the lavish mirrors with gold stardusted along the edges as the sunlight kisses the gold pieces. 

   I fix my crown once more and turn around twice, making sure my royal dress is spotless and perfect for my grand entrance into the main hall. I don’t know what this is about, but it has to be important if they’re interrupting my morning rituals unannounced. What could be so bloody important that I have to rush off? Guess I’ll find out.

   Wrapping my hand carefully around the golden handle, I turn and step out into the winding shadows. I gasp when I see another knight in place of Christopher, my usual knight, or should I say bodyguard. “Oh, Sir James! I wasn’t expecting you.”

   “Sorry, My Lady. Was an unexpected rotation this morning.” He bows and lets his sharpened sword fall deeper into the sheath at his left side.

   “Where is Sir Christopher?” I ask with my eyebrows raised high.

   “His wife fell ill, I’m afraid. Can’t say how long he’ll be taking care of her, but that’s why I’m standing in his place today.” He shifts his weight and lets the silver armor clatter with every step he takes.

   “Oh, how dreadful. I’ll have to take them some flowers this week. Are you to be my new protector?” I smile and curtsey playfully. James can’t keep a straight face. He lets out a bellowing chuckle, and I giggle in response.

   “No, unfortunately not, My Lady. I’m just here in the meantime. The king put me here this morning, but he mentioned something about another knight taking over. But for now, I am at your service.” He bows cordially and smiles, his bright blue eyes crinkling with old age. “Well, off to the main hall, Princess. Your father is waiting.”

   “Alright, alright, I’m going,” I laugh as James trails after me in his suit of silver armor, his long blonde hair drawn back behind his shoulders in a ponytail as his full beard shows a hint of a smile. 

   I always saw James as a close uncle, not just a knight. He used to be the one to give me sword fighting lessons even when my father never approved. I wanted him to know I wasn't weak and fragile like a princess should be. I’m bold and brave and want to be able to take on any challenges that stand in my way. James always let me get away with things my father would never allow. He was my friend, and a friend was exactly what I needed in a castle that’s far too lonely for my liking.

   The long halls of the castle glisten with emerald green banners that sit pressed against the smooth grey stones that make up the walls of this palace. Archways that tower over me shine light through the twisting hallways,  making my light green dress shine against the silky fabric that sparkles in the sunlight. The mesh straps fall against my upper arms, leaving my sun-kissed shoulders bare as my corset style bodice clings to my chest, making my breasts nearly spill over the top. It’s not really the most comfortable dress, but it’s a beauty at best, and it makes my confidence shine every time I walk into a room with an audience. Father might not approve, but I was always a little rebellious growing up. Nothing’s changed about that.

   When I make it into the main hall and walk around the thresholds of the throne that’s plated in gold, I stop short when I notice a man. No, a knight, who’s standing in the middle of the floor with his hands clasped together. My eyes wander over his broad body, drinking in his rich brown eyes, glazing over his tousled brown locks that are streaked with silver strands. His shoulders are so broad—how does he even get his armor on? And his hands—big, thick like bear paws. But what catches me off guard the most is how soft his eyes look…

   I gulp down a breath and turn to my father when he speaks. “Lily, this is Joel Miller. He’s to be your new assigned knight.”

   My eyes flick back to him as he bows his head in service, creating butterflies in the pit of my stomach. And when he looks back up and sets his gaze on me, it feels like earthquakes thundering beneath my feet. 

   My mother, Queen Eliza O’Callaghan, gives me a quick smile, her auburn hair piled high in a bun with jewels splayed all around her strands. My father flicks his pale blue eyes at me, signaling me to take a step forward.

   Carefully, I take two steps forward, halting when my father unsheathes his sword and stops me dead in my tracks before taking a step down from the throne. “The oath needs to be taken,” my father murmurs lowly. So I step back and watch as my world slowly stills around me. 

   “Kneel,” my father commands. Joel doesn’t falter, not even hesitating when he falls to one knee, his head bowed. 

   My father puts the flat edge of the silver sword on top of Joel’s left shoulder and clears his deep throat. “Do you, Joel Miller, pledge your life to serve the crown?”

   “Yes,” he replies, his deep baritone drawl floating across the room. His accent. What is that accent? Not Irish, definitely not English. I can’t quite place it.

   “Do you swear to protect my daughter from any harm that may come her way?”

   “I swear it,” Joel confirms, his eyes flicking up to my father who’s standing in a deep green robe that reaches the threshold of the polished floor.

   “And do you promise to put her life before your own? To be completely loyal to the crown, uphold justice, and be nothing but honest to my family?”

   Joel tips his head again and nods, crossing a large arm over his heart. “I promise to serve with honor and dignity to the crown. Your daughter is safe with me.”

   Your daughter is safe with me. Something tugs in my chest at the words. Somehow, I have a feeling those words run deeper than their actual meaning.

   “Then I, King of Ireland, dub you the highest honor of my knights. You are now Lily’s one and only protector, until your days at the castle end.” He lifts the sharp-edged sword and holds it high in the air, reflecting sunlight off the thin edges. Then he sheathes it back in place, right next to his hip where a leather sword holder sits. 

   Joel stands up slowly, his brown eyes lathered in sunlight as he looks at me through hooded eyes. My throat feels dry, and it feels like I’ll fall over at any moment. Is it hot in here or is it just the way he seems to be looking at me—calm, collected, but searing flames into my eyes. 

   “Go on, Lily. Greet your knight,” my father says with a huff, my mother throwing me an encouraging smile.

   I nod and step forward, hiking my glitter green skirt above my ankles so I don’t trip climbing down the polished marble steps. My ears thrum with energy, my brain a bit fuzzy as I make my way down until I’m face to face with the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

   “Joel,” I say with a nervous smile, curtsying before him in greeting. He watches me slowly, his eyes flicking up and down my body with each movement I take, almost like he’s trying to memorize my features.

   Joel bows before me, his silver armor glistening through the massive floor to ceiling windows, sunlight sweeping over his glinting plates of steel. When he stands up, he carefully takes my hand in his and brings it slowly up to his mouth, caressing the top of my hand with a gentle skim of his plush lips. There’s no air in my lungs, no room for me to shutter out a response. My eyes are as wide as a full moon’s, my lips parted in awe as he looks up through thick eyelashes, the deep browns in his eyes swimming with onyx orbs.

   “Princess,” he says in a husky voice as he drops my hand back to my side, but his gorgeous brown eyes never leave mine. He just stares, just like I do, both lost in a glazed fog. 

   Is this what love at first sight feels like? Or is this just infatuation? I can’t tell between the two because I’ve never been in love—only ever read how it goes in my books. But this feels like the earth’s tilting on its axis, storms gathering in the distance offshore. Something catastrophic is coming, but I can’t see what. The only thing I’m remotely able to see right now is those big pools of brown gazing back at me with as much intensity as I’m giving him. 

   My father’s booming voice breaks the spell, and I’m sucked back into the real world. “I trust you’ll take good care of my daughter?” he asks in a vindictive tone, his smoky eyes honed in on Joel as if to send a clear message. He may be fair and kind to the people of this land, but I know if anyone does even one thing to upset him, he’ll bring wrath down like a lightning storm. I’ve learned that the hard way. 

   Joel nods, his mouth in a tight line. “She’ll be in good hands. You can trust me. I swear on my life.” My breath catches as he gazes over at me, nervous jostling through my bones.

   My father’s eyes soften, and he nods in approval, happy with Joel’s answer. “Follow me, then. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.” 

   With one more flicker of a glance my way, he pulls on a small smile and follows after my father, down the corridor where my previous guard slept. And when he’s out of sight, I can suddenly breathe again. Letting a breath of fresh air enter my lungs, I lean against one of the stone statues and rake a hand through my light curls, gathering my wits about up. 

   Closing my eyes, I focus on deep breaths and clearing my mind, but I can’t seem to see anything but those deep brown eyes and sculpted jaw. 

   Groaning, I pull myself back up and let out a whine. This is great. I have a crush on the man that’s now my knight in shining armor. And he’s completely off-limits. Princesses can’t be involved with knights. That’s high treason. My father would have his head. 

   God. What am I going to do? I guess the only logical thing I can think of is to distract myself. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll stray anywhere he’s not and ignore his existence. But it won’t be that easy, will it? Of course it won’t. 

   I’m royally sunk. 

[tinyidle]

Too Sweet - m!YN x HYJ

rephrased dm ask: "... can u please do a huh yunjin x male reader smut where they have their weekly date day where he takes her on a picnic and they go site seeing then they go back home and take a shower together then have sex and cuddle thank u"

wc: 1.35k words

WARNING: fluff and smut, based on irl, slight voyeurism, foreplay, shower sex, slow to slightly rough, aftercare implied (cuddles), unprotected sex, fiance!yunjin, switchsub!yunjin, fiance!reader, softdom!reader, male reader (ikik this won't be a common thing), all fiction ofc

ּ ֗ ִ ⠀ ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ⠀ ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֗₊˙ ◌ ⁎˚ 〇﹒ 🥗﹒ 🍵 ₊˙ ◌

yunjin and you had a wonderful couple life. ever since you took your girlfriend on her first date with you to a nearby picnic spot, she always asked to have at least one day in the week to that spot. you've tried to take her to other places, but she always begged you to take her to that same spot.

she loved the place for many reasons: it was quiet, peaceful, relaxing; there were trees all around the area, so you could get some shade during summer; there were even benches placed under some of the trees, so you two could sit and eat without worrying about any impending bugs or forest creatures indirectly scavenging for food. best of all, though, was how secluded the place was from everything else. it was the same place you proposed to her in.

five months in to the relationship, you're still having your weekly picnic date with you cherry-dyed fiancé. her laugh to you was as beautiful as her singing voice, and her talking vice would always lull you to sleep whenever you felt restless from stressful nights from work shifts.

with it being morning right now, however, you simply smiled and listened to her telling you about her own job life. she always seemed so bubbly and upbeat, an almost stark contrast to your realist point of view. sure, she had her reality points here and there, but for the most part she was the light to your usually dark room of a heart.

"you know, honey," you spoke out out of the blue as you both were in the middle of having your freshly-made fruit-and-vegetable salad, "you're like sugar to my iced americano, except that you make it sweet. too sweet sometimes."

she smiled and let out a small chuckle. "ooh, when did you become so poetic?"

you reciprocated the grin, "whenever i see your pretty face," you cleverly responded, successfully making her blush as she lets out one of her angelic laughs. she slightly throws her head back, hands grasping her lips to not show too much teeth, face turning a slight pink. god, you love this woman.

"i keep forgetting my future husband's a flirt. can't wait to become a mrs. to 'the rizzler'." she laughed even harder, and even though her laughter made you contagiously join in, you physically cringed at her last choice of words. how you couldn't wait to wed this cornball in the next few months. it was feeling like eons by now.

after eating and cleaning up the best you could, you took your yunjin to the nearest bird sanctuary nearby. it didn't feel like much to you, but your fiancé loved the small things, so this was amazing for her. you're sure she has visited these birds before sometime before you two met, but the walk there just showed off her usual joyfulness to the world.

with every bird she'd see, every leaf she'd touch, every step she'd take, her eyes were bright and wide with joy and pure admiration. seeing this, you couldn't help but smile and squeeze her hand. she looked down, letting out another joyful giggle, before looking back up to meet your gaze. you leaned over to give her a kiss, with her returning it with a warm smile.

the day ended, and you both went home. just like what happened every time, she thanked you for the lovely afternoon with a tight hug and kiss on the cheek, before heading upstairs to take a shower. this was something you loved doing, too; taking a bath with your lover beside you.

today was slightly different, since today she actually stripped down for you. yunjin was slowly pushed down her green, yellow and white sundress down to her ankles, pushing her dark green panties down as well, and unclasping her matching colored bra before lightly kicking them to the side. you were definitely enjoying the view from behind.

"now this is a sight i never thought id be seeing again," you teased while leaning your head against the doorframe, seeing how the woman's curves accentuated her body as she walked from the tub part of the bathroom to the shower stall part.

yunjin blushed before motioning you to undress and join in. happily obliging, you slipped off your breathe-y shorts and boxers before pulling off your polyester top. with a smirk on your face, you quickly rushed into the shower to press your lips against the shorter woman. she gladly reciprocated and ran her hands along your back, sending shivers down your spine. the hot water hitting you and the pleasant scents of love through the thin glass wall between the showerhead only added to the pleasure.

pulling off of her, you trailed kisses down her neck your hands following suit all over her body. your big hands found temporary purchase on her breasts, thumbs gently swiping across her quickly-hardening nipples. yunjin gasped from the action, a small moan releasing from her throat as your hand went down lower to her wet cunt.

she wasn't completely ready yet, but she wasn't complaining. the few light massaging motions brought forth a nice moan from her mouth, followed by a soft exhale. this caught you off guard. you looked up from where your hand was playing with your fiancé to the now red-faced woman. her hand was grasping your neck, lips searching for something to press on. her other hand decided to help you out by grabbing your thick length, immediately making you hard.

you hissed as you felt precum dribble from your length onto yunjin's fingers, as she could feel her own soak your own hand. she couldn't take it anymore. lifting her leg to rest on your hip, she leaning closed to you and whispered, "please, baby. show me how much you want to marry me. fuck your sweet honey, your pretty sight."

cursing, you took out your hand from her cunt and spread her juices on you before holding your cock in your hand and angling it, burying it inside of her. she sighed in content, arms wrapped around your torso as her second leg latched to your other hip. keeping her lifted up, you started to thrust deeply inside of her, eliciting a loud moan from her. it was as if your hips knew what button to push, what would elicit more moans.

a switched flipped inside you, causing you to push as deep into her as possible until your balls smacked against yunjin's ass. she was now gasping as she was indirectly being carried by your heavy thrusts, waves of pleasure crashing throughout your entire body as her cunt held your length for dear lie.

grunting as you gripped her hips tightly, you couldn't stop chanting "honey, i love you" and "you feel so good". her body was starting to glow from both sweat and the show rain that was starting to turn lukewarm.

it wasn't long before the woman came with a satisfied moan, her juices covering your cock as she squeezed you. that caused you to not hold back any longer, releasing deep inside her. both of you panted heavily, and after calming down you gave her one last post-sex kiss. "yunjin, you'll be the death of me," you half-joked.

chuckling, she pressed kisses to the side of your face, "at least you'll die with a smile." now it was your turn to laugh, as you let her down and gently cleaned her up, giving her a proper shower before she the same for you.

when you both put on your bed clothes and headed to sleep, yunjin cuddled close to you, with you being the big spoon to her little spoon. there were so many things you wanted to tell her, and you know that she probably had a million things in her mind that she would want to tell you. however you both wanted to stay there and just bask in the warmth and love an sweetness of each other. or at least, you wanted to stay in the comfort and sweetness of your honey, your future wife.

ּ ֗ ִ ⠀ ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ⠀ ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֗₊˙ ◌ ⁎˚ 〇﹒ 🥗﹒ 🍵 ₊˙ ◌

so, i hope that the original asker likes this fic, especially since i did this all in one day after trying to wonder how i would go about this.

[humanpurposes]

We're Born At Night

Chapter 3

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, mentions of death and war, Targaryens trying to flirt

Words: 6.8k

Days pass and every day Rhaelle brings herself to her knees before the throne, pleading for her sister’s restoration as Lady of Runestone, as their mother’s heir, for her freedom and for her life.

Aemond denies her. Again and again he denies her, and each day she appears before him, she thinks she sees his expression darkening. It is obvious that he is a proud man, a second son who was never meant to be King, repeatedly defied by the second daughter of a traitor. Lord Corlys tells her to give him time to persuade the King and the council. He also warns how quickly Aemond’s patience can turn into anger with deadly consequences. What else can she do but try, even if it means tempting his rage?

They have been here a fortnight and not much has improved. She and Daena often take tea with the other ladies and attend dinners in the throne room but Aemond’s court is an echo of what she remembers from the reign of his father. The dinners are polite, the music is sombre, the dances are slow. There is no joy in the castle, just talk of the fast approaching winter.

Back home, the running of the castle— her castle thanks to Aemond’s generosity— would keep her busy. Between her duties she would be able to steal a few hours for herself, read her favourite texts in the library or mount her horse and roam the surrounding lands as she pleased, bringing back pheasants because Alyssa was the sister to inherit their mother’s talent for hunting larger quarry.

One night she dreams she is riding her horse, a beautiful grey stallion she has back at Runestone named Semyon for the legendary knight with sapphires for eyes. It feels so real with the wind whispering in her ears, the scent of the fields and the forest, the slightly earthy taste on her tongue. She rides along the paths she has followed since she was a girl, the same her mother would have followed, and passes the valley where her body was found, tightening her grip on the reins and the saddle, as she always does. The sky seems to darken. A figure blocks out the sun and lets out a whistling, rippling screech, the cry of a beast she has only heard a handful of times, and never will again.

She is woken by a sound that still rings in her ears as her eyes open, sweat clinging uncomfortably to her skin. It sounds again, a faint clash of metal. It is a wonder it was even enough to rouse her. 

The stone floor stings against the bare skin of her soles, the cold creeping into her flesh and sinking itself into her very bones. Yet she walks, first to the chaise by the wardrobe to wrap a thick robe around herself, and then to the window. The days are darker now. The sun takes longer to rise and beyond her window the sky is a glum shade of grey.

Down in the courtyard, before the steps of the holdfast, a flash of silver catches her eye.

Aemond is a fearsome fighter, tall, lean and lithe, moving quickly and fluidly. He bests his opponent, Ser Willis, with a few brutal blows, holding the edge of his blade to the man’s throat. Before long he is eager to go again.

She can imagine him on a battlefield, his face silently furious, carving through the men and boys who dared to place themselves in his way. She can imagine him in the courtyard of a ruined castle, blood on his face and hands. They say he slaughtered each member of House Strong himself, and then he bedded one of their bastards and made her a Lady. Daena thinks he would not have given a servant such an honour unless she had borne him a bastard, but Princes have sired bastards before and had mistresses from far more noble backgrounds. What was so remarkable about Alys Rivers?

With a particularly harsh swing of his sword, Aemond brings his blade down upon Ser Willis’, but the Lord Commander recovers quickly and begins an attack. Aemond is clearly taken by surprise and quickly forced to his knees with a frustrated grunt, one which she hears easily through the quiet of the early morning. He is facing the window though she doubts he will notice her. He glares up at Ser Willis, lips parted as he pants for breath. He looks enraged, vengeful even, and she almost expects him to leap up and attack with renewed force. Instead he bows his head and accepts Ser Wills’ hand to help him to his feet.

As a slight draft brushes over the exposed parts of her skin, she imagines the sound of his breathing and finds herself struck by a strange feeling of emptiness.

Later that morning she dons a blood red gown and makes a journey through the castle which is all too familiar to her now, to the waiting chamber by the throne room. Lord Corlys is there, speaking to a man who she has only seen across a room, more often than not, glaring at her along with the Hightower brothers. He has wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, but his face appears surprisingly younger than the flecks of grey in his hair and his beard would suggest. He has sharp eyes that stay fixed on her as she approaches.

Concern briefly flashes over Lord Corlys’ face as he steps forward to greet her, but the other man already has his hand extended to her. “Unwin Peake,” he says. “We have not been formally introduced, Lady Rhaelle.”

She doesn’t like the sound of his voice or how he says her name, but smiles and takes his hand.

Unwin Peake fancies himself a war hero. Rhaelle is not so easily misled. She knows he led a thousand men under the banner of King Aegon, only for half of them to desert him when he proved a less than capable leader. She knows he tried and failed to seize control of the Hightower host after Tumbleton, that he quarrelled with his rivals to the point of bloodshed, and yet somehow earned himself a place on the Small Council before Aegon’s death. 

Lord Corlys catches her eye and seems to be uneasy. She gives him a small nod as Lord Unwin takes her by the arm and leads them into the throne room. It is a show of courtesy, one she must accept with grace.

Aemond is already upon the throne, legs crossed, leaning into one side, without fear of cutting himself on the blades. Noblemen and smallfolk alike come before him and he responds to every concern with such eloquence and certainty, as though the entire ordeal has been rehearsed. 

And he always looks ahead. Rhaelle stands on his seeing side, below the throne, but he shows no indication that he has seen her or that he intends to acknowledge her.

She knows what she will say and she knows what his reply will be, and in that certainty there is fear. She can hardly keep her hands still, pressing her fingernails into her skin to stop herself from trembling. The pain isn’t much of a distraction. All she feels is cold, even through the thick material of her gown. She pictures her sister in a cell, in the darkness, perhaps even in chains. 

Another chill slips down her spine as she hears a footstep sound softly behind her.

“Do you know what Lord Tyland has taken to calling you?” Unwin Peake’s voice hisses close to her ear.

Rhaelle clenches her jaw. She expects he will tell her whether she wants him to or not.

“He calls you the reluctant Lady of Runestone.”

She presses her nails deeper into her skin.

She finally spurns herself forwards. Aemond’s eye finds her as she enters his line of vision, fixed on her as she moves across the room and kneels before the throne.

She bows her head and stares down at the flagstones, at the crevices between the stones, the flecks of dirt and dust settled within. Any nervous or curious chatter has ceased. The hall is quiet enough that she is sure the onlookers will be able to hear her heart pounding in her chest. If she holds her breath she can see it pulsing through the neckline of her dress.

Meeting his eye is a strange sort of thrill. He watches her sternly, his lips pressed together in a thin line, his fingers tapping against the arm of the throne.

She opens her mouth to speak but his voice pierces the air, clear and demanding. “Dearest cousin,” he says, then exhales sharply through his nose. “You come before me yet again.”

“Your Grace–”

“No, I already know what you’re going to ask of me, and my answer will be the same. Alyssa Targaryen may be my blood but she defied her true King.”

“I know my sister. She is wise and just, but dragged into a war she should never have been a part of.”

“She is a traitor.”

“And yet she has not been put on trial. You seem content to hold her. Why? Allow her a chance to prove her innocence before she is condemned, or else let her return to her home.”

“You have come before me every day since your arrival, to plead on behalf of a traitor. I do wonder what that might make you, Lady Rhaelle?”

“It makes me loyal to my family. I love my sister, and her suffering is my suffering.”

“As admirable as that declaration may be, I have made my decision. I will not hear any more from you on this matter.”

“If you had a chance to save your own sibling from a terrible fate would you not take it? Could you ever forgive yourself if you stopped trying?”

Something about his face changes. There is an absence of amusement, something quiet but cold in the way his eyes and his lips soften.

When his eye falls away from her she thinks she might have made a grave mistake.

He holds the arms of the throne as he stands, grips the iron with his fingertips when it is barely in his reach. Without another word he leaves the hall through the side chamber, keeping his head and his crown held high, while his fists are clenched at his sides.

She shares a look with Lord Corlys, himself stunned at the irregularity. Aemond never leaves the throne room until he has heard each grievance, and never shies from his duties.

The King is an elusive figure at the best of times. He does not seem to enjoy the more frivolous aspects of rulership. If he is seen at dinners in the throne room, he confines himself to the high table along with Lord Corlys. Other than his early morning spars with Ser Willis in the courtyard or his occasional rides out into the Kingswood, he appears to spend most of his time in his chambers. She imagines him pouring over ledgers and papers by candlelight, his face hardened in concentration.

That night, when his seat at the high table remains empty, Rhaelle cannot help but fear she has been the cause of this absence. Did her words truly anger him so deeply? Is her persistence so vexing to him? 

She finds herself unable to settle when she retires to her chambers that night. She is starving and yet she has no appetite. Her body feels heavy and her head aches behind her eyes, yet her mind is spinning and will not allow her to find sleep.

He said he would not hear from her on the matter. She pushed too far, allowed her desperation to cloud her judgement and attempted to argue on sympathy rather than reason. Now she feels it all slipping away, any sense of control she had when she arrived in King’s Landing, any hope she had of reuniting their family after so many years. Why would she ever think that Aemond should show mercy to a prisoner on a plea of sisterly love?

He must have loved his sister, gentle Helaena, who wore a gown of pale blue and gold to the wedding of Alyssa and Jacaerys. She smiled rarely, never in the presence of her husband, she could barely even stand to take his arm as they entered the Sept and the throne room. Her eyes often found Aemond though, glassy with tears when he winced at the pain of his wound, as if she shared in it. Did he ever imagine, when he left for Harrenhal, that he would never see her again?

The next morning she wakes with the sunrise, somehow the shortened sleep has left her more awake than she usually is. She is already halfway dressed in her riding leathers, fashioned from a set of her mother’s, when Morra enters her bedchamber, and Rhaelle immediately sends her to the stables to ensure a horse is readied for her.

Finally, once she has pulled on her boots and tied her hair into a single braid, she heads down herself, but not before stopping by the window. The sun has yet to appear over the walls of the castle and the courtyard is empty.

She huffs to herself, at the restless feeling that’s been gnawing at her insides for weeks. 

The entrance yard at the front of the Red Keep is bustling with servants carrying baskets and barrels, men unloading carts and carrying their contents towards the kitchens. Morra is waiting for her by the steps, fiddling with the edges of her sleeves.

Rhaelle pulls out her gloves and slips them onto her hands. “Did you find me a horse?” she says.

“Yes, my Lady, but there is another matter–”

She can already see what the other matter is. Aemond is standing by the gates, dressed in black riding attire, arguing with one of the stable hands. He has a beautiful grey horse on a lead, with a coat that shimmers like silk in the early sunlight. The stable hand stands with a slightly smaller horse, brown with a white spot on its nose. These are both muscular creatures meant for speed.

Rhaelle approaches them with Morra close behind. “Your Grace,” she says firmly but calmly. The two men immediately cease and face her, the stable hand with his head bowed, Aemond with a slight frown on his face and the beginnings of a sneer on his lips. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Likewise, my Lady,” Aemond says, entirely unconvincingly.

There is noise all around them, voices, footsteps, men and women at work, and yet the silence between Aemond and Rhaelle is palpable. 

“I was intending to ride through the Kingswood this morning,” Rhaelle says, holding her hands firmly in front of her, unmoving, unafraid. “Perhaps you were intending to do the same?”

“I was.”

“What a happy coincidence,” she says, willfully ignoring the shortness of his tone. “We could ride together, then? I do not know the woods you see, I think I would benefit from having a companion.”

Aemond purses his lips, and glances between her and the horse being held by the stable hand. “It would be my pleasure, dear cousin.” 

She smiles graciously. 

Aemond hums to himself, then takes hold of the grey horse’s saddle and hoists himself into it with ease. As it happens, the brown horse is a similar size to Symeon. She finds her footing in the stirrup and hauls herself up, settling comfortably in the saddle. 

“You ride well, I assume?” Aemond asks her.

She tries not to display any contempt at this subtle insult. “I believe myself to be a more than competent rider, Your Grace.”

He offers her a tight smile, though it fades quickly. His seeing eye remains alert. 

Two men of the Kingsguard ride with them through the city. Aemond does not wear his crown but the people know their King, atop his horse, Blackfyre hanging from his hip, his silver hair tied away from his face but flowing proudly down his back, his eyepatch an unmissable feature. They stand aside as they move through the streets, met with awe, either glad or fearful, and distant calls of “long live the King!” 

Aemond does not wave, smile or bow his head to anyone, though he occasionally looks over his shoulder to meet her gaze. Does he expect her to disappear? Does he expect her to ram a knife into his back? 

How quickly he seems to phase through different states of being. One moment he is amused, the next proud, the next infuriated, concerned, remorseful. And how terrible he is at hiding this in his face, no matter how subtle he is, but a mystery remains because she still cannot read his thoughts, no matter how she pleads to the old gods and the new that she could.

Before long, they reach the southern gates of the city. She can see the forest ahead of them as soon as they are out of the walls of King’s Landing. The trees are dark, lush evergreens, reaching far from the west and east towards the seafront, to the cliffs that overlook the bay, raised on hills and going further south than she can see.

The guards stay with them a little longer, until they pass over a bridge across the Blackwater Rush and the road becomes quieter. Most of the people here are travelling along the Rose Road towards Highgarden, but Aemond leads her towards the treeline, along a path often used for hunting, so he says. It seems to head towards the coast.

Mostly staying at the edge of the forest, the trees are sparse. It’s not like the wide open fields and hills that she is used to. To one side she sees tree trunks, spots of darkness where the forest is thicker and closer. To the other she sees glimpses of the sky and the sea below it. 

Aemond slows his horse slightly so they can ride side by side at a comfortable trot. Now she cannot look out over the bay without looking at him, or appearing to at least. 

She realises they have not spoken a single word to each other since they left the castle.

“Do you ride often?” she asks.

“When I wish to, and when I can find time to,” he says without looking at her.

She nods to herself, letting her eyes linger on the way he rocks with the motions of the saddle, the way he grips the reins with gloved hands.

“I like to hunt back at Runestone,” she says, facing forward once more, “do you hunt?”

This captures his attention. He turns his head to her, glances up and down. “You did not bring a bow.”

“Or a blade, no. I was not intending to kill anything this morning.”

Aemond hesitates, then smirks. “I never made a habit out of hunting. It is a tedious sport, more suited to times of peace.”

It is a harrowing reminder of the kind of man who rides beside her, a man who kills and holds his own family prisoner.

“You like to spar too. I see you in the courtyard most mornings,” she says.

“I do not like to make a spectacle of myself.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you did, but it is rather difficult to avoid when it happens below my window.”

He turns his head towards Rhaelle, and she finds herself entirely distracted. Away from the gloom of the Keep, without his crown and the way he commands the fear of his courtiers, his beauty is unobstructed. His lips and his seeing eye settle in a way that seems gentle. “If it disturbs you then I shall remedy it.” 

“No need,” she says, “for what it is worth, you perform extremely well.”

He smiles again, dipping his head slightly as he adjusts his hold of the reins. “Come then, you say you are a competent rider, I’d like to see a performance from you,” he says, catching her eye.

Her breath stops in her throat. 

He kicks his horse’s side and in an instant he’s bolting down the path.

It takes her a moment to realise what he wants, kicking her horse into a canter, then quickly into a full gallop. It follows her commands easily enough but she remains cautious, keeping a tight grip on the reins and with her thighs, chasing the gleam of silver ahead of her. She does not know if Aemond is leading her or racing her, and for now she doesn’t care. Excitement surges through her. She feels the impact of the horses hooves as they meet the dirt. Her stomach drops as they head deeper into the forest, darting between branches, leaping over streams and fallen trees.

She seems to be gaining on Aemond and spots a ridge she thinks might allow her to overtake him. It’s a risk she takes without thinking it through, urging her mount up and along the narrow trail. They seem to stumble at one point but she doesn’t stop. She passes Aemond, just as she thought she would. He looks up at her with a wide eye, the traces of a laugh echoing behind her as she leaps down, back onto the main path. 

There’s a clearing not far ahead where the path splits into two, she would wager Aemond had this in mind as an end point. She slows her horse gradually, checking behind her to see him doing the same. She turns the horse to face him, trying not to beam or appear too pleased with herself, but she cannot help it. Her cheeks burn at the exertion and the effort it’s taking to withhold her smile.

The sun is rising higher above them. The light catches on his hair, the thin sheen of sweat on his brow, the curve of his lip as he tries to catch his breath. “I’d say you are more than competent,” he calls, tugging on the reins to bring his own horse to a stop.

“I spent most of my childhood on horseback,” she says. “Ser Gerold always said I took after my mother.”

His amusement fades into something passive, observant.

“She used to take Alyssa and I out with her one at a time in the saddle with her. As soon as I was old enough to ride by myself I could hardly be kept from the stables. Alyssa and I used to race each other around the hills for hours, or until we were called back to the castle for our lessons.”

Aemond watches her as she speaks, breathing deeply, his brow hardened like he’s trying to concentrate.

“Still,” she says, patting her horse’s neck as it starts to get restless, “I cannot imagine it could ever compare to riding a dragon.”

“It is a poor substitute, to be sure,” Aemond says quietly, like he did on the balcony, but she can see the change in him again. With a quick huff, the gentle look in his face disappears and he dismounts his horse. “There’s a stream close by, we should water the horses.”

He approaches her, reaching his hands up to help her dismount. Her more prideful side wishes to tell him she does not need the help, but she accepts it, swinging her leg round so he can hold his waist as he lowers her down. She keeps her hands on his shoulders, even once her boots have met the ground. The pressure of his fingertips through the thick layers of fabric are almost intangible, but it makes her breathless all the same.

They take the horses to the stream at the edge of the clearing, tying the leads to a tree and patting them down reassuringly as they drink. Rhaelle sits herself in the grass, out in the sunlight. Aemond joins her, but he reminds her of a cautious animal, following her a little unsurely, sitting beside her, always watching the space around them.

The air is cold but she feels the sun’s warmth beaming down on her face.

She hears Aemond take a breath before he speaks. “You never claimed a dragon?”

“No,” she says.

“You never had an egg in your cradle?”

“No. My mother insisted her children would be born and raised in her home.”

“And in the traditions of House Royce?”

“For the most part.”

“But your father never…” he stops himself with a deep breath. With his chin tilted down he lifts his gaze to look at her. The sunlight shines in his right eye, cold and clear like a stream, like a cloudless violet sky at dusk. Like this, sat amongst overgrown grass and the last of the autumn wildflowers, he doesn’t look like a tyrant. He doesn’t look like a man who burned half of the Riverlands to ash and fought in a battle that left the waters of the God’s Eye red with blood. 

Ser Gerold would have been glad to see Daemon’s end. He called it “justice” when news came to Runestone of his death, justice for the wife he murdered and the daughters he neglected. 

Looking at Aemond now she wonders if he regrets it. Does he look at her and see the eyes of the man he killed staring back at him? Does it haunt him to be near her, is that why he watches her so intently?

“I asked him once if I could fly with him,” she says. “I was so desperate to know what it was like. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t laugh or scoff, he just looked down at me. My suggestion was so unremarkable that he didn’t waste so much as a breath on me. Of course I went crying to my mother about it. She took me into her arms and told me that the only difference between riding a dragon and riding a horse was the distance between you and the ground. So much further to fall, she said.”

He tilts his head. “I cannot disagree with her.”

And oh how her father must have fallen, through fire and empty space, into blood and water.

“What was it like to have a dragon?” she asks.

Something in him comes alive. He looks at her with a quiet excitement, shuffling ever so slightly closer to her. “I used to believe a dragon was a birthright. My siblings all claimed their mounts when they were young, and my nephews shared their cradles with eggs and watched them hatch. For many years I was an outlier, a dragonless Targaryen, I was nothing. But it is an earned right, one that must be claimed.” As he speaks he draws his knee up to rest his arm upon it, his hand restless as he speaks. “Dragons are creatures with their own wills. We cannot control them fully, but we guide them.”

“And you claimed the fiercest of them,” she says.

She remembers Driftmark like it was a dream. She remembers standing by the sea as the coffin of Laena Velaryon was delivered to the waves, looking at the faces of a family she scarcely knew in the aftermath, clinging to the only people she had left in the world, Daena and Alyssa.

She remembers someone storming into her chambers as she slept, the shadowy face of her father appearing in the moonlight that beamed through the window. “We are needed in the Hall of Nine,” he said.

“We?”

He found Alyssa in the next room and left Daena to sleep, marching down the dark corridors of Hightide. They walked in on a scene that terrified her. While their father leaned against the doorway, almost amused, Alyssa and Rhaelle walked further inside, hand in hand. They could not see clearly past the crowd that had gathered to watch this battle between the Princess and the Queen, but there was shouting, pleading, blood on the faces of Rhaenyra’s sons and blood on the face of the King’s son, Aemond.

She peered through the bodies, the fabric of nightgowns and the haze of the braziers to see him sitting there, stitches in his face, smaller cuts on his brow and his lip. He didn’t look at the eye discarded in a tray by his side, he didn’t look to his siblings for reassurance or comfort. First he glared at his father with a hatred that somehow seemed contained, stunned but unsurprised. Then he looked at his mother, with far more understanding than a child should ever have to need.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” the boy said, “I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

“A dragon is terror and freedom,” Aemond says as her eyes drift over the edges of his scar and the details of the leather patch that conceals the rest. “When I claimed Vhagar, centuries of power and strength became mine. I felt her in solitude, I learned from her.”

It shows, she thinks, that he grew bonded to a beast of conquest, a witness to her fire and majesty, and took that into himself.

Her eyes trail lower, over his jaw, the pale skin of his neck just visible beneath his collar, which ends with a silver buckle. She can pinpoint the rise and fall of his breath, the detailings of golden dragons against the black leather, his hair draped over his shoulders and down his body.

She feels her legs getting numb and shifts her weight onto her palm, placed on the grass beside her so that she leans in closer to him.

“But to take flight on Vhagar,” Aemond says softly, a hint of a smile on his lips, his eye gleaming and trained on her, “to feel the force of her wings, the wind and the weightlessness…”

She feels herself clinging to every word he says, each subtle breath he takes, the minuscule movements in his face as he inches closer to her. Only for her heart to sink when he pauses. 

He reaches up, taking the end of her braid between his gloved fingers. “I wish you could have known what it was like.”

“It is like you said,” she says, “it is not a birthright, it is something earned.”

“By those of our blood,” Aemond says, his eye darting back up to meet hers. “You should have had the chance to earn it.”

Our blood, the blood of dragons and conquerors, of Queens and Princes, of weak Kings and cruel fathers.

He releases his hold of her hair, positioning it over her shoulder and tracing his fingertips over the coat of her leathers. His eye follows, then slowly returns to her face. “Might I show you something?” 

“Yes, of course,” she says, carefully withholding eagerness in her voice. “Shall we fetch the horses?”

“No,” Aemond says, rising and offering his hand for her to take. “We’ll go on foot.”

He keeps her hand in his, leather against leather, as he leads her down the path, freshly disturbed by hoof prints, away from the clearing and back into the forest. He stops where the path diverged into two and with a small inclination of his head, they walk along the trail that leads uphill. This way is not as the other, overgrown with grass and even the thick, twisted roots of trees. Aemond is keen to guide her, walking just ahead, tightening his grip on her at the slightest of obstacles. 

The hill becomes steep, and in fact she is grateful for his caution when she loses her footing on a loose rock and he is there to steady her, determined that she shall stay upright. The higher they climb the sparser the trees, the louder the wind howls, the closer the sound of the water becomes. The path leads on, but Aemond stops and steps out into the open.

She stands behind his shoulder to shield herself from the wind, clutching his hand and squinting through the blinding sunlight on the eastern horizon, over the waves of the Blackwater, roaring and crashing against one another, against the base off the cliff they stand on. The city is nothing but distant shapes, further along the curve of the shore. The Red Keep, where standing at its gates seems to reach high into the heavens, seems so unremarkable from here. The cold seeps through her leathers. Sea salt stings in her eyes and on her tongue.

“My mother’s sworn shield taught me to ride on horseback, Ser Criston Cole. He’d lead me through these woods, until I knew all the trails by heart,” Aemond says, leaning into her so she can hear him. His breath is warm against her ear, his grip on her hand still unrelenting. “I came across this place when I was a boy. I used to sit here for hours, especially when the others would ride their dragons.”

Gulls sail effortlessly through the sea air. She imagines dragons in their place.

“A childish indulgence,” Aemond mutters.

“Show me,” she says, tilting her head up to meet his eye.

He smiles to himself. “Stand there,” he says, pointing to the very edge of the cliff face, at a slab of grey stone reaching out below the rocks and spray of the sea.

“On the ledge?” she says, her legs unsure beneath her.

He releases her hand to gently guide her by her waist. “Right here,”

Her stomach lurches when her boots leave the earth. If it is the truth or a trick of the mind the stone seems to move beneath her. “Aemond, I’m going to fall!”

But he holds her waist tight, pulling her into him until she feels the heat of his body through their riding leathers, the hilt of Blackfyre pressing against her back.  “I’ve got you,” he murmurs in her ear, “I’ve got you.”

She cannot seem to breathe, gasping for air as she wills her heart to calm. She grasps at his hands, clinging to him as if he would not merely fall with her. His proximity to her is not quite comforting, it only seems to make her more afraid, but it is a pleasant sort of fear.

“Can you imagine it,” he says, leaning his cheek against her temple, “out of reach of the rest of the world, the heat of a dragon beneath you, the wind against your skin, the weightlessness?”

The force of the wind seems to push her closer into his grasp. She can feel the terror. One misstep and she will fall, her body dashed out over the rocks below, her blood feeding into the water.

“I could feel her fire brewing beneath her hide. I could feel it burning in my blood and my throat before she unleashed it,” Aemond whispers, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

She shudders, letting herself turn into him, letting her hands close around his wrists.

He leans into her, resting his forehead against hers. She feels his heat. She feels something like fire burning in her blood and wonders if it burns in his too. A gloved hand delicately takes her chin. 

It would be easy to give into him, she thinks. She would have been glad to do it the first time she laid eyes upon him.

But she knows she must not allow herself to be ruled by impulse and desire. She cannot escape him completely but she turns her head back towards the open water. Aemond is still holding her, still breathing against her neck.

She waits for him to guide her back, to the safety of solid ground, away from the ledge. Now he cannot meet her eye.

They walk back to the clearing and Aemond holds her hand again, though this time she does not stumble. Aemond unties her horse, helps her into her saddle and she waits for him before they set off back down the path.

The ride back to King’s Landing is a silent one. Each step their horses take through the woods feels heavy in her ears, the closing of a door, the beat of a funeral drum. She looks ahead to Aemond, hoping he will turn back and catch her eye but he does not. 

She wants to tear her hair out from the roots and strike herself across the face. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake and yet she has done exactly that. What if the King feels slighted? What if he holds this against her? 

The guards are waiting for them by the bridge and escort them back through the city. The streets are busier and grey now that the sun has risen and hidden itself behind a sky of clouds.

But the entrance yard at the Red Keep is no longer filled with servants. Instead the clashes of steel ring out against the walls of the castle, as men of the Kingsguard, nobles and knights spar, to the awe of a few spectators.

Aemond pays little mind to the people in the yard. Even when they greet him he simply nods his head. As his horse is taken by a stable hand, swings a leg over the head and slips effortlessly from the saddle.

Then he approaches her horse, wordlessly holding out his hands, offering his assistance. She allows this, and purposefully turns to face him once her boots have met the ground, keeping her hands on his shoulders, not too firmly, for she cannot appear to be too forceful.

“Your Grace,” she says, determined that their eyes should meet again. “I am sorry if I have offended you, truly,” she says quietly, though she will hardly avoid attention when she stands with the King, his hands lingering on her waist, more timidly than he had been in the woods.

Aemond looks at her, and once again his expression is a gentle one. “I am anything but,” he says, one of his thumbs tracing circles over her leathers. He lowers his voice. “The truth is I am deeply moved by your loyalty to your sister. You were right, I have regrets of my own.”

There have been all kinds of rumours regarding Queen Helaena’s death. Some say she was pushed from the window, perhaps even by Rhaenyra herself, and others say she threw herself from it. She was driven mad by grief, supposedly, since the murder of her eldest son, and perhaps she could bear the pain no longer. Perhaps the cause was the false news of Aemond’s death at the God’s Eye. At first the only news had come from smallfolk in the nearby lands, that both Princes had fallen. A fortnight later Aemond arrived at King’s Landing, dragonless, but decidedly alive.

“I often ask myself why I did not do more for them. Why did I put them in danger? Why did I leave them? Why did I not return to them…”

Something else catches his attention. His gaze has moved from her face, to the leather breastplate she wears under her coat, embroidered with ancient runes, naturally.

“What does that say?” he asks in a voice like ice, tracing his fingertips over the golden thread, over the same markings written into the sleeves of the first gown she wore in King’s Landing.

“Have you seen it before? It is an old saying in the Vale,” she says, startled by another shift in him, “the words read: learn to die.”

His throat hums, lowly and softly. His eye returns to hers, his lips curling into a self assured smile, the kind that infuriates her because it means he knows something she does not.

He releases her waist, then reaches for her hand. He pinches the end of her right glove and pulls it from her slowly, the lack of warmth stinging her bare skin.

He whispers, “I cannot give you what you ask of me, not now at least. But I will try.” He raises her hand and presses his lips against it. “I promise you, I will try.”

Blood blooms beneath her cheeks. For once Aemond’s words fill her with hope. He seems sincere, she wants that to be the truth.

She smiles politely. “Thank you, Your Grace—”

“Your Grace!” Calls a voice from the steps to the Keep. Aemond’s hand falls away from hers and he faces away from her as Martyn Hightower approaches them. “All the preparations have been made for you to receive Lady Floris and Lady Cassandra. They are expected to arrive before the day’s end.” 

She watches Aemond bring one hand to the hilt of his sword. The other he brings behind his back, clenched in a fist. “Good,” he says, and turns towards Rhaelle again, his body following his head. “Thank you for accompanying me this morning, my Lady.”

She takes a breath, meaning to thank him but then he’s stalking across the yard and disappearing into the castle.

Rhaelle decides she can hardly bear the sight of him walking away.

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr @aegonx @xxxkat3xxx @dahlias-and-marigolds @mandiiblanche @thaisthedreamer @heavenly1927 @herfantasyworldd @heimtathurs @minttea07

[catsukiiee]

# DOVES. | CHAPTER ONE.

౨ৎ tenya iida x fem!reader fic.

season one of doves.

arranged marriage trope.

wordcount ; 1,565

paragraphs ; 35

sentences ; 92

reading time ; 6:15

songs used

— wedding opening song / walking down the aisle.

— the kiss + following scenes.

tropes ; arranged marriage, slowburn.

tenya iida is twenty eight instead of his canon age of twenty four.

readers age has been set to early or mid twenties for this fic (ofc you can make it any age you want, as long as it's not illegal.)

due to both of iida's parents being unnamed, i will figure out names for them in later chapters.

author's note: because i love my poc girlies, i will be writing reader to have brown skin. all brown girls can have any texture of hair, including straight/slightly straight. i never see character x reader being described as poc in this fandom so here we go!.

The weather today was soothing. The sun shone brighter than usual, with not a single cloud in the sky. It was an ideal day to be outdoors. You couldn't help but wish your life mirrored the warmth of the sun. Unfortunately, your existence was far from serene, born to a mother who would go to any lengths to satisfy her husband and daughter to a man who was consumed by his thirst for power.

In your father's eyes, you were less than human, a truth you eventually came to accept. However, the realization that your mother viewed you similarly was a painful blow.

As you sat in front of the mirror, your throat tight from suppressing tears, you caught your reflection. Your mother stood behind you, delicately placing a stunning wedding accessory in your hair.

Wedding.

A word that typically evokes joy for those who dream of uniting with their true love. Wedding days are meant to be filled with happiness, laughter, and tears of joy.

Yet all you felt was a sense of impending doom.

f l a s h b a c k..

“You are to marry the second son of the Iida family! I will not tolerate any more of your tears!” Your father's voice echoed through his cramped office, his weathered face contorted in rage, turning a deep shade of red.

“I don’t want to marry! Not him! Not anyone!” Despite your desperate protests and screams, your father's resolve remained unshaken. The sharp sting on your cheek from his slap left your ears ringing and your face burning, but you stood your ground, facing the man who had turned your life into a nightmare.

Your mother stood at the doorway, doing nothing to help as you struggled for control over your own life. When you turned to her, desperation in your eyes, her expression was icy, barely meeting your gaze. Your hands clutched hers, but she didn’t return the grip. Instead, she directed her attention to her husband. “The Iida family will cover the entire cost of the wedding.” Then she finally turned back to you, squeezing your hands, but the gesture felt anything but reassuring. “Stop acting like a child. It’s time for you to get married and contribute to this family.”

End of flashback.

“You make such an amazing bride.” She whispered, her eyes brimming with tears as she smiled, smoothing her hands down your arm before moving them up to give your shoulders a light squeeze. When you were a child your mother’s touch and gentle smiles used to bring you nothing but peace and comfort, but now her touches and gentle smiles left you disgusted, filled with anger.

Your hair was thoroughly brushed then pinned up into an elegant bun by a hairpiece that resembled doves. Your dress was a striking white, your shoulders and back was exposed, the silky lace gently tickled your shoulders and legs, your veil laid against a chair beside you, matching the same striking white lace of your wedding gown, little white doves decorated it.

You should’ve felt beautiful, the dress and your makeup was truly beautiful but all you felt was the tears threatening to spill and ruin your makeup. The gentle smile your mother offered you slightly wavered at your expression, her hands that were once gently squeezing your shoulders grew hard, her nails slightly digging into you. “Remember, you’re a grown woman, there’s no need to cry like a child.”

Her words pricked something deep inside you, your legs pushed you up before your brain could catch up to your movements. For a moment, a flicker of fear flashed in your mothers eyes as you stared at her down. “Get out.”

She was out the room within seconds, not sparing you a glance as she closed the door. For the next few minutes, your thoughts consumed every inch of your brain till they were shattered by the door opening. “I said I wanted to be alone! Why can’t you-” You paused in an instant, your yell silencing in your throat.

There stood Mrs, Iida with a wary look, her hands clutching a small white box. “Hello dear.” The corner of her eyes wrinkled when she smiled, softly closing the door as she walked further into the room. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to..” Her fingers circled around your wrist, silencing you once more. “There’s no need to apologize, I understand this whole…thing can be frightening. I just wish I could’ve changed the outcome.”

You both fell silent, the only sound being the soft rustle of the box being unwrapped by Mrs. Iida. “This was a gift to me on my wedding day, I want you to have it now.” It was a pretty pearl bracelet with a dove charm attached to it. “I added the dove, very fitting for your wedding theme.” She chuckled lightly, sliding your wedding dress right sleeve up to put the bracelet on before giving your wrist a comforting squeeze. “You look stunning, dear. I’m truly sorry that neither of us were given a choice in love.”

For the first time in months, you felt comforted by a mother’s touch, nuzzling your face into her shoulder as you pulled her into a hug. “Thank you.”

“Calm.” Mrs. Iida’s voice was gentle as she held your arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze while you both stood behind a large white door. The soft murmur of conversation filtered through, barely audible. You took a deep breath, but it did little to calm your nerves. Instead, you placed your hand over hers and closed your eyes, waiting for the soft notes of a song to begin. As the doors slowly opened, the chatter faded into silence.

There stood your husband, dressed in a crisp white tuxedo, save for the red tie that matched his eyes, his hands neatly clasped behind him. Since the announcement of your engagement, you had barely spoken to him.

Turbo Hero: Ingenium was finally getting married after years of insisting he wouldn’t settle down while there were still villains to defeat. The media was eager to uncover the identity of his bride, shattering the quiet you once cherished with their flashing cameras and intrusive questions.

Even at your wedding, their cameras flashed as you walked down the aisle strewn with white rose petals. Your gaze remained locked on his, your hand resting on his mother’s trembling slightly, your breath unsteady.

And for some odd reason, when he smiled, you couldn’t help but smile back.

A warm tingle spread from your fingers to your hands and up your arm as Mrs. Iida placed your hand in Tenya’s. His smile remained steady, though yours faltered for just a moment.

“Hello,” he whispered, tilting his head slightly, causing a few strands of dark hair to fall over his eyes. You bowed your head slightly before meeting his gaze again. “Hi.”

The priest cleared his throat and began the ceremony. You found it hard to focus on his words, instead getting lost in the depths of Tenya’s eyes. It wasn’t that you admired his gaze; it was just the only thing that kept you grounded amidst the sea of eyes and flashing cameras.

“Now, Tenya Iida,” the priest began, a jolt of anxiety coursing through you. You had been so absorbed in his eyes that you hadn’t realized the priest was nearing the end of vows. “Do you take this lovely woman to be your bride?”

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat as Tenya’s gaze shifted from yours to the priest and back again. A part of you feared he might say no, and you almost wished he would. “I do,” he finally said, and a wave of emotion washed over you. If it weren’t for his hands holding yours, you might have collapsed.

Now it was your turn to face the priest as he asked you the same question, pausing to await your response. Your heart raced, feeling as if it might burst from your chest. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you opened your mouth, your voice trembling. “...I...I do.”

The priest smiled at you both before continuing. “Then may the Lord’s kindness strengthen the consent you have declared before the Church and graciously fulfill His blessings within you. What God has joined, let no one put asunder.” He paused, placing a white cloth over your joined hands. “In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss!”

In that moment, you completely forgot about the kiss. So when Tenya lifted your veil and cupped your face, your body froze. The guests erupted in applause and the cameras flashed, capturing the brief, sweet kiss that sealed your vows.

Tenya held your face for a moment longer before releasing you, taking your hands in his as he turned to face the audience, pulling you closer until your back pressed against his chest. The bright lights of the cameras momentarily blinded you, making you blink rapidly as tears spilled down your cheeks. You lowered your head slightly, dabbing at your tears.

Tenya’s hands moved to your waist, leaning down so his lips brushed against your ear. White petals drifting down around you both, and the applause of your guests faded into a distant hum. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Iida.”

it's finally here! i rewrote this chapter so many times y'all.

enjoy this short-ish first chapter!

[kodasmind]

A day in the life^ - ^

{Mom!Rhea x mom!Kelly} (u can ofc insert yourself🩶🩶)

The soft sound of baby giggles filled the living room, echoing off the walls of the cozy space. Rhea Ripley sat cross-legged on the floor, their nine-month-old baby perched happily on her lap, waving a rattle in one hand. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the scene. Rhea couldn’t help but smile as she watched her child’s face light up with joy.

"Look at you, little one," Rhea cooed, her voice a mix of adoration and playfulness. "You're growing up so fast."

The baby looked up at Rhea with big, curious eyes, the same shade of brown as Kelly's. They babbled something incomprehensible, their tiny hands reaching up to pat Rhea’s cheeks. Rhea pretended to nibble on the baby’s fingers, causing a fresh wave of giggles. The sound was music to her ears.

Kelly had left earlier in the day to run some errands with her mom, and Rhea had promised to hold down the fort. She'd managed to get through breakfast, a diaper change, and a little bit of playtime with ease. Now, as she sat with their baby on the floor, she felt a deep sense of contentment. This was what life was all about—these simple, beautiful moments.

Rhea leaned over to grab a brightly colored picture book from the stack beside her. "How about a story, huh? You love it when Mama reads to you." She opened the book, holding it up so the baby could see the pictures. As she read, she used different voices for the characters, her Australian accent giving each one a unique twist. The baby was enthralled, eyes wide with wonder, as Rhea turned each page.

Halfway through the story, the baby reached up, tugging on Rhea’s long, dark hair. She laughed, carefully disentangling the tiny fingers. "Hey, that’s attached, you know!" she teased. “I don’t think Mama would like it if I came back bald.”

They spent the next hour like this—reading, playing, and just enjoying each other’s company. Rhea found herself lost in the moment, forgetting about the outside world. Here, in their little bubble, everything felt perfect. The worries of the wrestling ring, the pressures of public life, none of it mattered. This was home.

After a while, Rhea noticed the baby’s eyelids starting to droop. It was almost nap time. She scooped them up gently, holding them close as she stood. The baby’s head rested against her shoulder, tiny fists clutching at Rhea’s shirt. Rhea rocked back and forth, humming softly under her breath. It wasn’t long before the baby’s breathing evened out, the steady rhythm a soothing sound to Rhea’s ears.

She carried their sleeping child to the nursery, laying them down gently in the crib. For a moment, she just stood there, watching their little chest rise and fall. It still amazed her how much love she felt for this tiny human. How they had changed her life in ways she never thought possible.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Rhea from her thoughts. She quietly made her way back to the living room, finding Kelly slipping off her shoes. Kelly’s face lit up when she saw Rhea, her eyes sparkling with warmth.

“Hey, love,” Kelly whispered, leaning in to kiss Rhea. “How was your day with our little one?”

Rhea grinned, pulling Kelly into a hug. “Perfect,” she said softly. “Absolutely perfect.”

Kelly’s smile widened. “I’m glad. I missed you both.” She glanced towards the nursery. “Is the baby asleep?”

Rhea nodded. “Just went down for a nap. We had a blast, though. I think we’ve got a future bookworm on our hands.”

Kelly laughed softly, leaning her head against Rhea’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other’s arms, savoring the quiet and the comfort of being home. Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever obstacles they would face, they knew they could handle it together. This was their family, their life, and it was perfect just as it was.

[heavenlytouches]

can you do more autumn stuff? with Pedro maybe? thanks so muchh

Hello sweetie! Ofc I can, I would love to ^^ thank you so muchh and awww I didn't know you guys liked Pedro that much! Hope you'll enjoy baee El <3

Pedro Pascal- crisp air

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

GN reader

<3 (SFW)

TW-none

Autumn day with Pey

PARTNER! Pedro Pascal <3

Pedro Pascal

You wake up to the gentle rustling of leaves outside your window, a soft golden light filtering through the curtains. It’s one of those beautiful autumn days where the world glows in shades of orange, red, and gold.

You stretch languidly, a smile creeping onto your lips as you think about your plans with Pedro, your partner of a year, who sets your heart racing in a way that makes every day feel like an adventure.

By the time you’re ready, the sun has climbed higher into the sky, casting a warm hue over everything. You step outside and inhale the crisp air to fill your lungs with the scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke. Your heart skips as you spot Pedro leaning against his bike, a casual smile highlighting his features, his warm brown eyes glimmering with unspoken joy.

“Ready for our adventure?”

He asks, his voice like warm honey under the autumn sun.

“Born ready!”

Yu reply, grinning as you hop onto the bike behind him. The day awaits, filled with possibilities.

As he pedals down the winding paths of the nearby park, you can't help but marvel at the vibrant hues surrounding you. The leaves have transformed the landscape into a tapestry of color; orange and gold dance with vibrant reds, each gust of wind sending gentle showers of leaves spiraling like confetti.

You pass by a downed tree, its gnarled branches stretching wide, and you catch a whiff of something delicious drifting from a nearby food stall.

“Let’s take a break...?”

You suggest, excitement bubbling in your chest. He stops the bike and takes your hand, guiding you through a meadow awash with golden sunlight that causes your heart to flutter.

You sit on a plaid blanket sprawled across the grass, admiring each other amidst the picturesque scenery.

“Look at that...”

Pedro points as a flock of birds takes flight, swirling against the azure sky.

“Isn’t it breathtaking?”

“Almost as breathtaking as you-”

You tease, nudging him playfully. He blushes, a charming shade of rose blooming on his cheeks as you lean into him.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

He chuckles softly. You pluck a leaf from the ground, holding it up to inspect its marbled veins.

“What do you think our leaf here wishes it could say?”

You ponder aloud.

“I think it would whisper sweet nothings about the beauty of autumn,”

He says, tapping his chin dramatically.

“And how every falling leaf is a message of love.”

His earnestness makes you laugh, the sound blending with the rustle of the autumn breeze.

After snacking on caramel apples and sipping hot cider, you both decide to take a stroll along the winding pathways that are painted with fallen leaves. The crunch beneath your feet is oddly satisfying, and you both kick up leaves like children as you share stories and dreams.

“Imagine a place where the autumn never ends...”

Pedro muses, his voice light and dreamy.

“And we can dance in the golden leaves forever.”

“Sounds perfect.”

You say, warmth radiating through you as you catch his gaze.

“Just you, me, and this gorgeous world.”

The sun begins to lower, bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. You find yourselves near a shimmering lake, the water reflecting the palette of the sunset sky. You sit on a wooden bench, your fingers intertwined, stealing little glances at each other as if you both are afraid to break the spell of the moment.

“Can I say something?”

Pedro breaks the comfortable silence, his thumb brushing the back of your hand.

“Always.”

You reply, your heart racing in anticipation.

“I feel like…”

He breathes in deeply, as if gathering courage.

“I feel like every day with you is like this autumn day—beautiful, fleeting, and filled with colors I never knew existed.”

His eyes search yours, glimmering with sincerity.

“I want every moment to be ours.”

You bite your lip, the rush of emotion causing something sweet to swell in your chest.

“Then let’s create a world where autumn lingers, where we can hold each other under this sky forever.”

Pedro’s face lights up with that dazzling smile of his, and without a second thought, he pulls you closer, your foreheads touching. The world around you fades, the autumn whispers becoming gentle notes of love.

As the sun finally dips below the horizon, painting the sky in blushing pinks and purples, you and Pedro sit together in perfect harmony, surrounded by the comforting embrace of falling leaves. Today was just one of many moments, but it felt like the greatest adventure of all.

With an autumn breeze cradling you both, the two of you lean in, sealing the day with a soft, sweet kiss, the world around you blooming with a love as vivid and embracing as the colors of fall.

This fic is pure teeth-rotting fluff TwT I hope you liked it anyway <3

Don’t forget, requests are always open and I can write for any character you’d like!

I love you guys so much <33

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight - Part 5: I Can't Go On Without You

📜.... I'm sorry... it's getting angsty in here... you guys aren't going to like someone after this...

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, Verbal fights, bullying, camping, and pranks.

#4.8 k words

Part 4 | Masterlist | Part 6

Remember that tiny feeling of guilt building in the pit of your stomach? For doing something as simple as switching sugar for salt for Jake's coffee? 

Yeah. It got worse. 

Worse, as in it was eating your stomach alive. Worse, as in, your heart was leaping out of your chest. Worse, as in you wondered what the rest of the group thought about you or if they had caught on, such as Nat and Cora had done.

All because that asshole stayed silent the entire time you were leading the group to the waterfall.

It's not as if he didn't try to approach you - He did, or at least tried to. Every time you saw him coming, you'd either take Nat or Cora by the arm to start a conversation. Or you'd engage Bob in a talk about what artifact or item he was currently working on at the museum. The man loved to talk about his work, and you were all too happy to indulge him, regardless of whether it got you out of a confrontation with Seresin.

I guess you could say it was your guilt that wanted to keep you away from him.

But with the lack of heckling or hollering you've come to suspect from him, you honestly thought he'd at least try to keep up that facade. Hassle you over the map or something to do with the compass. Maybe even cause a fight when it came time to switch to a new trail marker.

You did it to him. You could only assume he'd do it to you. Even with his view at the back of the pack, the same spot you had taken to the past two days, he didn't. He only spoke when he was spoken to.

It was making everything that much worse.

As the group rounded the final bend on the trail, all of you could hear the sound of rushing water. Everyone perked up, seemingly finding a new energy and pace, eager now more than ever to finally see one of the sights that made this place so popular.

The moment the falls came into view, a collective gasp swept through the group.

Despite the clouds above, heavy with the promise of rain, the two twin waterfalls were breathtaking, one higher up than the other lower, both situated on their own angles. The water itself shimmered, cascading down the rocky cliffside into the pool below into a thousand shades of blue, and the sound was enough to mute the conversations of the other hikers. The surrounding forest was lush and green, making it a scene of pure, unspoiled wilderness.

You wanted to paint this place. The way the water fell over the rocks and how the two falls shone the light—the green in the trees - even the dirt and mud—the fact you couldn't hurt more than you could fathom.

You flexed your hand, the bandage tightening around your wrist. 

If you couldn't experience why you wanted to be here, you'd at least try to find joy in how happy your friends were to be here instead.

Dropping your bags down against a nearby tree after everyone else did the same, like a silent observer, you hung back on the outskirts of the group, trying to find some semblance of joy as everyone had their moment.

Cora, Grace and Nat laughed as they shed their clothing and jumped into the water. Mickey followed soon after, canon balling close enough to the girls so they might get splashed. Bob was trying to spot the fish and the rocks, hoping to find a mineral or two. Bradley merely stood still, watching Nat with loving eyes, and Rueben and Javy took the chance to sit and stretch their legs.

But Jessica and Veronica, in particular, stood out the most. With their faces full of makeup, seemingly more prepared for a photoshoot than a peaceful day at a waterfall. They spent that entire last break applying layer after layer, pluckering their lips with lip gloss into the screens of their phones. They were posed and preened by the water's edge, a view that had a complementary angle to both falls in the background.

Only you would notice the stark contrast between their carefully curated appearances and the natural beauty that surrounded them.

It's not worth something unless someone can get a photo out of it, right?

As you wandered away from your spot, you caught snippets of a video the two were filming. They spoke loud enough to cover the roar of the water, but it also appeared as if the two were trying to rally the attention of the other hikers and campers - as if, by some miracle, whatever they were doing or clearly saying would gather some attention.

They didn't mention names, not that you heard yet, but with the explicit references to 'someone's antics and attitude' at a campsite, you knew it only had to be you. 

"I mean, it's just so petty, right? But I'm the bigger person, and I wouldn't stoop to that level. Moving on and forgetting is better, right?" Jessica explained to her phone.

You rolled your eyes. They thrived on drama and the need for attention. And no matter what story they chose to share, they could have taken shit, disguised it as pecan pie, and people they had ever met before in person would still eat it and call it great. 

 While it hurt on some level, you didn't value their opinion. Never had or will. It's what made you so carefree in levelling their attacks with remarks of your own. 

The sun would still set, and you would still go on about your life long after this trip, without either of them ever having touched one influence of your life, should you have any real control over the matter.

No matter what, people like Jessica and Veronica would always find something to criticize or mock.

And standing here, in a beautiful park, they were on their phones, too wrapped up in their superficial social media world, informing people on the internet about every facet of their lives to experience what life had to offer.

There's more to life than the two-faced nature that is the internet.

Having felt dumb for even watching them, your gaze finally landed on Jake. He was kneeling, staring down at his own reflection in the water, lost to the rest of the world around him.

Why did he try to approach you? Why did he stay quiet? Why did he defend you against Jessica's words? Could you go as far as to say it was guilt-shadowing his usual cocky confidence?

In your mind, Jake was still the quintessential jock, the privileged rich kid with an air of frat-boy arrogance, someone who found amusement in driving you up the wall. 

He didn't deserve your sympathy, nor did he deserve to feel guilty—if indeed he did—because, in your eyes, he had always been the one taking pleasure in causing pain, not the other way around. If guilt was indeed the cause of his actions, a part of you fiercely rejected the idea that he deserved to feel that way. Despite everything, you couldn't reconcile the boy who had once hurt you with the man reflecting on his reflection, showing hints of vulnerability.

Shoving your hand into your pocket, you let out a hiss when something sharp poked your skin. You pulled the object out, looking down into the palm of your hand to see the stowaway fish hook from Jake's bag.

Grace let out a scream as Mickey splashed some water in her direction and Cora's faces. You lifted your head at the sound. You watched them for a few seconds as your hand closed over the piece of metal. That was until your eyes drifted to rather large clumps of algae floating nearby.

Toying with the hook, a horrible, terrible idea began to take shape.

The urge to draw Jake out of his silence, to elicit some sort of reaction from him, became almost irresistible. You wanted to draw him out. You wanted to break through this silence. It wasn't like Jake to be this quiet, and honestly, it irked you more than his usual antics ever could.

He didn't deserve to feel guilty. Not when he didn't back then. 

You just hoped the asshole was afraid of snakes.

The task was slightly more challenging with your bandaged wrist, but you were determined. You scouted the area carefully and soon found what you needed – a flexible, skinny-looking stick. Making sure nobody was looking, you dipped one end into the water, collecting the green stuff before pulling it out, trying to resist the urge to gag.  After racing over to where you had left your bags, you dug through them to find the other object you had taken from Jake's fishing supplies that morning.  

After making sure the close was clear, and with one hand doing most of the work and the other providing clumsy support, you crafted your gathered materials into a makeshift but realistic-looking snake.

The trick was to make it move believably. You hastily attached one end of the fishing wire to the stick, creating a simple rig that would allow the faux snake to slither when tugged. The other end of the wire, now knotted to the fishing hook, was kept ready to be discreetly hooked onto your unsuspecting victim.

By the time you stood up and returned to your observation point, your prank hidden at your side, Veronica and Jessica had roped Jake into taking a group photo. Nat had been called into the fray, now out of the water and dressed, and then suddenly, she was shouting for you, Cora and Grace to join them.

With a casual smile, you approached the group, keenly aware of Jessica's subtle maneuvering with the camera, likely intending to edge you out of the frame. You didn't mind one bit, purposely settling next to Jake. It made for what you were about to do that much easier.

While pretending to adjust your position for the photo, you discreetly reached out with the wire and hook. It caught on to the edge of his sweater, and you let go, your grin widening as the girls counted down.

 Or, so you thought.

Once the photo had been taken and everyone had been satisfied with the result, Veronica stepped forward.

Then, she screamed.

You could only watch as she bolted forward, the fake snake you had rigged for Jake chasing her with each stride. In her panic, she didn't see the edge of the bank leading to the water, and she tumbled in with a loud, heavy splash.

The group erupted in a mix of shocked gasps and then laughter as Veronica finally emerged, wretched head to toe and makeup running down her face.  Even the rest of the tourists couldn't help but laugh, a few wondering a lot loud what happened. 

You watched, horrified she'd catch on to what you did, but you sighed in relief when Javy helped her from the water. The wire had come loose in the fall, effectively freeing you from the immediate blame that was surely meant to follow.

As everyone tried to convince her there wasn't a snake, you shot Cora a glance. Of course, she was already watching you with suspicious eyes, and of course, she had seen what you did, knowing just who exactly that prank was meant for. You could only give her a sheepish shrug, somehow acknowledging the unintended target of your prank.

But were you sorry for how that turned out?

Nope, absolutely not. Not one bit.

Basking in the relief of not being caught, you are blissfully unaware of Nat and her hardening expression, solely directed at you. Her eyes are narrowing with each breath, and her displeasure is evident to any on-looker brave enough to see.

She stepped forward, ready to call you out on your bullshit promise of not trying to pull anything else, when Jake suddenly looped his arm through hers, pulling her away and over to Rueben. 

It is then Bradley suddenly jumps and grabs you by the arm.

Using Veronica and the commotion as a distraction signals Jake and Rueben, who give him a hidden thumbs up in return. When you ask him what's wrong, Bradley only sushs you and pulls you away to a path nearby.

You let him guide you, following it down and then up a slight hill, one that stops at a mid-over look of both of the falls. It's surrounded by lush greenery and trees, and even on an edge, you couldn't see the rest of the tourists below.

It's perfect for what you suspect Bradley is about to do. After all, you and Nat were the ones who purposely picked this spot for him to take a hint and pop the question. And your thought is only confirmed when he lets go of your arm to reach into his pocket and pull out that tiny blue box.

"I'm going to do it," he blurts out, running his hand through his hair. "Right now. Jake and Reuben are leading her here."

You can't help but feel utter joy, smiling so wide your cheeks start to hurt. "Bradley, she's going to be so happy!"

Bradley, however, looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. "I just... I need this to go right, Midge. I can't mess this up," he stammered, his hand trembling slightly as he lowered it down to his side. His eyes shot up to the path, and you could hear Nat's voice laughing at something as she unknowingly approached the two of you.

You took his hand into yours, letting it curve over his grip on the box, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Bradley, you've got this. Just remember to breathe, okay? Nat loves you, and this will be perfect because it's coming from you. Nothing else matters. Not the place, not everyone else. Just the two of you."

He forced himself to take a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders sag. When he finally seemed to regain his composure, he offered you a nod. "You're right... I just need to keep it together."

Letting go of his hand, you gave him a gentle pat on the back of his shoulder. "Go get her, you big chicken."

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, motioning for you to hide. You squealed in delight, running to take cover in a thick, overgrown bush. Natasha emerged from the path, Ruben and Jake trailing close behind and you crouched down in the overly dense bush and hidden from plain sight.

Reaching into your pants to grab your phone, you turned it on. You had been saving your remaining battery life for this, both you and Bradley knowing Nat would want pictures to remember the day, hence why he came and got you.

Once it was booted up, you unlocked it, peering over the bush as Bradley greeted Nat with a hesitant smile. Jake and Rueben side their arms out from where they had been looped against hers and sent her on her way. 

She went willingly, a soft and warm smile on her face as she pressed herself deep into Bradley's chest. As much as he tried to calm himself down, and as much as your words had somewhat helped, nothing could have helped him more than a hug from the person he loved the most. You could see the second the stress, the tension, and the worry seemed to evaporate from his body. He fell into her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Sliding forward, you held your phone between a gap in the brush. Watching them through the screen, you attempted to use your bad hand to try and zoom in for the right angle, the right depth of the two of them with the waterfalls in the back.

As they shared a soft laugh about something, you felt a surge of affection for the two of them. It was obvious there was no better couple and nobody else in the world better suited for either of them than each other.

All you've ever wanted was to see Nat happy, and in Bradley, she's found that happiness. It's a comforting, reassuring thought that brings a sense of peace to your heart amidst all the utter disaster that was this fucking trip.

"I know it was you who swapped my sugar this morning."

God, Fucking Damnit, Jake!

Titling your head back, there he was in all his fucking glory, standing above you with his hands on his hips like some middle-aged, snarky woman being cut out of line in a grocery store.

You want to scream. Nat and Bradley would merely have to twist back to see him standing there, in plain sight, in the middle of the forest, glaring down at you from behind the bush.

He was either denser than a fucking brick wall or simply decided, in a stroke of questionable judgment, this was the perfect moment to confront you over a petty prank.

"Get the fuck down, you idiot!" you whispered harshly. "They are going to see you!"

Swapping your phone into your injured hand and biting down on your lip as your wrist aches, you find a solid grip on his shirt, yanking him down toward the ground. Jake falls with a severe lack of grace, and you grimace, wondering if Nat or Bradley heard him.

You check through the gap, sighing in relief when you see they are standing with their backs towards the two of you, off admiring the waterfall. But with the relief came the turmoil, and the reality of your current predicament is blatantly obvious.

Jake is kneeling next to you in the dirt, the both of you behind a very small bush, while your best friends are getting engaged just on the other side. He's so close you can feel him breathing down your neck, and his eyes are pinning you down with his stare. Every visible piece of your skin is simply burning from his presence alone.

And the fact you can't leave. Neither can he. Not until Bradley has gotten down on one knee and Nat has answered that famous question with nothing but a joyful, happy yes.

"You've been avoiding me all day."

You could only roll your eyes and snort. "You don't say? I can only wonder why."

As you're unlocking your phone again and placing your phone back inside the bush, Jake leans forward to mummer in your ear. "I know that 'snake' on the fishing wire trick was supposed to be for me, too. You did a shit job of covering up your robbery heist."

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Jake trace his fingers over the palm of his other hand. Had you looked, you would have seen faint, red scratch marks marring his skin. 

You can't help but snicker at the memory of Veronica falling into the water and of her climbing out, looking like a drenched raccoon. "Can't say I'm disappointed it didn't happen to you."

News flash - You're not.

"Good to know I'm not the only one on your hit list."

"You are the list, asshole," you grumble under your breath.

Thinking he'd have some common sense and leave it at that, you lean forward, observing through your screen as Bradley discreetly reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out the box.

It's a stupidly optimistic thought.

"Can you just talk to me for once in your life?"

He never learns when to shut his trap, does he?

"Can you just shut up for two seconds?" you snap, not taking your eyes off your phone. "Bradley's purposing!"

"I'm sorry, Midge, Okay? I'm sorry for the bear trick. It wasn't supposed to go like that. I'm sorry you hurt your wrist. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

You shake your head. "Jake! Shut the fuck up!"

He frowned. "Why won't you let me apologize?!"

"Turn your fucking head and look Jackass." You gesture with your bandaged hand. "This isn't the time!"

He shifts in the dirt, drawing closer to you. "When is the time? Cause you've been running from me since we set out this morning. Actually, the entire trip so far."

"We're hiding in a bush, watching our two best friends get engaged. Of course, it's not the right fucking time!" you rush out in a single whispered breath.

"They are over there and can't hear us... I just need you to hear me out, Midge. I didn't mean for any of this to—"

"Seriously, Jake?" you hiss, finally taking your eyes off your phone as your patience wears thin. "Now is not the time."

But Jake is too caught up in his own need to clear the air to stop. And his voice grows louder despite the need for the utmost discretion.

"I just want to fix this, Midge! I hate that we're like this. I've always hated this! This thing we have going on, and I have no idea why!"

You couldn't help it when your voice suddenly boomed out, "You don't know why? Really? Let's start with that fucking mouth of yours!"

"Seriously?! You two couldn't can it for one fucking minute for this?!"

You slammed your eyes shut, wincing hard.

Fuck.

Nat's voice cut sharply through the air, her words laced with anger. "Get the fucking hell out here, the two of you! Now!"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Reluctantly, Jake and you unfolded from your crouched positions. Your movements were hesitant as you both stepped out from the relative safety of the bush to face the weight of Nat's furious gaze.

Standing tall and with her shoulders squared, Nat was the epitome of fury. Her eyes could have melted steel, and each breath she took was measured, controlled, and laced with the increasing difficulty of maintaining her composure. She had yet to speak another word, but you knew.

She was barely holding it together, holding off the inevitable bomb that had been building up since she pulled you aside this morning.

But the worst thing you could have seen in this very moment? Bradley, still frozen mid-kneel, the expression on his face equal parts a mix of shock and heartbreak. And in his hand, grasped between two fingers, is Nat's ring - the one you helped to pick out.

You half expected him to shoot you a hateful glare, but he was only staring at Jake, coming to a stand and placing Nat's ring safely back within its box.

"What's so fucking wrong with the two of you?!"

You drew in a sharp, shaky breath. Nat continued to yell, first setting her wrath onto Jake as he let out an awkward cough.

"Jake, don't think you're innocent in all this!" she snapped. "Always egging her on, playing these stupid games. It's like you're both in some twisted competition to see who can be the most infuriating."

Her eyes bore into him, Jake obviously scared of her. She took a step forward and pointed to the ground. Bradley swung his arm out in front of her in fear she was on the verge of violence.

You were grateful. Nat would be capable of murder at this point.

"You could've been the bigger person, walked away, but no, you just had to keep it going. It's like you enjoy this drama. Well, congratulations, it's ruined a moment that was supposed to be about Bradley and me, not your petty feud!"

Jake ducked his head like a child getting scolded by a parent, his Adam's apple bobbing with his harsh swallow.

"And you!" she spun, now pointing her finger at you. You reeled back, scared at her snarl and the sheer rage she was projecting onto you, something you've never been on the receiving end of since you met her.

"I don't know what stick he's metaphorically shoved up your ass, Midge," she mocks your nickname in a deliberate tone, "but you need to get the fuck over it. How long has it been?!"

Your heart snaps. You are pretty sure it's been shattered, too.

"It's like one day you just woke up and decided he wasn't worthy of your attention! That he was too good for you!" Nat spins in frustration, running her fingers through the roots of her hair before she's back to unleashing her wrath onto you.

"Do you know we can't have proper get-togethers without the two of you causing some sort of scene?" she shrieks. "Here we were thinking that maybe, just maybe, forcing the two of you together for once in your life would get you to be fucking nice to him? Maybe they can communicate and figure their shit out. Maybe she won't run away every single time she fucking sees him."

"Nat..." Bradley tries to reason, turning to face her and trying to place his hand on her hip. She slaps his hand away, too far gone to care.

You know what, I was wrong! I was fucking wrong!” She threw her hands up in the air, letting them slap hard against her thighs as she let them fall. “You just can get your head out of your ass to realize this isn’t about you and your feelings and some selfish vendetta. It’s downright selfish, Midge!”

This is the reason why you've never told Nat - told any of them. Because what Jake said that faithful night is smacking you back in the face. Not that they didn't ever ask about it - they did - but because nobody would truly understand it.

They'd tell you it wasn't true. To not judge him for something he said in his youth. To grow up. To get over it. To give him a second chance or deep down, he secretly had a crush on you - as fucking if.

Or worse... Someone would confirm it.

Nat is confirming it. And for the four years you've been fighting against Jake, against the words he uttered to that girl in the bathroom of your college apartment, they meant nothing in this very moment.

The idea, Jake, was right after all struck like a blow to your chest, the weight, the force, sucking all the air from your lungs and replacing it with a heavy, undeniable truth.

"Having the both of you on this trip was a mistake," she mumbled angrily under her breath, shaking her head. With a swift, frustrated turn, she stormed off, each step pounding hard on the dirt trail.

You could no longer fight it. Tears overwhelmed the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall after years of running, finally allowing Jake the privilege of seeing the damage he caused and the death glare he damn well deserved.

"None of this," you seethed, pointing to Nat's retreating form, "would have happened had you not shut up the first time I told you to, Seresin."

Jake was visibly stunned, the shock in his eyes clear. "You can't honestly believe I wanted this to happen?!"

"You'd be pleased anyway it went regardless," You seeth. It's nothing but pure venom spilling from your lips, and Jake even finds himself taking a step back at the pure anger you're aiming toward him, only matched by Nat's previous rage.

You retreated towards a nearby tree, wiping the tears from your eyes as you laid your forehead against the bark, taking long, deep breaths. With sad eyes, Jake watched you go until there was shuffling in the dirt, and he spun, intercepting Bradley with an outstretched arm.

"Bradley... I didn't..."

"Just save it, man," Bradley replied dejectedly, slapping his arm out of the way as he dodged past. "There's nothing you could say that would make this better than what it already is."

He took off after Nat, his hand tightly clasped around the tiny blue box, and Jake couldn't do anything but grow roots into the ground, wondering how things went so incredibly wrong so incredibly fast.

Bradley had been coaching him on how to approach you. He thought last night, before those two showed up, there had been some progress. But now, standing amidst the aftermath of a failed proposal, Jake felt more lost than ever.

He knew he shouldn't have approached you while Bradley was down on one knee. The guilt he felt, even knowing how nervous he was about fucking it up, was incomparable. But you... you rebuffed him. Every single time he tried to approach you, you played the same damn game, and he felt like he was left without any other choice.

He just wanted to apologize to you before things got worse. Worse than you falling and hurting yourself because he couldn't man up and ask Jessica and Veronica to leave him alone.

There you were, crouching behind that bush, and he had the overwhelming urge to ask. And to say sorry that you had been hurt when he never intended for that in the first place. He just wanted to know why. Why did you so desperately hate him? Why, with every word, do you find fault with everything he did or would do?

But when Jake turned around to ask, you were already long gone, and he was left with nothing but the remnants of a failed proposal, Natasha's disappointment in the two of you, and the lasting impact of your anger.

Long may he rejoice in his ever-lasting ability to fuck things up further, especially when it came to you.  

So... who do we hate? Let me know 😅 (Not the writer, please not the writer)

Taglist:

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@shanimallina87 @wildxwidow @dempy @stargazer-88 @alldaysdreamer @the-dark-and-mystery @bookchik15

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Part 6 - Running up that hill - In progress

[s12-kittie]

The conflict between witches and fairies (Headcannon)

1. How it started

So, at first it's just pure evolution stuff. Humans evolve from smth like a monkey on the planet to be named Magix in the future, nothing to see here. But the more time passes, the more interesting it gets, because it turns out that these weird human creatures (females mostly, bc magical energy of males goes mostly into additional strength) are capable of either light or dark magic, depending of what emotions they're genetically most likely to express. It's like people are born either right- or left-habded; it's kind of genetical stuff, but you can learn to use your other hand as a leading one if you want, it's just stuff you do with it won't be as good as when you do it with your real leading hand.

But it's not some hand, it's emotions we're talking about. And this is where I'm going to stop for a few moments to explain the differece between positive and negative emotions, and you'll get why the things between the witches and fairies are like that

To begin with, it doesn't work like "joy is a positive emotion and anger is a negative one". It all depends on context. For example, if you feel joy about your friend passing an exam, it's a positive emotion. But if you feel joy while seeing someone bleeding on the floor bc you just stabbed them, then it's negative. Also, if you're angry about someone being unfairly treated, the anger is giving a positive outcome. If you're angry about, say, someone being better than you, the outcome is negative. And yeah, to get a positive outcome you mostly should want smth for someone else, not yourself, otherwise, the outcome is most likely to be negative. Btw, this is part of why you sacrifice yourself to get an Enchantix. And one more thing. The stronger the emotion is, the more powerful outcome you get.

So, as you see, it already leads to the differences between witches and fairies. As time passes, a really long time, the emotions both groups tend to express become basic for them. This leads to forming two different mentalities. Like, witches have less moral standarts, they're more selfish and they'd rather do smth alone than together with someone else (but I'm talking about an average witch, ofc every rule has an exception).

To make it more clear,

Here are 50 shades of grey.

And here're the ranges for a witch and a fairy. Ofc I believe the're individuals who don't fit in this scheme (like, a morally black fairy), but those are super rare cases bc their magic simply won't work well.

Okay, I think you get the picure now XD To sum up one more time, witches and fairies are mentally different.

This difference led to misunderstanding and this is how the confict began. You know, people, especially in ancient/medieval times tend to think that they're the best, and the people who's not like them are wrong. So yeah, we get a conflict, which sometimes turns into a war.

2. How it's going

Now both witches and fairies try to get separated from each other, bc the one of those very few things they have in common is being sick and tired of wars.

As technology developed, two social groups started exploring and populating other planets separately, this is why most of their population are either witches or fairies, so the laws on them are beneficial only to the most represented social group (like, fairies have more rights than witches, if the planed is mostly populated by fairies)

Magix, which is almost equally populated with fairies and witches, is a different story. First governments represented interests of one of these groups, ingnoring the otger one, which led to rebellions and revolutions. Like, one mayor supported fairies, witches didn't like it, so they killed him and elected a new one who supported their interests and who is soon to be banished from Magix by fairies and we finished where we started. It influenced infrostructure of Magix a lot, since witches or fairies (depends on a period of history) were forced out into the suburbs, and now the whole city is a mixture of fairy and witch neighbourhoods. Stuff like that went on and on until some time before the present day (which is the beginning of the book, when the government (you won't believe it guys) decided to treat fairies and witches equally. Is it a good start? Yes, but here's the thing: fairies and witches are not the same. Like, an average witch is more likely to commit a crime than an average fairy (you remember about lower moral standards, right??). So, it would be great to, say, double security in the witch neighbourhoods. But is it an equal treating? Nope. Anyway, the present mayor is relying on his ideals more than on the statistics. (I'm not saying this is a terrible decision, maybe it'll work, who knows).

And ofc the separation of witches and fairies impacts social life in many ways. Like, from the businessman's POV, witches and fairies are two different target audiences, so there're unique clothes shops, cafés/bars, social media (more about social media in here) and stuff like that for each of them (I believe the only shops both social groups attend are tech shops and supermarkets, but still they're not likely to go to the very same shop, since there's commonly one supermarket/tech shop per neighbourhood). The staff that works there is (obviously) from the same social group as the target audience. Btw, some facts: the quality of goods is better in fairy shops, and the staff is treated better, bc of the mentality stuff I already explained :)

And about the society itself... Well, fairies are still treated better. If both fairy and witch apply for a job and the employer doesn't have anything against any of the social groups, the fairy is more likely to get this job, bc a whitch is still more likely to bring trouble. Also, there're no witches in the government, bc, again, according to the statistics, the witches are more likely to do smth for their own benefit, and with the level of tesion between the social groups, who knows what consequences it can lead to. But most of the jobs are taken be fairies and witchs almost equally. Reason? At least half of the fairy/witch neighbourhoods have their own primary/secondary schools, hospitals, shops, etc. and ofc mostly fairies/witches are working there, so the situation is not that bad.

3. How it may be in the future

It was the Trix who showed the danger of this conflict, and both fairies and witches agreed that the tension has to be reduced. So, the government established a project, mostly targeted on kids, teenagers and young adults (as they're more likely to be influenced). The project includes:

• merged classes of colledge and school students

• uniforms for all primary schools, secondary schools and colleges (more about it in here)

• exchange programs between witch and fairy colleges.

• reserved vacancies for representatives of a different social group in schools, hospitals, shops, etc.

• common events (like festvals)

The program is about to start in book 3 or 4 of my fic, so it's not possible to say whether it'll work or not. Now it's meeting resistance of the teenagers and young adults, but maybe it'll work in the very near future...

[lackablazeical]

Hi! I really admire your art and I wanted to know if you could give me some advice on how to improve (I feel insecure when I draw when I see beautiful art)

Basically: stop being a perfectionist

Perfectionism is the death of improvement

If you see something you like in someone else's art (lines, colors, details, etc) try it yourself. If it's shitty, good. It'll start that way. Practice strengthening your hand and eye. It'll look terrible and horrible and shitty and that's GOOD bc it means you have something to improve on. Not everything needs to be shared, or needs a purpose, or even needs finished. Practice in private, so you'll be away from being perceived, and just let it go however it goes. (Preferably I sketch traditionally to do this but it's however works for you)

Plus, it helps to also do things you like. Want to work on shading but all you wanna draw is fanart? Shade some fanart! Want to do perspective but you just wanna draw your ocs? Draw what their room would look like! Etc etc. Don't make art a complete labor, but also don't never challenge yourself.

Plus, doing irl studies/seeing how pros go about things like sketching especially will help you learn ways to make things proportionate and dynamic. You don't need to use professional techniques to improve, ofc, but it never hurts to look around and see what works best for you.

Also, let's be real, you can take from artists you like. If you Don't share it, or profit from it, it truely is fine. What we artists don't know won't hurt us! If you wanna reference from me, go for it 🙏

Also, try new things! New styles, techniques, etc. I used to always use a soft brush w/ no pen pressure, but I tried new things and found I love hard brushes with pressure sensitivity. I used to dislike shading, but after trying new things, I've found a way to shade that I just adore and Find a lot of joy in. It'll be scary and weird and look not like your style, but soon you'll look back and see how much you've changed :]

Last thing: this is gonna sound super mean but. Remember that art is subjective. You may think your art is shit, someone else thinks it's great. That artist you adore? Someone thinks THEIR art is shit. Talent means nothing, visual appeal means nothing. Just do you 👌

[mvltisstuff]

hello again, i’ve requested a few times (the feels and sweet nothing) and i was hoping i could request again? (i think i might add an emoji at the end bc i love your writing and will keep requesting as much as you allow ❤️❤️) anyway, i hope you’re doing well and things are going good.

i was wondering if i could request a buck fic where is partner is an artist and he finds a sketchbook of sketches of him and when he asks about it they talk about how pretty he is and how deserves to be appreciated and just making him feel super loved with it. thank you if you get to it and ofc no troubles if you don’t. take care 🥰

also is 🚒 good for a way to recognize me??

wasteland, baby! - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

a/n: omg you always have such creative ideas! i love receiving requests so always feel free :)) 🚒 = ❤️‍🔥 i also won’t be posting as frequently for the next few weeks due to finals, but after that i’ll be posting a ton!!

buck had come over to y/n’s apartment after his shift for dinner, and the scent of thick acrylic paint and primer had stung at his nostrils. he began to love the smell, as he knew that it meant she was around. he had let himself in with his key, taking in all of the perfectly placed plants and artwork on the walls.

she had a canvas that was almost complete, with just a few finishing touches. buck had walked over to it to examine. her talent was extraordinary. he knew it was out of this world, and the way she was so proud of her pieces his made his heart swell up with love.

“hi, buck!” y/n says, beginning to walk out of the hallway from her room to her art. she was wearing a pair of dark green pants and a white t-shirt which somehow complimented her beautifully. her face had small specks of blue and red on her cheeks and black and grey streaks on her shirt. “sorry it’s such a mess in here, but doesn’t this look great?”

“no, don’t worry about the mess, but how long did that take? it’s amazing!” buck stutters a big, not being able to comprehend how art like that could come out of her hands.

“thank you, love,” she replies, taking his belongings and placing them down for him. “how was work today? anything good?”

“just a normal old day, but you know it’s the 118.”

“it is never normal at the 118,” y/n smiles and gives him a cheek kiss before going to wipe her face off. buck goes to sit down in her living room on the couch, and she follows behind him with a quick change of shirt. she placed a small pizza in the oven to cook for them, and cuddled up next to him while they told each other stories about their day.

“it was wild, y/n,” buck starts. “i mean this woman literally rose from the dead after like 15 minutes, after being under a street. oh! you’re going to love this- and we saved some puppies in a sewer.”

“oh my god, are they ok?”

“they’re all fine, but i’m not sure if we are right now.”

“what do you mean?” she asks, slowly and carefully.

“you don’t smell something burning?”

she takes a deep inhale and looks over to her smokey kitchen. it wasn’t too bad, but definitely enough to make it inedible. “shit! fuck, i forgot about it!” she says, bouncing the pan up and down while trying not to burn herself.

y/n was busy discarding of the pizza when buck looked over at her with joy. he had a cheeky smile on his face and was laughing at the forgetfulness of both of them. he looked back down in front of him and the coffee table, and he saw a book that y/n always has on her. she brings it to work, to her family, anywhere she goes, she has it. it was her beloved sketchbook, filled with hundreds of small doodles and big pieces. buck has seen a lot of things in it, admiring each one before he comes across a bookmarked section.

when he flips the pages of the book, he notices that the person that is sketched and shaded looks particularly familiar. he makes note of the sharp nose and soft, but hard jaw. he sees the famous birthmark on the side of his face. he’s never looking right on, though. he’s always focused on something or has a light grin on his face. buck knows these are of him, but he doesn’t think he had any importance to be the top drawing in her book.

y/n walks back in to greet her boyfriend, “i think we might just have to ord-“ she looks at the sketches that she had put on that paper. a heat rose up into her face, reddening her cheeks and making her feel a sense of embarrassment.

“a-are these me?” buck asks, quietly. y/n nods, slowly, praying that she didn’t make him uncomfortable and that she will see him again tomorrow. “i-um..”

“you don’t have to say anything, buck. i never meant for you to see those and if you don’t like them, i’ll never do it again i swear. you just, you’re so beautiful, buck. and i love to draw beautiful things.”

“i just don’t know what to say, these are so good. i feel like you know me more than i know myself,” he says, chuckling a bit.

“you like ‘em?”

“i love them,” buck says.

“good, i just couldnt stop myself. you are always so pretty, no matter what and i want you to know that, so i tried to convey it through this. i was going to show you eventually, but i wanted to do more.”

“why me, though? you could draw anyone,” buck asks.

“no one else is you! you might have a pretty face and all but there is really nothing more beautiful than your soul. you are filled with so much love and sweetness and i’ve been dying to find a way to show you, because you are loved, evan. i love you and i wanted to put my two favorite things together. not a day goes by where i have anything but love for you.”

suddenly, the feeling in bucks chest is rising stronger, feeling like it’s going to burst. when it does, he has strong riptides of tears in his eyes. with a pure smile on his face, he passionately leaves a kiss on her lips, and he feels loved for the first time.

growing up, his parents never showed him love. he always begged for it from everyone he knew, and now he feels like it isn’t deserved. but someone, y/n made him feel like he will forever be worthy of love. and he will never forget how she fixed him for the best.

[knoepfl]

Can you please do a palladium x immortal reader so the reader is immortal, but other than that she a normal person (I headcanon that palladium is immortal)

Ofc! I have so many Palladium requests and to be honest I think he really is immortal too XD Anyways! I really hope you like it. I made it a bit cozy and with a lot of fluff. Let me know what you think!

Longer than Eternity

Characters:

• You (Reader): An immortal being who has lived centuries, possessing a deep appreciation for life’s simple joys and a hopeful outlook on the boundless possibilities of the future. A warm and gentle soul who finds comfort in quiet moments and meaningful connections.

• Palladium: An elegant, soft-spoken, and intelligent character with golden eyes, auburn hair, and a reserved demeanor. He is also immortal and deeply contemplative, often overthinking the weight of eternity. Despite his doubts, he harbors a deep affection and admiration for you.

Trigger Warnings:

• Existential Themes: Includes discussions about the meaning of life, the weight of eternity, and the fear of monotony or purposefulness in immortality.

• Mild Emotional Vulnerability: Palladium expresses feelings of doubt and unease about the future, which may resonate with themes of uncertainty or melancholy.

• Romantic/Physical Intimacy: Gentle touches, cuddling, and tender moments between the characters are described with emotional depth.

Masterlist

Words: 1763

---

The soft flicker of candlelight danced across the walls of your cozy home, casting shadows that seemed to breathe with the warm, inviting glow. Your little sanctuary was a place of peace, filled with carefully chosen pieces of comfort: plush, overstuffed pillows in shades of cream and forest green; small shelves adorned with cascading plants whose leaves reached out as if in greeting; and the subtle scent of lavender and sandalwood from the candles scattered around the room.

Palladium sat on the edge of the couch, his thin frame slightly hunched as his fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of his vest. His auburn hair was tied loosely at the back, though a few strands had slipped free, framing his delicate face in the soft glow of the candles. His golden eyes, bright and intelligent, darted toward you occasionally, only to flit away as though he was lost in thought.

You placed two steaming cups of tea on the small table, the sound of the ceramic clinking softly as you sat across from him in your favorite armchair. For a moment, the room was filled with comfortable silence—a silence you cherished. It was rare to find someone like Palladium, who understood that quiet moments could hold as much meaning as spoken words.

Still, there was something different about tonight. He seemed distracted, and his usually graceful hands were fidgeting with his bowtie, a habit you’d come to recognize as a telltale sign of his unease.

“You’ve been quiet,” you said gently, breaking the silence. Your voice was soft, inviting, as though coaxing him out of whatever thoughts were keeping him tied up. “What’s on your mind?”

Palladium glanced up at you, his large eyes widening slightly, as though caught off guard. A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach the warmth of his gaze. “Oh, it’s nothing important,” he murmured, his voice as gentle as ever. “Just... thinking about the future, I suppose.”

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering across your face. “The future? What about it?”

He hesitated, his golden eyes falling to his lap where his hands had stilled. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his words carefully before speaking. “I suppose I’ve been wondering... if it will be enough.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He sighed softly, his slender shoulders rising and falling as though the weight of centuries rested on them. “We’ve both lived so long,” he began, his voice quieter now. “We’ve seen centuries pass, watched kingdoms rise and fall, and magic evolve into something entirely new. And yet... I find myself wondering if there’s enough left to fill the endless time we’ve been given.” His hands fidgeted again, tugging lightly at the cuff of his sleeve. “What if... what if we’ve already experienced the best of what life has to offer?”

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heart. Setting your tea aside, you rose from the armchair and moved to sit beside him on the couch. The cushions dipped under your weight as you reached out, taking one of his hands in yours.

“Palladium,” you said, your tone firm but kind, “how could you even think that? There’s so much left to see, so much left to do. The world is vast, and it’s always changing. We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

He looked up at you, his golden eyes filled with doubt and something else—hope, perhaps. “But how can you be so sure?” he asked softly.

“Because I want to see it all with you,” you replied, your voice brimming with quiet conviction. “I want to explore the sparkling beaches of Andros with you, wander through the enchanted forests of Lynphea, and watch the stars fall over Magix. I want to lose myself in the golden sands of Solaria and dance in the rainstorms of Zenith. There’s so much left to discover, and I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

For a moment, Palladium simply stared at you, his expression softening as the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift. A small smile spread across his face, growing wider as the warmth in his eyes returned.

“You really mean that?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

“Of course I do!” you said, squeezing his hand gently. “Eternity is only as dull as we make it, Palladium. There’s a whole world out there—no, a whole universe—just waiting for us to explore it. Together.”

His smile widened, and he let out a soft, breathy laugh that made your heart flutter. “You’re right,” he said, his voice growing more confident. “There’s so much we haven’t seen. So many lands to visit, spells to uncover, and stories to hear.” His golden eyes brightened as his enthusiasm grew. “And to think, I was worried we might run out of things to do.”

You laughed softly, resting your head on his shoulder. His robes smelled faintly of parchment and herbs, a scent you’d come to associate with him. “So, where should we start?” you asked, your voice playful.

“Well,” Palladium began, his boyish grin making him look even more endearing, “I’ve always wanted to visit the floating library in Solaria. They say the books there contain spells lost to time.” His eyes sparkled as he continued, his hands gesturing animatedly. “And the waterfalls of Zenith—they glow under the moonlight. Oh, and the crystal caverns of Lynphea! Have you ever seen the flowers that bloom there at dawn?”

You chuckled, your own excitement building as his enthusiasm became contagious. “One thing at a time, Palladium,” you teased gently. “But yes, we’ll see it all. Every wonder, every hidden corner of this world—and the next.”

For the rest of the evening, the two of you sat together, weaving dreams of future adventures. The tea grew cold on the table, and the candles burned low, but neither of you noticed. The world outside your cozy home seemed to fade away, leaving only the boundless possibilities of tomorrow.

In that moment, the endless span of eternity didn’t seem daunting—it felt like an endless treasure trove, waiting to be uncovered. And together, you were ready to face it all.

---

As the night deepened, the candles burned lower, casting an even softer glow in the room. The excitement and warmth of your shared dreams filled the air, but as the minutes ticked by, a comfortable silence fell over you both. You let out a small yawn, your hand coming up to cover your mouth.

Palladium’s sharp eyes caught the movement instantly. “You’re tired,” he said softly, his tone a mixture of concern and fondness.

“I suppose I am,” you admitted with a small smile, leaning back against the couch cushions. “But I don’t want this evening to end yet. It’s been perfect.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, as his gaze softened. “The evening doesn’t have to end. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow—or perhaps in our dreams tonight.”

His words made you smile, though your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. Palladium noticed and shifted closer to you, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Come,” he said gently, standing and offering you his hand. “Let’s get you to bed. You need your rest.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the promise of your cozy bed, paired with Palladium’s calming presence, was impossible to resist. Taking his hand, you let him guide you up from the couch. His movements were graceful, almost delicate, and he stayed close, steadying you as the fatigue settled into your limbs.

The bedroom was just as inviting as the rest of your home, decorated in soft, earthy tones with a bed piled high with warm blankets and pillows. The faint glow of a single candle illuminated the space, casting gentle shadows on the walls.

As you climbed into bed, Palladium knelt beside it, his golden eyes watching you with a quiet tenderness. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked softly, though you could tell from the way he lingered that he hoped the answer would be yes.

“Of course,” you replied without hesitation, reaching out to take his hand again. “I’d like nothing more.”

His smile widened, and with an elegance that seemed second nature to him, he slipped off his shoes and outer vest before joining you. The bed dipped under his weight as he settled beside you, his movements careful and precise.

You curled into him instinctively, your head resting on his chest where you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arm wrapped around you securely, his long fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur against your hair.

“More than comfortable,” you replied, your voice already heavy with sleep. “You’re like my own personal heater.”

He chuckled at that, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Well, I’m glad I can be of use,” he teased gently, though there was no hiding the affection in his tone.

For a while, the two of you lay there in peaceful silence, the world outside fading away. Palladium’s hand continued its gentle movements on your back, lulling you further into relaxation.

“Do you know something?” you said sleepily, your voice muffled against his chest.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice equally soft.

“I think the best part about eternity is moments like this,” you murmured. “Not the adventures or the wonders... but the quiet times we get to share. Just you and me.”

His hand stilled for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with quiet emotion. “You always know how to make the simplest moments feel extraordinary,” he said. “And I’m grateful for every one of them.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, a contented smile on your lips as his words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. “Goodnight, Palladium,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Goodnight, my love,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

As sleep claimed you, Palladium remained awake a little while longer, watching the rise and fall of your breath and marveling at how someone so timeless could still seem so fragile in moments like these. He held you a little tighter, as though to shield you from the weight of the world.

Tomorrow would bring new adventures, new dreams to share. But for now, the only thing that mattered was the warmth of your body against his, the soft glow of the candlelight, and the quiet certainty that this—this moment—was the kind of eternity he had always dreamed of.

---

[izvmimi]

candy corn, skittles, and snickers for mimidoriya, mimista, and tanjimimi

m&ms, twix, and almond joy for mimirou and tsumimi

and all of the above for lumimi

man fine okay fajsdlkfja;lsdjfka;s

this is so long but:

candy corn:

mimidoriya - tbh i need to call him itzuku more often thanks for reminding me, and he calls me 'puppy' which is a terrible running joke as you definitely know

mimista - he calls me 'wizard queen' but also 'angel' and ofc i call him my widdle gigachad yes i say that to his face

tanjimimi - tbh he's more traditional and says 'love' and 'sweetheart', i don't use one for him aside from 'baby' which is actually a little odd to him given the time period but he allows

skittles:

mimidoriya - think of me as a bull seeing red but with affection when i see green

mimista - tbh green too but also gold

tanjimimi - different shades of red like fall leaves and auburn and a hot iron over a flame

snickers:

tbh none of these are that funny but:

mimidoriya - he snores and i send him new videos of him doing it at random times of the day

mimista - he's always like you only want me for my status and i'm like where, you don't even have stature

tanjimimi - i always remind him that he's the only person on earth whose sense of smell isn't coupled to his taste buds cuz he likes bland food and he says he's just evolved

m&m's:

mimirou: barou looks like he does up front but it's actually me; my shell is just friendlier so it's harder to see that i have one

tsumimi: tsukasa but that's cuz he's baby inside

twix:

mimirou: tbh we don't really complement each other we augment each other's terrible qualities that's why we're toxic, but i do make him fly off the handle less often and be a little nicer and he helps me defend myself more (or does it for me). also gasses me up because he's the king so clearly i am the queen.

tsumimi: i remind him he doesn't have to be strong all the time and he can let other people care for him and feel all those negative feelings without crumbling, and he reminds me that i'm stronger and smarter than i believe i am, and also keeps me safe

almond joy:

mimirou: i like bragging about him as often as possible in public and he likes that shit unfortunately and tries to do it too but it's embarrassing when he does it

tsumimi: always brings me little gifts every day to remind me he's thinking of me all the time. he's also into cheesy poetry

i cannot believe i have a luffy section:

candy corn: i'm calling him lulu lemon and he can't stop me and he also doesn't know what i'm talking about. when he used to look for me at the hospital when we first met he used to call me 'the pretty doctor' to other people although he doesn't use nicknames that much when we start dating

skittles: tbh golden yellow which is funny because i don't even like the color yellow but i think it fits for him, given the straw hat and the joy, and the spice and the pirate searching for gold and everything yk

snickers: when i pull a steaming hot kebab out of my forehead randomly during a pause on the ship or when i want him to shut up it never ceases to entertain and delight him, it's like a pacifier

m&m's: i think luffy has a tougher outer shell tbqh he's a little harder to crack i would say not so much because he's trying to but because he makes it a little hard for you to even know to dig deeper

twix: so i saw this thing about infj (me) and esfp (him) and it said it's the union of empathy and joy and like idk if that type is truly his type but i would say for us that's the best description. i would like to think i curb his selfishness when it starts to get detrimental (even though it's rare) and he curbs my insistence on overextending myself when it starts to take away from my happiness. he's also a lot bolder where i am more careful and less of an overthinker while i am more conscientious and we strike a balance

almond joy: i think luffy is honestly easily placated by just me being willing to spend time with him and i think he is always asking me a lot of questions big and small which makes me feel important to him

[lilibethwrites]

Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: Angst, heavy violence, eventual smut, Targcest. This will be a very dark fic with potentially multiple disturbing or triggering elements. Each chapter will have warnings accordingly.

Summary: Rhaenyra’s firstborn daughter, Aelenore Velaryon is as vicious as she is ambitious. Growing up knowing she is a bastard and bitterly rejected by Prince Daemon, when she finds herself beginning to lose the favour of her family and infatuated with Aemond, an opportunity to earn more than any woman can have in the Seven Kingdoms presents itself. With a man as broken and wronged as herself, they burn everything around them to feel the warmth denied to them, even if their own flesh may catch on fire. Ambition and greed beget violence, and the blood of the dragon spills like wine.

Word count: 6k

Also on AO3

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,

To entertain these fair well-spoken days,

I am determined to prove a villain

And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

(Richard III, I.i.37–40)

It was a humid, scorching summer’s eve. The flowers of the royal garden had all turned shades of burned pigments heated over a candle for too long. Grasshoppers lay heavy where they had ceased flapping their wings. The nightingales that lent their name to the hour were quiet. It was only Princess Rhaenyra’s wails and groans peppered with curses and insults that echoed off the polished walls of the Red Keep. The heir to the throne, the beloved daughter of King Viserys has been in labour for so long that the younger Maesters made to stand back and observe behind the ranks of seniors and midwives began to whisper the long winter would come before the babe ever did.

Some wondered where Ser Laenor was, others remarked that it was the Breakbones pacing the hall beyond the door, and that it was rather odd that the Commander of the City Watch took such interest in the first labour of the princess.

But the babe came, persistent as she was in remaining in the womb as if she possessed prescience enough to know the realm she was brought into would have no joy to offer.

With the blood still on her, Rhaenyra cradled the babe to her bare chest, weeping and thanking the gods of old. Even a slight rub of her hand over the babe’s head was enough to furrow brows and a new wave of mumbling to rise as if dust after her dragon’s landing. Dark hair; unmistakably, uncharacteristically dark, like the night she was delivered. Dark hair, unlike the kind on the head of the second son Queen Alicent had recently delivered in a chamber nearby.

Ser Laenor was the first to see the babe, though she was cleaned and swaddled in an ornately embroidered blanket that could tear down and rebuild the entire Flea Bottom with how many yards of soft velvet and spools of gold threads it took to weave, then.

Then joined them Harwin Strong, and only then the babe was lifted from Rhaenyra’s arms, and given a name.

“Aelenore,” Rhaenyra said proudly, still keen on the name she had come across in a tome on Old Valyria while the babe was no bigger than a fig in her belly.

“Aelenore,” Ser Harwin Strong raised the babe to his chest and whispered in her ear as Ser Laenor looked on with a proud, warm smile.

By late morrow, King Viserys was cradling his first grandchild, a babe he hadn’t once found unlikely to be the fruit of the marriage he had imposed upon two young people with the blood of Valyria in their veins.

King Viserys blessed the babe’s name, with the swaddle in his arms and pride in his eyes.

“Princess Aelenore Velaryon,” he declared, “may her life be long and prosperous.”

He commended his daughter and her husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon. Yet, Queen Alicent did not share the spirit of festivities. Having given birth to her third babe recently, another boy with the proud colours of Old Valyria, her brows creased when she beheld the babe in her husband’s arms.

Neither Aegon nor Aemond, the heirs Viserys so desperately desired that he would butcher his lover, were welcomed into the world as fervently as her husband’s first grandchild was by him.

The King was still in his prime, then, and he could pace the chamber with the babe in his arms until he grew restless, then, he would tour the shorter halls, stop by alcoves with stones warmed by the broiling sun. He accepted praises and well wishes from his court, with Rhaenyra still reclined on a chaise and Queen Alicent left alone with her.

“Congratulations,” she begrudgingly said at last.

The room was cold with resentment, and the bodies that filled it were all stiff like corpses washed ashore.

“My congratulations, as well,” Rhaenyra repaid the kindness, or the visage of it, just before Aelenore was returned.

“Rather short and without a fuss, mine own labour was,” the Queen spoke without patience at her stepdaughter’s nonchalant disregard of the rules of nature herself. Bastards were cursed, this, everyone knew. Bad omens; treacherous, sly, with deformed souls and frightening capacity for evil.

“And a rather unmistakable likeness to his sire, Aemond bears… Though, ‘tis only the first of yours,” she spoke disdainfully, then. The gentle tone with which she spoke couldn’t veil the anger stirring within her.

“I shall pray that the Gods will give you a babe that resembles… either of you next time.” Her smile was bitter, her eyes hostile.

Yet, the Gods didn’t. Next came a brother for Aelenore, with the same dark hair that tended to curl into ringlets. Aelenore gave up her toys, save for a wooden replica of her quickly growing dragon, to instead spend her waking hours near her brother. Not long after came Lucerys. Aelenore was grown enough then to participate in at least the first hour of the labour with her hand on her mother’s swollen belly. After that, she was hastily escorted out to wait along with the rest of the court. Such sights were not for a girl who would labour in a birthing bed of her own eventually.

Rhaenyra was not allowed to ever forget it, that her firstborn child was no true Targaryen, and none other that came after was any different. As if she knew from when she was a babe the meaning behind hushed whispers hidden with jewelled fingers and curious looks with thinly veiled disdain, Aelenore grew into a difficult character, unfriendly to all save her siblings.

It was King Viserys’s suggestion that the girl might enjoy playtime with a boy senior to her only by a year, and a quiet girl that never cried unless pinched or spooked. It was one of the rare times Viserys remembered at all that he had other children beyond his beloved Rhaenyra. So, Aelenore was brought with her basket of carved and painted toys to the chamber where Aegon, Helaena and Aemond were tended to. She sulked the entire time, ignoring her much-loved toys to attempt to rip the carpet out with her fingernails whenever she wasn’t attempting to decapitate her uncles with her eyes. She resented them, she suffered terribly from green-eyed jealousy that she spent all the hours thinking of all the ways she could upset the boys. She wondered if their hair would stain if she boiled flowers torn from the gardens, and dropped the concoction over their heads. She wondered if she could sneak a pair of scissors the next time royal seamstresses came to measure her for a new dress. She could chop a braid right off, or cut through the tomes the boy closer to her in age seemed to be mesmerised with. But, she never had another hour with them after the first few disastrous ones, and so her plans never came to fruition.

Aelenore surprised not a soul when she grew into a brooding young princess; quiet yet unsettling with eyes severe and pale as the smoke dancing over the sea. She was old enough to understand what it meant that her eyes were grey as a rainy morrow, and her hair dark as earth after the heavy clouds passed. She was swiftly assigned a Maester to be tutored in the proud history of her blood. She found it a rather cheap charade, and her lips were often twisted into an irreverent, lopsided smirk as the Maester harped on.

“I know what I am,” she once told her mother over tea. “I do not wish to entertain trivial lies anymore.”

But Rhaenyra was patient with her, and each time Aelenore brought the subject up, she took her hand and asked her if a child without the blood of Valyria could ever ride a dragon. To that, Aelenore shook her head. The more she was posed with the impossibility of her inferior nature by virtue of the beautiful wyrm resting in the Pit, the more her self-disdain turned to vanity.

The court was reminded of the unruly princess in her youth when her daughter insisted that she would only ever wear her riding habits. Even to breakfasts and lessons, she would don coats and trousers with gloves always neatly tucked around a belt or hanging from a pocket, and always complete with a jewelled pin of dragons.

She was a curious young woman, raining questions down upon anyone nearby about Valyria and dragons. When she wasn’t interrogating the Maesters of the Red Keep or unsettling the courtiers with her unwavering gaze set upon anyone she suspected to have whispered about her, or eating, reading and writing near her beloved dragon, she fast became a second mother to Lucerys, demanding that she learned all she could about tending to a babe. To anyone except Rhaenyra, Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin, it was so unlike that a child as cold as her eyes would ever possess the capacity for affection. Even then, they watched her with well-concealed fright when she looked over the bassinet for the first few times. Lucerys must have immediately taken a liking to his sister as well; where Rhaenyra, Leanor Velaryon and Harwin Strong all failed to lull him to sleep, Aelenore managed to soothe the fussy babe into slumber with ease that surprised even the most weathered of wetnurses.

She was proud when Lucerys’s egg hatched, swelling her chest and proclaiming that it was her choice, that egg. Luke, Jace, and Nole, as she was so adoringly and adorably called by Luke from the moment he could speak, the three siblings became inseparable... and perhaps, rather insufferable to some. They loved mischief. From tying buckets of cold water over doors to soak Maesters at early morning lectures, spilling ink on the newly-washed garbs of Septas and Septons when they delivered the daily service of the Seven, taking their dragons out of the Pit to stomp around and frightening the poor smallfolk nearby, they have become a trio of terror. Aelenore was the mastermind, the one that came up with jokes and pranks bordered on cruelty while Lucerys and Jacaerys gladly played her henchmen. Aemond had his fair share when he found his neatly written summary of a manuscript on Valyrian traditions torn to pieces on his assigned desk and the siblings missing from the lecture altogether, or when his book was drenched in ink so badly he couldn’t read a word anymore while Aelenore and Jacaerys were markedly keeping their hands gloved and under a table or behind their backs the whole day.

“I wish they would go away,” Aemond once complained to his mother. He needn’t name them.

“I know,” was all the woman could offer, and a sweet kiss to the growing boy’s temple. She was helpless in the matter; Viserys loved Rhaenyra and his grandchildren more than he ever did Alicent or the babes she produced.

Aelenore still dreamed of staining and chopping silver hairs and upsetting her uncles, though less often with her mind always on her beloved pale and crimson, slender Naerax. On the opposite end of the wing, curled up on his bed, however, Aemond began to dream of upsetting his niece, as well. He couldn’t bring himself to be anywhere as cruel and calloused as she was, and whenever his fists were squeezed into balls and he attempted to strike back with a sharp word, Aelenore happened to rub her thumb over the silver three-headed dragon pinned to her collar, and the boy stepped back.

“He’s not a real Targaryen,” she began to say to her peers, pompously and with a grotesquely mature lilt to her tone. “I am. Hair makes a man not Targaryen, but the dragon that resides within the Pit.”

On the morrow when she greeted Aemond with a smile, he thought perhaps Aelenore could yet be a friend to him despite all the mockery and cruelty. She even abandoned her usual seat between her brute of brothers and instead sat next to Aemond. He suspected she needed his neatly drawn table of irregular verbs in High Valyrian for the lesson on the afternoon, but instead, she leaned over and promised him “a grand surprise” after lunch. She claimed it was an offer of friendship, to start anew.

“What is it?” He asked, cautious still but naively excited deep down.

“Would hardly be a surprise if I said, no?”

Just a few hours after, the blush was wiped from his cheeks. His face was dirt and tear-stained; he was in Alicent’s arms, bemoaning that the grand surprise was a pig with haphazardly attached wings and his own brother in on the terrible spectacle, laughing along with the rest of them.

When Helaena’s sight came true, Aemond didn’t only find trading an eye for a dragon—the biggest and the mightiest of the realm, that was— fair. He found it a payment, a rather steep but justified cost for his prayers that Rhaenyra and her children be removed. They were. As Aemond mounted Vhagar and followed the ship that carried his family back to King’s Landing, Rhaenyra and her kin made for Dragonstone.

He found the Red Keep opened up to him with the chambers of his tormentors vacant and halls safe to roam as he pleased. The library was all his, the tutoring chamber was freed of pranks and loud chatter when it should have always been a quiet, contemplative haven of studies. He came and went as he pleased without ever having to look over his shoulder. He had Ser Criston all to himself, as well, since Aegon delved too deep into his cups to participate in sword practice.

Years passed easier for Aemond, and faster, too. A punctual man down to the mere second, he awoke, followed his schedule and slumbered expeditiously, never a minute off. He was Alicent’s honour and pride, as well as her one true friend. Days never started or ended without a visit from her beloved son, even if all they did was sit in silence by the fireplace and sip tea or wine.

It was one such day, though Aemond would look back on it later and recognise the omens that had eluded him. He was up much earlier than he should’ve been. The hour was so early that the sky was still dark. He turned to the window, and then, frustratedly, gave his back to it. He pulled the covers over his naked shoulder, then, pushed them down to his waist. He hugged a pillow to his chest, then, pushed it away, too. Nothing helped, and he knew he would go through his day exhausted, with merely a few hours of sleep.

So, he bathed longer, dressed slower, and visited Queen Alicent before breakfast. She gave him a smile that would’ve seemed like all the other smiles to any other eyes. Aemond, however, saw distress from the way his mother’s lips pursed.

He wasn’t one for empty niceties or belabouring, so his hands shifted from Alicent’s elbows to her wrists, to the raw and picked cuticles.

“Tell me, mother.”

Alicent shook her head at first, and stared out of the stained-glass windows. She knew she would be delaying the inevitable, her discomfort hardly ever eluded Aemond. She knew he would abandon his entire day’s plans to sit here with her, caring and stubborn, until she told him.

“We shall have visitors soon,” she spoke through clenched teeth, her eyes shifting to the missive left on the table where Criston had delivered it.

The downturn of Alicent’s mouth was nearly enough, though Aemond still cocked his head in a quiet question. Who?

Alicent scoffed, looking down at her son’s pale, graceful hands.

“Princess Rhaenyra and her children. Prince Daemon along with them, of course.”

If Aemond had had !breakfast, it would have heaved in his stomach.

“Why?” He nearly lamented after a moment’s silence.

“Why?!” Aelenore echoed petulantly across the sea, on Dragonstone. “Why must we go? Can you not go alone?!”

Aelenore was happy on Dragonstone. The entire land from the shores to the peaks of volcanoes was her oyster. She woke up as she pleased, strolled and flew to her heart’s desire. No one was there to accuse her own acting untoward when she unlaced her boots, uncuffed her sleeves and chased Luke across the sandy beach and the waves carried their joyous screams while their dragons flew overhead.

King’s Landing was stifling. The Red Keep’s stones did make a prison and the stained windows a cage. Aelenore almost forgot she didn’t look the part of Princess Rhaenyra’s daughter on Dragonstone. Unless Prince Daemon’s cold gaze lingered, she hardly thought of how would it be to have silver hair and violet eyes, and if they would indeed escalate one above men all by themselves. She would be abandoning her home for a sea of pale hairs and hostile eyes.

“Because,” Rhaenyra sighed over the cup she nursed as men paced around the room hurriedly. “Your grandsire’s health is in fast decline.”

“That cannot be all. We are not Maesters. What good are we to his decay?”

“But we are bringing Maesters of our own… I do not quite like you when you are so… without compassion.”

So, Prince Daemon spoke, and her mother listened, then? The conviction wasn’t Rhaenyra’s, Aelenore knew. She remained quiet yet didn’t make a move to leave the hall.

“The matter of your brother’s inheritance must be resolved,” Rhaenyra spoke again after a surrendering sigh. She only understood how difficult she had once been when her own stubbornness stared back at her.

“I will not let them rob Luke of what is rightfully his. We cannot permit it.”

Aelenore nodded to it. That, she would help her maids pack up for. That she would tolerate King’s Landing for.

“Thieves,” Aelenore spat. “They shall steal all their covetous eyes may fall upon.”

Rhaenyra shifted in her seat. She thought that Aelenore sounded too much like Daemon at times. Perhaps that was why the two were like wildfire and a burning candle.

For the following days, Aemond felt the transitory nature of all things deeply within him. Sometimes, when the halls were empty, he ran his fingers over the stone walls. Even to them he felt as though he was giving his farewell. For an hour or a moon, he would be robbed of the freedom he perhaps came to take for granted. They would be anywhere at any time; she, the head of the poisonous serpent, would be, and the rest would follow slithering.

On the morrow the entire King’s Landing crowded the crooked streets to catch a glimpse of the horde of dragons, Aemond watched the sky with disdain, with his arms folded behind him and the skin of this thumb picked so tragically alike his mother’s. The cavalry was led by Caraxes and Syrax, the unmistakable red and yellow that flew side by side. Behind them were three others, one in the front and two in the back, like an arrowhead loosened to pierce Aemond’s serenity. His eye was glued to the last two, looping around each other. The pale one with crimson wings and waxen belly that resembled Aemond curdled milk dipped and rose while the smaller, pearlescent-and-yellow one tried to sink his teeth into the elongated neck of the other.

Aemond looked to the side. Helaena didn’t seem to bother that they were so brazenly being marched upon, Aegon was hungover from a long night’s tryst to care; it was only his mother and Ser Criston among the Kingsguard that seemed tense. He would not have don a thing beyond an undershirt for a company as undeserving had it not been for Queen Alicent visiting his chambers, begging so selflessly for him to behave, for her if for nobody else.

When the heavy gates were pulled open and the vapid bunch marched on, it was only Alicent and Rhaenyra that shared a smile in courtesy. Prince Daemon’s chin was high, his nose was scrunched up as if the mere sight of the Keep nauseated him. Behind him, Jacaerys was nudging his sister and his younger brother to cease the gossip. Aemond’s eye fell and remained on the girl, taller and more mature, though only in appearance, since he last saw her. Her hair was down, though the damage to the curls showed it wasn’t always so freely flowing.

While Helaena simply embraced a new friend she barely remembered and Aegon was delighted that a pert arse under heavy skirts, pronounced waist squeezed by corsets and exposed flesh were now present to ogle, Aemond simply scoffed.

When it came to acknowledge her at all, Aemond nodded sharply. His greeting was as cold as the pale icicles that stared at him. Unsettling, he thought, her irises almost bled into the whites of her eyes. She simply nodded, as one would dismissively to a servant. Aemond’s arms were still folded behind him. He made no move to touch her; not to take her hand and press a kiss, not to offer a half-hearted hug. Aelenore didn’t seem willing to offer an olive branch either, with her gloved fingers tightly intertwined in front of her with an arrogant smirk plastered on her face.

Oh, how Aemond desired violence.

“What a warm welcome, this is,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for Aemond to hear and Lucerys to snicker.

Behind them, servants began to drag heavy packs to the Keep. Aemond hoped it was simply out of vanity that they each brought more changes of clothes than necessary. While their chambers were prepared, Rhaenyra insisted on a visit to the King. There, it was only willing ignorance that barely maintained Rhaenyra’s illusion of her daughter. The young princess barely approached the bed and pointedly kept a handkerchief to her nose. The King’s beloved first grandchild looked down upon him with disgust, sneering at the rotting body and the dying face as his hand was left untouched by her.

“Sweet girl…” Viserys strained to no avail.

“Grandsire,” Aelenore muttered coldly after Jacaerys nudged her once again. “Lovely to see you.”

Aelenore rolled her eyes after that, looking around the room and wondering what was for supper while his mother silently wept at the corner of her father’s bed.

If the exchange in the King’s chambers was cold, the supper was the never-melting ice of the North. Where Alicent was covered to her neck, Rhaenyra and her daughter wore dresses that left their shoulders bare, and as if that was not enough, the young princess’ sleeves were split from the highest seam to the cuffs, exposing the entirety of her arms each time she so much as breathed. Aemond shook his head again and again, stabbing the pie in his plate, his eye burning into the shameless woman sitting at his side. Aelenore barely wore headdresses, and barely pinned her hair all the way up. Queen Alicent shared her son’s mind, she was one busted seam away from a harlot of the Street of Silk.

Aelenore was all wrong, Aemond thought. Untoward, improper, exposed like a desperate wench of a cheap pillow house. She laughed loudly, she moved in a manner that was ill-fitting to a princess. Aemond looked to his side again, and his brother was already charmed. Aemond hummed. Of course he would be.

“Say, when has she… blossomed and—and, sprouted such teats, hm?” Aegon slurred behind his cup to Aemond.

“I would rather not think about her… flesh,” Aemond lowered his voice along with his head, “if it’s all the same to you, brother. You’d do well to remember your wife, as well.”

The banter was cut short by Rhaenyra’s dry cough. Onto the matters at hand. She shared a look with Daemon, and he nodded in support.

“For our Maesters to study and prepare cures of their own, we must needs give them sufficient time. A moon’s time,” Rhaenyra spoke.

“During that time, my children must not fall behind in their studies. Yet, to allow Maester Gerardys to work uninterrupted, the princess and the princes must share the library yet again.”

Aemond’s head shot up along with Aelenore’s. They wouldn’t look at each other, but they shared the same sentiment. No. Absolutely not.

“Oh? So, the princess will not trust our Maesters with the care of the King, but she will entrust her children to their lectures?” Alicent was bitter in response, her brows were knitted above the practised, tight smile of courtesy.

“I trust my children to know the truth from a lie.”

Come morrow, it was very little consolation to Aemond that Rhaenyra’s bastards might be feeling as discomfited about their forced reunion as he was. He paced his room and fiddled with the neat stacks of tomes and the line of inkwells. He was always early, three days early than a minute late, he often defended his being too early that the Maester soon began to feel guilty for his being on time and not as early as his pupil was. But that morning, he wouldn’t be.

“No,” Aemond murmured to himself. That might show a sense of eagerness, and present the three-headed serpent with an opportunity to bother him. Yet, how late he had thought he was, he wasn’t as late as his tutoring partners. It was only Maester when Aemond took his seat, and it remained so for one full turn of the hourglass before the door swung open.

Aelenore was the first to enter, snickering with a tome under her arm and in yet another dress that bared more than concealed for Aemond’s taste.

“Oh?” she stopped in her tracks as though she expected the chamber to be empty, and looked back at her brothers, who were just as vain and proud of the interruption.

Aemond squeezed his fist under the table, dug his nails into his palm and with a clenched jaw, stared ahead and away from the girl that stood between him and the Maester.

“I see you start terribly earlier than Maester Gerardys does on Dragonstone. My brothers and I are rather fond of late eves, might it be that—”

Unapologetic. Proud. Without shame or decorum, Aemond thought to himself, the true mark of a bastard. Rotten to the core, a scourge. The Gods are truly testing us this time.

“And I am fond of order and duty. We shall be at odds, it seems,” he spoke up with vitriol the likes he hadn’t allowed to bubble up to the surface in so long.

Aelenore turned to him with a raised brow and a bemused smirk. At least her words were not lies, her eyes were swollen from slumber with a faint touch of darkness around them, only exacerbated by how pale her irises were.

“So it seems, Prince Aemond.”

She took her seat right next to Aemond, then, with her brothers by her side. The entire session was marred by their obnoxious giggling and the passing of notes. Aemond wondered why they would even bother to show up, though he reminded himself to be easy on them. It wasn’t their blood nor their history that was taught. Very little must have concerned them beyond a mere mention of a Valyrian lord and his harem that made the boys snicker.

As soon as the morning’s tutoring was concluded, Aemond departed without so much as a nod to the Maester and with his belongings so uncharacteristically collected in haste. Large steps carried him to the comfort of the secluded corner of the Keep’s larger library, to the dim spot that became a second bedchamber to him. He went to scribbling angrily. He was distracted, his cursive was sloppy, his words out of order, his thoughts mismanaged. The treatise was all wrong, he knew, yet the more he crumpled up parchments and started anew, the worse it got.

He heard the clicking of heels on the stone floor, then. Curious, he thought, as Queen Alicent knew not to disturb Aemond unless an urgency demanded it. Yet, the heels that dragged without hurry didn’t denote any such urgency. For once, Aemond hoped to be wrong in his conjecture as he looked up from his work.

There she was, the bane of his peace, the curse of all the malicious spirits of Valyrian mythos. She had a thin stack of parchment in her hands, strolling as if she were in the gardens between aisles of tall bookshelves. Aemond watched her with the suspended fury of a dragon prepared to strike out of the dark. She stopped soon after, reached up for a book and only raised dust. She stepped back, looked around once again, and pulled a few heavier tomes without discrimination only to toss them to the floor and step on them. Aemond had half a mind to jump from his seat and strangle the girl. A barbarian would be more reverent than she was, he thought. Gods, the state of Dragonstone must make even an untaught common man weep. A wicked den of sin where the heraldry of the Seven must be mocked in orgies and the written word was torn from bindings to wipe the aftermath off.

“You again,” Aelenore’s contemptuous acknowledgement pulled Aemond out of his thoughts. “I was hoping to be alone.”

“You would be, if you remained in your chamber and spared us the displeasure of your company.”

How dare she? This very spot has been always his from the moment the pain in his eye subsided. Would she be so misled of the mind to think she could usurp his home?

Aelenore seemed unbothered by his retort. In fact, it was Aemond who was the more perplexed one. He expected all sorts of disgrace from her, yet such blatant disrespect from a prince would—should have sent any woman with a modicum of virtue fleeing from his presence in shame. He assumed even Aegon’s whores must be more dignified than Princess Eleanore. Some princess she made.

“Do you not have more… princely pastimes?” She retorted.

“Are scholarly endeavours not princely enough for you?”

“No. Scholarly work is a consolatory waste of time for those who are not befitting to don a sword or fly a dragon.”

Aelenore turned her back to Aemond without waiting for his response and tossed the book to a table nearby. She was used to having the final say so long as the addressee wasn’t Prince Daemon.

“Both I can do,” Aemond rose from his seat and followed her, aggravated and ready to prove his words should she question his proficiency with either.

“Hm. No doubt,” she snorted with her head buried in the old tome.

“Who are you to subject me to lowly mockery?!” Aemond thought to demand with his hands wrapped around her neck. It was slender enough that even a single hand would do, and her body was easy enough to fling out of the window. But instead, his hand moved to his eyepatch. A reminder, a reassurance, a prayer: It passed, this will, too. It passed, she will pass, too. Only a matter of time. All passes, the good and the bad.

“But how well is the question, is it not, Prince Aemond?” She spoke up again. It seemed it wasn’t only Aemond who wasn’t willing to conclude this exchange.

“You do have certain… odds against you, do you not?” She pulled back from the book with a menacing look and an ugly smirk that Aemond wanted nothing more than to cut from her face with a letter opener.

“You did start flying later than all of us, and the sword? With your… unfortunate circumstance… well.” Her cold gaze shifted so pointedly from his face to the sword leaning against his desk, then, back to him.

“If you wish to challenge me to a flight or a duel, say it so plainly, Princess,” he spat the title as if it were a curse.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Though I am surprised you wouldthink to take for an opponent a woman rather than your own sex.”

The Stranger’s mistress. A vermin. A freak of nature. Something to be eradicated, stomped out before it sprouts her branches further.

“Apologies. I mistook your brothers for proper princes, but they are not the kind to be your champions, are they?” The fire within him was stoked with each moment he spent standing near her. He knew it to be a mistake, a man in command of his emotions wouldn’t have entertained a bastard who clearly wished to drag him down to the depths of hell she swam in. Yet, Aemond remained as if stuck to the mast of a ship drifting towards tall rocks.

“They would much rather hide behind skirts than face me.”

“They would not face you, that much is true, though for entirely different reasons.” She didn’t give Aemond the chance to give in to his impulses entirely. In a matter that seemed radically different from the frivolous villain she has been so far, Aelenore discarded her quill and reasoned. Though she spoke too slowly for it not to be insulting at least in the slightest.

“Because I am no more pleased than you are that I am here and neither are my brothers. Yet, no blood shall be drawn as I would like to fancy us all, yes, even you, Aemond, above simple brutes or mindless animals. No iron shall be drawn, no duels shall be had. I assure you I count the days until I am gone more eagerly than you.”

Aemond remained quiet with his lips pursed and his eye slowly dragging across her face. Maybe she could be reasoned with, after all. But he reminded himself that a bastard’s oath was bound with a withering twig; an easy tug and it was undone.

Both Aelenore and Aemond stayed in their heads for a moment, staring at each other but entirely unseeing. Aemond thought of all the ways Aelenore had wronged him. He remembered how she had run to Jace and Luke, how she had kneeled by them, holding washcloths to their noses and lips while his eye was sewn shut by a needle about the size used to weave thick blankets. He remembered how she had encouraged the boys to speak up, how she was the one to give voice to them.

“Aemond” she had called him with disdain, “slandered the princes.” Princes. Bastards. Treacherous liars.

“He called my brothers bastards, mother,” she had spoken with false solemnity, her pale, lifeless eyes dragging from Rhaenyra to Viserys so deviously.

On the morrow, they had all laughed. They had broken fast, they had jested and chatted while Aemond’s life changed forever. That was her, that has always been her. An uncaring, dangerous creature in love with misery and misfortune so long as none befell her.

He realized she was indeed at his mercy then and there. He could claim an eye for his, perhaps do not stop there and cut an ear, too, for interest. Perhaps even half of her ugly, upturned nose that perpetually disdained everything it saw. Consequences be damned, he thought, yet his shoulders fell and he blinked out of trance all the same. He felt the familiar throbbing in the back of his head slowly creeping to surround the precious stone lodged in his eye.

“I do not want you here, in the library,” Aemond spoke sharply. He was threatening enough that Aelenore was no longer too eager to tease him. “Find yourself elsewhere to spread your rot.”

It was his turn to speak the final word, and Aemond spun on his heels to abandon his study and Aelenore both. For once, he would break his schedule to demand Ser Criston’s time without a prior appointment, and he would do unto a sturdy shield and a worthier opponent perhaps half of what he so passionately desired to do to the girl invading his sanctuary.