#i need to lurk around the library more often

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

sometimes you start a day feeling like absolute shit bc last night was Exhausting and you wanna go home early. but then the usual friend group meet is just you and another friend so you're not leaving them alone, it's fine, they're not exhausting to be around anyway. you talk. you watch a dove being run over. you're not in shock exactly,but damn. you want to get it off the street at least - it's dead, at least it died quickly. a you woman lends you a piece of clothing she had with her to carry it over towards a patch of grass under a tree. it's so fragile and soft in your hands. there's blood on the street. you thank the woman and resume waiting for a third friend. once they arrive, you go to the library. a librarian recgonises you from a writing competition nearly a year ago. you're meant to read your story at an Event of sorts. you completely forgot, but at least now you can mark it down. the librarian manages to bring up the subject of very old books. she shows you magazines they've got left from the early 1900s. she lets all three of you enter the tiny archive room. she shows you their oldest book. it's from the 1770s. you can touch it. you spend almost an hour within ancient books usually hidden away. you leave. it's getting cold and heading towardss sunset. you wanted to be home about five hours ago.

[lovystar]

❝ A PRINCESS’ WILL ❞ ; BADA LEE

synopsis──after an assassination attempt, the queen invites the very best fighters from across the land to compete for the great honor of protecting you, the princess.

content──bada lee x unnamed fem!oc (reader). princess!reader, soldier under disguise!bada. currently unedited, pls be nice lol. fictional combination of medieval european and korea’s joseon dynasty aspects bc im not too concerned about making it realistic. incorrect pronouns (when not in bada’s pov). this world is matrilineal bc I said so. bada's a flirt. eventual smut w/ switch!bada.

word count ── approx. 5.4k

───

YOUR MOTHER’S STRONG HOLD—on the country, on the castle, on her children, and on you in particular as the oldest—was suffocating. You were destined to rule over millions, and your mother would not let you forget it. You had to be strong, caring for your people but unforgiving to others. That’s how she ruled. She’d shape you to be the same queen she was, and she’ll drill it into your head herself if she needs to.

Your pride would never allow you to say this to her face, but you supposed that she did a good enough job. The people loved her: she kept them safe and fed, gave them more than enough to start caring beyond their necessities and seek self-actualization, to flourish in the arts. She wasn’t very popular among foreign lands, and you might even go on to say that they feared her. She was often fair when wronged, but very rarely did she ever pardon those wrongs. She has never, in the time you've been alive.

Once, when you were very little and you were still taking lessons with some children of noble descent, you heard them repeat a saying they’d learn from their parents:

“Loving are her eyes, beauty bestowed, but fear the night the Hawk catches you lurking near her nest, lest you desire your entrails be fed to the eyas nights on end.” 

They spoke of their Queen with reverence and adoration.

Her way of ruling worked well for many years; you got to live a life of peace and prosperity the entirety of your childhood. Not many other kingdoms can say the same.

On top of your queenly history lessons and politics and mathematics and the sciences, she wanted you to be good at protecting yourself. While she has acquired the most apt Royal Guard, a future queen must still be able to hold her own. She ordered only the best archers and swords to teach you, and you were…decent, at it. The years of practice successfully stuck some things into you: how to hold a sword and a bow and arrow, which body parts to target, how to be light in your feet (this one was specifically useful whenever you wanted to leave the royal palace).

In your defense, your natural sensibilities were drawn to something else entirely. You’d always say reading was a more sensible passage of time. You would spend hours upon hours lounging in one of the library nooks or on a blanket in the palace gardens, surrounded by the pastel of the flowers.

You were in that garden when the assassin took a knife to your throat.

You lived, but it scared your mother terribly. Surprising—since you’d never known her to be a person who had any fears. In your mind, it could only mean two things. One, she loved you to some extent—she might just have a weird way of expressing it. Two, someone was threatening her bloodline and consequently, perhaps more importantly, someone was threatening her throne.

And she will not let that happen in her lifetime.

───

It has been two weeks since your throat was sliced open. Two weeks since the doctor instructed you to minimize strenuous activity and if you could, stay in bed as to not open the stitches.

‘You don’t know how lucky you are,’ the doctor has told you every day after your daily checkup. You know this, of course. Had the knife gone any deeper and had your court ladies not been around the corner, you’d be dead. It was, however, a hilarious thought that someone would bring a blunt knife to an assassination.

Your mother didn’t think it was funny. But in your delicate state, the anger in her eyes had never been funnier, and it pained your throat whenever you’d attempt to laugh.

“Will you stop it? The doctor spent hours on those. What will we do if they scar?” You rolled your eyes in response and she scoffed. “Glad to see you’re as genteel as ever, it’d be a shame if you had lost that lively nature of yours.” It sounded sarcastic, but she meant it. She did not want you to be passive. In her mind, that would only led to you becoming spineless and spineless Queen can't rule. You ignored her words, instead gesturing for one of the maids to bring you a cup of water.

“I’ve arranged for the competition to take place tomorrow, do you think you’ll be up for it?”

You furrowed your brows, “Competition?” Your voice came out roughly. The stitches began to itch.

Your mother groaned, “Please refrain from speaking, but yes, competition, have you not been listening to me? The best soldiers and eligible men have been traveling from across the nation for some time now. The men will fight and we shall see who is best equipped to protect the Crown Princess.”

“Must—” you coughed, “must we make them fight? Can’t we just pick one?”

“Just pick one?” She looked into your eyes incredulously, “You must have hit your head and injured your intelligences if you think I’d let just any one person be in charge of you. You must have the best.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Very well.” She nodded once, “The doctor has cleared you to attend so rest, you will be awakened bright and early tomorrow!”

She walked out of the room and left you to your devices. You sighed. You allowed your court ladies to help you out of your daily garments, clean your wound, place the ointment and replace the bandage.

You repeated the process in the morning, placing a necklace over the bandage, ensuring it is not too tight but stays in place. You prepared for the days’ events, and after a couple of restrained breaths, you walked out of the room with your court ladies in toe.

───

Bada Lee spent her childhood just outside the place. Her family had raised generations of soldiers, many of which served in the Royal Guard. That was, until her father was dismissed and demoted to being a simple guard in the rural countryside. He had dedicated his entire life to the Queen and it was a shock to everyone when he’d been told of his dismissal. Up to his last breath, he’d grow angry whenever she’d asked him why. Why did we leave? How could a loving Queen throw us away as if we were nothing? She’d been upheaved from the City, and littered some place where she’d have to fight if she wanted anything to come from her life. Well, fight harder than she’d have to in the City.

Still, she knew that it didn’t matter where she was. Whether in the Capital City or the countryside, external expectations would have her be a wife and a mother soon after. She watched her mother suffer under these conditions, watched her neighbors, and the change in her friends’ nature as they came of age and were married off. They were all unhappy.

She’d be damned if she was destined to a miserable marriage. But above all, she’d be damned if she dies a nobody. Just another woman, forgotten by history.

Nope. That’s not her.

Growing up, she loved watching her father and brother train. She’d try to join, but her father would quickly push her away. She would try day after day, but it couldn’t be helped. So she turned to making her own sword out of a fallen tree branch. She’d copy their movements, the placement of their feet and how the air would rest in their lungs and rush out with the lunge of the sword—well, the lunge of the stick for her. Her brother agreed to train with her, but in his teenage years, he grew resentful of her talent. He decided to begin training a different skill, archery, but soon enough, he realized that this too came naturally for her. Over the years he turned to different combat skills, only for Bada to overpower him again and again. One day, he stopped helping her at all.

It was a cold winter when the sickness spread across the countryside. It was the sickness that took her father and it was the sickness that took her brother. The town had to develop a new burial site due to the amount of people that died at the beginning of the season. Death didn't relent there; people continued dying and dying until that site was full with bodies.

By the time her family succumbed to their sickness, there was nowhere to put them. For days on end, her only company was their cold bodies. She had placed them in a separate room, putting as much distance as she could. As the winter grew colder and she stared at the makeshift tomb’s door, she realized she depended entirely on them. As it stood, she was nothing, less than nothing, by herself. It was a matter of time before someone hunted her down, a young woman without any male relatives left and tried to turn her into a sellable thing.

She’d be damned.

In a feat of fear and anger, she grabbed her brother’s clothes and changed into them and styled her hair as he would. She looked into the small mirror, surprised to see that her crazy plan might just work.

But she needed to make people think it was her that died.

The day the town hall proposed a mass burial, she changed her brother’s clothes into her own and loosened his hair from the top knot it was in. She shaved his beard, feeling disgusted at the act and with herself for feeling the need to do this. She pushed through: this was about her survival. She reported the bodies, and snuck into the site later that night. Sure, she would be shamelessly taking her brother’s identity from this day forward, but that did not mean she would bury her brother in anything other than his clothes. She did not want that karma. Plus she could afford to lose one of the five hanboks.

The next day, she watched anxiously as they buried the mass of bodies.

She should’ve felt terrible about her relief once they were under the soil, and she did, she would miss them. At some point during the week she lived with their corpses, she forgave them for any bad they did to her. She could only think of the good things now, her father’s jjigae and her brother’s light banter.

She did feel bad, but at the same time, a weight had been lifted. She wouldn’t need to get married now, she could pursue something, she could walk around at night without a chaperone and she could talk to people without worrying about being seen as vulgar.

Yes, under her disguise, she was finally free.

───

Lee Bada had been Lee Hae for a year by the time the Queen requested all eligible soldiers to report to the Capital City. Her commanding officer recommended her to go as one of the top soldiers under his command. She has managed to climb her way through the ranks, demonstrating her strength wherever she went.

Nobody knew the Mother of the Nation had called them to the palace, but if only the strongest were allowed to go, then Bada was going to make sure she was at top.

It was strange being back in the Capital City and even weirder to see the inside of the palace when all she’d known before was its gates.

Bada stood in line with the rest of the soldiers in the palace’s courtyard, towering over some of them. Her back maintained straight, her head held high, as the Crown Princess approached the Queen. She bowed to the queen and sat down next to her. Bada controlled her facial expressions, but her feelings couldn’t be helped. The Crown Princess had made the soldiers wait under the sun, and now she had the audacity to look bored. Despite being so far away, she could see the way you whispered into one of your court ladies’ ears and how they covered their mouth. The laughter showed in their eyes though. In contrast, your attempt to cover your giggle was lazy, your hand falling from the front of your mouth before you could control your expression once more. Bada wanted to scoff. Had you no decency? Before Bada’s bitterness could grow further, the Queen began speaking.

“Welcome, loyal soldiers and citizens. I have invited you here today to compete for the highest honor of joining the Royal Guard and protecting your Crown Princess.” Her open palm gestured to her side, where the Princess sat gracefully. “It is a title that comes with great responsibility, and requires skill, power and loyalty. It would please me for each of you to partake and serve your country in the process. If you wish to stay, please take a step forward.”

Each of the four hundred soldiers took a step, the sound booming through the courtyard. Bada did not look to see if any citizens had stepped forward.

“I am so glad! The competition consists of a six stages with different ‘games.’ You must accumulate enough points in each stage to successfully move up to the next one. Today, we shall begin the first stage. You must ride out into the woods and bring back a rabbit that has been trapped and hidden. There are only two hundred rabbits.” the Queen paused and with a clap of her hands, “Go!”

───

“I don’t get the point of this game,” You stated without looking up from your book. “They’ve been out there for hours and no one is back yet.”

“Patience, daughter,” the Queen responded, “There must be a basis to being a good protector, is there not? Wouldn’t you say that enduring long distance and persevering in the woods is a good baseline?”

“You are so creative, Mother,” you sighed into your book, “You can come up with such fantastical scenarios.”

“So you would rather have someone who doesn’t know how to endure long distances riding and persevere in the woods?”

You didn’t respond.

The first to arrive was a seasoned soldier. He had been part of the Royal Guard for more than a decade, and was known for his hunting skills. The second person caught your mother’s attention. One tall and broad-shouldered man rushed through the Palace gates with 4 rabbits hanging from his horse with a robe. He dismounted, grabbing the robe, throwing it on the ground and bowing before the Queen.

“Seowol from the Southern coast, your Royal Highness.”

“Seowol?” Your mother questioned, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I do believe you were only supposed to take one rabbit.”

“I wanted to secure a strong position, your Highness.” He remained in a bowed position, looking down, his arms stiff along his body.

“Certainly! Please follow eunuch Jinho to the bathroom and a change of clothes. You’ll be called when everyone has arrived.” He looked up and nodded, and quickly did as instructed.

The court ladies swooned over the man once he’d walked away, but you hardly moved.

“Did you see the way he looked at you? Oh!” the young lady fanned her hand. You chuckled, amused by the younger girl’s reaction.

“The way he got off his horse and showed the rabbits, he was so cool!”

“And handsome! Don’t forget handsome!”

You rolled your eyes at that one, “He wasn’t even that handsome.”

“So you do think he was handsome!” They all laughed, having caught something in your words.

“Listen to me, I said he was not all that handsome.” You repeated, “I’ve seen better.”

They gushed, trying to get you to elaborate, but your mother was beginning to look at you sideways. You thought it was better to stop then. With the light hearted fun you were having with your ladies, you forgot all about the dull ache of your throat. The reason you were having this ridiculous competition in the first place. The truth was there was something about Seowol that disgusted you. You couldn’t quite place it, it could be the abruptness in his movements and the way he threw the rabbits on the ground, or perhaps the coldness behind his eyes. A mindless cruelty to innocent beings.

Returner after returner, it was the same and they started blending into each other. They’d rush through the gates, and present the robed rabbit in front of the Queen before they bowed. They announced their name loudly, as if shouting would make the Queen remember them better. The cook would take the rabbit and disappear to the kitchens.

That was, until number 73th entered the yard. The sun was beginning to set, leaving the sky in a canvas of lovely purples and pinks. You didn’t notice him at first, but soon your ladies began to whisper. This particular soldier entered calmly, and only one hand on the horse’s bridle. A small ball of white highlighted by the black of his uniform. As he got closer, you saw that the white speck of fluff was the rabbit. He cradled it on his left arm, making sure it didn’t jump or fall. Once he’d reach the stage, he dismounted carefully. You noticed his height, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out how his shoulders managed to look both broad and slender at the same time. He came closer, bowing deeply before your mother and to your surprise, he began to approach you.

He was quickly stopped by your mother’s guards blocking his path.

“Please, your Royal Highness, let him approach,” You surprised yourself. For the past two weeks, you were scared you were growing paranoid of strangers and people in general. The fear was earned to some extent, you had just been attacked, but you were even more afraid that you’d grow to be scared of everyone, everything, and never come out of your bedroom ever again. Though, now, as you look over at your mother to let the stranger approach you, it seemed this fear wasn’t going to be an issue after all. You were going to be okay. In a lower voice this time, “Please, Mother.”

She rolled her eyes discreetly, waving her hand. “Let him through.”

The guards retracted. The man moved closer to you, and he bowed. You noticed the smoothness of his jaw, the curve of his lips and the pretty way his lashes decorated his pretty brown eyes. He was pretty. So much so you held your breath when his eyes finally met yours.

“My Princess.” He smiled, “For you.”

Oh.

Someone behind you gasped, and you were glad for the noise because that way he might not be able to hear the beating of your heart.

“May I?”

You nodded, despite not knowing what you had agreed to. The man walked even closer to you, and you unconsciously leaned forward. He placed the bunny in your hands, and you searched for his lingering fingers through the white fluff. He retrieved far too soon. You wanted to touch him for some reason. You wanted him to get close again and you wanted him to call you, once again, his prin—

“And what might your name be?” Your mother was not amused.

“Soldier Lee Hae, your Royal Highness.” He addressed his queen but his eyes never left yours.

“Lee, huh? You do know that was your dinner, correct? You won’t have dinner?” Your head snapped to your mother. She could not possibly!

“As long as my Princess is content, my stomach shall never be empty.”

Your head snapped back at him, a slightly ajar mouth. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly, but a sharp pain in your neck scared any adoring feelings away. The stitches tugged on your skin, and you brought your hand to your neck.

“Very well, no dinner. You may sit down, Soldier Lee Hae.”

───

Well, that was fucking stupid. Bada groaned, grabbing her stomach. She just had to give that damned rabbit to the Crown Princess, didn’t she? Even now, hours after dinner and well into their resting time, Bada could not decipher why she chose to spare the rabbit.

You had just looked so beautiful, and before she knew it, she was right in front of you. And as she remembers the look on your face when she gave you the bunny, your parted lips and your widening eyes as you looked up at her, Bada realized she only regretted her choice slightly.

There was no denying your beauty. Everyone knew that while you might be the Crown, you were also the prettiest bird in the eyes of the people.

But Bada couldn’t get distracted. She came here with a purpose. She was going to join the Royal Guard and bring back honor to her family. You might have been eye candy, but it didn’t change the fact that you represented what Bada lost, what she never realistically had a chance at.

It killed her. It killed her that they had a woman King and yet every other woman was still viewed as inferior. Did the only women that mattered lived in the palace? You got to be trained, you got to study the books—why couldn’t they? Why was it that she will need to pretend to be a boy for the rest of her life to feel free?

Could it be helped? Would you be different from your mother?

Her mind turned to her selfish thoughts. Perhaps she could use today’s events to her advantage. She could grow closer to you, on purpose this time, and perhaps that’d help her on the long run. She’d earn her position, of course; that was nonnegotiable.

The hunger grew furiously as she got lost in her thoughts. She couldn’t take it any longer. She got up, quickly wrapping the tight cloth over her chest. She hid a small knife on the inside of her left wrist, a security measure, though she was unlikely to need it. She grabbed something to cover herself with and left the small room she’d been provided with.

She was lucky to finish stage 1 where she did. When the last of the 197 soldiers that would pass on to the next stage arrived, they were well into dinner. The Queen had stated that for the remaining stages of the competition, only the top half scorers would receive a sole bedroom. Everyone else will sleep in the Great Hall. She reasoned it was to keep up the morale and ramp up ambition. It certainly did motivate Bada though. She did not wish to sleep uncomfortably among the stinky men. It was so weird, Bada knew they showered and mere hours later, a musk would develop around them.

She walked towards the kitchens as quietly as she could. Once there, she rummaged through the shelves, searching for something that was not a raw vegetable.

“Please, please, please…” She murmured to herself, and in her desperation, she did not hear the footsteps coming from the side entrance.

“Who is there?” A voice resounded. Bada froze, quickly kneeling down and hidden under the shelf. Fuck! “As Crown Princess, I command you to reveal yourself!”

The Princess? What was she doing up this late?

Bada had hoped that it was a younger staff member also searching for food (someone she could try her charm on), a simple guard (someone she could try to relate to and proclaim guard-to-guard solidarity), hell, she’d even hoped for a thief (someone who was even guiltier than she was). But the Princess? The Princess was someone she could not face. Perhaps for more than one reason.

As discreetly as she could, she crawled towards the end of the shelf. Across from here, there was a long table she could hide under and right across the table was the entrance.

She could make it.

If only she hadn’t run directly into the Princess’ feet.

She landed on her knees, and dread filled her head. She hung it in shame, some hair coming loose and framing her face. So this is how she would die, huh? With nothing to her name, a mere soldier title that she didn’t even earn herself. She would die without a legacy, without—

“Is that you, Lee Hae?” Your voice sounded extra sweet under the moonlight. “How come you’re out here at this time?”

She wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole. But there was no getting out of this.

“Princess Royal, please forgive my shamelessness.” She did not look up, still on her knees. “In my hunger, I forgot my place. I beg for your forgiveness.”

There was a long silence after Bada finished talking. Should she have said more? She was already on her knees, what else could she do to humiliate herself in front of the Princess?

“You’re telling me my contentment was not enough for you?”

Bada lifted her head quickly, only to realize too late you were mere inches away. You were so close she could count each beauty mark, each freckle on your face. She’d kiss them if you’d let her. She shook her head. Stupid Bada, concentrate on not dying!

“That isn’t it at all, my Princess.” She shook her head violently, to which you chuckled in response, lifting your hand to cover your mouth.

“So you’re a liar, then.”

“No, no! I am not, my Princess,” Bada opened her palms, “I will admit that as earnestly as my heart believes a smile from you is all I ever need to survive in this world, my earthly body persists in imprisoning me with cravings. I sincerely did not mean to succumb to my hunger.”

You watched the young soldier as they hung their head once more. You thought Lee was…funny. Funny in a very lovely and forward way that you couldn’t help but want more of. You brought a hand closer to her face, fingers lifting her chin.

Bada allowed the princess to lift her face, flushing at the contact. She could feel the heat rushing to her face, and it embarrassed her that you could have this effect on her. How you made her lose composure.

“Look at me,” you stated. Your head followed the brown eyes as they moved, trying to get them to look at you. “Soldier Lee, look at me.” You said it firmly this time around. Finally, the person in question did as asked. Big eyes looked up at you, begging for something you weren’t sure you could give.

“You know, Soldier Lee, you are the prettiest man I’ve ever met.”

Oh.

Widened eyes and dropped jaw, “I—”

‘I am not a man,’ she wanted to say. She almost did, and the fact that she nearly gave herself away scared her. She had never come this close to telling someone the truth. Not on impulse nor consciously. To the Princess no less! She was a mess. She’d better get a hold of herself if she intends on making it through.

Bada had proven that she was good with words, and here you were, leaving her stunned. You enjoyed it, maybe a bit too much. Abruptly, you stood up, leaving the soldier down on her knees. You offered a hand, and it was like a spell being broken. She took it. She gathered herself and she was back into the charming and highly trained voice. Your curiosity for the soldier grew as you watched; there was just something that screamed constraint in the way Lee spoke, but for now, you chucked it up to the respectability rules of the Queendom.

“I am sorry for interrupting your night, your Highness. I will take my leave.” Bada turned, but was quickly stopped when you grabbed her wrist.

It surprised both of you. As a noble princess, you had been taught from a young age that nobody but appointed servants get to come in contact with your skin. Yet here you were—two for two.

“Well, actually,” you began, “I’m here because I did not want you to go to sleep hungry.” You let go of Bada’s wrist, and she already missed the warmth of your skin on hers. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched her outside of training.

You signaled for her to follow you. She did, and you guided her to a small table on a corner. A small, white towel covered something and when you lifted it, Bada’s eyes widened. A golden serving tray filled with dishes.

“I ordered something be cooked for you,” you said, hands fidgeting, “I’m afraid it’s probably cold by now. I would’ve tried to get you sooner but my Mother kept me by her side much longer than I expected.”

“I—Thank you, your Royal Highness.” Bada bowed, stomach rumbling and mouth watering. “Thank you.”

“Please, you don’t have to do that.” You said quickly, “You were kind to me, and I couldn’t let my mother punish you for it.” You moved to pick up the tray, glaring at Bada when she tried to hold it for you instead. “I can do it! Plus, I know a spot.”

You walked gracefully, quickly, without spilling a single thing on the tray. Bada was amazed. The both of you stuck to the sides of buildings, remaining in the shadows. Bada anxiously looked around; what would people think if they saw her with the Princess? What rumors will they spread, and how much will they cost her? Her life?

“Through there.” The door was covered with greenery, and Bada could not see the door.

She moved closer to you, whispering into your ear, “where?”

She genuinely couldn’t see it.

You shivered. You could faintly feel her chest against your back, and the warmth it radiated.

You shook your head.

“Here, hold this.” You passed the tray to Bada, making quick work of the hidden door. You opened it and walked through. You moved the vines for Bada, she bent down and met you on the other side.

“Wow…” She gasped. It was a beautiful space, filled with colorful flowers and a pond, four trees on each corner. There was a small house, and Bada doubted it was more than just a bedroom and a bathroom.

“It is the old gardener’s place, but he died and it became abandoned.” You said, placing the tray on the wooden ledge in front of the small house. “The new gardener had a family, so he understandably needed a bigger space.”

You giggled nervously, and Bada found herself loving the sound. She got so lost in your voice and the pretty flowers that she nearly forgot how hungry she was. Nearly.

Bada sat down next to you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I know!” She said excitedly, your eyes sparkling with joy, “Mother thought of destroying it and building something else but I just loved it so much, I wouldn’t let her. I begged her to let me have it for days, she agreed eventually and now it’s my little place! Very few people know about it; my Mother, the new gardener, my lady-in-waiting, you…”

You finished shyly, smiling at Bada before quickly looking away. Would it be too forward of her to grab your face and make you look at her?

Yes, she decided, yes, it would be.

Her stomach growled.

“Oh,” You gasped, “Please eat! I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“Please, eat with me.”

“No, no, I ate quite well earlier,” you said, “and you didn’t!”

“I don’t want to eat by myself,” Bada said, “Princess, eat with me, please.”

“I’m telling you I won’t,” refusing her once more, “I'll force feed you this meal myself if you don’t start eating soon.”

“Is that a proposition?” Bada smirked. Your cheeks grew warm against your will.

“I only mean… I want you to eat, you have gone hungry because of me. I don’t want you to be hungry any longer.”

“Would you feed me then?” Bada’s eyes looked down at yours, “If I asked you to?”

You cleared your throat, eyes meeting. “Forgive me, soldier, if I’ve come across in a certain light. But I will never feed a man with two capable hands of his own.”

Bada saw the intensity in your eyes, and how they refused to look away from her hers. She leaned closed, eyes growing dangerous the longer she stayed fixated on you.

“You say ‘a man with two capable hands’ but what if I wasn’t a man? How can you be sure that I am?” Bada brought a hand closer to you, “How do you know these work?” She had gone crazy. In your gaze, she had forgotten herself.

Still, in the back of her mind: if she wasn’t in disguise now, would you feed her then?

You finally broke eye contact, looking down at Bada’s hand. It surprised you how much you wanted to hold it, it surprised you even more when your body started reacting to it. A simple hand with long fingers. A calloused hand from days spent training, yet unlike the hands of the men you’ve encountered. Their hands didn’t bring this strange feeling to your stomach. You mind showed you images of these very hands moving along your body; from the nape of your neck, down your side and in between your—

You scoffed, and then chuckled, “Please don’t be ridiculous, soldier Lee. Now, eat, the food is getting colder by the second.”

Bada covered her feelings with a laugh. She was relieved you ignored her impulsive questions, and at the same time, your response left a bitter taste in her mouth. You were just being nice this entire time? Was there really nothing else in your lingering touches and loving eyes? They were childish questions, but it stung nonetheless. She sighed internally; she couldn’t possibly be getting this close now. It was normal to a certain extent, she had the tendency to develop crushes all the time. Sure, developing one in the Princess would complicate the 'get close to you and advance her career' plot, but she was already here.

All her crushes have faded with time, and this one will too.

Bada finally began eating and she was grateful to you once again. She said so, with cheeks full of food and complete disregard for rules. Rules, you had both broken some many of them already, why start caring about them now?

[leezlelatch]

Trying to get back into writing, and I'm starting with a sort of continuing series of untitled snippets set in the same world with all the Papas. Stay tuned for more and I hope you enjoy. <3 Cardinal Copia x f!reader - intrigue, mystery, flirtation, talk of death, implied dark!copia.

You glance up from your place in the corner of the library, classical music playing through your headphones. You don’t know the piece, or who composed it, but the haunting melody that falls from the pianist’s fingers turns you introspective. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re introspective often these days. The flicker of a form just out of the corner of your eye makes you smile, but when you turn to look, there’s no one there. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since joining the Ministry, it’s that ghosts are real. And you’re never truly alone.

A few Siblings of Sin pass your table, and your eyes follow them to a few of the worn chairs that litter the library. They were red, a small golden pattern woven into the fabric, but you doubt there ever really was a prime for these pieces of furniture. To you, they’ve always been like that. Eaten away by some mite, stuffing sticking out of cushions that were either the best thing you’ve ever sat on, or a literal pain in the rear. There were many things like that in this abbey. Things, and even people, so old that you’re sure they’ve always existed just as they are, and no one was around to remember them before. 

The Siblings are staring at you, and you look away with an apologetic smile, having zoned out so hard, you didn’t realize you were practically gaping at them. Having an overactive imagination can put you in all kinds of embarrassing situations, or maybe it’s ADHD. Whatever is wrong with you, you’re sure there’s some acronym that explains it. Or maybe you’re something new altogether. A silly girl with a silly mind. Not exactly a rarity.

A muffled curse interrupts your thoughts and you turn your head to look into the stacks, right into the black biretta of the Cardinal Copia. He’s bent over, picking up a book, one gloved hand holding his biretta steady. You’ve never interacted with him outside of communion, but he was kind where it mattered, but something altogether sinister when he was angry. Or so you’ve heard. Every member of the Emeritus line had a story. Some were fanatical, some downright perverted, but the sentiment was always the same. The men that ruled your lives carried something dark within them. 

“How do you think they gained power?” A friend said to you one evening over dinner, the mood light. 

“Because it’s patrilineal?” You responded. “His father and his father and his father, you know how it goes.”

“Do you really believe that?” They asked, suddenly serious. Serious in a way that had sent a chill up your spine.

Whether you believed any of the stories is another thing entirely, but you aren’t so naive to think that behind a pretty accent and a perfectly placed, “cara mia,” there isn’t something lurking behind their white eye. And you were staring again. And the Cardinal notices, looking back at you with an eyebrow raised, his upper lip twitching as he regards you with a sudden defensiveness. 

“Eh…, may I help you, Sister?” He asks, his voice going up and slightly cracking around the question. You blink rapidly, a sort of startled noise of apology leaving you, internally berating yourself for staring at a member of the upper clergy like he’s a museum piece. 

“No! Oh, Go-, Satan, no. I’m so sorry, your Eminence,” you manage, standing up from your chair as if he is a drill instructor and you need to stand to attention. The Cardinal’s expression rapidly clears, and he dips his head a little, watching you with, you believe, amusement. 

“Still having trouble switching between G-O-D and Satan, hmm?” He muses, his head tilting a little to the side as he speaks. His right eye is soft, warm, and his left eye cuts like a knife. You aren’t sure which one you should be looking into.

“Did you just spell out…you know,” you say, waving your hand up, suddenly wondering if you weren’t actually allowed to say the word beyond just learning how to curse in Satan’s name instead of God’s. 

“Sì, sì,” he says slowly, leaning toward you just a little bit, the grucifix at his chest catching the light from the window as it dangles. “We don’t want that son of a bitch hearing, yeah? Oh wait, that’s Jesus.”

You burst into startled laughter, and the Cardinal smiles. His teeth are crooked, and it’s one of the most charming things you’ve ever seen. He’s trying to make you comfortable, you realize, a warmth filling you as all your anxiety falls away from one bad joke. “I’m sorry for gawking,” you clarify, safe now in the Cardinal’s gaze. “I was daydreaming, and I wasn’t staring at you, but through you, so…” You trail off. 

“No, no, I understand, heh,” he says, his shoulders rising at the same time he nods his head. “I, eh, I am familiar with the daydreaming, too. Also. Yeah.” His hand punctuates every word, rising and falling with the cadence of his speech, and then dropping to his side, his fingers scratching rapidly at his leg. He’s nervous. Something so sweetly human, you smile. 

You offer your name, and the Cardinal glances away, his brow pinching for just a moment. It’s there and gone, an expression you can’t read, and then he glances at you, catching you in his white gaze, the pupil a pinpoint. “I know,” he says easily.

“How do you -,” you begin to ask how he knows your name, but the Cardinal interrupts you, sweeping from the shadows of the stacks. He’s suddenly quite close, leaning over to peer at your book sitting closed on the table. 

“Ough,” he makes a noise, something between a hum and a word. “The Great Mortality.” He reads the title, tilting his head to pin you with a look. It’s far more knowing than you anticipate, like he’s reading you as easily as the pages of your book. He straightens. “You are interested in the plague, eh?”

“I am. The Black Death. Although it wasn’t called the Black Death, it was called the Great Mortality, see that’s a misconception,” you say, the information spilling from your lips. You shut your mouth and look at him, but he merely smiles, nodding his head for you to continue. “The plague wasn’t called that until sometime in the 17th century, from a Danish translation, I believe,” you finish.

“That is very good,” he says, tapping his fingers on the cover, his attention entirely fixed on you. “Very good. But a very morbid subject.” His eyes trace your features. “You will let your Cardinal read this when you are done.”

It doesn’t occur to you that he doesn’t pose it as a question, and you nod eagerly. “Are you interested in the subject, Cardinal?” 

“It seems I am becoming more and more,” he says, his eyes never wavering from your own. “We will discuss after? A little, uh, book club. We will see what we make of the pale rider.” 

You tilt your head a little in curiosity, and he follows the movement, his lips curling into another smile. “The pale rider?” You ask.

“Sì, tesoro. Death.” His smile grows, and you suddenly register the quiet. You look over your shoulder. The other Siblings are gone. It’s just the two of you, here in this corner of the library. When you turn back, you make a small noise of surprise, the Cardinal slipping past you, the very edge of his shoulder brushing against yours. “Until then,” he says, not looking back as he leaves. “Happy reading.”

[cuffmeinblack]

A touch of sage

Ominis Gaunt x gn!MC

Tags: fluff

800 words

A/n: Requested by @grandeoatmilklatte - thank you! I love accidental and secretive purposeful touches too. Lots of this in Old habits with Ominis.

"oh, shit. I'm in love with you??" prompt: 9. accidental touches and then thinking about it for days.

Ominis was used to the odd brushing of hands as he passed notes, perhaps a clumsy bump of an arm as he walked side by side with his friends. His wand afforded him a pseudo-sight, like nothing he could accurately explain, but it was by no means a perfect form of navigation.

Being in close proximity to others didn't bother him. Quite the opposite, he enjoyed the occasional comforting warmth of human touch and the smell each individual had. Others often thought he had some sort of supernatural sense to know who was lurking behind a corner or approaching from behind him; in reality he was just observant in other ways.

Today, like every other day, MC smelled of sage from the sprig they always kept tucked into their pocket. An odd sort of tradition, but one they held dear as it reminded them of their mother. It was meant to ward off evil spirits or some such. As they sat next to him in the quiet library, he smiled and greeted them before they spoke, eliciting a soft chuckle from the seat to his left.

"I could never be sneaky around you," they said, shuffling in the chair to get comfortable.

"Unfortunately not, unless you start dousing yourself in Sebastian's cologne."

"I think I'll pass on that idea. Oh, do you have a spare piece of parchment?"

Ominis smiled, digging into his bag and pulling out a roll and holding it out for them. The paper was gladly received with thanks and a gentle brush of hands. He couldn't fail to notice how warm they were today, though the chill in the library offered no explanation. Fleeting thoughts of experiencing more of that heat were banished with a silent admonishment to his wandering mind.

It was utterly distracting to say the least, and the rest of his essay suffered as a result. Why had this become a particular problem? Ominis was sure that Sebastian often had warm hands, on the numerous occasions he'd touched them. His calloused palms and rough fingertips didn't quite compare to the soft skin and delicate touch of the person next to him, though.

As he packed away his things, Ominis heard the scraping of the chair as his companion stood, haphazardly throwing belongings into their bag.

"Here's the rest of your parchment back, Ominis. I didn't need all of it in the end."

Reaching out with his palm facing up, he found not the roll of paper he'd expected but the brush of fabric and unmistakeable softness of...oh, Merlin. The flesh he encountered was most definitely not a leg, and the soft gasp they emitted sent his blood rushing to his cheeks, and elsewhere.

"I...sorry," he spluttered.

"It's fine! Here..."

They placed the parchment in his hand as Ominis tried to shield his face from view, turning to pack his bag and flee the room as soon as possible. What should have been a humorous accident had left him unusually flustered. He'd have hours to unpick what that meant whilst he sequestered himself in his dormitory, possibly never to emerge again.

-

Ominis pondered what had occurred in the library for days, whilst MC was apparently unaffected, going about their business as usual as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But it had; why couldn't they see that?

As they walked next to Ominis on the way to History of Magic, sage wafting from their robes, their voice grew louder. They were talking about upcoming exams as Ominis nodded along and he noticed the shift. Their voice hadn't changed volume, they were simply closer.

Ominis didn't have time to wonder why before their hand brushed his, almost imperceptibly but nevertheless sending shivers up his spine. There it was again; that reaction to their touch that defied all logical explanation except one. Ominis Gaunt was infatuated.

"...I am a little worried about the practical exam, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes...," Ominis replied, not knowing what he was agreeing to.

His mind was in disarray, cheeks burning and heart racing. He'd barely recovered before it happened again. This time slower and if he wasn't mistaken, more deliberate. As conversation ended and silence enveloped them, Ominis finally had time to think.

He could simply choose to ignore it, for perhaps the gentle brush of skin and lingering touch was a mere accident after all. But the way their digits had glided over his knuckles, pausing at the last moment before retreating had him doubting that theory very much.

Did he want to feel that touch again? The answer was yes, and thus the course of action obvious; reaching out his hand, he made contact with his target. He brushed the soft skin, tracing their knuckles as they inhaled sharply next to him before clasping Ominis' hand. Merlin, they were holding hands. And Ominis was smiling through it all.

He gave their hand a squeeze; 'I like this'. And it squeezed back; 'Yes, I like this, too.'

[ace-of-gay]

home to the mind

Loki x reader

Warnings: physical contact/ cudding... cuddly loki

1,121 words

No pronouns or skintone used or implied

Welcome to all body types

Edited to the best of my ability

you are responsible for your own media consumption

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

It was one of the longest training days you had endured, all you had wanted to do by the end of it was relax in silence by yourself, you had too much human interaction so when faced with the opportunity you had decided it was the perfect chance to head to the only room you knew for sure would be silent and lack the need for interaction.

That was until you got there, you were unaware of the other person within the room, they however were aware of you the second you opened the door.

You had picked out your book and went to sit down, losing all connection to reality you never noticed the tall lanky figure lurking through the shadows.

Loki had seen you around plenty, he saw through the way you presented yourself, he could read every person like an open book but you however were much different, no matter how much you shared, it was never truly impactful information it was always small trivial things that would have no one knowing you as more than any passersby does, you kept to yourself when it came to your personal life so to find you partaking in an activity by yourself wasn’t the biggest surprise, in fact it meant you had something in common, possibly something to bond over.

Walking down the aisle, he’d spent so long having read almost every book in the library and to his knowledge the one you picked was one he’d recently read himself.

Weighing his options he decides to approach.

Long quiet steps he clears his throat to catch your attention, “how is it so far?” You could barely hear him but it was clear enough to understand, looking over your shoulder a smile present on you face.

“Its wonderful, I remember reading it back in high school any chance I could get”.

“So you know it well I presume?”.

You chuckle to yourself, “I know it very well, cover to cover basically”.

Going on about favorites from both yours and his childhoods, what characters you relate most to and much more it had gotten late, you however made a note to yourself to come to the library more often.

From that day forward you would meet in the library every Wednesday and after missions, winding down after long stressful days, sometimes reading and others just talking and getting to know each other, often just sitting in silence with the others company.

Occasionally reading the same book to take turns reading aloud to one another.

Both of you looked forward to meeting, finding peace and comfort in your hangouts, he had planned to ask if you wanted to hang out outside of Wednesdays in the library, without implications of it being a date or not, it was up to you, that was until he got to the library, searching all around and to not find you anywhere.

You hadn’t missed a Wednesday since you started, it worried him, so much so that he took a walk to your room to check up on you just to find you sick and in bed.

He took It upon himself to bring you back to full health, he brought you your favorite comfort food, ginger ale and a book along with a DVD copy of one of the movies you had talked about wanting to see.

You had invited him to stay as long as he was certain he wouldn’t catch your illness as he had mentioned it being basically impossible.

While miserable in the aspect of you being ill it was also the most fun you’d had in quiet a while, telling stories, eating your favorite food, and watching the movie, he didn’t expect it to happen but when you slumped over into his side he had finally realized how late it was, his cheeks tinting pink, it made him joyful that you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his presence your arms wrapped around his slender frame nuzzling your cheek into his chest, it made him happy in a way he’s never felt, like your positivity and joy had spread from you to him in just a moment.

From then forward he’d invite you to watch movies, go out into town or even spend evenings star gazing, it wasn’t just about memories and books anymore, its about being close to you, savoring his time with you.

Each time he’d get as close as possible and let you fill the magnetic gap, he was sure he had been as inconspicuous with it as possible but you read him like your favorite book, it was obvious.

One particular night you had invited him to your room for movies and ‘silly Midgardian snacks’ as he called them.

You both huddled in close, the lights set low to make the movie feel more encapsulating, but his focus wasn’t on the film, it was the feeling of you held close next to him, the sound the hum in your breath when you were intrigued, the jump in your position when something intrigued you and how the light cast upon your features, you were completely aware of it.

He was so comfortable he didn't even realize he was falling asleep, curling into you his grip tight as ever, never something you would expect from him, his body wrapping itself around yours like you were a source of heat, his head resting upon your stomach he looked so at peace, no one had ever seen him like this but you, no one understood why you would hang out with someone like him but you didn’t care, he felt like home the way you felt the same to him.

You hand found its way to his silken hair cast around his face, gently brushing it back to see him, it startled him awake, he radiated shame and fear, frustration at himself for getting so close, surely it was obvious now.

“If you wanted to cuddle you could have just said so, you didn’t have to hide it”

Standing up to leave, a simple “I’m sorry” trailing his fearful glances.

Shaking your head you follow Standing up, your arms held out for him, “its okay Loki, I’m not upset whatsoever, I enjoy being close with you, it feels warming and comfortable, if you desire cuddles that’s all you have to say.”

And so with your words seeping, your mental walls open and he knows for certain you mean it completely, with that knowledge beaing only a slight hesitation he walks into your arms, wrapped tight in your hug he reciprocates the action while burying his face into your shoulder, this is the Loki you only you knew and it made you love him so much more.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

Sorry it took me so long to get this posted ive had writers block and now im quite literally sick

Tags:

@theaudacitytowrite thank you for the inspiration to write a cuddly loki fic

@vbecker10 cause im convinced you'd enjoy this as much as i did writing it

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, threats, violence, inc3st, threats, injury.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Whelp. Here we are. If you need me, I will be in my mind palace.

Chapter 14: Devour

You walked with Jace around the Red Keep for the remainder of your evening, stopping to sit by the Godswood with him, reminiscing on your childhood together there.

The night grew long as you sat and spun stories together. Eventually your brother became tired, vowing to walk you to your chambers before he retired to his own.

As you walked together you held onto his arm, lightly stroking it with your fingertips, hoping to soothe his anxiety. Jacaerys was sometimes very high strung, you supposed it was to do with him being the eldest boy.

Once outside your chambers, he offered to inspect the room for you, to which you laughed.

“You are too much Jace. Anyone would think you are beginning to go mad.”

“I am not mad.” He responded defiantly.

“I know this.” You smiled, holding his hand and swinging it, “Go to bed, I can see your eyes beginning to close.”

“They are not.” He argued, stilling your hands.

“Dont be stubborn. I can handle myself from any ghosts or ghouls that may be lurking in the shadows.” You joked, smiling brightly at him hoping to ease the tension.

Scoffing, he squeezed your hand and thankfully bid you a goodnight. You watched as he walked down the corridor towards his own chambers, grinning as you did.

You were truly blessed to have the brothers that you do. You do not know how Helaena survives with hers. You would sooner be led to madness if you had to deal with your two uncles as often as she did.

The Knight at your chambers opened the large heavy doors wordlessly and let you through. The room was lit by candles and your nightgown was placed delicately on the end of your bed. The girls must have retired for the evening or been dismissed by your mother.

Walking towards your bed you began to unlace the back of your dress, finding it a little difficult given the angle. With each tug of the laces, the more your dress gave, allowing you to slump your posture. Even after your large rest in the library, you still felt fatigued. 

Shimmying the dress down your body, you let the heavy material pool at your feet, toeing the small slippers off along with it. You stretched your toes out, happy to have them out of their confines. The bottoms of your feet are feeling better with each day, though the scars would serve as a reminder of that evening. 

Reaching up to your shoulders, you began to remove your underdress to put on your nightgown. As one shoulder was pulled down you heard a deep hum from behind you.

Clasping onto the front of your dress you spun, heart pounding in your chest. 

The silver head of your uncle was sitting comfortably at one of the high backed chairs in front of your fireplace, a large goblet of wine clutched in his hand.

You tried to steady your breathing, voice caught in your throat. The roar of blood in your ears. You froze, not knowing how to react, your mind running wildly as you stared at the One-Eyed Prince.

“Dont let me interrupt you.” He drawled, head turned away to stare at the fire whilst he swirled his wine. Looking all the more bored, and as if he had been invited as a guest that was forgotten.

“Get out.” You squeaked, struggling to calm your breathing.

Aemond did not respond, his sharp eye still staring into the fire as though in thought. You twisted the front of the dress up in your hands, holding onto it for dear life. 

“You didn’t tell them.” He mused, taking a small sip of the wine.

“W-what?” You asked confused.

“You didn’t tell them.”

“I-“ You paused, “No.” 

Your breathing began to steady, though your heart raced in your chest. Your knuckles were white with the grip of your under dress, a cold chill settling over your skin.

It was indecent of him to be here. To even witness you like this, though if he cared for chivalry, he kept his one eye on the flames facing away from you, not one looking at your exposed form. 

“Hm.”

You walked to your closet, snatching a black woollen cloak, throwing it hastily over your shoulders, as you stood far away by the bed, hoping to put distance between you and your uncle.

“I’m not going to take your eye if that is what you are worried about, niece.” He stated, lightly sipping his wine again, eye still fixated on the fireplace that danced in front of him.

You clutched tightly at the soft wool of the cloak against your almost bare skin. Fear working its way up your throat. You stood still, unsure of what to do or say.

Suddenly the second son turned from your chair, his long blonde hair shifted over his shoulder as he looked at you, eye grazing you up and down. You held the cloak tighter to you.

“Did you not hear me?” You repeated, taking a small step forward, “Get. Out.” You hissed. Fire began to work its way through you, the initial shock wearing off.

His signature smirk worked its way onto his face.

“Now why would I do that? I quite enjoy your company. Far better than my nephews.” He mocked.

His presence put you on edge, eyes darting about the room in search of something to protect yourself with.

“Come sit, zaldrītsos.” (little dragon) He drawled, looking back to the fireplace.

As you clutched the cloak tighter to your body, you felt a sharp pinch on your finger. Looking down you saw that your fist had enclosed around your cloak's clasp, the signet of the Targaryen House, dug sharply into your palm, its pin into your finger.

Slowly you moved towards him, taking wary steps as you willed your hands to not shake. No man had seen you in such a state of undress, and to have your deranged uncle luring you closer to him? You must be mad.

With every step you took, you inhaled deep steady breaths, begging he not hear your heart thumping behind your ribcage.

As you neared the fire you felt your palms begin to sweat, your nerves fraying at the proximity. He held his hand out to the chair beside him, eye watching you closely, the sapphire orb shining in fires light.

When you did not move he sharply stood, the movement making you flinch, taking an uneasy step backwards.

“Sit.” He insisted, slowly moving to your side table to pour you a goblet of wine.

You stiffly sat down on the cushion, grasping the cloak around your shoulders closer to your body, hiding your exposed skin from him as you felt the pin begin to break the skin of your finger.

As he walked back over to you, he held out the goblet of wine for you. You looked at him in confusion, as he continued to hold it out, waiting for you to take it. 

“It is not poisoned, if that is what has you so concerned. I am no Kinslayer.” He mused.

Gently, you reached out with one hand, the other holding the cloak together at your chest. Fingetips grazed the goblet before your uncle sharply snatched it back away from you, smirking.

“No glass this time.” He hummed. Anger and shame bubbled inside of you as you snatched the goblet away from him, pulling it close to your chest.

Aemond picked up his drink and slunk down in his chair, resuming his position, moving as though he was a snake, slow and smooth.

“Are you frightened, dear niece?” Smirk pulling up his face.

“No.” You breathed, head held strong as you looked him in his eye. 

His hand came to gently caress the arm of the chair, long fingers rubbing back and forth on the dark wood as he stared at you.

“You look frightened.” He said lowly.

“Why are you here?” You demanded, hand grasping at the pin harder.

“Do I need a reason to spend time with my niece?” He mused, not getting a reaction out of you. You stayed silent, not drinking from the goblet, watching your uncle intently. 

Sensing your unease the One-Eyed Prince leant forward, “Because I wish to devour you.” His smirk crawled higher and higher up his face with glee. A shiver ran down your spine.

“You disgust me.” You spat, standing sharply, almost tripping on the long cloak as you did so.

He huffed out a chuckle, “Really?” He spoke with mirth.

“You play these games with me uncle, but you do not follow through.” You hissed, leaning forward.

The older Prince stood slowly, matching your stance, his lithe form towering over you. 

He hummed, taking a step towards you, long legs moving slowly and surely like a viper coiling before it strikes.

“Get. OUT.”  You yelled, making him laugh loudly, throwing his head back in entertainment. You walked backwards, hand reaching the wall of the fireplace behind you.

Trapped.

“Sȳndor seemed pleased to see you.” 

“What?” You choked out.

“Your great beast, he seemed pleased when you went down to visit. Your singing truly is beautiful.” He replied, a soft appreciation on his features.

“You’re sick.” You spat.

Silence.

Adrenaline began to course through you, your blood beginning to boil as your rage built. How dare he.

“You play these games as a means to confuse me, but I have no confusion as to what you are.” You sneered, eyes searching his.

“And what am I, my dear little dragon?” He purred, standing in front of you, looking down his long sharp nose at you. Every breath he took, his chest brushed against yours.

“You’re weak.” You seethed.

Aemond hummed in thought, looking away in contemplation.

“Maybe I will take your eye.” He crooned.

Your hand flew up to his face, the point of the pin from your cloak pressing into the skin below his lone eye. His impenetrable mask of composure slipping momentarily. A small crooked smile rose on his face as he waited for you to act. 

Your uncle leant forward, pushing the pin into his skin.

“Do it, zaldrītsos.” (little dragon) He stared you down. Your breath shallow and sharp, hand shaking.

“Do it.” He growled, snatching your wrist with a bruising force pushing the pin further into the skin under his eye. Smile gone from his face, as he watched you. 

His grip on your wrist was bruising. Looking at the pin and your uncle's face you found your anger drain away from you. You did not want to do it.

You could not do it.

When you looked at him, all you see was the scared little boy that had his eye taken from him. All you could see was the Aemond that you used to play with.

Coward a voice whispered in the back of your mind.

He harshly squeezed your wrist, causing you to gasp and drop the pin on the floor. With his hold, he yanked you forward into him, breath fanning along your face and neck. The cloak having slipped down your shoulders. His eye searched your face as he scowled.

“It is you, who is weak.” He whispered.

A fire was lit. Swirling your tongue in your mouth you spat on his face, his eye closing momentarily before opening, death grip still on your wrist. 

A slow smile curled on his lips, “Hmm.”

Other hand shooting out to grab your throat, he jerked you roughly backwards, your head hitting against the stone wall behind. The room spun, and you felt stars begin to form in front of your eyes, a deep throbbing pulsing in your skull.

You reached up to claw at his hand around your throat, dark cloak falling to the ground below, breath wheezing in your lungs. Fear washed over you and you felt your mouth turn dry.

He leant slowly into your space eyeing you. 

“You really should be careful, zaldrītsos. Perhaps I am the monster you say I am.” He whispered, his warm breath puffing across your lips. A stray strand of hair coming loose from behind his ear to tickled the front of your face.

He looked feral.

“Get out.” You wheezed, looking into his eye.

“Please?”  He mocked, head tilting to the side as he did. His plump lips pulled forward into a pout.

His hand on your throat loosened slightly, allowing you to gulp in a breath of air. Suddenly the Prince moved whilst he looked down at you, pushing a knee between your legs causing you let out a small yelp. His eye grazed down your shivering body. 

The cloak that had given you a false sense of protecting now surrounded your feet in a heap, the thin underdress you wore slipping down from your shoulders.

“My, you have grown.” He purred.

“Please, uncle.” You gasped.

Aemond hummed, releasing your wrist only to tighten his grip on your throat once more. Both of your hands gripping onto his large one, wrapped around your throat.

“Did you truly think you would take my other eye?”  He taunted, teeth sharp in his mouth.

You closed your eyes, ice cold dread seeping into your heart. You thought this was how you would die. Half dressed in your chambers, uncle's hand wrapped around your neck. 

Weak echoed in your head.

His free hand tickled your exposed collarbone, fingertips dancing above your skin as you squeezed your together, a painful throbbing behind them.

Perhaps he would slit your throat with the sword on his side, or maybe the dagger he carried with him at all times. His long fingers brushed against your underdress where it had slipped down your shoulders, his finger coming to caress the skin underneath.

Your whole body tensed, goosebumps erupting along your skin. 

You could feel his gaze on you, eye greedily devouring you. Slowly you opened your eyes to look at him. His eye was half lidded, a lazy smirk sat upon his face, pink blush dusted on his cheeks.

You wheezed in a breath, head feeling light and body heavy. He kept his eye on you as he trailed his finger further down your collarbone, moving the loose shift with it.

He continued to observe you, humming as he pushed his knee harder against the crux of your thighs. You squeaked, clawing at his hand trying to fill your lungs. The pressure against your centre causing your stomach to tense.

He leant closer to your face, “Tell me niece, are you truly still a maiden?” He whispered, twisted joy in his voice.

Running his hand further into your shift, his fingertips grazed the top of your breasts, nipples hardening from the stimulation. He looked down to where the stiff peaks pushed against the thin underdress.

Your uncle hummed, eye flicking back to yours as you quickly shut them once more. 

His fingers hooked onto the tie at the front of your shift, pulling the knot free, making the front of the underdress sag. You wriggled in his grasp trying to free yourself as he gripped your throat harder. No air passed through to your lungs.

You felt yourself become dizzier, black spots forming in front of your eyes and you felt yourself begin to pass out, only to have his hand loosen and your body automatically gulp in air.

He huffed a little laugh as you breathed deeply, room spinning from lack of oxygen and the blow to the back of your head. With a simple tug, the dress pooled below your breasts, a deep hum of appreciation coming from your uncle as he gazed down.

You looked away at the wall and focused on breathing what little air he allowed. You prayed to the Seven and the old Gods, begging this to end. Begging that they strike him down.

Aemond's hand trailed along the shift, hand tickling over your nipples and the softness of your breast. Fingers trailed underneath your breasts gently and almost teasingly. Your stomach clenching at the feeling.

His hand then drifted lower on your front until it danced along the bunched material on your stomach. Fingers grazing the front of your inner thighs softly making you clench your thighs, squirming in his grip. He looked up at you as his hand continued to caress your thigh. Your cheeks began to grow hot, a blush spreading over your face.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Princess?” He pondered, shifting his knee further into your cunt, drawing a breathy moan from you. 

Your heart was skipping in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch. Your stomach tied up in knots as you began to feel nauseous, his fingers tickling further towards your centre. A warm heat settled in your core, a familiar desire beginning to grow inside you.

He hummed slowly in your ear as he dragged the shift further down your body, moving his knee to let it pool at your feet. Tears sprung to your eyes, slowly falling down your cheeks. You sniffed and turned your head away further, choosing to stare out the window.

“Now she is quiet.” He mused, “I told you there was a dragon to be tamed.” Aemond smirked, hand coming to dance along your inner thighs once more, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

His long fingers gently grazed the soft hair on your mound, dipping a single finger to your bundle of nerves. Your stomach tensed as you tried to wriggle away, a familiar feeling settling in your stomach. He squeezed your throat tighter, looking up at you before relaxing his grip and continuing. A warning.

His long finger swirled around your bud, making you writhe in his grip. Finger slowly travelling further down to your entrance. 

Humming Aemond looked back up at you, “You’re so wet for me, sweet niece.” He purred, slowly dipping his finger into your wetness then dragging it back up to your clit.

Your body reacting on its own.

The Prince continued to gently rub you, pulling weak whispers and sighs from you, a coil slowly beginning to tighten within. You bit at your tongue sharply, the tears still falling down your cheeks.

This was wrong, he was cruel and unkind, and yet it still felt good. Yur body reacting on its own, chasing the pleasure he brought you. Shame surrounded you, as he continued to swirl his finger gently, dipping it between your folds to gather your wetness and bring it back up once more. 

A long finger dipped down to your soaking entrance and suddenly pushed inside of your heat, your hips bucking up against him in surprise. You hissed silently as your uncle's finger went deeper than yours ever could, pulling a throaty moan from you as he did. 

Slowly he pulled his finger back out, “Look at me.” He urged you, your eyes clenched shut.

“I said. Look. At. Me.” He growled and you obeyed, slowly turning your face to look at your older uncle, a crazed expression in his eye. 

He lifted his finger to his lips and drew it into his mouth, sucking on it lewdly. His one good eye closed as he moaned, the sound causing your core to clench around nothing. His grip on your throat loosened further and you sucked in another gasp of air. 

“Mmm,” He moaned, “I think I will devour you after all.” 

Aemond roughly pushed his hand back into your heat curling his finger, a long groan falling from your lips. His hands were much larger than yours, and his finger stretched you uncomfortably.

You tried to steady your limited breathing, and think of anything but the coil slowly tightening inside of you. Your body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and you felt yourself getting closer to climax.

His finger suddenly rubbed up against a soft spongy spot inside you, making you gasp, his eye sharply gazing to you before chuckling.

The Prince pulled his hand away, swirling once around your entrance before forcing a second finger in with his first roughly, the movement jarring you.

You whined pathetically, trying to move away from his hand, having never felt this full in your life, a stinging pain rippling through your core.

He slowly withdrew his fingers, the stretch burning at you as you tried to draw back. Tutting, he tightened the grip on your neck and thrusting his two fingers sharply back inside you, drawing a soundless yelp from you. 

Moving his fingers in and out rapidly he curled them inside, stroking the soft spongy part of your core, drawing tiny mewls from you. The room was filled with the sounds of your wet heat as he fucked you savagely with his hand.

The coil wound tighter and tighter, stomach clenching at the rough pleasure he brought you.

"St-" The words were lost in your throat as Aemond brought his thumb to press at your bundle of nerves, whilst he rapidly moved his fingers deeper within you.

You watched as his fingers disappeared inside, your slick glistening on his hand with each sharp movement, as it leaked down your thighs.

The Prince let out a breathy moan as he watched his hand disappear inside of you. He loosened his grip on your neck, feeling your core begin to tighten around his two fingers. He held your gaze as he leant forward looking down at your lips. 

You felt yourself in a haze, mind becoming fogged, the pleasure was unlike anything you had ever felt before and soon you began to chase it.

He reached further than you ever had and moved with a skill you didn’t. You felt yourself slowly begin to come undone, hips bucking to meet his movements.

“Ah!”  You gasped, not looking away from his eye and the sapphire orb.

“Thats it, sȳz riña.” (good girl) He praised, lips brushing yours as he spoke, your core clenching at his voice. 

Your uncle swirled his thumb around your clit faster, guiding you to finish, forcing pleasure from your body as you succumbed to his invasion.

You felt the coil inside you snap, a blinding pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“Konir sagon ziry, māzigon syt nyke.” (That's it, come for me.) He murmured, hand not slowing down. You gasped trying to suck in air, lips brushing his as you did.

He caught your mouth with his in a bruising kiss as he slowly began to slow his hand. Your eyes slowly slid shut, his lips soft against yours. Your lips moved with his as you kissed him back, mind hazy from the pleasure.

The grip on your throat loosened completely, and your mouth opened to draw in a deep breath, sighing into his mouth. He leant his forehead against yours as you came down, breathing heavily, trying to suck oxygen back into your brain.

His hand slowly stilled inside you.

Your head spun from lack of air and intense release. The back of your skull beginning to throb once more from the impact. You felt your heart rattling inside your chest, core spasming around his fingers. 

Your heart suddenly felt cold.

You watched as your uncle gently slid his fingers from within you, a slight sting as he did so causing you to grimace. As he watched you, his hand came up to his lips once more, tongue darting out to lick at his slender digits before he pushed them into your mouth. Your musky tang hit your tongue, as you closed your lips around them.

With a hum, Prince Aemond let go of your neck and turned to leave, pulling his glistening fingers from your mouth.

The silver haired Prince spun on his foot, hair gently flowing behind him as he exited, the door softly shutting behind him. Your mouth gaped as you stared where he exited.

Shame crawled through your veins and you felt yourself sag. Clasping at your bare chest as you let out a strangled sob. What have you done.

The first man to ever touch you was your deranged uncle who tormented you and your brothers, conspiring with the court of your legitimacy.

You felt guilt bubbling up your throat as the dull ache in your core settled in, your centre stinging with discomfort from every movement.

You slid down the stone wall, tucking your knees into your chest and cried.

What was wrong with you?

You wished to be back on Dragon Stone, far away from here, and to have never been reunited with your estranged family. You felt disgust blooming in your chest. You had just betrayed your family; your brothers.

What would they say?

What would your mother say?

What would your father say?

You could never tell them. Guilt ate at you from the inside.

How could you have let that happen?

More importantly, why did it feel so good?

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs

[leonenjoyer69]

Do you have any hcs about whole/mind Jekyll :0 (I've fallen in love with him 😔)

OF COURSE! you basically just opened my ramble can >:3

First of all! Like I mentioned before, Whole Jekyll is the closest to Jekyll Pre-split (and may actually just be him pre-split), but kinda fucked up from being trapped in the mind scape. He yearns for his halves to combine again so he can live somewhat normally again.

So, Whole Jekyll, or Harry (as Mind Lanyon calls him, and I may start too, lmao), can manipulate the mindscape to a decent degree, though he can't get rid of the nightmares. He does help keep them locked away though when stray ones escape their confinement (of course this was before Hyde unleashed them, which made Harry VERY upset). He can also enter and somewhat interact with the memories, letting himself take Jekyll's place and feel the things around him in the memory (to a certain degree). The ones he visits most often are the relationship with Lanyon in university (any of them, but especially the more tender and physical, innocent touch-heavy ones), the break up, and the aftermath of the potions creation. He sweeps these memories quite consistently, trying to see where he went wrong and if there's anything he can use to fix this. Of course, he should know there's not by now, but he desperately clings to that hope. Plus, he doesn't have much else to do.

He tries to get the attention of Jekyll and Hyde, but can't seem to make himself heard by them, though he believes he's able to ever so slightly sway their thoughts or words every once in a while. When not perusing memories, trapping nightmares, or talking with Mind Lanyon, he's usually always watching what Jekyll and/or Hyde are doing. Generally, he's trying to sway them in any way possible that could bring them closer to being whole again, but he never succeeds. Sometimes, he feels so drained that all he can do is silently watch.

Also, since I'm a sucker for Scottish Jekyll (as we've seen), he speaks with a bit of an accent that he can't seem to drop, no matter how much he sits through the memories of Lanyon's english lessons. It's not super strong, but it's definitely there, and he'll slip in a few Scottish words every once in a while. It also tends to get a bit worse when he's revisiting older memories. The accent kinda annoys mind Lanyon sometimes, but he's learned there's truly nothing to do about it (he's certainly tried)

Onto Mind Lanyon, Harry tends to hang out in different areas than Lanyon, the main ones being the subconscious, where he watches Jekyll and Hyde (he can't seem to go any higher than the deeper parts of the subconscious, though he hasn't really tried too hard to) and deeper in the unconscious, where most of the nightmares lurk. Of course, Harry acts as a sort of nightmare exterminator to Mind Lanyon, who's literally terrified of them. (Also, I firmly believe that it was Harry that found all of Mind Lanyon's little gentleman ghosts to keep him company, since  Mind Lanyon complained about how little he saw him).

Anyways, mind Lanyon is a good bit different from real Lanyon, but Harry finds him to be good company when he needs it. Mind Lanyon has this uncanny calming effect on him, despite his oddities and prissy, distant attitude. Mind Lanyon would never intentionally hurt Harry, he likes him too much (and he refuses to be stuck talking to no one but Mind Frankenstein). Back to the reason I mentioned the areas Harry hangs in tho! Mind Lanyon spends most of his time in the library and Hall of memories, half the time just looking for Harry, though he claims he's just keeping an eye out for nightmares that slipped through (they both know that's mostly a lie tho), and the other half just reading.

mind Lanyon will sometimes fuss over Harry's hair, complaining about it being an ungentlemanly rats nest. He has also tried fixing it a few times, but it never worked.

I'm thinking of a few story ideas with him (ik, dangerous since I've already got a story I'm working on). In one, at some point Harry is actually able to stumble across Hyde (or Hyde stumbles upon him). Don't know where in the timeline it'd be set, but meeting him would definitely confuse and freak Hyde out lmao. Otherwise, I have another little idea where Harry's able to force himself up into the conscious, where he's finally able to talk to the other two and hang out in the mirrors and such. Don't know if ill do anything with those ideas, but they're there!

Omg!!! Also!!! I forgot about the strings lmao. Any major conflict between Jekyll and Hyde, or super high stress moments, cause the corresponding (depending on which half is suffering) strings to tighten and tug a bit. This makes the bandages nice, considering how often that's gotten lately (and even before, with Jekyll's workaholic tendencies). He can still usually move his arms quite freely, but sometimes the pulling is bad enough that he can't. He's tried to follow where the strings are pulling him, but at a certain point the pulling stops all together, and he's left a no true destination. Otherwise, they're ethereal, so they usually stay short enough to keep out of his way.

Also, he kept a journal for a very good while (actually managed to start a second one), but eventually his writings became increasingly nonsensical and messy. Paranoid doodles and ramblings began covering pages, to the point where he simply stopped writing in it bc he didn't like seeing the pages. It's still around the mindscape though, somewhere...

OKAY, THAT'S ALL FOR NOW, honestly that was less of HC and more of me just info dumping BUT I SHAN'T APOLOGIZE. Anyways, thank you if you read all this, he's one of my new babies, I love his tortured little soul <3 THANK YOU FOR THE ASK :33

[goddess-of-graphite]

The Great Notes App Exodus: Half-Dead and Still Kicking

The thing is, Jason’s been a ghost for a while, okay? Six whole months, and it’s been a goddamn adjustment, being capable of floating through walls and falling through furniture if he’s not careful, if he’s not concentrating. He goes unseen and unheard in a manor too full of grieving to only be residence of two people - Alfred keeps his room tidy and untouched, as if it’s a shrine to keep care of, and Bruce is…

Jason is, was, Robin, so he can’t quite help himself from following in Batman’s shadow as the man patrols, more vicious, more brutal than Jason has ever seen him. He takes more risks, gets injured more often - and it’s terrifying, the way Batman grieves, as if trying to follow him into the grave. So Jason follows, unbeating heart in his throat, and only relaxes again when Bruce is safe in the manor, sleeping off whatever injuries he got during the night.

He can’t interact with the world, but he can watch the shades of past residents going about their lives, and he learns things from doing this even as he fears becoming them one day, mindlessly replaying a life long passed. He can snoop and explore without worry for being caught, and if he ever gets bored he can practice flying (so much harder than it seems - he’s careful never to go too high, too worried that he won’t be able to come back down again, even with the ceaseless curiosity in the back of his mind wondering - just how far can I go? Beyond the sky? Could he touch the stars, if he wanted?) and when everything is terrible, when the memories of his death, his last few hours of life, haunt him, when he is drowning in his own head, he finds distractions; the way the air currents sometimes seem to react to him, trying to move things like ghosts do in those terrible movies, chattering to whoever is around and pretending they can hear him, finding mysteries to solve (what’s up with that camera kid, anyway? He’d never noticed him before…) and trying to read books in the library through sheer force of will, usually ending up just reciting the parts he knows.

(Two months and a bit in to this whole “ghost” thing, he finds out the deal with the camera kid. Jason can only be relieved because, kid’s got a point - and Bruce seems to do better with someone to protect, to teach, to watch over.

He’s not practically tearing people apart with his bare hands anymore. He’s not taking hits he should have been able to avoid anymore. He’s not lurking at the edge of rooftops anymore, staring at the ground as if contemplating how far away it is.)

And Tim… he’s weird, but brilliant, and Jason feels a little protective of him. Follows him whenever he goes out, sharp eyes watching his back regardless of whether he can protect it or not (and maybe it’s his imagination, but the world seems more real when he’s watching over Tim, closer and present in a way he can almost feel, as if he could actually affect the world, if he just tried hard enough - if he just needed to desperately enough).

And then, six months after his-… after this ghost thing started, something… changes.

Something Happens, and he can almost taste the strange Knowing - something, somewhere, has gone wrong, or perhaps right, and the ripples extend beyond the event, slipping into each corner of the universe with the subtlety of a truck, and yet somehow unnoticed.

The ghosts notice. Pale shades lift their heads, existing outside of their own memories for the first time in an age - and Jason, who is new, who is Robin, who lived in Gotham where all things become possible, is hit by the wave of Something Happening Elsewhere Rippling Out and wakes up in a box.

In a coffin.

(But Jason has been a ghost for six months, and the pain of living again is enough to reach for the existence of being a ghost, and by the time he has sorted himself out and half-clawed, half-floated his way out of his grave (again), he doesn’t expect himself to be anything but what he has been for the past six months.)

(And then, of course, he discovers he can interact with the world if he concentrates, if he wants it enough, and he assumes that Whatever That Was made him a stronger ghost.

It’s not an unfair assessment. Incorrect, but not beyond reason.

Why would he think he came back to life, anyway? That’s a bit far-fetched, really.)

[myinternettrash]

Cáncun [Chapter 2, Year 4, Part 1]

summary: Bruce stared blankly into the crowded cafeteria. His skin was itching. His muscles crawling. Everything was empty. A hollow shell.

The news was playing on an old TV that hung in the left corner of the cafeteria, his oatmeal was left uneaten.

Bruce's rage flared more often than not now.

an: OMG YALL IM SO SORRY!!! this chapter was delayed six months and i am soso sorry! i had a lot of things going on with my family and just general life issues, anyway i hope this chapter makes up for it!

quick reminder that this fic is split in years so this is the 4th year part 1 as well as SCAREBAT IS A PLOT DEVICE OMG PLEASE GIVE MY FIC A CHANCE 😭😭

as always concrit is welcome and needed !!!

xx

YEAR FOUR —

Gotham was always clouded in an everlasting cold during the winter months. Her freezing heart would beat slower, a deep resonance of sadness and death flooding through the city. The feeling only made it colder.

It didn't help that Arkham’s AC was always blasting. Heat was only used in areas the staff would have to work in, cells and ‘patient’ areas would be left to the AC and Gotham frost.

So, Jonathan and Bruce were huddled together in a corner of the library. Jon’s smaller frame was pressed into his front, wavy, black hair fell across his broad shoulder as Jon shivered. The Arkham jumpsuits were not warm by any means, the material was thin and cheap, not anything like Jon’s too-long business attire or Bruce’s designer suits.

Bruce was used to the cold though, the ice lived inside of him ever since his parent's murder. The prisons only made him grow closer accustomed to it.

Jon hadn't experienced a cold like this.

Bruce wrapped his arms around his friend, squeezing tightly for a few seconds before letting go.

“What book are you thinking of picking out?” Bruce whispered lowly, his voice reverberating in his chest, Jon could feel the rumble through both of their jumpsuits and their skin.

The other man lifted his head from Bruce’s shoulder slowly, “I was thinking of reading Pale Fire, but that might be too dark, don't you think?”

“Jon, I’ll read whatever you want to read, this book is for you,” Bruce smiled at his friend, his hand cupping the other man’s jaw, “but I don't want that book to push you farther into depression.”

“I-i-i’m not depressed!” Jonathan retorted quickly, mouth agape as he stared into Bruce’s ice-blue eyes. “Jon, darling,” the doctor’s eyes flitted to Bruce’s lips as they started moving, “yes, you are.”

Bruce smiled solemnly, he could hardly feel bad for Jonathan. The man knew what he was getting into when he got himself caught. He worked at the goddamn place, he knew exactly how the prisoners were treated.

“Jon, tell me something,” Bruce paused briefly, “what are you scared of?”

The shorter man suddenly became serious, his mouth pressed into a tight line, he huffed shortly, his breath coming out hot onto Bruce’s jaw.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, dear. I am not scared of anything, I’m the Scarecrow, remember that?”

Jonathan smiled, before patting the taller man on the shoulder lightly, “Now! Let’s check this book out shall we?”

Bruce stared vacantly into his friend’s eyes, the Scarecrow was a crock of shit. He cared for Jonathan deeply but, god could that man be fucking egotistical.

Gotham hadn't seen a real villain. Not yet.

Scarecrow was close, but Bruce could feel that a force more powerful was lurking in Gotham’s dark alleyways.

*

Jonathan panted.

Hot, heavy breaths reverberated around the room. The cell was dark and stuffy, the smell almost overbearing.

His fingers were wrapped tightly around his cock, precum beading into perfect little pearls on his flushed tip.

Bruce had brushed him earlier that day. His palm just bearly grazing his dick above the layers of his stiff, orange Arkham regalia. His other hand rested delicately on Jonathan’s hip as he explained some unimportant topic about bats and a villain bound to appear in Gotham. It wasn't as interesting as the way his lips moved or the way his tongue would brush over his bottom lip every few seconds. Not nearly as important as the feeling of that broad palm, his skin left scalding hot in its wake.

He had been hard and leaking ever since.

His slender fingers moved faster over his shaft, meek little moans escaping from his plush lips.

“Ffffuckkk, Bruce…” his hips stuttered.

A finger slipped into his mouth, coating the skin with hot spit. His hand moved languidly behind himself, swirling around his rim before pushing in.

Another moan, higher pitched.

Absolutely pathetic.

His finger curled, searching desperately for that spot. His other hand moved faster over his cock. His finger finally found it.

Two moans and a gasp. Disgusting.

“...B-bruce,” his fingers wiped over his tip, spreading his precum over and down his shaft.

His walls squeezed tight and hot around his finger as it pushed in and out haphazardly. His hips stuttered again, pushing his dick through the cup of his hand.

“Oh, god,” his balls tightened. What a fucking weak bitch.

A mantra of Bruce filled his mind, everything about him was enrapturing. His chocolate brown hair, those ever-changing, murky blue eyes, his skin, smooth and flawless, his form— god, Jonathan didn't know how he kept up a physique like that in a fucking asylum— his mind, that beautiful, beautiful brain. Sometimes just looking at Bruce scared him to his core. There was a monstrous bat that lived beneath Bruce’s skin and it was evil. He could see it behind the muddy blues, see it clawing beneath his skin, he could feel it when they touched. Jonathan was terrified of Bruce, and the fear turned him on as much as everything about Bruce did.

He was hopelessly, pathetically, in love.

God, Jonathan craved him.

Everything was Bruce as he came, ropes of hot, white cum spraying onto his palm, coating his slender fingers and the starched orange jumpsuit.

What a pussy. Weak. A bitch for Bruce to use.

That was exactly what he was, Bruce’s bitch.

He just came harder.

Broken moans and gasps filled his cell, the smell of sex and cum taking over all of Jonathan's senses.

Goddamn.

Once his brain was no longer a puddle inside his skull, Jon noticed the cum that had sprayed across the bleak and depressing pages of Pale Fire.

How would he explain the stains?

*

Bruce panted.

His body quaked, breaths coming out ragged and short. Why wouldn't it leave him alone? Constant screeching, deafening and full of rage, sharp talons clawing at his guts, his bat, as Jonathan calls it, brewed and bubbled in his stomach acid.

Bruce was shaking, quivering underneath his jumpsuit. The thin material was coated with sweat and stuck to his back. His fingers twitched as they raked through his hair nervously, dirty fingernails mucking up his dark brown hair.

He muttered feverishly, “Bat… bat… bat… Mother… Father…”

The loud clang of his cell door pulled him from panic, a guard—not Mick, not one of the nicer guards in Arkham, not even Cash, he didn't know this guard— looked at Bruce through the visor on his helmet, ruddy brown eyes flicked to Bruce’s hands and wrists, scanning them for injuries.

“Get up,” the guard’s voice was deep and steady with a hint of a Cuban accent, calming Bruce’s nerves, if only momentarily. The presence of another person forcing his mind to switch into his playboy facade. Slowly, Bruce pushed up from the ground, the cold concrete grazing his flesh.

The guard was tall—even taller than Bruce, who was six foot— and built, intricate tattoos curling around his biceps in a bright green, vein-like. The green was a stark contrast to his tan skin, and as far as Bruce could tell, the tattoos covered the guard’s body, stretching over the expanse of his neck and stopping at his face.

The guard spoke again, “I’m Nathan Dorrance by the way, m’ friends call me Nate.” Black gloves wrapped loosely around Bruce’s left arm, steadying him so he could walk. “My name means ‘a gift from God’ but my father always said I was the bane of his existence”, the guard let go once Bruce was no longer shaking. “Will I be a gift or the bane of your existence?”

Bruce shifted his eyes—more gray than blue in the dim lighting— to the rust colored eyes of Nathan. “I doubt I’ll be that much trouble,” his lips curled into a tight smile, showing off stark white canines.

“Besides,” he laughed sarcastically, “I’m on new meds!”

The tattoos on the man’s neck seemed to pump with some fluid as his head tilted to the side.

“Then I’ll be a gift.”

“Is there something you needed me for?” He gritted out the sentence from between his teeth. The sweat that once covered him was now drying in the ever cold Arkham AC, it was uncomfortable and made his teeth clack together, he didn't know if he was shaking from the cold or from the meds.

Nathan spoke again, “Leland needs to see you.”

*

The led lights flickered outside of Leland’s office, the varnish on her mahogany door shined in the light, glaring into Bruce’s eyes if stared too hard for too long. Apparently Leland, though having called for Bruce, was busy with someone.

Officer Dorrance—Nathan, Bruce corrected himself— stood by him, arms crossed over his chest but he was calm and relaxed. His tattoos appeared to twitch every few minutes, it was probably just a side effect of the medication, Bruce thought.

A laugh rang out, cold and insincere, it was followed by a polite but equally biting chuckle. And then the shining mahogany door opened abruptly, the hinge creaking as it swung, and out walked Quincy Sharp. The old fuck was the warden of Arkham, but Bruce thought he should have been in a padded cell. He was just as crazy as the rest of them.

Leland’s hand was grasping the door tightly, her bright red nails contrasting against the dark wood, “Well, thank you for the visit Mr. Sharp! Pleasant as always.” She smiled, her teeth grinding slightly. Sharp waved, the heels of his dress shoes clacking against the floor as he waddled—really, he waddled, it reminded him of someone he always saw at his parent's parties— to the Arkham Mansion.

“Well, hi, Bruce, come on in,” Nathan tapped his shoulder lightly, signaling for Bruce to go inside.

Leland’s hand gestures for him to sit down on one of the chair’s that surrounded her desk—Bruce was considered low risk at the moment so he got the privilege of being able to sit and talk to the doctor’s inside their office instead of an interrogation style room. The chairs were plush, deep red velvet, they reminded Bruce a lot of the furniture in the library at the Manor.

The doctor swiftly made way to her desk, gracefully lowering herself into her chair, “So, I have a few questions for you,” she rustled around and grabbed a notepad and pen.

Bruce stared for a moment, blinking slowly, “Of course, what could I help you with Mrs. Leland?”

“I have a few questions for you about Jonathan Crane, the police want to see if any inmates knew of his villain persona the Scarecrow,” she looked at him momentarily, her deep brown eyes meeting his murky blues.

“I know you two are close,” Bruce nodded hesitantly, breathing out of his nose.

“I did not know of his activities if that is what you are asking, he never-” The doctor jotted down his statement quickly, her head raising to look at him again, “he didn't devolve into his life outside of work.”

He continued, “We bonded over literature,” his eyes followed her hand as it wrote, “that's why we were close.”

She nodded, her short, dark brown bob bouncing along with it. “Yes, thank you Mr. Wayne,”

She shifted her arms into a more comfortable position, leaning on the table slightly, “I am… aware you are both still very close, outside of a doctor-patient relationship, has he told you anything since then?”

Bruce shook his head, “We are friends, yes, but he has not told me anything about Scarecrow, I believe he is deeply ashamed if anything.”

Bruce could smell the doubt.

“Alright then, thank you Bruce,” she smiled, fakely Bruce noted. He twitched out a smile, wide and toothless. Nate came in and waited as he got out of the chair.

Bruce left, Nathan following shortly after, his tattoos shifting as he moved.

*

“Bruce?”

His eyes snapped open.

Jonathan’s wavy, dark hair hung over into his face cornflower eyes staring into his, wide and concerned.

“What?” Bruce rasped out, putting his broad hand on Jon’s skinny shoulder.

“You were zoning out,” his eyes were darting over Bruce’s face, searching for something. Ever the physiatrist, Jon was, he always needed an explanation.

“Darling, I’m fine, I’m just tired,” he moved his hands to cup Jon’s jaw, “I’m ok, I promise.”

Jon gasped lightly, not loud enough for Bruce to fully hear. But he could tell, Jon’s flushed cheeks, his pupils dilating, his quickened heart rate.

He knew.

“B-bruce…” Jonathan sighed out, slumping closer into Bruce's body

“Yes darling?” Bruce smiled warmly after he spoke, all sparkly canines.

“I- I think… are you sure you're ok?” Jon bit his bottom lip, eyes twinkling as they looked up at Bruce.

Bruce gnawed on the inside of his cheek before answering, “Yes, of course I’m okay, I always am when you're with me Jon… Was there anything you wanted to tell? I sensed hesitation.” He was polite of course, you had to be to get the reaction you wanted.

Jon whined, his fingers twiddling together. His slender hand went to move the book they were reading before Bruce zoned out to a more convenient location on the floor.

“I,” he looked down towards his lap and then back into Bruce's eyes, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“I know Jon,” Bruce leaned towards the smaller man’s face, teasing him. And then he kissed him.

Jon gasped, louder this time and into Bruce’s mouth, before going back in to kiss him again.

Pale Fire was forgotten on the floor.

*

It was unlike anything Jonathan could have ever imagined.

Bruce had kissed him so warmly, like a cup of perfect coffee in the cold bite of the Gotham winter.

It was unlike anything Jonathan could have ever wanted.

Beautiful, crazy, amazing, Bruce was his now, all his.

His cell felt warmer now, his mattress a little softer, the air a little clearer.

It was like his whole worldview was shifted.

Bruce was an enigma when Jonathan first met him. Ever polite and collected, despite just murdering a man in a courthouse. He had two years to think about his actions, but most people would still have some sort of emotion, unless they were sociopathic—which Bruce after much deliberation—was determinedly not.

He had to study him, it wasn't everyday that a “Prince of Gotham”—a notable title, no matter how odd it was to Jonathan—snapped, not like this anyway. Billionaires don't normally turn to murder to cope with trauma, cocaine and other illicit drugs is more likely, which is what fueled Jon’s interest.

There was something hiding behind those pale blue eyes.

Jonathan, ever the physiatrist at heart, needed to know what was plaguing Bruce’s mind, handsome faces like that needn't be so worried.

He was scared of something, something strange and monstrous. It wasn't tangible.

So, Jonathan dug his talons in and started digging.

After countless sessions and cups of coffee, he finally uncovered The Bat, a creature that Jon has yet to fully understand.

All he knew was that it was in Bruce, screeching at him, clawing its way through Bruce’s stomach lining trying to escape.

He was the most interesting person Jonathan had ever met.

As they got closer, bonding over similar childhood experiences (even if their childhoods were vastly different), Jon confided in him.

About Scarecrow. About the fear toxin. About the goal.

And Bruce understood. He got what Jonathan had been studying—independently, however—for years.

He knew the fear, he was interested in Scarecrow, interested in him.

So he fell in love, and Bruce loved him too.

*

Bruce stared blankly into the crowded cafeteria. His skin was itching. His muscles crawling.

Everything was empty. A hollow shell.

The news was playing on an old TV that hung in the left corner of the cafeteria, his oatmeal was left uneaten.

Bruce’s rage flared more often than not now.

His bat, his monster, was screaming inside him. He could feel the pulsating veins of Gotham, the scum that was emerging made her veins pump harder, faster. Bruce was invigorated. Gotham had been far too quiet since he had killed Joe Chill.

Even Scarecrow didn't take over Gotham in a cloud like Bruce did. Bruce was too perfect to be a villain, it caught everyone by surprise.

That was Jonathan's flaw, he was brilliant, but he was too predictable.

The news reporter’s tone suddenly changed, the monotone voice gone and now filled with shock.

“This just in! The Gotham National Bank has been robbed. There are a presumed five dead.”

Bruce looked over at the screen, as did the rest of the prisoners in the cafeteria. Most were shocked, some were unmoved.

Bruce was everything all at once.

The news station rolled footage found from the security cameras around the bank, most were deactivated, but cameras left in areas that would normally be turned were left on. Like the robber wanted the process to be seen.

Men in clown masks infiltrated the bank with extreme precision. Cut the alarms, one clown dead, control the crowd, people scream, mob ties, two clowns dead. A mistake, a clown and a mobster injured, break into the vault, three clowns dead.

A bus slams through the building, four clowns dead, the clown from the bus helps the remaining one load up and then he’s dead too.

And then the clown mask comes off, all toxic sludge green hair and grease paint.

Bruce’s heart twinged, his interest piqued. The man had grotesque scars that cut a mile wide smile from the corners of his lips far into his cheeks. Red lipstick was smeared across them and highlighted the scars for anyone that looked.

A gloved hand pulled out a grenade from his suit jacket and stuck it in the mob member’s mouth, a purple string pulled the pin of the grenade as the man climbed into the bus, the mobster’s muffled yelling and the rumble of the school bus were the only things heard as the gas released from the grenade.

Bruce was captivated.

As the footage cut out and the news reporter returned to the screen to ramble on a long dialogue discussing the plan of action against this new villain, the noise in the cafeteria buzzed loudly.

Some were impressed, others were jealous, and even more were terrified.

The TV had to be switched off after the reporter said an estimated 68 million was stolen from the bank, yells and hollers filled the cafeteria as Bruce went to leave.

He had to call Alfred.

*

The dialing tone was the only thing that filled Bruce’s ears as he waited.

Today, Gotham was changed.

The line clicked over.

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce shifted to lean against the metal divider between the phones and moved the phone closer to his mouth.

“Did you see the news today Alfred?”

After a few seconds the older man's British accent cut through the white noise of the phone, “Yes, I did Master Bruce, it was certainly… masterfully done, no matter the execution.”

Bruce smiled, genuinely, “He’s a genius.”

“How have you been, sir? I heard from Mrs. Leland a few weeks ago and she had an odd report.”

His smile dropped, “Did she ask you about Dr. Crane?” He laughed spitefully, “Yeah, we had that same discussion, I told her what I knew,” he moved himself off the divider, now serious, “she’s trying to look for something that isn't there.”

“Ok sir, I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” the butler sighed.

“Yeah, I’m alright, Alfred, things are looking up.”

“Soon enough I’ll have a smile on my face,” the brunette chucked, “I’ll call you again soon, Alfred, thank you for talking to me,”

“Goodbye, Master Bruce.”

[semper-legens]

82. Elusive, by Genevieve Cogman

Owned?: No, library Page count: 378 My summary: Eleanor is back in Revolutionary France on another mission of great importance. The Scarlet Pimpernel has gone missing, and his wife's brother is in trouble. Under the eye of the Revolutionaries, can they find him, the missing statesman Talleyrand, and a solution to the brother's woes? But the voice in Eleanor's head is getting louder. In a world of vampires and mages, what horrors lurk around the corner? My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

A sequel! Yep, this one's the followup to a book I read not that long ago. I had some issues with it, but ultimately I liked its style. I knew there was another one out there, and so, I decided to give it a shot. And here's the result! It's much the same as the first in terms of style and content - while I overall enjoyed it, I did have reservations about the unsubtle nature of some of the more political messaging and themes of gender and class. Still, the world it draws is an interesting one, and I really appreciated the slightly deeper look into what the vampires mean and represent within this world, as well as the rapidly-changing political instability in France in this time period. I don't like it without reservation, still, but I do like it.

Eleanor continues to be a really engaging protagonist. I mentioned before how she is the sort of character I like to see in historical fiction - not anachronistically feminist, but with ideas and goals that fit the world which she inhabits. She wanted to be a seamstress or a modiste; now she wants to help people and do as much good as she can in her circumstances. As a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, she has the ability to pull people out of Revolutionary France and get them away to relative safety in England and beyond, and is often frustrated by the danger she faces in doing so, the attitudes of the men around her, and the reticence of the mage who lives in her head. Eleanor isn't anachronism in her feminism, but she still has the ability to stand up for her rights and have her say, even if she inwardly despairs that the other members of the League are upper-class men, and therefore not always interested in what a working woman has to say on any matter. One thing that I disliked, however, was how the book handled her romantic feelings for fellow League member Charles - it seems to want to play as a tragic doomed romance, given their class disparity and the fact that Charles would face significant barriers to marrying Eleanor, but not enough time is spent on their relationship that I don't really believe it. If the romance angle was taken out of the story, I honestly wouldn't miss it.

Vampires! This time, I will admit, I felt the need for the vampires in this story more than in the last one. As it turns out, there's been a vampire civil war playing out under everyone's noses, with humans being used as unwitting pawns and go-betweens. Vampires are able to mesmerically control humans, something only Eleanor's magic can break, and something previously thought impossible. I like this on the lines of the aristocrat/vampire idea - the vampires literally manipulating society from behind the scenes in the same way that the upper classes might in real life. But there's nuance to it; not all of the vampires are out and out evil, and the Widow Capet (Marie Antoinette) is shown in a lot more sympathetic light than the others. It's interesting, and I'd be down to see more of this idea explored.

But, like the first book, this story is particularly unsubtle in its messaging. Time and time again, the narrative will screech to a halt so that Eleanor can point out that she is underprivileged as a working-class woman in the company of upper-class men. In exact terms. She does a lot of ruminating on her lot in life in her head, constantly thinking about her relative level of disadvantage compared to the others in the League. The trouble is that, other than her rejecting the idea of a romantic connection to Charles, it never really comes up in dialogue. The sense I get is of just being told there is a problem, but none of the characters ever do anything about it, and the problem is shown through other means. I just feel really talked down to, like the narrative doesn't trust me as being smart enough to figure out that Eleanor constantly being belittled might in fact have something to do with her gender and socioeconomic status. It's disappointing in an otherwise entertaining narrative.

Next, a Victorian tale, with a young girl who just wants to dance.

[vamp-domme]

Choose Your Own Gothic Horror Adventure: Part V

You think your options over for a minute as you stare out the window, looking out over tree-lined hills and forbidding mountains under a piercing blue sky. They all have their perks, but you like the idea of having some time to yourself to look after the library, and you secretly hope Lady Midnight might be a frequent visitor.

"I think I'd like to be a librarian," you finally muse.

"Okay!" the girl replies, clapping her hands in excitement. "I'll let one of the daughters know, and when you're feeling better, I'll take you to the library." She gives you a warm smile. "I'm Olivia, by the way."

Her excitement is infectious, and you reply with your name, after which she leaves, promising to come check on you later. You have plenty more questions, but you feel a bit too woozy to ask them, and it feels more comfortable to just lie down and look out the window.

It takes the better part of the day for you to recover, between the blood loss and the exhaustion from the prior night's events, and your light-headedness only begins to pass as night again falls over the castle. Olivia checks on you throughout the day, bringing you food and showing you around the east wing, where your room is located.

The next day you visit the library, on the first floor of the north wing. It's a large room the size of most people's houses, its shelves stuffed with books from floor to ceiling, complete with step stools to reach the highest volumes, along with plush sofas and tables with plenty of candelabras to read by. A cheery hearth sits at the north end of the room beyond the mazes of bookshelves, surrounded by comfy armchairs and tables. Near that is the small room where you work, an old pine writing desk stuffed full of ledgers notating each book and its current whereabouts dominating the room, along with a small window.

You spend quite a few days just getting to grips with your new position - there are blessed few instructions written by previous caretakers, so you often find yourself making things up as you go. While you tried to avoid being a cleaner, cleaning the library itself still falls to you, as well as ensuring the books are undamaged. There are all kinds of volumes spanning countless genres, though none are more than 50 years old, and you imagine the lady of the castle likely keeps her own private collection somewhere.

Fledglings, a term you quickly learn applies to yourself and most of the other residents here, often visit the library, reading and checking out different books to entertain themselves when their chores are finished. Most of them are your age, though some are older, and they tend to view you with quite a bit of interest, many of them sharing Olivia's excitement in welcoming the new arrival.

You begin to settle in to your role, though you seldom catch a glimpse of the enigmatic Lady Midnight, who keeps to her own nocturnal schedule and sometimes seems not to be within the castle at all.

After a week has passed, you find yourself studying a manual on book binding by candle light, hoping to fix up an old sewing manual that needs your attention, when you hear the doors to the library open and shut, followed by the click of a bolt sliding into place.

You get up and pass between the shelves, but when you reach the door, you find it's not only shut, but locked.

"Hello?" you call out, feeling a bit nervous. "Is anyone there?" You pace through aisles of books, but no one lurks there, only the shadows that creep in through the windows and the occasional pop of the low fire in the hearth.

"I have fond memories of this book." You whirl around to see Lady Midnight in the chair you just vacated, the old sewing manual in her hands. She wears a tight black dress fringed with lace, its hem ending well above her knees, every voluptuous curve of her body on full display. Her legs are crossed one over the other, and she wears high leather boots over tight black stockings, and you realize you've never seen her in something this revealing before. She regards the book with an air of melancholy, her dark eyes poring over its pages almost lovingly.

"It was brought to me by a housewife who was on the run after poisoning her philandering husband," she continues wistfully. "She learned true love within these very walls."

You take a few steps out of the aisles, until you're standing near Lady Midnight in the lounge. "What happened to her?"

The lady sighs. "She died, as all mortals do." She sets the book down and stands up, crossing the room toward you. "It appears you've settled in to your new role quite well." She eyes you up and down, and you can see a hint of something dark in that gaze.

"Y-yes I have," you reply quickly. "You have a beautiful library here, and I'm happy to take care of it."

She takes a few more steps forward until she's positively inches from you. "Beautiful, mm? You have quite the way with words, darling." She takes a strand of your hair and curls it around her index finger. Her hands are pale and delicate, with sharp nails painted dark red.

"T-thank you, my lady." It feels miraculous you even managed to reply, as you feel yourself shrinking in her presence. Everything about her threatens to overwhelm you, and it feels like all of your senses are on fire.

She takes your chin in her other hand and tilts your face up toward her. You feel yourself falling into her gaze again, but after what happened before, you try desperately to keep your composure.

"Tell me, darling," Lady Midnight begins, her eyes deep pools of scarlet. "Do I frighten you?"

Previous entries:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

[xnchxntmxnt]

Hello there!

This is less of a request and more of a brainrot ask (feel free to write about it tho, would be fun to see 👁👁) because I’ve been lurking in the shadows and I think you’re super cool and wanted to talk to you

In short, what do you think would happen if the karasuno volleyball team (faculty included) got isekai’d into teyvat?

For example, they’re in the bus, ready to go to a training camp. Everyone except the driver falls asleep and the driver makes a turn into a grass-land, expecting to be there in a few minutes.

But they don’t

After the panic settles down everyone gets off the bus and they’re for example, in winerise. How would they continue?

(Ps. I’m kind of losing fume and I’m getting sleepy so feel free to add you own thoughts!!!)

omg so i was going to react to this forever ago bc I loved the idea but then I was like. i need to have more brain cells to respond to this to accurately explain my thoughts. and then I forgot.

ANYWAYS im here now <3

i dont work with isekai aus often because i didn't really. know what they were for a while but I figured it out alright. i don't know why I don't google it but its a pride thing at this point

i think they should get thrown into the world, visionless and defenseless. let's say they get thrown into mondstadt just cause that's my fav region. they end up in windrise and right next to that hillychurl camp to the right of the tree and tanaka wants to go fight the mitachurl but gets held back by the collar by ennoshita okay he's not stupid enough to let him go

theyre just standing there, figuring out where the hell they are

honestly. i think they end up running into a knight or adventurer (also confused as to what they're wearing) and escorts them to the city

unpopular opinon: NOTHING happens

i dont mean nothing at all but like. them being there doesn't break the entire world as it is its just. mundane but in such a FUN way

i dont think anyone in particular ends up with a vision but I think suga and takeda would be very interested in learning how it works. daichi or asahi has to stay with the 2nd years at all times to make sure noya or tanaka aren't harassing jean (she deals with enough shit actually). both pass out when lisa low key flirts w them (shes just messing with them tho its not anything crazy)

ukai? good buds with diluc and charles and the angel's share after a while. hinata LOVES timmie and is a tcg GOD. befriends diona doing that

yachi and kiyoko spend a lot of time in the knights library with lisa chatting and eventually join the adventurers guild part time and go take some commissions once in a while together. sometimes takeda tags along to make sure they're safe (he doesn't do much)

tsukki and yamaguchi also become tcg gods and end up meeting a few people through that, and really want to explore around some of the other nations, so they make a field trip and go south to liyue. chaos ensues there and hinata falls in love w beidou (not in a romantic way just in an appreciation way) and is excited about becoming a pirate

i have so many thoughts. there's so many and I think their relationships with each of the characters would be so FUN. everyone knows them as the weird squad of guys that isn't really from anywhere but everyone appreciates anyway

[zeph0r]

Rowan - Red, Disco Ball,

Vesna - Yellow, blue

Cut for longness

Red- What is a trait your OC has that those around them don't see very often? Is it seen by a rare few or completely overlooked? Rowan talks a big game about "fuck people, they are a scourge", but she cares way more than she lets on. People make their own choices and need to deal with the consequences, but kids and the disadvantaged? They will not be fucked with as far as she is concerned. There's only a few people she lets see the squishy bits, but I imagine a few more have suspicions that there is a wee touch more on the inside than just pure aloof purpleHawke energy. Netural good means she wants a nice, fair outcome; but she'll be damned if anyone knows that she wants people to be happy.

Disco Ball- What was an achievement that your OC felt worthy of celebrating? Was it a personal victory or a big impact on everyone around them? She doesn't really see achievement in anything she does, it's all just things that happen and isn't-it-great-it-worked-out. She likes to think her mum would be proud of her though.

🟡 Yellow- What is something your OC wants but knows they can never have? How does it feel to never get this specific desire? All Vesna ever wanted was to be a wizard, to learn and use the knowledge she craves. As it turned out, sorcerer was her lot and as much as she is a walking encyclopedia of schools and technique and history, she just cannot do anything other than what just naturally happens. She was allowed to stay in school and lurk in the library and turned in top of the class theoretical essays, but she knew she was judged for not being good enough, from the stifled mockery of her classmates and the well-meaning apologies of the professors asking her to sit out practical lessons. It's never left her as an adult, and the imposter syndrome hit tenfold the minute Gale confessed his ex was the literal goddess of magic. She may be perfectly exceptional to quite literally everyone, but in her head she will never be worthy enough to call herself a mage because of all the things she can't do. Of course, this insecurity would never be voiced because then everyone would know and be whispering that she's a faking faker who fakes her competence and should get 200 years dungeon. 🔵 Blue- How would your OC spend a single day of interrupted peace? Where would they go or who would they be with? At her home- the little stone cottage left to her by her uncle with the yellow front door. She'd start in the garden, watering the herbs and talking to the bees in the hive, picking a few flowers to press later. Maybe take a bath afterward, put on a plush bathrobe, make an enormous pot of tea, and then settle in the giant velvet chair in the corner of the living room with several books and a couple of pastries, leaving the window open to blow the seabreeze though the climbing honeysuckle growing up the side of the house. The only acceptable company is her familiar (a white python named Marigold), and maybe Gale, but only if he makes dinner and reads silently in another room.

[fumikomiyasaki]

[ NECK ] : sender brings a hand up and rests it on the back of the receiver's neck, pulling them in for a kiss.

Jesh & Carol

things done while kissing

It was another day where she kept the act up that she would date Tarak to keep cover... this whole situation led her to spend much more time at Savanaclaw than usual and often als chat with the other of the Trio Terry a lot.

And so the three had a study session together in the library... mainly Terry needed the tutoring while Tarak most of the time just texted Emma over his phone... her eyes were so focused on the paper and what was written that she didn’t know someone else lurked watching the three. Eventually some chats some laughs and lots of work to be finished she parted ways with the two... on her way out however as Terry made her some compliments and thanked her for the help... her walk to her dorm was stopped... as she felt some grab her by the arm. Adjusting to the situation she noticed Jesh who pulled her away to one of the closet rooms.

“J-jesh, what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t help but miss you... I needed some dose of your smell... you just make me a little addicted to you.”

She noticed him nuzzling her neck and sighed.

“T-this can’t be the o-only reason right... also if you have the uniform on you could have greeted your two friends.... given I did hang out with them.”

“Sharp... I just wanted to know how they behave around you when I am not there... “

“Jesh, are you- “

Before she could say anything he covered her mouth and smirked.

“Today you ask too many questions, Apples, let me get what I came here for.”

He sat down with her on his lap and signaled her to get closer. With a firm nod she leaned forward as he put his hand at the back of her neck to pull her very close into his kiss...it was surprising that he was less wild and more tender with this kiss... catching her off guard and making her heart race, however the lick over her cheek at the end snapped her back to remember her he was still the same.

“Say Apples, how much time do you have?”

“Sadly... not that much... as much as I would love to stay in your embrace or... take this further.”

He scratched his head and then picked her back up for another kiss.

“Fine but... then once your day is over, come to the mansion quickly. I want to claim you mine again.”

Her face stayed tomato red as she adjusted her glasses and pushed her hair out of her face.

“Its a promise... you know you make me keep coming back to you.”

Her kiss back at him was far more softer as she planted one on his cheek and scratched his ears before leaving the room... He looked after her a little but still how he watched Terry behave with her before he was sceptical... best keep an eye on this but not draw  suspicions. He sighed and went back to the mansion, preparing things for his Apple to come back at night.

_____________________________________________

[ridgemoor-blog]

A new, pragmatic Enterprise Architecture

(Originally posted on 20th July 2022)

I've worked in-and-around Enterprise Architect (EA) for 20 years, seeing it advance in many ways.

Like many of you, I have struggled getting value from traditional EA in which we build a polished "To Be" architecture looking 5 years out, then try to reach it via equally polished roadmaps.

Despite the ineluctable logical of that approach, I've never seen it work. And it's fairly easy to see why: This is a lot of work, so it takes time and effort from people inside and outside the EA team. No-one has spare cycles anymore, so this presents an immediate challenge.

Then there's the pace of change: Over the weeks or months that it typically takes to do this, the ground is shifting underneath us: Business priorities are changing fast, and the current architecture is morphing—meaning that the outputs start to be come invalid as soon as they emerge.

So last year I was fascinated to read Gerben Wierda's excellent book "Chess and the Art of Enterprise Architecture". In it, the author tackles head-on the problem of increasing pace of change. I don't want to spoil the plot, but he suggests that because the future is so uncertain, we should major on the current state and its limitations. Some of those limitations are pretty obvious, but others depend on where the business is heading—which we can explore by creating an active library of future business "scenarios" with associated implications and probabilities.

And this approach has been working well for us .... kind-of.

I like it a lot, but we had to adapt slightly. (Hopefully only in ways Mr. Wierda would approve of.)

So what needed tweaking? Just two things really:

First, since 2019, we've found the world so difficult to predict that even those future "scenarios" don't always serve us well. And second, the way we wrote scenarios left many infrastructural limitations lurking in the shadows.

So what's our new, adapted approach?

We'll follow Wierda's 'Chess' method as closely as we can—emphasising current state modelling & analysis.

We'll use scenarios where they work for us, but also shorten our time horizon to spend more time looking at 6-12 month business roadmaps, and providing supporting guidance (principles, patterns, reference architectures, supplier analysis, etc.) in the form of "vignettes"—just ahead of the solution work for each initiative—to allow each one a fast start and clear guide-rails.

Finally, we'll examine those infrastructure and shared services domains which don't come to life in business scenarios. Here, common sense and simple KPIs often reveal the need to simplify, de-duplicate, reuse and standardise. Where the case is strong enough, we'll commit those actions to our roadmaps too.

Although it's not rocket science, I haven't heard of many others taking this approach—so maybe we're pioneering just by taking the most practical approach we can find. It feels realistic to us, so we're very hopeful of success.

Any inputs welcome, and please do share related experiences of your own!

Disclaimer: These opinions are mine alone, so are not necessarily shared by my current employer or other organisation with which I'm connected.

[fianna78]

Friend Making Advice:

First off, I'd recommend finding places you feel comfortable and that you enjoy. Libraries, cafes, that one corner seat, specific classrooms, lurking corners, the like. Other people seek out those places too, and you're bound to run into one eventually. Those people will be easier to befriend because they're like you. Pay attention to the people in corners who shy away from others. (Obviously not in a stalker like creepy way- merely notice their existence and try to determine whether or not they seem like someone you'd want to befriend. Noticing people around you is a necessary first step to making friends, following people around and deeply observing them is not.)

Those of you with anxiety- what are the outside signs that you show of it? What things do you do that showcase your want for attention or desire to interact that go ignored? Start looking for others who show the same signs, the same actions. And when you find them? Try what would make you comfortable if your roles were reversed. If that doesn't work, apologize if needed, and don't beat yourself up. At least you tried to include them, most people don't.

Once you've noticed people who seem like ones you would like to befriend- ask. As simple as that. It can be a "Would you mind if we had a conversation?"(although that particular phrasing will get you some weird looks) or a "Would you mind trying to be friends?". In my experience, asking honestly what you want, followed by a brief reasoning works the best. (For reasoning things such as- a common interest pins, stickers, book they have, simply expressing a desire for more friends, or saying the person in question seemed cool.) A small compliment often helps as well, either by flustering the person or creating small good will towards you.

A lot of people adore small gifts. Who wouldn't want free candy? Or a cool little trinket? Or some homemade cookies? I'm never above small bribes, and why should I be? If it's something that makes others happy, provide it if you are able. This also makes people more well disposed towards you.

Additional advice: If you think you've done something wrong, ask. Ask for reasons for things, communicate. Do not ask for clarification on everything though. No one enjoys having to constantly explain themselves and a part of having any relationship is trusting the other person too. Constantly being doubted can get tiring. It's good to ask and want clarification, I would say the line falls with asking about everything meaning: 3 conversations at least (besides the first getting to know the person) between doubting all their goodwill, and believing the other person when they say it's okay. This doesn't apply to everyone, I'm aware of that, but I am including as a very mild warning.

Clubs and common interests help form friends as well. Do things you enjoy with other people, share your passions. Others reciprocate, and have the same interests. A necessity with this method is talking to the others involved and participating. Of course, don't take on more than you can handle, but you need to have interactions with others in order to befriend them.

A short piece on keeping friends: friends and friend groups drift apart, it's just what happens. The best way I know of to keep them together is regular scheduled activities. Rec sports, DND, book clubs, game nights, regular get togethers- anything that causes the group to come together on a regular scheduled basis tends to keep the group together for far longer.

Short version: Follow common interests, find loners who are safe, talk to people, honestly tell them what sort of friendship you want with them and ask for it, follow up with others, plan events with others. Remember, there are so many lonely people in the world, and there are people similar to you.

Hello Mr Gaiman just wanted to say I find it marvelous how every time someone asks you if you've heard of a certain person, be it an author or an actor or whatever, and somehow you don't only know of them but you know the person in real life ams call them your friend always gives me a little giggle! and as someone who's very shy and finds it very hard to make and keep friendships, do you have any tips on how to make more friends?

Go to places where the people are. Not the famous ones, but the ones who will be famous thirty years from now. And hang out with them.