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enthusiasticharry · 5 months ago

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the one where YN is no longer the governess to Harry's children, but she is his wife (part 2)

READ PART 1 HERE

author's note: part two of governess!yn (who is still my lil angel baby I cannot lie!) this took slightly longer than anticipated to get to you but i hope you will be happy with the final result! pls let me know what you think, and if there's anything else you'd like to see of these two (i'm certainly not ready to let them go just yet!)

word count: 14.1k of confusion, a lack of communication, friends to lovers, a meddling modiste who we all love, smut, pregnancy.

WARNINGS: discussion of death during childbirth, struggles with infertility (you have been warned)

let me know what you think of edelweiss here! mwah <3

YEAR FIVE

YN’s life had changed in ways that she never could have expected when she became a wife.

YN had never had an example of what a good marriage looked like growing up, and whilst she had worked for couples in the past – nothing could prepare her for the reality. The fact that her life had changed drastically from zero to one hundred within a few days was something that nobody could have prepared her for. It had been a true shift in the motion of her life, and even though it pained her to say – she did not know whether or not this was a welcome addition to her life.

Their wedding day had been a year ago. It took place in early June, which seemed very apt to their relationship. The first time that YN had joined Harry and the children for meals had been in June, and the summer held a very special place in their friendship – relationship? In all honesty, she did not know whether or not their marriage at this point was one of convenience or one that truly meant that something was between them.

As YN did not have a mother to talk her through life as a married woman, she was thankful for the information that she had managed to retain on her own in her life. Miss Francis had sat her down the day before her wedding and attempted to explain what a wedding night included, but YN had put a stop to that conversation immediately and tried to continue to assure the older woman that she knew what was to happen.

Even though YN knew what was to occur on the wedding night, it did not necessarily mean that the act would occur on the said night.

Harry had never attempted to initiate anything of an intimate context between the two of them. The last and only time that they had ever kissed had been on their wedding day, a necessity to ensure that their marriage was fulfilled. Even once they had returned home, she had received no advancements from Harry at all – and had concluded pretty quickly that maybe he did not wish to share this with her. YN knew that this was not completely shocking, seeing as though she was Harry’s second wife, and he had already experienced this before.

There was also a part of her that knew that men had needs. She had come to this conclusion pretty quickly after the husband at the other house she worked at left every night without fail to meet with his mistress (or mistresses, as YN had no idea about the fine details) and yet she could state with full confidence that Harry had never done so. She knew this with such confidence because they spent every evening together (with a considerable amount of space between the two of them obviously) before they retired to bed.

YN would be lying if she said that she had hoped that her marriage to Harry would offer some clarification on what it was she was feeling. She had spent so long denying her wish for marriage, and she thought that once that wish had been fulfilled everything would be put into some sort of perspective for her. Instead, it had confused and worried her more than it had before. The overwhelming, thought-provoking idea that ran through her head most days was that Harry had married YN just to appease her, to be a good friend and that was it. It made her think that Harry (no matter how many times he verbally denied it to her) did not wish for this.

It was not as though Harry required an heir to his estate – he already had one. That normally looming requirement of marriage was gone for him. YN was three and thirty now, and that could offer little in security as to whether she could have children, and with that gone she could not understand why Harry wanted to marry her. If anything, the only reason a man in Harry’s standing would marry was to ease a loneliness he had.

At first, Noah and Honorah had been confused as to why YN was no longer their governess, and instead their mother. YN had assured both of the children immediately that she could never take away their mother from them, and if they wished to continue to call her Miss YN, they could do so without any worries at all. Noah, who stood at ten when they married had huffed and refused to speak to his father or YN for the first few weeks (something that was inherently a trait of Harry’s, but YN would never outwardly tell him that). Norah, however, had only been seven at the time and saw the whole spectacle as something so exciting and had welcomed the change with open arms. YN assumed that since she had never met her mother, YN had been the closest thing to one for her – and she assumed that would be something difficult for both Harry and Noah to accept.

Even though these questions of intimacy usually loomed in the back of YN’s mind most days, along with questions of how the children were faring with the change. But, thankfully, her ole had changed within the household, and she now had duties as Mrs Styles that often took her attention throughout most of the day. The most prevalent job that took up most of her time now involved the children, and more specifically – finding a new governess for them.

To the blind eye, the task on the surface seemed so simple – but in reality, it was not. In the past year, the children (predominantly Noah) had managed to run four governesses out of the door – with the longest of them lasting two and a half weeks.

That was how YN had found herself now – sitting in the drawing room with the fifth governess she had hired who had lasted all of three days.

“… I am sorry, Mrs Styles, but they are terrors. The little boy placed a frog not only on my chair but in every drawer of my desk! And the little girl, well, she listens to everything the boy says and responds to all of my questions by ribbiting like a frog! They are completely unteachable!” Miss Morris exclaims, and YN has to physically refrain herself from rolling her eyes.

“And yet I managed to do it for four years,” YN mumbled quietly whilst running her finger across her eyebrow.

Miss Morris leant forward slightly in her seat, turning her ear towards YN, “Sorry, what was that Mrs Styles?”

“Nothing,” YN shook her head, offering a small smile to Miss Morris, “I do just have to remind you, Miss Morris, that they are children. They are not going to be easy to work with. Mr Styles has raised gorgeous, inquisitive and at times mischievous children – but they are no worse than any you may find with another family.”

Miss Morris shook her head, rather violently at that, “You are only saying such as they are your children – you see them through rose-tinted glasses. They are nothing but terrors, unteachable terrors!”

YN sighed before standing up, nodding at Miss Morris to do the same, “Very well then, Miss Morris. If you had not already claimed that you could not teach the children, you would lose your employment just by calling them terrors. You may have the night to arrange your leave, but you shall not interact with the children.”

Miss Morris opened her mouth as though she was to speak but YN shook her head.

“I would not say anything else if I were you,” YN spoke with a nod.

Miss Morris took one last look at YN, nodded, and turned to leave the room. It was not until YN knew that she was in the all-clear that she sighed and dropped back down on the settee again, exhaling a breath that she did not know she had been holding.

The list of once four failed governesses had now turned to five. Somewhere deep down YN knew this would be the case. It was not that she was necessarily full of herself, but more so that she knew she was the best of the best in terms of governesses. No matter who she presented in front of the children, and whether or not they were good governesses or not – they would never be able to help the children in the way that she did. That was the dilemma that YN found herself in day after day.

The sound of footsteps walking towards the room, and subsequently entering knocked YN right out of her daydream, or potentially it was a crisis – she would never know.

“I think Miss Morris just grunted at me,” Harry spoke, pointing back at the door with a confused look on his face.

YN sighed once more, running a hand across her face, “She can grunt all she wants, Harry! She is out of this house by morning.”

“Oh,” Harry sighed, dropping down on the settee across from her, “She quit?”

YN shrugged her shoulders slightly, “And I fired her. She dared to call the children terrors. Terrors, Harry! I was a moment away from doing something so regrettable I probably would have been sent away!”

Harry laughed with a slight shake of his head, “I told you there was no use in trying to find a new governess.”

“The children still need to be taught, Harry,” YN pointed out, as though she was stating the obvious.

“And you can do it,” Harry shrugged, as though he was the one stating the most obvious thing in the world, “I know that is not necessarily the way that things are done, but when have we ever done things that way?”

A smile taunted on YN’s face, “You would not mind? Having a wife that does not follow the correct rules of society?”

Harry just laughed, “If I cared about the correct rules in society then you would not be my wife.”

YN finally smiled and nodded her head, “I will teach them – God knows that nobody will ever be as good as me.”

“That is certainly more like it,” Harry nodded his head and stood up, “I did have something to tell you before Miss Morris grunted at me. I am going out tonight, a friend of mine is back from a trip abroad. We are meeting at the tavern for a few drinks.”

“Oh,” YN’s heart pummelled to the pit of her stomach, “The tavern?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, “Yes. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” YN assured quickly, trying her best to not make the twist in her stomach obvious to Harry, “I hope you have a lovely time.”

Harry nodded, the confused look returning to his features one last time before he offered her another smile and left the room. YN had seen the tavern but had never been inside. She had only ever seen it on her trips into the village. She also knew of its reputation, although she would not say that she wanted to. Those back rooms, and what they held were the thing that concerned her, she supposed.

More than anything, it turned her stomach so much she was unsure how she did not throw up.

No matter how much she tried, YN could not sleep a wink.

The children had gone to bed hours ago, and surprisingly (to YN’s relief) without any stress. Her body, however, could not accept that relief due to how stressed she was currently feeling.

YN had tried counting sheep, and she had tried running through everything she had planned for tomorrow in her head, but she just could not shake the thoughts out of her head.

She could not shake the thoughts out of her head of everything that Harry was getting up to during his visit to the tavern.

Before, when YN knew that Harry was inside the four walls of this house and could therefore not be doing the things that YN was imagining in her head – there was no cause for her to worry. It was all fine before because she knew that whilst he was not being intimate with her, he was not with anyone else.

YN could not say that now because she did not know if it was true.

It was something that the two of them never spoke about – they never mentioned it. They both danced around the subject as though it was an open flame, neither one of them attempting to get closer to it. YN was truly regretting that now. At least if they had the conversation, if she had forced them to discuss this then she would have some peace of mind at least. Then again, she cannot imagine knowing he was doing such things would offer her any piece of mind.

After failing to succumb to sleep, YN had ended up wrapping herself in a blanket in Harry’s study, one of his books pressed firmly in her hand. She would say that she was reading it, but she had read the last sentence around twenty times and still not managed to finish it.

Then the door opened.

Harry’s head was lulled forward, his posture slightly hunched and his movements sporadic. He was drunk. Without even thinking about it, her eyes danced around his body attempting to see if there were any creases in his clothes that had not been there before he left.

There was not, and for the first time that entire evening her heart slowed down to a normal pace.

“I saw the light,” He offered her a boyish grin, “I wondered who was sneaking around at this time – I should have known it was you.”

YN sighed in relief, dropping the book closed in her lap, “You are drunk.”

Harry nodded, not even trying to attempt to hide it. His body stumbled towards the other end of the settee from where she was. YN lifted her hand to her head when she watched him nearly fall off, but he caught himself thankfully before there was any need for her to intervene.

“Have I ever told you that you just might be the smartest person I have ever known?” He raised his eyebrow at her, a teasing look on his face.

YN gasped, immediately picking up the book in her lap to smack him on the shoulder with, “I should have known you were such a tease whilst drunk.”

Harry began to laugh, and no matter how much YN tried to resist it she could not help but join in. YN thought that she had seen all the sides to Harry, and yet there were ones that she was learning about every day.

“How was reuniting with your friend?” YN asked, watching as his head lulled back against the settee, dropping to the side slightly so that he was looking at her, “I suppose that is possibly a silly question given the state you are currently in.”

Harry nodded his head, “It was very enjoyable, although I suppose his constant discussion of beaches across the world did need to be taken hand in hand with a drink the further into the night we were.”

YN laughed, “I cannot ever imagine you not being interested in a conversation, Harry.”

He shook his head, leaning towards her slightly, “I was interested! The first time! It was just my luck that every time William had a drink it was as though his memory was wiped and he did not know he had already told me all of it before!”

YN did end up in a fit of laughter at his words. There was an ounce or so of further relief that she felt in that laugh, knowing that the stress she had found herself in was for no reason. It was nice to know that he had not withheld the truth from her – even though she was damning herself for even thinking that he would lie to her.

“It sounds as though you had quite the eventful night, then,” YN leant forward to place the book on the table in front of them before standing up, “Are you able to get yourself to your bedchamber, or are you staying here for the night?”

Harry grunted slightly, his head rolling to the side slightly to look out of the window behind him.

“What was that?” YN pressed, inching a step closer towards him, “You will have to use your words, Harry, I do not speak in grunt.”

“I do not wish to go to bed,” Harry mumbled with a shake of his head, “I do not wish to go to bed because the bed will be cold, and empty and you will be down the hall.”

YN’s lips parted slightly in shock. She knew that Harry was drunk, and therefore his inhibitions were lowered but there must have still been an aspect to it that was the truth. There was a slight part of her that was slightly annoyed by his words. She was annoyed that it had taken him a year into their marriage, on a night when he was drunk to say anything of this sort to her.

YN shook her head, “Harry, you must go to bed and sleep this off.”

“No, we do not have to go to bed,” He reached out to grab her hands, pulling her closer to him, “We can stay here, and we can talk, and you can sit next to me.”

“We cannot,” YN shook her head, unable to stop the pull he had on her, “We must sleep, otherwise we will not get anything done tomorrow.”

“That is fine, YN, we can have a day.” Harry nodded his head, “We could… we could just… we could be together tonight and tomorrow, and it would not matter.”

YN sighs, and she attempts to take a step backwards, but Harry instead wraps his arm around her waist. He rests his head against her stomach, and she can feel the heat of his skin through the thin material of her nightgown. The feeling itself was like pinpricks across the expanse of her skin.

YN did not know what to do – she did not know what to think. Instead of trying to pull away from him (which was impossible due to how tightly he had wrapped himself around her), and against her better judgment – she gave in to him. This was the closest that they had physically been to each other since their wedding day, and she knew it was wrong but there was a part of her that did not want this to end just yet.

Instead of pulling away, her fingers found their way through his hair until they were resting in the curls at the nape of his neck.

He sighed against her stomach, causing heat to rush over her skin that she had never experienced in her life. If this is what she was missing out on, she was cursing herself for not forcing them to have a conversation. She supposed that Harry’s behaviour tonight had made it so they had no choice in the matter.

“Harry,” YN whispered, bringing her hands from the nape of his neck towards his cheeks so that she could pull his face away from her and look at him, “Let us go to bed.”

“No,” He shook his head again, “I told you; I do not want to.”

“Harry,” YN sighed, running her finger across the skin of his cheekbone, “You are not listening to me – let us go to bed.”

When YN woke up the next morning, everything felt different.

This was still her room. There were still her curtains hanging above the windows, her bed she was laid upon and still her books that rested upon every shelf in the room – but things were different.

YN often woke up when the light started to seep through the crack in her curtains, and today was no different. This time, however, she was not alone in doing so.

Her entire body felt warm. There was an excess of heat covering her from behind, an arm wrapped so tightly around her waist making it so even if she wanted to escape – there was no way in which she would be able to. Harry’s head pressed firmly into her neck, his steady breathing causing goosebumps to cover her entire body.

Last night, after Harry had finally registered the words that YN was saying – he had allowed her to direct him to her bedchamber. She had tried not to, but she had been unable to redirect her eyes when he had stripped off his jacket, shirt, and trousers before climbing into her bed. They did not talk, only looked at one another. They had settled into bed for the first time since their wedding day a year ago together, without a single conversation as to why between them. Harry had pulled YN’s body close to his, and they had fallen asleep – and that was it.

YN knew that it was early in the morning, and Harry would probably need a few more hours or so to sleep off the remnants of last night – but there was no way that YN would manage to fall back asleep. YN tried to pull Harry’s arm off of her, but he grunted slightly, and his arm felt even tighter than it had done before.

YN sighed, unable to do anything but move slightly so that she was on her back and could face Harry. There was something so boyish about his features when he was asleep. It was as though all the stress of being an adult left him the second he was asleep, and YN felt a sort of privilege that she was able to witness him in this state.

It was this that caused YN to lift her hand and run her finger along the soft skin of his cheek – just in the way that she had done last night. Her body jumped slightly in his arms when his eyes opened. This was, in fact, the closest she had ever been to him – and the fact that she could see those green eyes of his looking so closely caused her stomach to somersault.

“It is too early,” He whispered hoarsely to her, “Go back to sleep.”

YN chuckled slightly, her fingers slipping back through his hair, “The children will be awake soon.”

“And we have a staff willing and ready to help with them,” He mumbled, dropping his head further into her neck, “Go back to sleep.”

YN lightly shook her head again, “Even if I tried, I highly doubt it would be possible. Even so, the children have missed out on so much learning these last few months – and I am excited to get them back into a classroom.”

“Another day is not going to harm them,” YN could feel Harry’s lips moving against her neck as he spoke, and then they closed, and he left the lightest of kisses on her skin.

“Harry…” YN whispered, her head pulling away from his slightly so that she could look into his eyes, “What are you doing?”

Harry sighed, his head lulling backwards so that he was laid on his back, just as she was. Whilst they needed to have this conversation, there was a part of her that wondered whether or not being laid in her bed, with Harry possibly having what YN would deem as a slightly delicate condition was the best place for this.

“I…” Harry sighed, lifting his hand to his forehead, “I do not know.”

YN’s breath caught slightly in her throat, “You do not know?”

“I do know, but I do not want to offend or upset you,” Harry sighs, turning his head so that he is looking at her again.

YN sighed, reaching out to grab Harry’s hand, “Whatever it is, you must tell me, Harry. I am your wife; you can tell me anything.”

Harry lifted their joint hands to his lips so that he could place a kiss on the back of her hand, “I understand that when we married, we did so for ease. It was the best thing for us both at that time, and I understand that you may not feel the same but…”

His words stopped, and his eyes dropped down to her lips, lingering for just a moment before they bounced back up to her eyes.

“I may not feel the same how, Harry?”

Harry hesitated for a second, “That I feel as though my affections for you have grown.”

“Harry…” YN whispered, shaking her head lightly, “You cannot… You cannot say such words to me if you do not mean it…”

“I do,” Harry nodded, “I do mean it. I have meant it for a while now, but I never dared to say so. It seemed that all I needed was some liquid courage, and I could not stop myself.”

YN chuckled, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his, “You should not have been scared to speak your mind, Harry.”

“What?” He whispered.

“You should not have been scared to speak your mind because then you would have found out that I feel the same.”

Harry’s face broke out into a smile, and it was quickly after that YN’s followed. He lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair away from her face. It was then that her heart rate began to speed up – when his face started itching closer to hers. Just as she thought that Harry was going to place his lips against hers, the door to YN’s room burst open.

YN pulled her body away from Harry’s, lifting slightly to see Honorah bouncing towards them – still in her nightgown and having obviously just woken up.

“What is it, Norah?” YN smiled at the little girl, watching as she pulled herself up onto YN’s bed.

“I went to Papa’s room, but he was not there, so I came here to find you and I found Papa too!” The little girl smiled, crawling up the bed so that she could drop down between YN and Harry at the top.

“You found us,” Harry mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of his little girl’s head as she cuddled up to him, “How did you sleep?”

Honorah nodded her head, “Very well. I dreamt of horses, and I have decided I quite like them.”

YN chuckled, “That sounds lovely, Norah. We shall have to take you to the stables at some point to visit the horses.”

“Really?” Her entire face broke out into a beaming smile, and she began to tell her father all about the horse in her dream.

As much as it had pained her to admit it before, this is exactly what YN had imagined mornings being married to Harry would be like. Lazing in bed with him, before being interrupted by the children and forcing them to begin their day sounding like complete and utter bliss. YN’s could not have been fuller than it was right now, but then she slowly realised that was not the case when the final part of the puzzle walked through the door.

“Good morning, Noah,” YN smiled, holding her hand out to the boy, “Norah was just telling us about her dream, do you wish to join us?”

The boy seemed to hesitate for a second before nodding, reaching out to grab YN’s hand and make his way onto the bed.

“Only for a little while, though,” He nodded with a shrug, “I am ready to break my fast.”

YN laughed, watching as Noah joined Harry and Norah in their conversation. To YN, it was at this moment that she truly felt as though she was a wife. That she was Harry’s wife.

YEAR SIX

Just as YN thought that one part of the puzzle that was her life had been laid to rest, another part reared its head to her.

YN wished for children.

Just as it was with the idea of marriage, in the past, she had been fine with pushing that thought out of her head and coming to terms with the fact that it was just not her fate. When she thought she was to spend her days as nothing more than a governess, the mere thought of children of her own was laughable.

Now that she was a wife, it was no longer laughable – and she wanted more.

YN knew how children were conceived, and she knew that with the amount that YN and Harry had been doing that act, there was a chance that she could be pregnant, and yet (just as it had been before) neither one spoke of it. YN was beginning to be infuriated by it.

“You know,” Harry spoke from the side of her as they lay in his bed, “To read a book, you have to look at the words on the page.”

YN had not even noticed that she had stopped reading the book she had in her hand and instead was staring above the words and at the rest of the room. YN sighed and closed the book, dropping it down with a slight thud on the bedside table next to her.

“I guess I am just not in the mood to read,” YN sighed, slipping down so that her head was on the pillow, and she could bring the covers up and over her body.

“That is not like you,” Harry turned to face her, a slight smirk settling over his features, “Are you in the mood for something else?”

YN rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, “Of course you would think that. No, Harry, I am just not in the mood to read.”

“Since when can a book not capture your attention?” He reached over and placed a finger upon her cheek, lighting and tapping the skin so she would turn and face him, “Some may say I can read you like a book… what is wrong?”

YN turned upon her side, slipping her arm underneath her head as she stared at Harry, those eyes of his offering her an ounce of comfort at a time in which her mind was filled with different thoughts.

“Do you ever… do you ever think about having another child? With me?”

Harry went silent, his eyes squinting slightly before he turned away from YN. Her heart dropped and the comfort that had been there immediately disappeared the second that his eyes were not on her.

“I… I do not know,” Harry spoke after a second or so.

YN’s breath caught slightly, “You do not know?”

“I do not know,” Harry slightly tipped his head at her, “I have not ever thought about it.”

YN turned once more so that she was facing the ceiling, not wanting his face to be in her eyeline anymore. Whilst she had spent days, maybe even weeks or possibly months thinking upon this topic, imagining all of the possibilities of how this conversation would take place – she had never allowed herself to think upon this as one of them.

She supposed in part that was her fault – for allowing her thoughts to run away with her without any true evidence.

“I am sorry, I should not have brought the topic up,” YN spoke after a few minutes or so, before deciding that it was probably time to leave it altogether. She quickly pulled the covers off her, “I shall retire to my room tonight, I think.”

“No,” Harry reached to grab her hand before she could stand up, “You do not have to do that.”

YN shook her head and pulled her hand out of his, “I just wish for a moment alone.”

YN stood up, reaching over for her gown to wrap around her body. She turned and saw Harry still lying in bed, this time with his hand over his face. It did not seem as though he was going to say anything, so she took that as her cue to leave the room.

Just as YN was about to reach for the door handle, Harry stopped her, “I cannot see you go through that.”

YN stopped her movements and turned to face him, “What?”

“I have witnessed first-hand what pregnancy can do to a woman,” Harry sat up, pulling the covers off his body, and moving towards the edge of the bed, “I cannot… I will not let you go through that.”

It all made sense to her now. The reason Harry had never even thought about it. She was ashamed of herself that she had not even thought of it. He had lost his first wife during childbirth, and he was afraid of the same for her.

“Harry…” YN took a step closer to him, watching as his slightly glassy eyes met hers.

“I know that you love the children, you truly do,” Harry spoke, “Are they not enough?”

YN was slightly taken aback by that question, and in turn, she ended up taking a step away from him, “I cannot believe you would say such a thing.”

Harry sighed, his head dropping forward slightly as he rested his hands upon his knees, “I am only saying what is the truth.”

“No, what you are saying is an excuse – what you are saying is nothing more than offensive,” YN shook her head, “I understand your worries, Harry, I truly do but what I cannot understand is you ever saying that Noah and Honorah are not enough for me!”

Harry sighed, his eyes failing to meet hers, “I apologise, YN, I should have never said such things.”

“No,” YN quickly retorted, “You should not have said such things, and yet you have! I only wished to discuss the topic with you Harry and I would never do a thing that you do not wish to do.”

Harry nodded, finally meeting her eyes again, “I understand, I apologise again.”

“We share the love of two beautiful children, Harry,” YN sighed, unable to comprehend why she was even having to explain the love she held for the children, “I apologise for wanting to just share our love in a child of our own.”

Harry gasped, and YN was shocked herself that those words had left her lips. Whilst YN had felt that feeling, love, for Harry for longer than she could put a timeline on – they had never said those words. If the conversation surrounding children had not caused animosity between the two of them, she worried if he did not return the favour that this certainly would. It was their cycle, one that no matter how much they attempted to change – YN feared they never would.

Harry did not say anything, and instead stood up and walked towards her. YN worried as to what it could be that he would say to her, or if he would indeed just walk past her altogether. Instead, he reached for her hands.

“Of course, I wish that we could share… share our love with a child but…” Harry shook his head, “I cannot lose you, YN. I love you too much. I need you too much. I fear, well, I would not be able to go on if anything were to happen to you.”

YN just sighed, taking a step forward to wrap her arms around his waist, her head falling upon his bare chest, “You will not lose me, Harry.”

“You do not know that,” He muttered against her hairline, “You cannot promise me that.”

“I know I cannot,” YN pulled away, looking up at those green eyes of his, “But… your fear, Harry, and whilst I am not diminishing it could also not be the case.”

Harry sighed, “I love you so much, YN.”

“Then, please,” YN rested her hand upon his cheek, “Think about it.”

Harry leaned down, placing the lightest of kisses upon her lips, “For you… I will.”

After quite a struggle, YN had just managed to get the children down and in bed, both of them deciding today was the day that they did not need a bedtime – and that they were both, in fact, too grown up for a bedtime.

Once she had finally managed to wrangle them into their beds, she wanted nothing more than to drop into bed with her husband and sleep the day off. The only problem was when she walked into their bedchamber – he was nowhere to be found. She set off throughout the house, looking at all of the different spots she usually found him in. It was not until she spotted a light coming from underneath the door to his study that a small smile crossed her face.

The door was slightly ajar, almost as though he had left it slightly open in hopes that she would find him. She stepped into the room and saw him sitting at his desk, with his books open on the desk in front of him. She knew that he had to be busy to still be working.

Harry had his eyes down, resting his head against his hands. He seemed stressed. YN leaned against the door, a small smile crossing her lips as she watched him.

“If you continue to furrow your eyebrows like that they will stay that way,” YN joked, watching as his eyes lifted to her.

YN watched as the furrow in his eyebrow ceased, and his chest emptied the air that he had been holding in. It was as though all of the stress in his body had dissipated the second that he saw him in the room. She had not seen him all day, and whilst she had missed him – it was evident just by the look on his face now that he had missed her too.

“Forever jesting,” Harry smiled, leaning back in his chair.

YN shrugged, “You married me for a reason.”

“That I did,” Harry sighed. He held his hands out, beckoning her to come closer to him. YN walked towards him, placing her hands in his and accepting his invitation to sit on his lap, “How are the children?”

YN groaned, dropping her head back slightly, “They have decided that they do not need a bedtime anymore. That they are old enough to go to bed whenever they decide it is time.”

Harry’s body shook with laughter slightly, “I fear the older Noah gets, the more difficult he will become.”

“It certainly seems that way,” YN smiled, her fingers threading through those curls at the nape of his neck, “Are you coming to bed anytime soon?”

Harry sighed, pursing his lips slightly, “I can certainly be persuaded to come to bed.”

YN rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Harry’s words, “I should have known that was going to be your motive.”

Harry’s hands found their place on YN’s waist, his thumb itching ever so closer to the swell of her breast, “I do not know what you mean.”

“You have that glint in your eyes,” YN noted, pulling back from him slightly, “The one you have when you are scheming something.”

“No schemes here,” Harry shook his head, holding his arms up in surrender, “It is just if I am not mistaken… the best time of the month.”

YN could not help the pull of her cheeks that his words caused. It was one thing that YN had noticed very quickly about Harry, even more so when their relationship had turned into what it is now – he remembered everything. Everything that YN told him that was of some sort of importance, he remembered. Even if it was not of much importance, just a tiny, small thing that YN had mentioned in passing, he remembered. It was probably one of the things that YN found the most endearing about Harry.

When YN and Harry had their conversation about children, it had taken him a few weeks to come to terms with her request. She had left him to think about it and assured her that if anything were to happen, he would be prepared. He would make sure the greatest doctors were at their beck and call the second that anything seemed wrong, and he would ensure her safety at every point. With these in mind, he had decided to oblige her request.

But, when YN saw Harry’s smug expression there was a part of her that knew that at this point, he had no qualms with what she had asked.

“Well, then,” YN smiled, “Since it is the best time of the month, shall we retire upstairs?”

“I was thinking that the best course of action was to shut the door,” YN bit her lip, attempting to suppress her smile but it was no use. She immediately clambered off his lap to shut the door to the room that they were in.

When YN turned back around from the door, Harry had moved so that he was leaning against the front of his desk. For a moment, she just stared at him. She was unable to control the wave of desire that rushed over her body just at the sight of him. It was crazy to believe that just over a year ago they had not slept in each other’s bed and that these feelings had not yet reached the surface. Now, YN could not sleep without Harry beside her.

YN attempted to not think of the past, and instead, she was to focus on the future.

YN took light steps towards him, not stopping until she was in between his open legs. It was then that he almost pounced on her. With such rigour, he dropped his lips down to hers so that their faces all but smashed together, but YN did not mind. Her hands grasped the lapels of his jacket, pulling him even closer to her if that was possible.

“YN,” Harry mumbled against her lips, wrapping his arms around her waist until they rested in the small of her back.

It was not long before their hands were pulling the clothes off their bodies piece by piece. Harry was especially skilled at unlacing a corset, something that made their recent penchant for these activities all the easier to complete. There was something about the comfortability with their movements, the ease, that YN had both longed for and never thought would be a possibility. It was now that they knew the ins and outs of each other, they knew what made each other tick more than anyone else in this world.

Their movements quickened in their speed, and Harry’s body fell back slightly. YN ignored the sound of the items that had once lined Harry’s desk falling to the floor. YN would be lying if she said that this had not happened once or twice in this room and that they did not know the logistics of it. She would be lying even more so if she said that they did not know the logistics of most of the rooms in the house.

Harry’s lips slipped from hers and across her cheek, placing light kisses until they reached her neck. Harry was completely, and utterly obsessed with her neck. He always put the most kisses on the skin between her neck and her collarbone, when they were in bed that was where his head was always placed. The one that excited YN the most was always when they were in public, and Harry pushed her hair off her neck. His fingertips would always linger there, and the touch was always ever so light that it would set her skin alight.

It was always tough work to get him off her neck once he was there, but a tug on the curls at the nape of his neck was always enough to pull him off her and elicit the lightest of moans from his lips. His hands moved down and came to rest at the seam of her chemise, pushing the lace up ever so slightly so that his fingers could rest on the skin of her thighs. His fingertips scratched her skin lightly, causing her to moan into his mouth.

YN pulled away from him slightly so that she could help him unfasten his trousers and pull them swiftly down his legs.

“Eager?” He mumbled against her lips again, his hands pushing her chemise up until they were resting upon her waist.

YN shook her head, “Not eager, just fed up with your constant teasing.”

Harry did not reply. Instead, he picked her up and switched their positions. She landed on the desk with a slight thud, eliciting a moan from her lips. Harry wasted no time in slipping his fingers underneath the thin strap of her chemise, allowing it to fall from her shoulder and expose her chest to him. As the material fell, Harry purposefully slowed his movements so that the soft material rubbed against her pert nipples. To her, it was truly as though he knew her exact strings to pull.

“You are teasing again,” YN mumbled, pulling away from him slightly in hopes that he would stop the teasing. She should have known better.

His hands grasped at her waist, his fingers setting her skin on fire. He pulled her towards the edge of the desk so that his lips could attach to her nipple. YN gasped, her back arching towards Harry’s body.

He pulled away, his chin resting on the exposed skin of her chest, “You knew what I was like when you married me.”

YN shook her head, wrapping her legs around his body to pull him closer to her, “Not in this capacity I did not.”

Harry laughed, placing a kiss on her skin once more before his lips caught her nipple again. His hands ran up the exposed skin of her thigh once more, pushing it all the way up to her waist until she was exposed to him. His eyes locked with hers again, the slight darkness in them causing a shiver to run across YN’s body and pool in the pit of her stomach.

His assault moved downwards until he was face to face with her. He gripped the skin of her thighs, pulling his legs upwards until they were resting upon his shoulders. She bit her lip in an attempt to conceal the illicit sounds that threatened to escape them. There was nothing that could have helped her when his head lurched forward, his mouth attaching to her immediately.

“God, Harry…” Her body fell backwards, her chest rising up and down at a record speed as he continued his movements.

The mix of continuous flicks of his tongue against her clit, mixed with the suction his lips provided brought her closer and closer to the edge within minutes. YN also wondered if there was a part to play in that in how much she had thought about this throughout the day. It was as though she had been shown something, and now her entire thoughts were consumed by it day by day.

With each second she could feel herself getting closer, and her hands found themselves attached to his hair. Her breathing quickened, and her chest rose and fell at an exasperated rate.

Then it stopped.

YN could not help the moan that passed her lips at the loss of contact, tears brimming against her waterline. She watched as Harry wasted no time in lifting his body back up to her, his lips dropping against hers once more.

“You are cruel,” She mumbled against his lips, feeling the smirk that crossed his features, “You are cruel, and you are mean.”

“I am not cruel and mean,” He responded, his hand moving between them to pull himself out. He gave his cock a few strokes before lining himself up with her, “That is just not the purpose of the best time of the month, is it?”

“It could be, but you…” YN’s words were interrupted by Harry pushing himself into her. YN gasped, her nails digging into the skin of his exposed back, “Oh, god!”

The first time that they had sex was the night of the morning they had been interrupted. YN knew that if it was not for the children, it would have probably happened then. They had spent the entire day exchanging what can only be called longing and intoxicating looks at one another. In part, it felt like both pleasure and torture. YN had been slightly nervous, she would not lie, but Harry had made her feel like the most beautiful woman on this earth. He had not rushed her, he had made her feel comfortable the entire time and most importantly, he had reassured her time and time again that they were doing this together. That this was them showing their affection for each other, in a way that two people could.

All of their sex was not like this. More often than not it was sloppy, and it was rushed, and it was in the five minutes spare they had within the day when nobody from the estate or the children wanted them. If it was not rushed, it was often very slow and sleepy – but in a different remark still sloppy.

“Oh, Harry,” YN’s hands ran down his back towards the curve of his bum, where she pressed her hands against the flesh in hopes of pushing him deeper into her.

Harry groaned against her lips, “This is what you wanted, yes? You were wanting me to fill you up?”

“It was,” YN responded, gasping when he hit that particular spot inside of her that caused her to tighten around him. His hips never stopped their assault on her, and she did not want him to. The second that he slipped his hand between their bodies to rub his thumb against her clit, she was right back to where she had been minutes prior.

Harry’s head dropped into the nape of her neck, resting there whilst he continued to move his hips faster and faster against hers. YN had tried her best to match his pace, but she could not. It was as though she could not control her body when she was with him. He knew exactly what she needed, and he would be the one to get her there.

YN’s entire body went rigid, her mouth parting as a string of moans mixed with calls of Harry’s name left her lips as she orgasmed, Harry’s following just after hers. Their chest, pressed close to one another, were heaving in sync, their breaths ragged but smiles still dancing across both of their lips.

Harry pulled out of her gently and helped her clean herself up, pulling her chemise back on so it was not revealing her in such a promiscuous way. YN laughed, accepting a kiss from Harry when he offered her a hand to help her off the table.

“Do you think it worked this time?” YN asked, wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck.

“We can hope,” Harry nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “But we will not be disheartened if it has not, yes?”

“Yes,” YN nodded, saying the words as though she was trying to convince herself that they were true.

“Let us go to bed,” Harry nodded, reaching his hand out for her.

YN laughed, “We must dress first, imagine if we are to pass any of the staff in this state!”

“They have seen much worse. Now…” Harry dropped down, wrapping his arm around her legs and hoisted her up into his arms, “Let us go to bed… we can tidy in the morning.”

YN just laughed, allowing him to carry her to their room.

YN had been sitting on a blanket in the garden with Noah and Norah when it happened.

When she awoke that morning, she had certainly felt strange. YN had attempted to ignore it, to push the feeling so far down that it would not affect her day. There were things in life that YN could face head-on, with no worries about the consequences. This was something that she could not do. This broke her heart.

YN had smiled at the maid that was in the garden with them, giving her a look to instruct her to look after the children whilst she rushed inside.

She had stripped herself of her ruined clothes as quickly as she could, ordered a bath to be drawn and sunk into the water without a second thought.

They had tried and tried to conceive a child, but it seemed that no matter their efforts (which were frequent) it did not seem to stick. It was heartbreaking every time that this happened, and yet she could not control anything that happened. YN knew that she was older, but she had heard of women having children even older than her before. She just did not understand why nothing seemed to stick for her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. Harry walked in with a smile on his face, “Miss Harding told me you were in here. It is not like you to have a midday bath.”

YN looked at Harry and at those kind eyes that were staring into hers, and she broke down. The sobs that left her lips were loud, and they shook her entire body. He immediately rushed over to her, kneeling by the tub so that he could wrap his arms around body, trying to soothe the sobs that were wracking through her body.

It was at that point that he noticed her discarded clothes, and the stain upon them told him everything that he needed to know.

“Oh, YN…” Harry’s lips skimmed the top of her head, the realisation and seeing her in such pain stabbed at his chest also, “I am so sorry.”

YN shook her head, leaning against his shoulder, “There is no need for you to apologise, Harry. It is not your fault… I just… I am finding it more and more difficult to deal with the disappointment time and time again.”

Harry sighed, his lips placing a light kiss on her hairline before he pulled away, “Move forward, slightly.”

YN nodded, bringing her legs closer to her chest, and moving forward slightly, She watched as Harry stripped from his clothes, dropping them on a pile by the end of the tub and allowed his body to slip into the water behind her. YN immediately relaxed into Harry’s arms, the feeling of his arms around her body offering the comfort that she needed at that time.

“I do not wish to offend you with this, my love, but…” YN dropped her head back on his shoulder, placing her hands upon his that sat on the soft skin of his thighs, “Do you think that we should stop our endeavours?”

YN pulled away to look at him, “You wish to stop having sex with me?”

“No!” Harry’s eyes immediately widened, “No, God no. I do not wish for that, at all. I just mean that… YN I cannot see you go through this month by month. I just thought that we could, stop putting such a pressure on our actions.”

YN let out a sigh of relief and dropped back down next to him, “Oh… I suppose you may be right.”

“I thought you should know by now that it is often not the case that I am not,” Harry jested from behind her, his nose nudging her cheek.

“I think you are mistaken by that,” YN retorted, shaking her head, “I am more often the one that is right, and you know it.”

“So I do,” Harry lifted his hand from the water to tap her cheek, turning her head so that their lips were inches away from each other, “I just think that if we possibly put a little less pressure on ourselves, then you would hurt less.”

As much as YN would hate to admit it again, Harry’s word did hold some truth. Whilst Harry had never put any sort of pressure upon her, she was unable to say that she did not do the same for herself. It was more often than not she found herself worrying if it was her that was the cause of the problems. Harry had two beautiful children already, and yet the only difference between then and now was YN – and that therefore meant that she had to be the problem which was occurring.

“I think that is the best course of action,” YN nodded, dropping her head forward so that her forehead rested against his.

It was not long before he leant forward and placed his lips against hers. The kiss was soft, and light and the only word that YN could use to describe it was loving. It was as though no matter what mood YN found herself in or what was possibly going on in her head – the only thing that ever brought her out of such was him.

Harry’s hand lifted to rest against her cheek, resting against the soft skin and in part brushing all of the worry out of her body. It was a shock to her at what his touch did to her. She never, ever wanted it to end. She was the one to pull away first, placing her head against his shoulder again.

“We shall take the pressure off,” YN nodded, “And wait to see what happens.” “It will happen when the time is right,” Harry placed his head against hers, “And we should not worry ourselves until that time.”

YEAR SEVEN

From the last time that YN felt strange, this one was different.

The feeling itself was nothing that YN would say was significant – but it was there. She waited for the moment that her courses would come and prove to her that whatever she was feeling was just the prerequisite to that – and yet it never did.

YN tried not to worry herself, or to let her mind spiral but it was often difficult not to. It was as though there were some things that her mind just had to run free with. She did not tell Harry of her thoughts, as she did not want to worry him or to let him get his hopes up for something which could not be true just yet. That it could once again just be her mind playing tricks on her.

That was until, a month or so after her courses should have arrived that she started to feel waves of nausea race over her.

That was when her suspicions grew more into what she would deem to be facts. Her missed courses, the nausea, her constant state of fatigue and the fact that foods that she had once loved turned her stomach in ways that she could not express.

These feelings, which had been slight at first soon grew into something that she could not hide.

It was just a random Thursday that she had woken up and felt quite unwell, and whilst she had truly tried to get up and get herself ready for the day – she just could not.

The only way in which YN’s stomach did not churn uncontrollably was if she was laid down. That is how she found herself, on a lounger by the window in the drawing room. Her arm was covering her eyes, and she was focusing on nothing but her breathing – that was the only way in which to settle her stomach.

Even when she heard the door open, and Harry walked into the room – YN could not muster the energy to lift her arm and greet him. She could hear him talking to her, and yet her ears could not focus on the words that he was saying.

It was not until he dropped himself on the edge of the lounger she was laid on was it that she finally turned to greet him, but it was certainly not the greeting he was possibly expecting.

“Why do you smell like that?”

Harry chuckled, “Did you not hear me saying that I had just returned from my morning ride?”

“No,” YN shook her head, her features grimacing, “If I had, I would not be asking you why you smell like that.”

“It is nice to know that you listen to me,” Harry jested, leaning forward to place either one of his arms around her body. He leant forward in hopes that she would return the favour, and yet she did not. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away from her.

“You… The smell…” YN placed her hand over her mouth, pushing Harry out of the way so that she could reach the chamber pot she had left at the side of her on the lounger.

Harry dropped down next to her, pulling her hair back from around her face. He was confused, and even more so when he reached out to wrap his arm around her body and she pushed him away once again.

“Do not come near me,” She held her hand out, instructing him to stay where he was, “You smell horrid.”

“Are you ill?” Harry ignored her orders, “Do I need to fetch a doctor?”

YN shook her head, leaning back against the lounger, “That is not necessary.”

“YN, you must tell me if you are ill,” YN sighed at his words, her annoyance growing by the second, “I cannot bear to see you in pain.”

YN raised her hand to cover her eyes once more, “I am not ill in the way that you think.”

“Then what is it?”

YN tried to swallow the feeling that was bubbling within her, but she could not, “Is there no way that you could change, or maybe even wash before we have this conversation?”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “YN tell me what it is right now.”

YN sighed, turning to meet his eyes despite her stomach’s protests, “I have… evidence to believe that I am with child.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he looked upon her, “What?”

“Did you not hear me?” YN did not mean to snap, but she could not lie and say that her patience was not wearing thin with him, “I said that I believe I am with child.”

“I heard what you said, I just…” Then, his face broke out into a smile, “It is just that I am slightly in shock, but I cannot say not overjoyed by the news – and possibly a little apprehensive.”

Harry attempted to move closer to her, but she pushed him back once more.

“Harry, I wish nothing more than to hug you and kiss you right now to celebrate but I fear if you come any closer to me you might receive something else entirely.”

Harry finally understood what it was that she was saying to him. He stood up and immediately started to unbutton his coat and his shirt. He removed his suspenders, and his trousers came next until he was stood in nothing but his underwear in front of her.

“Would this suffice?” He held his arms open in front of her.

YN laughed, “You will have to come closer for me to make my decision.”

Harry laughed as he dropped back down beside her, wrapping his arms around his wife. He lifted her with such care and ease until she was upon his lap. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We are having a baby?” He smiled, immediately leaning forward to capture her lips with his, “I cannot quite believe it.”

“Well, I cannot say for certain, but I do think that it is highly likely,” YN nodded, accepting the light kisses he was giving her through her words.

Sighing, YN pursed her lips in an attempt to keep her feelings down. Without his clothes on was certainly much better, but the smell was still lingering around him, and going straight towards her stomach.

“Harry, I am sorry, but you need to bathe,” YN pushed herself up and off his lap, “I cannot be around you until you do.”

“I thought you vowed to love me – smell and all?” He pouted, still making no movements to stand up.

YN shook her head, “That was before such a smell did this to me. Please, freshen up and then we can continue our conversation.”

Harry just nodded, pushing himself up until he was standing, “I shall wash straight away.”

“I need to leave this room,” YN shook her head, walking towards the door, “Can you open the windows before you leave to air it out?”

Harry laughed but did as his wife wished. His wife that was indeed carrying their child.

“I must say, it’s been too long since you have been in my shop, YN,” Miss Francis spoke, passing her friend who sat on the settee in her shop a cup of tea, “I might have to come and have words with that husband of yours to let you free every once in a while.”

YN chuckled, “You should have seen him this morning. I said that I needed to come and see you and he was readying himself to join us.”

Miss Francis gasped and shook her head, dropping down on the settee with her cup of tea in her hand also.

As much as YN hated to admit it – she had slightly neglected Miss Francis and her friendship since she was married. She, of course, saw her whenever she needed a dressmaking or something altered – but they both knew that was not good enough. Miss Francis had been there with her through thick and thin, and she hated that it had let it get this bad.

“Well, if I was worried about whether or not he loved you – I’m certainly not worried about that now,” Miss Francis offered the younger girl a smile, but that dropped once she saw the expression on YN’s face, “What is that face for? Are you… is everything okay?”

YN offered Miss Francis a small smile and placed the cup down on the table in front of them. She turned and reached over to grab the older woman’s hand.

“I need to apologise to you, Miss Francis,” YN spoke, squeezing Miss Francis’ hand.

Miss Francis furrowed her eyebrows, placing her cup down, “Whatever for, my dear?”

YN sighed, “For getting married, and not coming to visit you as often. It was despicable of me, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

Miss Francis laughed with a shake of her head, “You do not need to apologise to me, silly girl. You were a newlywed; I am just your modiste – there is no reason to apologise for not coming to see me without a need for it.”

“No,” YN shook her head, “Miss Francis, you are not just a modiste to me. You are my friend I would say that you are my best friend. You encouraged me to marry, you held my hand the morning of my wedding. You gave me your family’s jewels to wear at the ball. And I… well I handled the changes in my life poorly when it came to you. I therefore need to apologise to you.”

When YN looked back up at Miss Francis, her heart broke at the sight of her watery eyes. She had never felt disappointment in herself like this before, and she was angry. She was angry at herself for abandoning this woman.

“YN,” Miss Francis shook her head, “All of that does not matter to me. I was happy just knowing that you were happy.”

“I am happy,” YN nodded, “And I promise you that I will never let it get to this again. I will come to see you as much as I can until… well…”

Miss Francis furrowed her eyebrows, reaching forward to pick up a biscuit, “Until what?”

YN pursed her lips in an attempt to hold back her smile, and yet she could not do it. This had been the real reason that YN had wanted to come and make amends for the guilt that she had been feeling. When she had finally come to terms with the fact that she was pregnant a few days ago, the first person (besides Harry) that she had wanted to tell was Miss Francis. She had wanted to tell her straight away, but it had taken her a few days for the nausea to not be so bad, and in fact for her to be able to get up and ready and even contemplate leaving the house. Harry had not left her alone these past few days, doing everything that he could to make her comfortable. That was why when she had felt fine this morning and had asked Harry to make sure the carriage was ready to take her into town – Harry had tried and tried to get her to allow him to come with her.

It had taken YN explaining to Harry the reason behind the visit, and how she needed to do this on her own for Harry to finally let her go without him. It was under the stipulation that she would go there and come straight back, and if she started to feel ill at any point she had to return immediately. YN, not wanting to upset him anymore nodded and accepted the stipulations with a light kiss to his lips. Any of the turning in her stomach that she felt today was more the nerves of the conversation she was going to have – rather than a cause of the baby.

“Let us just say that… life might be turned around once more in eight months.”

Miss Francis gasped, dropping the biscuit she had in her hand onto her lap and leaning over to wrap her arms around the younger woman. YN laughed, swaying with Miss Francis as they embraced.

“Oh, YN,” Miss Francis pulled away, the tears in her waterline now ones of joy, “I am so happy for you, darling.”

YN had her own tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. Another part of this which she had not expected to experience as well as the nausea was the up and down of her emotions. Harry, who probably had prior knowledge of this, had taken her constant changes of mood like a champ thankfully. YN, however, was struggling slightly with the changes.

“I wanted to tell you,” YN nodded, “I needed to tell you. I need you to be with me throughout this.”

“Of course, I will, darling,” Miss Francis smiled, running her hand across YN’s cheek, “I will be here for anything that you need.”

“Thank you,” YN nodded.

It was then that Miss Francis sprung up into action, walking over to the trunk where YN had brought some of her dresses with her. YN knew better than to interrupt Miss Francis when she was working, so instead she stood up and allowed the older woman to boss her around the way she needed her to.

“I did wonder when you showed up with the trunk what was happening,” Miss Francis spoke pulling the dresses out, “I should have known.”

“It is just the ones that I think with a bit of altering should have some give,” YN nodded, allowing the older woman to hold the dress up to her body, “Harry said I should have some new ones made but I do not see the need.”

“You might have to, YN,” Miss Francis explains, “Depending on how much altering I can do to these dresses.”

“Well,” YN offers Miss Francis a smile, “You have never been one to turn down a challenge.”

“That I have not,” Miss Francis laughs, “Now, you have to tell me everything. How did you tell Mr Styles?

“It is not quite the story you imagine it to be, I am afraid,” Then the two women broke out into a fit of giggles and it was as though nothing had happened between them at all.

Nathaniel Styles entered the world a mere eight months later.

Eight months of what some might conclude as torture, but others may count as bliss. YN had realised that her pregnancy would be a mixture of the two. She possibly should have realised when the first few months of her pregnancy were torture that she was not necessarily going to have the easiest pregnancy. It had been easy to realise that this experience was beautiful, and YN would not have changed it for the world – it was also difficult for her.

It had also taken a toll on Harry. He had already been particularly attentive before her pregnancy, but it seemed as though it was even more so when she got pregnant. She should have known the way that he acted when she had first told him that she was pregnant and that he was going to be that way. If she thought that Harry was bad before, the closer they were to welcoming their bundle of joy into the world – the more that he would not leave her alone at all. He was there, always in the room with her and ready to be there if anything happened. YN, whilst she may not have said so during time, was thankful for him.

By the time that YN had realised she was in labour, there had been no time to do anything. If Harry had not devoted himself to being close to her at all times (especially during the latter part of the pregnancy) then she would have worried about him missing the birth.

It was slightly scary the speed at which her labour progressed, there was not even any time to call for a doctor, or even Harry’s mother or Miss Francis. She had to rely upon Harry and the maids that were at hand in the house.

Whilst Harry had tried his very hardest to not make it obvious that he was worried, YN knew him too well and knew that he was. The speed at which her labour was progressing was the thing that worried him more than anything. It was as though he had kept worrying about something going wrong, and yet nothing ever seemed to.

It was in the mid-afternoon when their baby boy made his way into the world, making their two other children siblings once more.

Harry had not put Nathaniel down since he had made his entrance into the world. One of the first things that caused YN to fall in love with Harry was the love and care that he had for his children, and now that they had one of their own – that had certainly not changed. YN had been resting in the bed, unable to take her eyes off her husband sitting on the lounger next to the window, with their baby boy placed on his chest. Nathaniel was sleeping soundly against his father’s chest, obviously finding the comfort he needed in the skin-to-skin contact.

There was not a single sound in the room apart from a babble from Nathaniel now and then, until there was a knock at the door. YN’s face broke into a smile when she saw Anne, Harry’s mother peering her head into the room.

Anne held a similar smile on her face, “Are you up for any visitors?”

“Of course, I am,” YN beamed, any ounce of fatigue immediately dissipating from her body. She watched as Noah and Norah walked into the room, both of them rushing around the bed and towards her.

“Is that him? My baby brother?” Noah pointed to the baby bundled against Harry’s chest, his face beaming out into a smile.

“It is,” YN smiled, her head dropping against her shoulder as she watched the two older children walk closer to their new sibling.

It was not often that YN would say that she saw the two of them nervous. They were such confident children; it was so out of character for them. There was nothing in this world that scared them, and yet for some reason, they both seemed that way about meeting their new brother. As the children inched closer to their father, YN felt the bed dip at the side of her. She smiled as she saw Anne sitting there, immediately reaching out to grab YN’s hand.

“How are you feeling?” Anne asked, pushing some of YN’s hair out of her face slightly.

YN smiled, accepting the woman’s comforting touch, “Tired, but I am well. It all seemed to happen very quickly.”

“Harry’s birth was just the same,” Anne smiled, “If you need anything, do not be afraid to ask.”

YN smiled, “Thank you.”

Both of the women’s attention immediately turned to Harry, who was instructing Noah on how best to sit to hold his brother in his arms. The eldest boy’s eyes were wide, and he was listening to every word from his father’s mouth as he spoke.

“Keep your arms together, just like that,” Noah nodded, watching as his father moved Nathaniel from his arms and placed him down in his sons. His face broke into a smile once the little boy was safe and secure in his arms.

“He’s so small,” Noah commented, his eyes wide as he looked up to YN for just a second until they dropped back down to his brother.

“Well,” Harry sighed, reaching over to run the back of his finger across the expanse of Nathaniel’s small cheek, “You both were once this small.”

“Really?” Norah’s eyes lit up, “But you always say that I am your big girl.”

Harry nodded, suppressing a chuckle slightly before he reached his arm out to wrap around his daughter’s body, pulling her into the side of him, “You are my big girl, but you were once my small girl too, but you will always be my baby.”

Norah smiled, accepting the kiss that Harry placed on her cheek. It was very quickly that (just as her brother’s) Norah’s attention was placed upon her little brother, who had interrupted his sleep once again to let out a small whine before falling straight back into a slumber.

“Look at that,” YN smiled, “He feels safe with his big brother.”

Noah smiled once more before it was replaced with one of concern when Nathaniel broke out into tears, his little face turning red and his eyebrows furrowing. Noah’s eyes widened, looking between Harry and YN with a panic-stricken face.

“It is okay, bud,” Harry chuckled slightly, an amused glint in his eyes as they met YN’s, “He must be hungry.”

YN and Anne both chuckled from their place on the bed, watching as Noah angled his arms towards Harry slightly so that he could take his brother off him.

“I think that is our cue to leave,” Anne smiled, squeezing YN’s hand one last before climbing off the bed, “I am sure that there’s some trouble that we can get up to.”

YN smiled, opening her arms wide so that both Noah and Norah could come and hug her and kiss her before they left. Norah had a pouting face as she came over to YN. The older woman attempted to wipe it off her face, but she could not.

“And what is with that face, Norah?” YN teased, running her finger across the girl’s cheek lightly.

She pouted one more time, “I did not get to hold Nathaniel.”

YN smiled, placing a kiss on the younger girl’s cheek, “Your time will come, Norah, I promise. But he’s small now and needs me to feed him but I promise that once he has a full stomach – you will be the first to hold him.”

Norah sighed but alas nodded her head, “I suppose I can live with that.”

“I suppose you can,” YN smiled, “Now go, I’m sure Nana has plenty of things planned for you in the meantime.”

The children both nodded, accepting their Nana’s outstretched hands and walked out of the room. Both Harry and YN watched as the door closed behind them, a smile passing between them as it did. YN pulled herself up slightly so that she was in a sitting position, and smiled as Harry dropped down next to her, passing her Nathaniel as he did.

YN smiled at Nathaniel, and even though his little face was still red and scrunched with tears, YN would not change it for the world. Harry helped in pulling her nightgown down of herself, the act itself being sort of difficult with little Nathaniel in her arms. She sighed slightly as Nathaniel attached to her nipple, her body falling into Harry’s embrace as he wrapped his arm around YN’s shoulder, her head dropping down to his.

It was as though the second that Nathaniel had latched on, his face relaxed and peace was restored throughout his body. His eyes were wide, never leaving his parents faces as he began to eat. It was a beautiful moment, a moment that YN would never forget.

Harry sighed, lifting his free hand up to run his finger across Nathaniel’s cheek again, “He’s got your nose.”

YN chuckled slightly, trying her hardest not to shake too much and disturb the little boy pressed against her chest, “He does… it is no wonder I had so much heartburn with all of that hair – that’s certainly taking after you.”

Harry is the one who chuckles this time, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of YN’s head, “I hope he has your eyes.”

YN shook her head, turning so that she was facing Harry, “I want him to have your eyes.”

Harry smiled, leaning forward to place his forehead against YN’s. Harry’s eyes were one of the first things that YN noticed about him, and they will always be one of her favourite things about him. People always say that home is not a house, and instead can be found in a person. That was more obvious to her when she met Harry, and even more so when she looked into those green eyes of his. Those eyes, especially when they looked at her made her feel more at home than anything in this world. They were her comfort, her love, and more importantly, her home.

“Are you sure that you want him to have my eyes?” Harry questioned, pulling away slightly to look at her, “Because we both know we will not be able to say no to him.”

YN laughs before shaking her head, “I have no trouble saying no to you.”

“That is true,” Harry nods, “I suppose it shall be me that struggles to say no. I will compromise with the next one having your eyes.”

YN chuckled, “The next one?”

“Of course,” Harry sighed, “If you would want that.”

After sharing a slight chuckle between the two of them, they both turned to look at their son, who was becoming drowsier by the second. They decided that now was probably the best time to burp and place him down for a nap. Harry placed a cloth over his shoulder and carefully removed Nathaniel out of YN’s arms again, picking him up and placing him upon his shoulder.

YN watched with a smile as Harry started to walk around the room, gently rubbing Nathaniel’s back in hopes that it would coax a burp out of him. There was something so beautiful about the sight in front of her The fact that seven years ago YN had thought that marriage was out of the picture for her, and here she was now with a husband she could not love any more than she did and three beautiful children.

It was not long before Nathaniel let out the perfect burp, and his eyes began to close once more. He, so far, was the perfect baby. YN could not be luckier, and she also could not be luckier with the man she was raising him with.

“That’s it, baby boy,” YN watched as Harry swaddled the baby with a blanket, dropping him down lightly in the bassinet at the side of the bed.

There was a sigh from Nathaniel, and then not a single peep from him. Harry sighed, dropping back down on the bed next to YN, pulling her closer to him so she was resting her head on his chest. YN sighed into his body, dropping her hand upon his chest.

“Thank you,” YN mumbled, lifting her hand so that she was looking at him, “For everything.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “Thank you.”

#governess!yn #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles series #harry styles historical fic

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as-is-above-so-below · 2 years ago

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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Knackered & Insatiable

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes warning: MDNI, mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood, SMUT Note: I cannot believe how much you guys LOVED Part 1!!! I've written three pieces in my life (check out my Ao3 for my other works lol) and none of them have ever gotten this much of a response. Thank you so much for your praise and overwhelming support, it really means a lot to me as a first-time writer :) Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Ghost swirled the drink in his glass before lifting his mask up just enough to sip his whiskey. The team had insisted on getting to know his wife before they returned to England and Ghost “stole her away forever”, as they’d put it. He knew damn well, now that she’d met everyone, there wasn’t a chance in Hell she would let that happen. And while he may put on a good show of being a grump about it, secretly, he was glad. It was almost nice to see her mingling with his frie–team over a few drinks (hers being a bottle of water) and a football (she would call it a “soccer ball”, but he digressed).

He watched Soap, Gaz, and Freyja bobbing around the open space, kicking the ball back and forth, occasionally playing keep away. Gaz slid at her in an attempt to knock the ball loose from her control, which she swiftly countered and danced around him, laughing maniacally as the man shouted at her in protest. His lips tugged at the corner in a grin, shaking his head lightly at her antics.

She’d dressed down into her standard t-shirt but kept her boots and uniform pants on, her hair tied back out of her face. Without her gear or outerwear, even her oversized shirt, her bump protruded slightly where the shirt tucked into her belt. He’d been told that every person carried differently; her bump was small, due in part to her exercise regimen. God, he’d missed her.

He’d even been gracious enough to allow her time to gossip with his teammates, spilling (some) details about their relationship. How they met (work), who made the first move (classified), how Simon proposed (he didn’t); so gracious that he let a few embarrassing remarks slip past his radar.

Just a few.

“Did you know he has stretch marks–”

He whistled through his teeth. “Oi, watch it,” he warned, jerking his hand in front of his neck as to say ‘cut it’.

“But the stretch marks, Si!”

Ghost’s eyes traced her movements, wild hands pointing at her thighs, hips, underarms, and knees. He chastised her with a warning sound, and the three huddled together in whispers, no doubt continuing to quietly discuss topics they shouldn’t. He had a feeling he would be seeing a lot more of his fellow soldiers outside of the base. They eventually continued their game again.

Price took a seat next to him on the bench. Ghost said nothing. “How far along are you now?”

He took a deep breath, calming himself. Bold of Price to ask about the child he willingly endangered. “Fourteen weeks.”

John’s head bobbed, and he leaned back against the building behind them with his arms crossed. “Still struggling with the morning sickness, I see?”

That much was obvious. “The doctor said it should clear up soon. Usually only lasts ‘til ‘bout now,” he explained, still not meeting his eyes, choosing to follow his wife.

Silence passed between the two, the chirps of native bugs and shenanigans from the team filling the air.

The weight of his upper body on his forearms became uncomfortable, and Ghost sat back too. He sighed through his nose, keeping his sight forward. “I didn’t ask you not to call her for this job as your Lieutenant. I asked as your friend.”

John hesitated, mulling over the fact as he carefully chose his next words. He didn’t come up with much. “I know. I’m sorry.” What else was there to say?

Nothing.

Ghost nodded once, satisfied, and threw back the remains of his drink. The most important thing was that she was okay now. He knew the Captain was desperate for another player on that mission, and he was confident Price wouldn’t do it again.

Price seemed to understand that he had been forgiven. “Want another?”

“Negative, sir. She’ll lose steam in a minute.”

Sure enough, as predicted, she gave up her game and relented the ball to Kyle. Soap cheered with his arms in the air, sloshing his beer a bit with the motion. Freyja looked over her shoulder at him and raised a brow, eyes shifting toward their building. He acknowledged her request as she wished the others a good night's rest, rising to follow her to bed. Ghost fell into step a few paces behind her when a sharp whistle caught his ear. He turned his shoulder to look, and saw Soap with his hand out, gripping an imaginary leash with his tongue out as Gaz walked ahead of him like a dog.

He flipped them off and continued behind her.

~*~

The minute they returned to his quarters, Freyja had thrown herself down onto the bed like a sack of potatoes, not even bothering to strip out of her uniform. Ghost took her idea and, in his uniform, carefully straddled her waist. He offered her each of his hands, and she immediately went to work removing his gloves, smiling warmly at him. She gingerly traced the outline of his lips through his mask, a questioning look in her eyes. He accepted and tilted his chin up, allowing her to slip under the edge of the mask, drawing it up and off his head, leaving him with just the black paint on his face. Freyja plopped it on the headboard above them with his gloves.

“There he is.” Her cheeks were warm and rosy from the dry heat of the area, and all of the jogging she did outside.

“Hi, sweethear’.”

She tugged him down by his blonde locks at the nape of his neck, capturing his lips in hers. He dropped his weight onto his forearms, keeping away from her belly while his lips moved slowly against hers. A month had passed since he saw her, let alone touched her. However, when she nipped fiercely at his bottom lip, pulling a soft moan from Simon–

“Love,” he groaned, forcing himself to break away, as much as it pained him. “I don’t have it in me right now. I’m absolutely knackered.”

Freyja turned up a brow at him. “Wow. I’ve never heard that one before. Are you okay?” she asked, rubbing her thumbs against his cheekbones.

His head leaned into her touch, melting in the palms of her hands. The effect she had on him was something he’d never experienced before and was what drew him to the soldier. Quick and cunning, skilled and strong, but also impossibly loving and soft and gentle. Nobody had ever shown him the kind of attention she did, and he found himself craving it when they would inevitably separate for deployment.

He didn’t want to argue with his wife again after not seeing each other for so long, but the pit in Simon’s chest wasn’t budging either. Simon sighed and turned his head, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I was serious when I said I’m pissed.”

“Simon, I know I shouldn’t have–”

“No, just– let me talk.” He brushed a loose hair from her forehead. “I…I don’t ask much of you. I asked – no, told you to do one thing. To stay home and protect our baby.”

Her brows pinched together, maintaining eye contact with him. “Simon, I can take care of myself,” she whispered, a bit confused.

“I know you can. I’ve seen you in the field, seen what you can do. You’re capable of slaughtering dozens of men at a time without breaking a sweat.” Simon rolled his shoulders to move off of her, laying on his back to stare at the ceiling. He rarely got so upset with her, if ever. Even rarer that he became a stuttering mess that couldn’t string a sentence together properly. He hated the feeling. “Why did you do tha’? What if you’d gotten hurt? What if someone comes after you when I’m not around? Wh–”

“Stop. You’re spiraling again.” Freyja turned onto her side, worried eyes studying his features. He’d picked up the habit since the pregnancy tests (seven of them to be exact) turned positive. “I–I know I messed up. I’m so, so sorry, Si. I didn’t…didn’t want to hurt you. I promise I won’t go out again. I just–” Her eyes watered, and she dragged the heel of her palm against the dampness on her cheek. “I’m h-having such a hard time. I love this baby, but I feel so–so useless just sitting at home.”

Oh, sweetheart… “Budge up,” Simon muttered, his voice gravelly as he tapped her thigh and scooched down a bit himself. His right arm slipped under her hip while the other tugged her shirt up to reveal their growing baby. Simon smiled softly at the sight and peppered kisses all over her bump. He eventually nuzzled into her chest and draped her leg over his hip before wrapping that arm around her waist. “I’m sorry I ‘aven’t been round. I know how much you miss work. But just look at this precious thing you’re making, Frey; you’re creating a whole person in there. My strong, drop-dead gorgeous wife and beautiful son–”

“Or daughter.”

Simon’s deep chuckle vibrated against her chest and belly, warmth blooming there. “Right. Or daughter,” he pressed another kiss to her chest. “You’re the strongest person I know. Just you watch. I’ll be home for a good long while now; we can work something out with Price, and get you some desk duty so you’re not sat at home twiddlin’ your thumbs all day. Keep you busy, yeah?”

Freyja nodded in agreement, smiling down at her husband. “Okay,” she croaked, sniffling a bit.

“Good. Now go to sleep, love. I really am knackered.”

“I love you, Simon.”

“I love you too, Frey.”

~*~

Soap rapped his knuckles against the door for his Lieutenant’s quarters after (again) failing to locate Captain Riley in hers. He waited for a breath and was about to knock again when he heard an affirming grunt from the other side of the door.

“Aye, if I see any naked bodies–” He poked his head into the room, finding the two tangled up in each other. Fully clothed, thankfully. He barely caught the bare strip of Simon’s cheek from his angle. He immediately piped down when he realized she was still sleeping. “Lieutenant?”

“Wot?” he grumbled, not moving from his comfortable position. Soft and warm.

John remained silent, eyes shifting between Simon and the sleeping body next to him.

“What do you need, Sergeant.”

“I don’t want to wake ‘er, sir,” he whispered in a hushed voice. He truly didn’t want to face the consequences of waking a pregnant Riley. He was, however, less worried about the wrath of his Lieutenant and more about his other half.

Simon turned his chin up slightly, focusing on her steady, soft breaths and even heartbeat. In the first weeks of her pregnancy, before leaving for deployment, she had taken to sleeping like a rock. Obviously, that fact was still true. He settled back into her t-shirt.

“She’s fine. Speak.”

Soap hesitated but took his word for it. “Ah, Captain said we’re good to go. Wheels up in thirty.”

He grunted again, still unmoving. ”Alright. We’ll be ready.”

He could sense the Scot still stuck in his doorway, continuing to disturb his peace, and his irritation grew. “Quit hoverin’, Johnny. I said we’ll be ready. Get out,” he all but growled.

“Sorry, sir.” Soap turned to leave but stopped himself. “Almost fo’got, wanted to give ya’s a warnin’, it’s pishin’ it doon out there.”

His patience had grown thin and irritability impossibly higher. “Speak. English.”

Soap’s mouth opened with a turned lip, just about to quip a snarky retort–

“It’s raining fuckin’ hard.”

His eyes blew wide, jaw dangled loosely, staring at the previously silent form the soft, sleepy voice came.

“Thank you, love.”

“I—How— Beg your pardon?” John stuttered, pointing between Freyja and Ghost in utter shock.

Her grip on her husband tightened with a groan, eyes fluttering as she tried to adjust to the morning light. “What? What did I do?” she mumbled, curving her back inward to stretch, her neck popping.

“But–I don’t– You know Scots?”

“Oh. I suppose. Cannae ge’ the accent righ’, though,” she said, exhibiting what was indeed her very poor attempt at a Scottish accent.

Still, he gawked at them, unmoving. He eventually snapped out of his reverie, a wicked smile creeping onto his face. “Jesus, I’m sorry Lt. but I think I’m gettin’ hard,” he teased, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth.

Simon blindly reached for the mask above his head, scooting up a bit for a quick kiss before slipping it on. The black war paint around his eyes remained, but more worn and smudged with sleep. The Sergeant Oooh’d in the background. “Johnny, what did I tell you ‘bout flirting wit’ my wife?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed in a sitting position.

Freyja followed him, sitting up and pressing her chest against Simon’s back. She wrapped her arms around him, rubbing her palms across his sternum and abdomen, fingers dipping into the ridges of his muscles. “Simon, you really shouldn’t make threats you don’t intend to keep,” she pressed her lips against the warm skin at the back of his neck. He hummed softly, leaning back into her.

“Who said I won’t?”

“Alright, alright, I’m not tryna cock-block,” Soap threw his hands up in defense, backing out of the doorway. “I’m goin’. Tarmac in thirty.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the couple alone again. Simon moved to stand but was immediately restricted by her arms and legs as she whined. “Can I help you?” he asked, settling back down and glancing at her over his shoulder.

Freyja rose to her knees and tugged at his shirt, untucking it from his waistband. “Maybe,” she said against the side of his throat. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Are you Simon,” her fingers pressed into his waist. She licked a stripe on his thrumming pulse before closing her mouth over the spot, sucking generously. Simon hissed through his teeth and dropped his head against her shoulder. “Or Ghost?”

“God, you are insatiable.”

“Only when you don’t give me what I want.”

“And wha’s that?”

“Been a while since you fucked me stupid, yeah?”

A deep growl tore from him, and he whipped around, pouncing on her. The balaclava and skull plate flew across the room. His lips crushed hers, teeth and tongues smashing together. Rough fingers wrapped around her throat, holding her down to the mattress as he leaned over her. “Your British is fuckin’ shit.”

“Mmm, what’re you gonna do about it?” she challenged, smirking against his mouth. She loved instigating him, even more so now that her hormones were through the roof. The last week at home had been almost unbearable.

Freyja’s eyelids flickered at the sudden pressure, not enough to cut off oxygen but enough to effectively shut her up. She felt her walls flutter at the sensation, a puddle forming in her underwear.

“Good girl,” Simon practically purred, dragging his lips down to the underside of her chin, nipping at the skin, followed by a soothing lick at the affected spot. His free hand crawled down her body, rising and falling over the various curves before stopping at her pants. “Is this what you want?”

She nodded vigorously, so he swiftly unfastened the fatigues and dove his hand in. “Mmm, so needy for me. I’ve barely even started, sweetheart,” he slipped two fingers through her soaked lips, sucking a bruise at her throat. He ground his aching bulge against the edge of the bed, searching for some relief. Simon swirled tight but lazy circles around her clit with her collected juices, getting a muffled moan. “Like that?”

“Mhm…”

“Use your words, Frey.”

“F-Fuck– Need you, Si, n-now.”

He cocked his head to the side, releasing her throat to unbutton and unzip his pants. “Already? I’m feelin’ a bit, peckish love. Not gonna let me have a taste?” He slid down to his knees, nibbling down over her t-shirt and pulling the zipper of her pants.

“NO!” She shouted, and his eyes shot up to hers with a brow quirked. “N-No, I need you to fuck me. Please, Simon,” she begged, her voice desperate.

“Fast and hard, eh? A’right.” Simon stood, then hooked his hands behind her knees, yanked her to the edge of the bed, and flipped her over, her feet firmly planted on the floor. “Careful,” he pressed softly against her bump, keeping her stomach off the bed.

The sniper growled at him, starting to get frustrated. “Simon, I swear to fucking God– Ah!” she squeaked when a much firmer hand shoved her face into the mattress.

“Naughty girl… I’m getting there. Be patient,” he ordered. He waited until she showed her understanding with another sharp nod. Simon finally pulled her pants and panties down to her knees. “Fuckin’ Hell,” he moaned, admiring the view as he dropped his pants enough to pull himself out, giving himself a few strokes. “Who’s this cunt belong to?” he asked, dragging the tip through her folds.

“You, it's all yours!”

Eager to please, Simon rested one palm on the small of her back as the other slowly eased himself into her. His head dropped back, unable to help the soft moans and whimpers at her walls around him. “F-fuck, never get sick of this sweet cunt,” he stilled himself in her when he bottomed out. “Not even in you for a second ‘n I already wanna cum.”

She pulled her hips forward, desperate for him to move and, as promised, fuck her senseless. Bruising fingers gripped the extra flesh at her hip with a groan. “Naughty,” he repeated, drawing out of her to the tip before diving back in just as slowly. “Maybe if ya beg some more, I’ll give it to ya.”

Freyja whined as his cock dragged painstakingly slowly along her insides. “P-please, please fuck me, Simon. I need your cock so bad. I’m desperate,” she begged, her hands shaking as she gripped the scratchy blanket under her with white knuckles. “Been w-waiting so long for you to come home, please!”

Simon twitched inside her, his wife’s begging scratching just the right spot in his brain. “Ngh, fuck Frey.” He slammed into her, his eyes rolling into the back of his head while he started a steady pace.

“God, Simon, ‘s so good–”

“Look at me,” he said, turning her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Say it again…My name.”

Her smirk almost immediately wiped off her face when he brushed her clit again, eliciting another breathy, gasped moan. “Simon!”

“Mmm, again.”

“S-Simon…fuck!”

“Cum for me, love, cum on my cock. Wanna feel you–”

She stared into his eyes, the sounds of his hips slapping her hips, the wet sounds of her sex thrumming between them, and her heavy pants thrumming between them until she finally pulsed around him, her pitch kicking up an octave. “Ah, Simon, I-I’m cumming, fuck!”

“Jesus fuck–! Y/N, Y/N,” he whined, choking on her name as the tight coil inside him snapped and spilled into her, his hips stuttering. Simon’s chest rested against her back when he dropped his hand next to her for support. He stilled, echoing her name over and over while he pumped her full of his cum. She was grinning back at him over her shoulder and dragging her nails up and down his forearm, humming at the warm pool inside her.

Simon slid his free hand under the back of her shirt, stroking between her shoulder blades. They stood unmoving, panting, staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. His spend was starting to creep out around him, turning into milky drops threatening to break free and fall to the floor. He could stay like that forever, her gaze holding his as he warmed his cock in her–

“Hey Ghost–”

THUNK

The tip of a black combat knife sank into the soft wood of the door frame, a breath away from his nose. Kyle stopped short of passing through the threshold, the door only open a crack. “Bad time, got it,” he said, his voice cracking a bit before the door clicked shut again. “Sorry!” his voice muffled by the door between them before his footsteps scurried away.

Freyja giggled and pressed her face into the mattress, attempting to stifle her laughter.

“Not funny.”

“Really? I thought it was a little bit funny, Lieutenant,” she said, wiggling her hips against his. Simon’s breath hitched, and both hands shot back to stop the movement.

“Ey, none’a that. Be a good girl or you won’t be getting a thing out of me later,” he threatened, raising a blonde brow in challenge. She pouted up at him in return but nodded with a disgruntled Fine, slowly leaning forward until he popped out of her with a groan. The woman eased herself up until she stood fully and turned to face him, standing on her tiptoes to reward him with a sweet, lazy kiss. When Simon was least expecting, she swiped a finger along his dick, causing him to jerk at his sensitivity, collecting their mixed fluids before popping the digit into her mouth. “You’re a minx, y’know that?”

“Mhm.”

“Hn.” He pulled her panties and underwear back up for her, fingers lovingly caressing their growing baby when he went to button them again. He wasn’t proud to admit that he hadn’t reacted well to the initial news of his wife’s pregnancy. Simon had never wanted children or a family before her, given his experiences with his own as a child. The last thing he wanted was to turn out like his father, an abusive, mean drunk with a violent streak and an inclination for scaring the pants off little Simon.

That all changed at their first ultrasound. The soft thrum of the baby’s heartbeat echoed off the walls of the small room and burned into his mind on a constant playback. His baby. Their baby.

Mine.

He supposed the second-trimester hormones were a nice touch, too.

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @lethalchiralium, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy

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808airsoftbros · 8 months ago

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Yujin's Wake Up Call

Author: This is a simple short story nothing too special and something that came to my mind that I want to write. If you want to see more of my stories check out my Masterlist.

Author's POV

It was another busy day at Starship, the IVE girls recently returned from their world tour and they were indeed exhausted after travelling the world for the past several months.

Yujin especially was tired along with the girls but she was disheartened when she heard that they would be visiting a patient with cancer as part of the wish foundation.

"Can you girls go for me? I'm too tired," Yujin asked and Gaeul rolled her eyes.

"Are you serious, Yujin? I get that you're tired from travelling the world but our manager says will be getting a whole month break afterward and we can do whatever we want from there," Gaeul pointed out and Yujin groaned.

"Yeah, and also our fans mean alot to us, and what about you?" Rei asked and Yujin scoffed.

"What are you on about? I'm only being nice because I have to and I hate that I have to be fake!" Yujin complained and Gaeul shook her head in disappointment.

Sadly, Yujin can be lazy at times, she'd be often caught slacking in dance practices when off camera, and you can bet every dollar that she tried every excuse you could think of to get out of her work.

This would annoy her members especially Gaeul and they'd always be fighting and arguing with one another.

"Yujin, do not start this shit again... We've been over this how many God damn times already?! When are you ever going to change?!" Gaeul angrily asked and Yujin rolled her eyes.

"When management doesn't constantly make us work to death," She answered spitefully.

"Well, if you do not behave, Ms. An Yujin, you will be one sorry woman, do you hear me?" Gaeul coldly warned but Yujin shrugged it off.

Because of how she always tends to act, the crew and management, and even her own members don't like nor respect her, but she doesn't seem to care.

Yujin also tends to have bad habits of drinking and smoking too much and Gaeul always catches her vaping when she's not supposed to.

Wonyoung and Yujin's friendship began deteriorating as she was fed up with her antics and was disheartened to see her friend changing for the worse.

One quiet night, Yujin snuck out of the dorm without waking up the girls and sat on a bench to smoke and drink.

It was quite foggy and there were hardly any noises to be heard besides the slight sounds of the breeze which was perfect for her.

"Perfect. No one to bother me," Yujin muttered as she takes a sip of soju.

"Excuse me," She heard a feminine voice asked and she turned to see a unfamiliar woman.

Yujin jumped in surprise as she didn't notice the woman approaching her.

"W-what do you want?" She nervously asked.

"Oh, sorry for startling you, it's quite a foggy night is it?" She kindly asked.

"I guess you can say that..." Yujin muttered to her and took a puff from her pod.

"Shouldn't idols be limiting how much they drink and smoke?" The woman asked as she sat down next to her.

"Why is it your business?" She snarled and the woman frowned.

Seeing Yujin's attitude, the woman just stared at her intently and then gave her a cold demeanor.

"I'll tell you why you're here... It's because you're lazy, useless, and a pathetic excuse of an idol," The woman coldly said and Yujin was taken aback.

"Who the fuck are you to judge me?! I can't help but get overwhelmed sometimes! Maybe if you were an idol then you'd understand!" Yujin retorts and the woman shook her head.

"Tsk. Overwhelmed? Only because you just have to visit a special patient? Is that your only excuse? As someone who has a chronic heart condition, you disgust me," The woman angrily replied and Yujin was now lost for words trying to come up with the words.

"I-" She was about to say but was cut off.

"Shut it! Did you know I was once an idol like you? I couldn't practice or sing on some days but I still give it my all! Unlike you, who has a management who at least cares for you and would get you the help you need... My management never cared for me, if they don't see me as efficient... Poof, they will simply get rid of me like I'm sort of a piece of garbage meant to be disposed of," The woman explained her story and Yujin gulped in fear.

"Every day I have to work through excruciating pain! The only person who ever cared for me was the custodian who works here, and I have to keep working no matter what just to survive, and here I see a spoiled rotten you always coming up with excuses just to get out of work! You leave me speechless... Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" The woman coldly asked with a tear shedding from her eye and Yujin tried to shrug off the feeling of guilt but no matter how hard she tried... It lingered inside of her but she refused to show it.

"There are many other idols left forgotten in the winds of time and talents wasted, they would give anything to be in your position yet you couldn't care less... It's pitiful," She finished and Yujin was boiling deep inside.

"And who the hell are you?!" Yujin asked her and the woman grinned.

"Consider me your wake up call, An Yujin, I hope one day you realize the error of your ways... Goodnight," The woman bid goodbye and got up from the bench.

Yujin watched as the mysterious woman walked into the fog and vanished out of sight.

After that, Yujin was left angry and confused, she wondered who the woman was as she had never met or heard of her. She quickly concludes her drinking and smoking session and goes back inside the building.

When she got into the corridor she finds the janitor Jake sweep mopping the floor.

"Hey, Jake!" Yujin called out and he paused.

"Yes?" Jake replied and Yujin sighs.

"Do you happen to know a woman who was an idol here? She claims to have a heart condition but... I don't know she's making it up or not to trick me into making me feel bad," She asked and Jake frowned before looking down.

Jake goes into his pocket pulling out a picture of the very same woman that Yujin encountered earlier and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Is this the woman you're referring to?" Jake asked as he showed the photo.

"Y-yes, that's her alright, who is she?" She curiously asked and he deeply sighed.

"Her name is Jennifer Jung, she was once a trainee here, she was also the sister of Jessica and Krystal Jung, but she had a severe and chronic heart condition... I tried my best to help her when management wasn't looking but it wasn't enough, she perished five months into her training," He explained the story and sighed once more.

Yujin froze in terror and shivers were sent down her spine as she could hardly believe that she was talking to the spirit of Jennifer this whole time.

She didn't know what to make of it but Jake didn't see her as a crazy person and he already figured she saw Jennifer. Yujin returns to her dorm and Jake continues his janitorial duties.

After that night, Yujin was a changed woman much to everyone's surprise, she eventually quit smoking and stopped drinking as much, although she mostly kept to herself, she stopped complaining and followed their schedules.

Yujin and the girls visited the hospital patient without issues or trouble much to management's delight and they were happy they were able to deliver someone's last dying wish.

Sometimes Yujin felt the urge to return to her old habits but refused and kept going no matter what. Yujin would never forget that encounter that night.

She never saw Jennifer again but on some foggy nights, she felt her presence was near but never again would she take anything for granted.

#short story #kpop #kpop idol #kpop gg #ive #an yujin #wonyoung #jang wonyoung #yujin #ive leeseo #lee hyunseo #ive liz #gaeul #kim gaeul #rei #naoi rei #kpop oneshot

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jakesaverse · 5 months ago

Text

ECHOES OF YESTERDAY | JAKE SIM CH.3

Synopsis: On her 21st birthday, Y/n wakes up overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow. It’s not just her birthday; it’s also the third anniversary of her high school boyfriend Jake’s tragic death. Surviving the accident that took Jake’s life, Y/n is haunted by memories of their love and the future they lost. In a moment of desperate longing, she makes a wish to see Jake again and is miraculously transported back in time to when Jake was alive. However, she finds that Jake now hates her, adding a new layer of pain and confusion. Determined to change his fate and earn his tolerance, she resolves to do everything in her power to ensure he escapes death this time.

Reader: Jake x reader

Authors note: Hello! I know it’s been awhile since I’ve uploaded or really updated about my process and I am SOOOO sorry 😭. I’ve had a pretty rough writers block right after I posted my second chapter. And I’m still having it but it’s slowly getting better ❤️‍🩹. This chapter is more on the emotional side ( all of them have been but yk what I mean I hope). Also, this is meant to be slow burn so please keep that in mind. Anyways, thank you for your patience and hopefully it was worth the wait 🥰! Thank you for your support 🫶🫶!!

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Jake jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The remnants of the nightmare clung to his mind, vivid and tormenting. He could still see the shadows closing in, suffocating him, and the echo of Y/N's words, "I’m trying to save you," haunting his every thought.

He sat up, gasping for air, and looked around his dimly lit room. The broken mirror on the wall caught his eye, a cruel reminder of his earlier outburst. Anger and despair had driven him to punch it, shattering both the glass and a piece of himself.

Jake's hand trembled as he reached for the first aid kit on his bedside table. His wrist was still bleeding, the pain sharp and relentless. He wrapped the bandage around it, each twist of the fabric feeling like a futile attempt to hold himself together.

As he tightened the bandage, tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't escape the image of the man in the mirror—so lost, so alone. The reflection was a stark contrast to the facade he showed the world. In truth, he was drowning in his own isolation, burdened by the weight of his past and the guilt that gnawed at his soul.

Y/N's words echoed louder now, cutting through the silence of the room. "I’m trying to save you ." At first, he had dismissed her as crazy, but now those words felt like a lifeline. Why did he need to be saved? What did she see in him that he couldn't see in himself?

Jake's thoughts spiraled as he tried to make sense of it all. He thought about his life, the constant feeling of not being enough, and the relentless self-blame. He had pushed everyone away, convinced that he didn't deserve their love or friendship. The loneliness was suffocating.

And yet, Y/N's words had pierced through his defenses. Despite everything, they had reached him. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Maybe he did need saving—from his anger, his guilt, and the darkness that consumed him.

As he looked at the shattered mirror, Jake made a silent vow. He would find out what Y/N meant. He would confront his demons and try to understand why he needed to be saved. It was a small glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak existence, but it was enough to keep him going.

Sunghoon arrived at Jake's apartment early in the morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. He had been worried about Jake ever since their last conversation. Jake had seemed distant, lost in his thoughts, and Sunghoon knew all too well how his friend tended to shut down if he didn't talk about what was bothering him.

Quietly, Sunghoon pulled out the spare key Jake had given him for emergencies and let himself in. He carried a bag of food, hoping that a warm meal might help lift Jake's spirits. As he stepped inside, he was struck by the silence and the disarray. The broken mirror, the scattered shards of glass, and the overall mess painted a clear picture of Jake's turmoil.

Sunghoon found Jake slumped on the couch, looking disheveled and exhausted. His eyes immediately went to the bandaged wrist, the blood seeping through the white fabric. Sunghoon's heart sank.

"Jake, what the hell happened?" Sunghoon's voice was a mix of concern and frustration as he set the bag of food on the table and rushed to his friend's side.

Jake looked up, startled. "Sunghoon? How did you—"

"I used the spare key. I was worried about you." Sunghoon gestured to the bandage. "You hurt yourself again. You can't keep doing this, Jake."

Jake sighed, his head in his hands. "It's nothing, Sunghoon. Just had a rough night."

"Nothing? This is not nothing!" Sunghoon's voice softened as he sat beside Jake. "Talk to me. What's going on? You can't keep bottling this up. It's eating you alive."

For a moment, there was silence. Jake struggled to find the words, his emotions a tangled mess. Finally, he looked up, his eyes filled with pain. "I had a nightmare. It felt so real, and I woke up feeling... broken. I can't shake this feeling, Sunghoon. I feel like I'm drowning in my own thoughts, and I don't know how to stop it."

Sunghoon placed a reassuring hand on Jake's shoulder. "You don't have to go through this alone, Jake. I'm here for you. We all are. But you need to let us in. You need to talk about what's going on inside your head."

Jake nodded slowly, tears brimming in his eyes. "I know. It's just so hard. I feel like I'm not enough, like I'm always failing."

"You're not failing, Jake. You're human. We all have our struggles, but we face them together. You don't have to carry this burden by yourself."

Jake took a deep breath, the weight on his chest feeling a little lighter. "Thanks, Sunghoon. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Sunghoon smiled, giving Jake's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You'll never have to find out. Now, let's get that wrist properly cleaned up, and then we'll figure this out together. One step at a time."

As Sunghoon helped Jake with his bandage and then unpacked the food, a sense of hope began to bloom in the room. It wasn't a solution to all of Jake's problems, but it was a start. And sometimes, that's all you need to begin healing.

Sunghoon sat across from Jake, he was talking about their plans for the upcoming weekend, but he noticed Jake's eyes drifting away, staring blankly out the window. Sunghoon knew this look all too well. Jake often spaced out like this when he was really struggling with something heavy on his mind.

Sunghoon's voice softened, careful not to startle Jake out of his thoughts. "You know, Jake, it's been a while since we went to the beach. How about we get some fresh air?"

Jake blinked, his focus slowly returning to the present. "The beach?"

"Yeah," Sunghoon said with a gentle smile. "It could be good for you. We can invite Jay too. Just the three of us, like old times."

Jake's lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "That sounds nice."

Sunghoon pulled out his phone and quickly sent a text to Jay. Within moments, Jay replied with an enthusiastic "I'm in!"

"Jay's on board," Sunghoon said, standing up and offering his hand to Jake. "Let's go."

They gathered their things and headed out the door. The drive to the beach was filled with light chatter, mostly led by Sunghoon, with Jake giving occasional nods or short responses. Sunghoon didn't mind; he was just glad to see a hint of relaxation in Jake's demeanor.

When they arrived at the beach, Jay was already there, waving at them with a big grin. "Hey, guys!"

"Hey, Jay!" Sunghoon called back, returning the wave.

Jake managed a small smile as they joined Jay by the water. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the salty breeze seemed to lift some of the weight off Jake's shoulders. For a moment, he felt a sense of peace.

They walked along the shore, the sand cool beneath their feet. Jay, always the joker, started telling funny stories about their school days, trying to coax a laugh out of Jake. Sunghoon watched as a small spark of amusement flickered in Jake's eyes.

"Remember that time we tried to build the biggest sandcastle and ended up with more sand on ourselves than on the castle?" Jay said, laughing.

Jake chuckled softly, the sound like music to Sunghoon's ears. "Yeah, and we were so proud of that lopsided thing."

Sunghoon joined in the laughter, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "We should try building another one today. What do you say, Jake?"

Jake looked at his friends, feeling a swell of gratitude. "Yeah, let's do it."

They spent the afternoon building a sandcastle, their laughter mingling with the sound of the waves. For a while, Jake forgot about his troubles, lost in the simple joy of being with his friends. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they sat down on the sand, watching the horizon.

"Thanks, guys," Jake said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. "I really needed this."

Sunghoon wrapped an arm around Jake's shoulders. "We're always here for you, Jake. No matter what."

Jay nodded, his expression serious for once. "Yeah, man. We're a trio. We stick together."

Jake felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't try to hide them. He let them fall, feeling the warmth of his friends' presence. In that moment, he knew he wasn't alone. He had Sunghoon and Jay by his side, and that made all the difference.

You stood motionless in front of the bridge, the biting wind whispering secrets of the past as it brushed against your skin. The bridge held a profound significance, a silent witness to a night that had changed everything. You could still feel the weight of that evening, the crushing despair that had driven you to the edge.

It was late, the kind of late where the world seems to hold its breath. You had been ready to let go, to escape the relentless pain that had become your constant companion. You had stepped onto the bridge, your heart pounding, your mind a chaotic storm. The darkness below had seemed inviting, a final respite from your suffering.

But then, out of the shadows, Jake had appeared. His presence had been like a beacon, a light cutting through your darkest hour.

"Y/N, please don't," he had called out, his voice trembling with fear and love. He had approached you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "You don't have to do this. You're not alone. I'm here with you."

Jake had wrapped you in his arms, holding you with a strength that belied his own fears. His embrace had been warm, a sanctuary where your broken pieces could find solace. He had whispered words of comfort, of hope, convincing you that your life was worth living. That night, he had saved you, pulling you back from the brink.

But now, as you stood before the bridge once more, Jake was gone. He had died, leaving a void that nothing could fill. The memory of his sacrifice haunted you, a constant reminder of your guilt. You had never wanted to live, yet Jake had fought so hard for your life. And now, he was dead, and you were still here, drowning in a sea of remorse.

The tears began to fall, slowly at first, then in an uncontrollable torrent. You sank to your knees, your sobs echoing in the emptiness around you. The guilt was overwhelming, the pain unbearable. It felt as if your heart was shattering into a thousand pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last.

"Jake, I'm so sorry," you whispered through your tears. "I miss you so much. Why did you save me?"

The wind continued to blow, carrying your words into the void. You clutched at your chest, the ache of loss and regret consuming you. You remembered his smile, the way his eyes had sparkled with life, and the way he had always known just what to say to make you feel better. But now, those memories were all you had left.

You cried until you had no more tears to shed, your body trembling with the force of your grief. In the stillness that followed, you felt a faint sense of release, as if your tears had washed away a part of the burden you carried. You knew that Jake would never truly be gone, that he lived on in your heart and in the memories you had shared.

As you stood up, you took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs. You looked out over the bridge, the place where Jake had saved your life, and you made a silent promise to him. You would try to live, not just for yourself, but for him. You would carry his memory with you, letting it guide you through the darkness.

Jake stepped out of Sunghoon's car, waving a tired goodbye to his friends. The night air was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the car's interior. Despite his exhaustion, he felt a restless energy coursing through him. He knew he needed to clear his head, so he decided to take a walk, even though it was pretty late.

The streets were eerily quiet, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. Jake walked aimlessly, his thoughts a jumbled mess of regrets and what-ifs. He found himself heading towards the bridge, a place he often went to when he needed to think, to escape, to breathe.

As he approached, he noticed a figure standing by the railing. It took him a moment to realize it was Y/N. She was crying, her shoulders shaking with each sob, the sound barely audible but piercing through the night. Jake's first instinct was to turn around and leave her to her privacy, but something stopped him. He saw himself in her—broken and lost. The raw emotion on her face mirrored the turmoil he felt inside.

Despite everything she had done to get under his skin, he couldn't just leave her there, struggling alone. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to her, his footsteps soft against the pavement. Each step felt like a mile, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

"Y/N," he called out gently, his voice almost a whisper.

She looked up, startled, and quickly tried to recompose herself, wiping away her tears with trembling hands. But as soon as she saw him, the facade crumbled. Her eyes, red and swollen, filled with fresh tears. Without thinking, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a desperate hug. Jake stood still for a moment, surprised, but then he felt her body shaking against his, her sobs muffled against his chest.

He hesitated, then slowly brought his arms around her, holding her as she broke down. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the night wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their shared pain.

Jake could feel her tears soaking through his shirt, her grip on him tightening as if she was afraid he would disappear. He gently rested his chin on top of her head, his own eyes stinging with unshed tears. He didn't know what to say, didn't know if there were any words that could ease her pain. So he just held her, letting her cry, letting her release the torrent of emotions that had been building up inside her.

"You're not alone," he whispered finally, his voice breaking. "I'm here."

Y/N's sobs grew louder, more anguished, as if his words had opened a floodgate. She clung to him, her body shaking with the force of her crying. Jake tightened his hold on her, his heart aching for her, for them both. In that moment, all the resentment, all the anger he had harbored towards her seemed to dissolve, replaced by a deep, aching empathy.

They stood there for what felt like hours, the night growing colder around them. Eventually, Y/N's sobs began to subside, her breathing becoming more even. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Jake nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Anytime," he replied softly.

They stood there in silence, the bridge their silent witness, the night their only companion. For the first time in a long while, Jake felt a sense of purpose. He didn't have the answers, didn't know what the future held, but for now, being there for Y/N was enough.

You and Jake walked side by side, the dim streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. You reached the nearest shop that was still open, a small convenience store with a flickering neon sign that buzzed faintly in the cool night air.

"I'm going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?" Jake asked, his voice breaking the silence. There was a softness in his tone that made your heart ache.

You shook your head. "No, I'm good."

Jake raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. He disappeared into the store, leaving you standing outside, your thoughts racing. You couldn't tell him the truth—that you had traveled back in time to save him. How could you explain something so unbelievable?

As you waited, memories of the accident flooded your mind. The screeching tires, the shattering glass, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness. You squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the images away, but they clung to you like shadows.

A few minutes later, Jake emerged with a bottle of water and a small bag of chips. He handed the chips to you. "I know you said you didn't want anything, but I got these for you anyway."

You took the bag hesitantly, your fingers brushing against his. "Thanks," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

You started walking back, the crunch of gravel under your feet the only sound. Jake glanced at you sideways, his brow furrowed with concern. "So, why did you say I needed to be saved?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You had to think fast. "Oh, I was just... you know, being dramatic. I didn't mean anything by it."

Jake stopped walking and turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to lie to me, Y/N. I can tell something's been bothering you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "It's nothing, really. Just... a lot on my mind."

Jake reached out and gently touched your arm, his expression softening. He wasn't your biggest fan, mainly because it always seemed like you had your life together, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He knew it was wrong to assume and dislike you for that, but those feelings had lingered for so long.

However, when he saw you a couple of minutes ago, with that same look and feeling he had been battling his whole life, something inside him shifted. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks—how much of a jerk he had been. Jake's heart ached with regret as he looked at you, finally understanding the weight of his misguided resentment.

"You can talk to me, you know. I'm here for you."

You felt a lump in your throat. You wanted to tell him everything, to unburden yourself of the secret that weighed so heavily on your heart. But you couldn't. Not yet. Instead, you forced a smile. "Thanks, Jake. That means a lot."

You continued walking in silence, the tension between you palpable. As you guys neared the corner where you would part ways, Jake stopped and turned to you, his expression serious.

"We should probably figure out when to meet up for the project," he said, breaking the moment you had shared.

You nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "Yeah, how about tomorrow after school?"

"Sounds good," Jake replied. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "And if you ever need to talk, I'm here. Anytime."

Your heart ached at his kindness. At the kindness you haven’t been able to witness for a couple of years now. “Thanks, Jake. I'll remember that."

As you went your separate ways, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. You wanted to tell him the truth, but you knew you couldn't. Not yet. For now, you would have to carry the weight of your secret alone.

Jake sat alone in his room, the weight of his actions crashing down on him with unbearable force. He had always prided himself on being strong, on keeping his emotions in check, but now he felt like he was unraveling. He had misjudged Y/N so badly, and the realization of how much he had hurt her was like a punch to the gut.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought about all the times he had let his resentment and jealousy guide his actions. He had been so blinded by his own insecurities that he failed to see the pain he was causing someone else. Y/N didn't deserve any of it. She was just trying to navigate her own struggles, and he had made it so much harder for her.

Jake's heart ached as he remembered the look on her face, the vulnerability he had overlooked. He had always managed to hurt people, even when he didn't mean to. It was like a curse he couldn't escape. The guilt was suffocating, and he couldn't hold back the tears any longer. He broke down, sobbing quietly in the darkness of his room.

He glanced at his injured hand, which he had managed to hide earlier. The pain was a constant reminder of his own mistakes. Tomorrow, he would have to figure out how to hide it at school. He didn't want anyone to see his weakness, especially not Y/N. He had already caused her enough pain.

But as he sat there, crying and clutching his injured hand, Jake realized that hiding his pain wasn't the answer. He needed to make things right, to show Y/N that he was truly sorry. It wouldn't be easy, and he knew it would take time, but he was determined to change. He couldn't keep hurting the people around him, especially not Y/N.

With a heavy heart, Jake wiped away his tears and made a silent promise to himself. Tomorrow, he would start making amends. He didn't know how, but he would find a way to show Y/N that he was sorry, that he wanted to be better. For her, and for himself.

taglist: @belovedsthings @en-chantedtomeetyou @syazzzlisa @k1ttylvr @jaeyunpinkyring-deactivated2024 @dreamiestay @soobs-things @capri-cuntz @beomgyusimp @heelariously @thinkinboutbin @jyunsgf @lwavander @chaewonshoney @maliakealoha @addictedtohobi @likeemilia @shaniandme @chocminteu @lilyuwon @kgneptun @dojaejunging @binniesbabe @asteria-wood

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forever--darling · 11 months ago

Text

the chosen one

summary: a new life awaits you & yet you can't help the darkness that looms over the old one. to be a jedi seemed wrong to you so much so that the overwhelming feelings for the young jedi you were forced to spend every day with became overshadowed by other things instead, things no jedi were ever to act upon.

pairings: anakin skywalker x jedi!reader

word count: 6.6k

warnings/notes: mention of war, of death, mention of clone wars, swearing, evidence of past reader & anakin, conceited!anakin, angst (early but important for future character development), mentions of the force, fluff near the end

series masterlist | 02

“Master, you have returned from the council I have seen. What did they say? About the princess?” The young Padawan stared up at his mentor, eyes so uncertain as he met the older man’s gaze.

Obi-Wan met the young man’s question with just as much uncertainty. How was he to put it into words? Words of what he had proposed to the Jedi Council? Of just how exactly he might have jeopardized the very chosen one’s training. Obi-Wan was not proud then of what he had done in the council meeting. Of how persistent he had been without even talking to his young Padawan learner beforehand, but his mind had already been made up the second he had seen your face upon meeting the outside ruins of Bakura, your father left behind to burn with it.

They successfully extracted you — just to leave you with nothing.

“Padawan…” Obi-Wan began but trailed off, instead taking a seat upon the couch, hesitant then as the younger man remained standing, a single dark brow arched in obvious confusion.

Obi-Wan corrected himself then, “Anakin, with regarding the princess I have talked to them about her staying on a more permanent note.”

“In Coruscant?”

“Yes, but not exactly,” Obi-Wan said, watching carefully as his young Padawan’s face fell, the confusion melting at the relization.

“Within the Jedi Temple, you mean.”

The older Jedi nodded in confirmation.

“You wish for her to become a Jedi?” Anakin asked, forming the conclusions as quickly as they appeared over Obi-Wan’s face. He could feel it as well through his senses, the anxiety that had befallen his master. The sudden question swarmed him of what exactly his mentor had done; of what deal he had exactly struck with the council.

“She knows the force, Anakin. I have seen it, with my own eyes. There is a piece of her she has yet to even explore, and I know that with much focus and practice, she could become a strong Jedi. She could will the force just as well as you or I.”

The young man froze, the very admittance shielding him useless then. Unable to barely fathom what to say or a single coherent thought. He could only stand there, senses wavering, opening up to the mere feeling from just across the temple. You.

Even from rooms away, it felt as if he sat across from you, observing the expressions on your face, just asking to see your pretty eyes weaken from their steel. You were unaware of his senses, unaware of how well he could feel you. Unaware of how well he knew the pain you dwelled on and the devastation that filled your chest with a gentle ache. Your sadness was loud to him, his Jedi powers strong then.

But one question still remained.

“Master, who would she train under? Who would be her Master?”

Obi-Wan remained silent. His head suddenly bowing in slight shame. Slight worry of offering up himself to the council willingly.

“I see,” Anakin frowned, “And what about me?”

The older Jedi’s eyes found his then quickly, trying to offer as much comfort as he could with a soft smile, trying to ease the panic that was surely swirling within the chosen one’s mighty mind, “You would still be my young Padawan learner if that is what you wish.”

Anakin’s brows furrowed again, “But, I thought no Master could have two Padawans. The code—”

“Yes, the code does forbid it. But you see at one time ago I was one Padawan of two to my own master. The other being Y/N’s father.”

“The king?” the young Padawan corrected.

“Yes, the king,” Obi-Wan frowned, his face wavering at the thought of the loss of his old friend, “He was a great Jedi and an even greater friend. Because of that, our bond within the force was powerful. I was able to remind the council of that. There can be exceptions even within the code.”

The Padawan nodded understandingly, it all aligning within his mind, and yet that furrowed look still would not cease from his face. Hesitancy was present behind his eyes, the blueness in them holding Obi-Wan’s attention as he tried to read the younger Jedi’s feelings. But Anakin held up a front, his walls strong against his mentor. There was something else not being said. He could feel it.

“Then what is it? What exactly are you not telling me, Master?”

Obi-Wan inhaled, “They would only allow it upon your approval. You are still the chosen one, Anakin. They want to ensure your learning is not minimized by the addition of someone else.”

“So it’s up to me?”

“Yes, very much so,” Obi-Wan nodded.

Anakin hummed in understanding. Much understanding of the sudden weight that had befallen him. This was no dire decision to make. With nothing and no one, Obi-Wan has stepped forward, offering up a solace for you — something that was not foreign for the older Jedi to do. Though Anakin wasn’t sure he would have done the same, there was a certain power he felt with this foreboding ask of him. Your life, that is. He liked how it felt within his palms, just as your back had against his firm chest upon your first meeting.

There was something about you. He couldn’t know it then. Begin to understand, how the force was so willful in him to look into you, to try and understand you. He pushed the reasoning onto his senses, how strong they had become — how successful his training had been dubbing him lately. So much so that the trials would be a simple task.

This was an opportunity though, to forge a connection separate from his master but with you as well. To showcase to the council how truly powerful and one with the Jedi code he could be. To lead you and protect you as his own mentor had done for him. This was a chance to get ahead, but on top of it save you.

“She has no one,” Anakin said, surveying the obvious fact.

“No, she does not,” Obi-Wan confirmed.

He was conceded he knew that, as he imagined saving you over and over again just for the swell his chest would receive at the praise of those around him. He wanted his name known. Anakin Skywalker.

There was more he was destined for, and that was enough paired with the wallows of sadness he could still very well feel to make up his mind.

The grass was so green, even soft as if it was Bakura itself. That single field by the capital. It didn’t matter how much it rained, how it seemed to flood the streets, that field remained just as perfect as always. Closing your eyes with ease, you felt the wind, how it tickled your skin around the base of your neck from where your hair was pulled up and out of your face. It smelled like saltwater but not enough to be considered irritating. With fluttered eyelids, you sighed, a deep breath invading your chest before releasing.

There was a shift then though — within the air.

A certain sort of energy coaligning with yours enough to make your pulse quicken. You could feel him, that much was certain.

There was a step, it heavy on the ground, not as quiet as either of you had expected. As another one approached, you quickly swung around on your heels, eyes peeling open just as the flash of light came towards you. With a wielding nature, your own saber ignited a strong blue just like the one before you. Shielding the blow, they collided harshly, sending your heels to dig into the ground while air admitted from the energy collision of the two sabers.

Peering up, you met his narrowed blue stare with one of your own. Dark furrowed brows shone along his face but there just as it always was — that smirk of his. The single and most infuriating thing about him.

“Not as quiet as you thought you’d be?” you asked, the sarcasm dripping freely.

Your ask alone had him leaning closer, challenging you with the newly added tension upon your saber.

He chuckled, the sound hitting you in the chest, as that Padawan braid of his swung as he stepped back, saber releasing yours, “Not at all. Was trying to test your senses is all.”

“Sure.”

Stepping back yourself, you felt the crunch underneath your feet. Peering down quickly, he watched you carefully as you traced the brown and withered grass beneath you. Tracing it along the once billowing weeds, it all was dead and turned to ash. A smog had filled the air, and it was eerily too familiar to you then.

Sensing your master’s watchful eyes, the Padawan fenced forward, his saber moving around his back into his opposite palm just to meet yours once more as he lunged. A grunt admitted from your throat at the impact, it enough to make you stumble. Shifting your weight forward, his strength loosened, allowing you to swing your blue lightsaber up and toward his left shoulder. With little ease it collided with his once more.

Then, within a matter of seconds, it had become a swinging match between the two blue sabers. It was a light show of poking, swinging, and prodding at the receiving opponent, only for each blow to be matched. That look was still in his eyes. It was guarded and cold like a warrior appeared even as a young Padawan. It was a look you couldn’t fully understand but felt through every bone and particle within your body. You responded to it as if he was just asking for you to give everything to him, and you hated it. Hated how well he knew you, or how well he could sense every move you made before you did it.

You had gotten better yourself over the course of the months, learning and studying the code as well as interacting closely with the force. It had intensified in the way that it moved through your veins, not to the extent it did for him, but enough that you were able to sense him, too. When he was near, maybe a doorway away or even a hall. Or which move he was willing to use first within training that day. Even the pit that would form at the base of his stomach every time he and Obi-Wan disagreed on something.

You knew more than you ever wished.

He chuckled then, as if able to hear your thoughts so blatantly about him. That look darkened further but remained playful even as he darted for you, only for you to spin completely switching sides with him to meet his saber again with a mighty clash.

“You’ve gotten better,” he said, voice teasing as he leaned in closer enough that the pair of blue lights reflected rings within his eyes. It drew your attention away from them to him instead. To the way they deliberately stared into your own — too intensely.

“But not quite good enough,” he finished his saber releasing yours rather quickly.

It was then you felt the harsh blade sweep you up from under your feet, the pain only coming from where your back met the ground. Leaning over you, that smirk of his remained that glint overwhelming as the smoke-filled haze and the dead grass disappeared. He remained as you were brought back out of your minds and into the training room. The walls transforming around you into their usual metal view.

The mat was sticky under your form, felt across your bare back where the tight top didn’t cover. Your stick was prodding at your side, not truly your saber as it had felt only moments ago. You sighed then, melting into the ground momentarily as the chosen one laughed from above you, his arms crossed over his chest.

“It seems I have won again,” he teased, “Shocker.”

You rolled your eyes, suddenly unamused by his charming wit or wandering stare. Sitting up on your forearms, you heard the hiss from the other side of the room. The disappointment filled your chest as you looked over to find Obi-Wan tutting softly to himself at the sight of the two of you.

“Anakin,” he warned then as he felt the heat that truly was forming within your veins.

The young Padawan sighed as he looked back down at you and offered both of his hands to you. With much hesitation on your end and a quirk of his lips, you were taking hold of his outstretched palms. A tingle shot up through your arms, and you wondered briefly if he had felt it, too. He pulled you up from the ground quickly, enough that you almost collided with him. Laughing like a teenage boy at the mere stumble of your feet, he didn’t dare comment on it, still fully aware of master staring him down.

Playfully flicking a piece of your hair behind your ear with a simple curl of his fingers, you slapped his hand away from where it engaged within the force. Glaring, you couldn’t help the frustration that formed, the anger that you knew was not to be acted on or used by a Jedi — it wasn’t applicable with the force, but you couldn’t help it. Not when he stood inches above you, sweat gathering along his brow, shirt tight on his chest, and that look upon his face. It was humiliating the more it happened day after day.

“It isn’t fair,” you muttered then, taking a step back, enough that you could no longer feel the heat radiating from him.

“What isn’t?” he asked, almost feigning a sense of compassion but that was replaced quickly, “That I’m better than you.”

Obi-Wan sighed from off to the side but neither of you disengaged from the gaze of the other. Anakin smirked again and you grumbled in response. “No that you know every move before I do it.”

“Well if you expanded on them, I wouldn’t know every single one so well. You will find sweet Padawan that you’re enemy will soon become accustomed to it as well.”

You huffed then, hating how he spoke to you as if he were the master and not Obi-Wan. It was so enraging knowing how he truly saw you. “You’re infuriating!”

“Because I’m right?”

“No, because you are so fucking full of yourself,” you snapped then, knowing how off putting it really sounded at the way his eyes widened slightly, brows raising.

Gawking, you tried to withhold from glancing at Obi-Wan too afraid of what glare he would hold then. The moment had become too great and you had gone against the basic traits of the code with so much ease. It billowed up, consuming you, how much he could affect you, draw out the most outrageous words that you had never used for anyone in all your life. Worst of all he found it entertaining.

“So, is that what you truly think of me?” Anakin asked, that smirk of his never ceasing, but somehow lessening as he realized the extent of your feelings towards him. His face hardened then as if feeling too the code slipping from the confines of his mind. “Well, maybe if the council had actually considered a Padawan I could compete with, I wouldn’t be. Instead, they brought me you.”

You felt your resolve crack then, something in you shifting at the hardness in his tone. Sure he liked to tease you, be sarcastic in anyway he could to gain a reaction out of you, but in all those months you had spent training together, discussing the true works of the Jedi, he had never been so cruel. Since the day he had rescued you, he had never been anything short of kind and a little immersive towards you.

Anakin was very passionate, held so much inside, but it had never transferred to anything other than that towards you. Until then.

You couldn’t help it. The force and not even Obi-Wan could stop it then. Lifting your hand, you flickered your fingers so naturally, Anakin had not even noticed. Not until the stick from the ground had smacked him across the back of the head. The sound echoed off the walls and he barely even flinched at the contact.

You noticed though how his eyes had darkened, the blue more intimidating than it ever had been. He huffed out watching the way your chest rose and fell with anger. The worst you had ever directed towards him. He couldn’t help it either in the way his own hand lifted, ready to surely do something he would regret but his master’s voice stopped him all too quickly.

“Anakin!”

You both were pulled back from one another, stares finding Obi-Wan’s, and you crumbled slightly at the realization of what you had done. His glare was set on both of you, a frown evident. A disappointment that the two young Padawans couldn’t be more similar to how he had been with your father. Anakin’s form deflated slightly, his hand dropping to his side, and his eyes found yours again, this time far lighter, softer, as if realizing too his actions. Shaking your head, you turned then, unable to take it anymore. You left the room, the door closing behind you in a fit of steam that very well could have matched the kind coming out of your ears.

Anakin watched you go, suddenly filled with guilt at the thought of his senslessness having taken over. He was young but had been commended on his wisdom, his understanding, his strength and yet he couldn’t feel as if he had any of those things then. Turning cautiously to face Obi-Wan, he struggled to even speak.

“Master—”

“Why are you always so hard on her?” Obi-Wan asked then, taking the young Padawan back by surprise.

“Me?” Anakin gawked then at the way Obi-Wan easily took your side more so like he always did. The chosen one became spiteful then, “Well somebody has to be.”

“Anakin—”

The young Padawan stepped closer, tall enough and old enough now to meet his master’s height. He felt defensive, how could he not as his master looked at him as he did. “She has been acting out against me for nearly two months now, Master.”

“Well maybe if you wouldn’t provoke her with your words as you do she wouldn’t be so indifferent.”

Anakin chuckled then almost finding it amusing at how Obi-Wan went about explaining your reactions to him. That boyish look appeared again, showing yet again that even though he appeared old, an adult like his mentor, there was still much to be taught. “Oh come on, Master, you know I don’t mean any of that. It is all in good fun. My words are never to bring her any harm.”

“Intentions are not always seen so clearly.”

Obi-Wan watched as the young man huffed, annoyance proudly showing once again, “Well, it is hard when all she wishes is to act upon anger and frustration towards me. It’s set clearly in the code, but—”

“You know this, and yet you act back upon it towards her. You know better, Padawan. I have taught you to be better than this. You are a wise young Jedi which is why I can’t understand why you don’t see any of this for yourself.”

“Becuase it seems she has blinded me,” the young Jedi admitted, sounding suddenly far older than he was.

“What?”

“Everyone is trying so hard to push us together, even the force is willful of us getting close, and yet it seems she wants nothing to do with me, Master. Where I try, she pushes me away as much as possible. She doesn’t trust me,” he sighed, eyes not wavering from his mentor’s then as he repeated, “She has blinded me, and thus I feel lost.”

Obi-Wan felt his own frustrations subside at his young Padawans, both trying so hard to seem wiser than they truly were. The chosen one, especially. He had so much pressure on him all the time; he thought he had to be older and seem more ready than he really was. One day, he would make a powerful Jedi; Obi-Wan knew that. As did everyone else, and yet it takes time, energy, and understanding to get there. Most of all, it takes the simplest compassions.

The older Jedi reached forward his hand sliding along Anakin’s shoulder with ease. “You have to give her a reason.”

“What?” The younger Jedi let the question fall freely from his lips those eyes of his once again narrowed in confusion, his pink lips slightly parted.

“If you want her to trust you, you must give her a reason to.”

The sun was setting on Cruscant, and its four moons would soon take its place in the sky. The stack of books were heavy in your palms — ancient ones — anything you could use to rid yourself of him and what had happened earlier. Yet as you gave up upon reading them in the library and began to bring them to your chambers, you knew it would be no use. Not even as you had showered, brushed your hair, or tried to meditate, he still remained.

Anakin Skywalker.

It was as if he had folded himself within your chest, and the force was accepting of it. He was everywhere all of the time and you couldn’t, just couldn’t escape it. Or the simple pull you got when you felt him near, even as you felt him from across the temple. It wasn’t something you had ever had before, not when you were a little girl having first discovered the force or even upon becoming a Padawan. You had never been able to sense someone as you had been with him, and it was too much to bear. Too much to understand as you tried to wrap your head around the universe’s reasoning.

It made you despise him. Him and his handsome face — his smile or his laugh or a mere look from his eyes. It was as if you would never be free, free from this hold, from this strange feeling that had encompassed your entire being. It was also why you knew you couldn’t leave the Jedi Temple or Obi-Wan. He knew of this strange connection which meant so did the council. It was as if you owed this to the chosen one, to sacrifice yourself for him.

Your robes hung loose around your frame, almost dragging across the floor; you realized because it was one of Anakin’s from the first day he had come to your chambers, the stack in your hands. As if he couldn’t have even thought to get some from the few women of the temple, but rather wished to give you another reminder of him. They were warm, no longer smelling of his sweet cologne as they had on that first day.

Cursing yourself for having even thought about it, you strayed in the long corridor of the temple, the towering pillars unable to even grace your attention then. Even as other Padawans and Jedis strolled by, you couldn’t move but instead leaned back on the wall, eyes locked onto the rays of disappearing sunlight. Bathing your skin in the softest of colors, you closed your eyes unable to fully rid the anger that had been permanently tattooed upon you since that day. That godforsaken day in Bakura. A version of yourself you didn’t even remember anymore.

Jedi’s who engaged in anger, in aggression, would be forsaken. Especially those given up to the council. It seemed that is all you had accomplished so far, the exact things that opposed the code of being a Jedi at all. And yet you felt it in him too. Within the chosen one, the anger, that hatred that was brewing — for what you couldn’t be sure — but only knew that it was there. Hidden away behind the banter, the smiles, the boyish actions he played into on most occasions. It was there just as it was within most of humanity.

How had the two of you gotten here? To this point, to this unspoken feeling rooted deeply between you and him? You couldn’t help if a part of it was you. Had it been you that had done this? Manifested this feeling upon you and him? This conflict.

It hadn’t always been that way. Not even close.

“Are you going to lock yourself away in this room forever?”

You sighed because, sure enough, he found you. He always did amidst the temple. You sat within the confines of a small lounge, one often Master Obi-Wan would go to for mediation. It was decorated with some of the comfiest couches, places to sink yourself into for hours on end. Then there were the plants, so green, so large, all reminding you more of home in ways you couldn’t have imagined. Weeks had gone by, weeks of beginning your Jedi training, and for some reason, it had all felt like a temporary dream sure to fade in due time.

Turning, the young Jedi leaned within the doorway, that familiar light forming across his expression, one you had found to be quite common since that morning within your chambers where he had brought you a stack of robes — the very ones that drowned your frame at that moment. It seemed he almost knew you were thinking about it and chuckled at the sight of you swallowed up in his clothes.

“No. It’s not as if I have been in here for days,” you bated back as he stalked closer, towering over your seated frame upon the small couch, knees hugged closely to your chest, almost resembling a child.

“Could have fooled me. I have felt you sulking away in here for almost three hours now.”

Your brows quirked up in curiosity, a bashful look forming and heat appearing across your cheeks at his small confession. His smile widened, that glint intensifying as he stopped just before you. He looked just as handsome as the day you had met him weeks before, with broad shoulders confined behind loose robes, his Padawan braid that now matched your own laid across his shoulder.

“Master has sent me to come find you. He wants to try another mediation session and thinks it will help you with your lightsaber training.”

You nodded but didn’t respond to his ask of your Master. You couldn’t, not when his previous words were still holding your attention.

It seemed he had known what you’re questionable staring was from. His sole words of how he had been able to feel you through the force, through his senses — something he had quickly become accustomed to as you had moved into the Jedi temple.

“My senses are strong,” he explained, taking a seat on the couch next to you, close enough that you could feel his heat but not enough that he was touching you. Leaning back, he stretched his legs out, eyes refusing to leave your smaller frame, “They have gotten quite strong more so recently. The force has been all-knowing with me, and because of that, I have had the ability to see into the feelings of those who remain close around me. Jedis are very in tune with their surroundings, and one day you will feel that as well.”

“So, you’ve been spying on me?” you asked carefully, the only thing of his whole explanation you could focus on.

He chuckled, the sound deep, and causing goosebumps to form along your arms and neck, “Not exactly. It’s not something I can particularly control.”

“As a Jedi or the chosen one?”

His brows furrowed, too, taking in your features carefully, “Both, I guess. You know, one day, I will be the most powerful Jedi the council has ever seen, or at least that is what they say.”

“You are very fond of yourself, young Skywalker,” you teased then, a smile of your own slowly forming. Only one of few he had ever seen, and he couldn’t help the feeling it gave him, some sort of comfort at the fact as if the sight could wash away any frustrations he felt.

“I suppose I am,” he agreed, leaning in closer to test the waters by bumping his shoulder lightly with yours, “Is that so wrong of me?”

There was a pause, some hesitation on your end, as your eyes somehow betrayed you then in favor of tracing his features, slowly as if you would never have the chance again. You shook your head then, holding his attention completely as you said, “No, not at all.”

Your eyes fluttered open, the sun near the edge of the horizon, no longer holding much comfort as you felt something else instead. That stutter within your chest that was called a heartbeat seemed to shift, almost like it was pulled by a string. His aura seemed to invade as his heavy footsteps could be heard entering the corridor, the energy buzzing around your frame. He was desperate to find you. You could feel it. Hear it in the way he walked all while he picked up his speed, upon spotting your frame.

Appearing around the corner, dressed in a set of robes and tunics aside from what he had been wearing earlier, that all too familiar look was there. That smirk of his, you could never escape.

Huffing, you went to turn to head in the opposite direction of the corridor of where you came from, not caring as long as you were away from him. It didn’t matter, though, as he broke out into a jog and stopped you short with one hand blocking you in by your head. Not daring to face him, you continued to look at his hand and the way it caged you in so close, fully aware of his blue pupils locked in on the side of your face. His scent swarmed you and despite the despair and the contempt you felt for him, you couldn’t help inevitably how that scent made you feel. How it had since the first day you met him — comforted.

“What do you want Anakin?” You finally asked, turning enough to face him and his intense gaze.

Your back flushed against the cool wall, and his other hand appeared on the other side of your head, so you were completely caged in beneath him. That smirk of his widened slightly, not quite ready to ask you what he needed from you. “Seriously, first names, now? No, Skywalker or asshole, even?”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t engage in his playfulness. Not then. Not like that.

“Y/N…” he scolded then, your name coming out intently upon his tongue.

Your silence was insulting. You knew that. Knew it based on the annoyance that appeared in his eyes, the discomfort at just the thought. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” you sighed, chest tightening just as the mere fact he was as close as he was, lips pursed, brows of his furrowed in concentration. Seeming to not care about the other Jedis close by who noticed the strange interaction.

As you went to slip out from under his arm, he moved closer, enough that his chest was pressed up against the books in your arms, the only thing separating the two of you. He refused to look anywhere else than you as if he needed you to know how serious this was, how serious he was being. He needed you to know just how much he needed this.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

He was being serious. So completely serious, it had you almost collapsing to the ground. Unsure of where it had suddenly come from.

“You’re stubborn,” you observed, unable to keep your gaze from faltering, flickering ever so slightly to his mouth.

If he had noticed he hadn’t done anything to give it away.

“And you’re closed off,” he replied back, the corners of his lips lifting in slight satisfaction, “I never said either of us was perfect.”

Shaking your head, you couldn’t help the way he had begun to wiggle his way past the barrier you had been hiding behind for far too long. It was those eyes and that smile of his as he tried to be humorous. Slipping under his arm again, this time succeeding, you reached back to take hold of his forearm, palm meeting skin from where his sleeve had been pushed up. The warmth of it had your full attention as you pulled him further down the corridor and into the first empty room you could find.

It was empty, dark, and slightly dusty, with mediocre desks and mats for mediation. Closing the door behind the two of you, Anakin watched as you set the books down on a nearby desk and then turned to face him. Leaning against the small furniture, one arm crossed over your chest, you waved him on as if telling him to continue.

He was surprised, slightly taken aback by how forthcoming you seemed at that moment, and could only internally curse that he hadn’t prepared what he wanted to say. He paused for a moment, unable to as he watched the remaining peaks of golden light wash over your face, illuminating the long hair that fell along your back, the top pulled back in small braids. It was shorter than when he had met you, as you had cut almost four inches off a few days into staying at the temple. There was so much more about you that had seemed to change since that first day.

You weren’t you anymore, that much was clear.

“I’m sorry,” he said it with so much conviction that you felt your eyes lock upon his, the way he had never held so much care in them for you until that very moment. As if he ever could.

You couldn’t believe it, and suddenly you couldn’t want it. Not if he didn’t mean it.

Standing then, you reached your hands out, unsure of how to even feel as just the sight of him every day reminded you of where you came from and how you got here. “Anakin—”

“Just let me say what I have to say.”

“Why?” you asked, suddenly exasperated with your arms outstretched, “As if it could change anything. As if none of it wasn’t true.”

“W-What?” he stammered, suddenly aware of the glassiness that was appearing within your eyes, the true pain he had always felt a few walls or perhaps corridors away but never this closely. Never like this, where it was so loud he felt as if his senses were on overdrive.

“I don’t belong here. I never did, and you know that.”

He stepped closer then as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying. Not after the countless hours, days, and months that had been spent alongside one another. You had dedicated so much to being a Padawan and had sacrificed so much to understand the ways of the Jedi. For you to question that, he couldn’t understand.

“What are you saying? That you wish to leave?”

You shrugged, the tears threatening to spill, threatening to reveal just how broken you truly were to the only man who had been able to feel it. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“How can you even think that? Y/N, you have what it takes to be a great Jedi,” Anakin took another step closer, his frame suddenly towering over yours once more, his gaze unable to leave the tear-filled ones of yours.

“I don’t think that I do. I feel like I’m only here because Obi-Wan knows I don’t have anywhere else to go. He pities me. I mean, look around you; Padawans are beginning their training when they are merely children. I am an adult, Anakin. I am so behind in everything, so why else would I be here?”

“No. He cares for you. He knows what you are capable of.”

The tear slipped then, and Anakin followed it slowly with his eyes, the way it bathed your soft cheek, wetting the surface of it. Your lips were chapped, practically chewed to bits, and you appeared as if you hadn’t slept for days.

Noticing the way he was looking at you so intently, you wiped the stray tear away, hating the thought of him seeing you like this.

“How can I be capable of being a Jedi if I don’t even know who I am?” You offered, hands suddenly shaking so much he just wished to take hold of them to ground you at least. Turning, you faced the inside wall of the room, using all the strength you had to will those tears away. “I don’t even know if I am a good person.”

“Y/N, how could you even—”

“There is something inside of me, Anakin. Something cold. Dark. You’ve seen it, you know. Since that day, I have felt nothing but pure hatred. I want them all to burn. I want them all to be destroyed, those who did what they did to me, to my people.”

Slowly stepping back towards him, you turned to find his stare had never wavered. But something else had appeared. This look as if he knew you were right, a confirmation of your words. Something that now no longer only remained within the confines of your mind. Guilt appeared on his face as you smiled sadly.

“The princess of Bakura is truly dead,” you mumbled, turning to grab your books but stopping at the feeling of his hand taking your arm gently, “Some Jedi, huh?”

You halted then, able to feel his breathing as he stepped closer, so close it was enrapturing. With the smallest whisper, he said, “Stay.”

Your eyes flickered up to him, unsure if you had even heard him right. You shook your head in confusion as he said it again.

“Stay anyway.”

“How in good conscious could I ever—”

“Because you’ll have me,” he cut you off, so much intention behind every word then, hand refusing to drop the gentle hold it had around your arm. The most he had ever touched you since the day he had swept you up from Bakura. “You are a product of war, Y/N. That doesn’t make you a bad person, not in the slightest. And I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

You were leaning into him without even realizing it. Pulled in by his words, some of which you could have never expected, especially from him. “Anakin…”

“You need time. You need guidance. You need to be able to instill your trust in me. There is something here, and you know it too. The force favors us together, but that can only be if we can trust one another. If I truly am the chosen one, I am capable of something such as this.”

His hand slid from it’s hold around your arm down across your wrist and to your smaller palm. It was cold and unsteady but he didn’t care, not as he held it within his own.

You knew then that this wasn’t normal; it couldn’t be. People couldn’t have the ability to feel this way, not even the most powerful Jedis. Anakin Skywalker had become your only line of vision, and as that feeling returned — that warmth upon your chest, that evident shift in energy, you couldn’t accept that any of it wasn’t more than either of you thought it was.

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ariiadnes · 3 months ago

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╭ ⿻ ･ I AM THE KNIFE WHICH WILL SLAUGHTER HEAVEN ( part i. )

IT IS YOUR PART TO KILL ME , MINE TO DIE WITHOUT FLINCHING.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ childe ･ ei ･ dainsleif. genshin impact. title cr : heiner müller. quote cr : epictetus. repost.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ childe

OH, BUT THE BLOOD IN YOUR VEINS RUNS COLDER THAN THE KNIFE AGAINST YOUR THROAT, the ruins of salvageable survival echoing in the remnants of a cruel mind. failure failure failure FAILED. you have failed once more, but you do not know if you are sorry or relieved at the realization. you lay there, chest heaving as your lungs burn in despair, but there is nothing except the calm in your visage.

childe looks down at you, wonders if you feel the iron against your skin. curiosity flickers for one, two seconds in blue hues, quickly drowned out by a wondrous adoration and glee at such a sight.

"poor thing." the harbinger says, and the increased pressure against your neck is the only thing that prevents you from laughing at his almost genuine, sympathetic tone. "you were much closer last time. i really thought you'd get me today."

"so sorry to disappoint you." you tilt your chin upwards, a grin blossoming across your lips. "maybe next time, huh?"

childe freezes, instinctively loosens his hold on the weapon. a maddening sense of nostalgia overwhelms his senses, dulls his blood lust. what a wonderful reunion you both share, he thinks, smiling as he leans down, faces only inches apart.

"maybe next time."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ei ; raiden shogun

"it has been a long while, raiden shogun."

she stiffens at your words, finds bitter amusement in such formalities. this is the end-- one will find victory ; another will find death. what need is there for such fronts and falsehoods after all you have endured together?

"have you forgotten my name?"

"impossible, ei. i would remember it for an eternity.”

you almost wonder if you see her flinch, but there is utmost apathy in purple eyes. how serene things used to be back then, an innocent youth and strong resolve once drowned in her colors. the person before you is a vessel of tragedy, claimed by calamity and only existing to seemingly protect others for all the wrong reasons. she remains silent, watches you with a growing grief untold.

there are too many barriers, too many unforgivings and too many regrets. too much missed between lovers twisted into something horrid, something ugly, something gruesome, and in the end, you forget you still have a heart.

"enough. you are not here to speak."

she steels herself for the worst, feels something excruciatingly human beneath it all. but it will fade soon enough, and she will return to a shell of indifference. it is all either of you know now, after all.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ dainsleif

but the bough keeper knows of his mission first and foremost, heart shattered with destruction and the knowledge of a heavy past. his home is neither here nor there, ruined and fallen to gods known and unknown. to seek happiness is unheard of, and perhaps this is his punishment for experiencing such a feeling with you in days long gone.

sanguine colors your hands, but you do not know where it comes from. how it trickles from your temple, trails down your face, almost mocks him in the way it resembles your tears. your jaw clenched, heart broken ; his honor on the line, resolve wavering. things should not have turned out this way. you and him should not know of violence, not like this, not towards each other.

but a bough keeper knows of his mission first and foremost, and he must protect the fate of khaenri'ah, even if that means destroying himself in the process.

"dain." you choke out his name, watch as his blood drips from his fingertips. you are not mad. you are not angry. you are sorry for what this has become. but you must do the right thing, even if it is wrong to him. you smile, dreadful, and hope he understands your heart. "i wish we could have had a better ending."

this numbness is unforgiving. sorrow sinks into his chest, rips out everything he has ever known. how hideous it is, this crimson that splatters across the floor.

#genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #raiden shogun x reader #dainsleif x reader #gi x reader #-ˋ ♡ ◞ : fic #-ˋ ♡ ◞ : genshin impact #-ˋ ♡ ◞ : banner cr @ v6que

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vroomvroomcircuit · 1 year ago

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The World did not end

(A/N): 'ello and welcome to my first F1 fic. I'm quite new here (not to fanfic or tumblr, I mean F1), but I want to give back to the F1 community, since you all helped me out tons during a really rough period these last couple of months.

Pairing: Lando Norris x platonic!reader

Warnings: mentions eating food, death of a loved family member, grief, it sounds sad, but it's actually pretty sweet and hopeful (it's based on a tiktok trend), English is not my first language btw

Wordcount: .7k (she is a shorty)

Masterlist ______________

Finding Mclaren’s reserve driver crying in the cafeteria wasn’t what Lando expected to stumble upon, when I went to check out where the repeating music came from. It sounded like a sad song that could land a high spot on his next Spotify wrapped.

“Uhm, (Y/N), what’s wrong?” he asks gently as he approaches the table. After a startle she turns off her phone, which has been playing the music. Frantically, she wipes her tears. It still does nothing against the fact that she has been crying and that her blood shot eyes are very visible.

Lando shakes his head. When people think Oscar is an introverted person, she is the masterclass of introvertedness. Like, the last stage of a pokémon evolution. That’s why seeing (Y/N) cry in a semi public place like the cafeteria calls for concern.

“There has to be something. The food here is not that bad. I mean, I have the same reaction when I see fish being served, too. But today I felt like the meals were rather good. So do tell. What’s bothering you?”

First she shrugs, the twenty year old not being able to find her voice immediately. “The- the world didn’t end when I was 13.” The tears are coming back again, restricting her voice once again.

Lando gathers her into his arms. even though he doesn’t understand what is happening at all. Does that matter right now, though?

The girl needs another minute or two until she is composed enough to explain the reason behind her crying. “There is this Tiktok trend going viral right now. It’s about people saying what mundane things they are able to do, or-or which things they have achieved, and all that because the world did not end when they were a certain age. They mean they got through some heavy event in their life. And because they got through this, they are able to do said things or achieve this.”

He nods, understanding the bittersweet and hopeful outlook this kind of videos can bring. “And something heavy happened to you at 13?” He probes while trying to keep a cautious tone, not wanting to overstep any boundary he doesn’t see.

“My, you see, when I was 13, my grandmother died. This was the first time I felt real grief. I wished for the world to end, because nothingness would have felt better than this immense amount of grief. And this led me to thinking of how many times I wished for the world to end. Because there were important and life changing events approaching me so quickly. When the world ends, I wouldn’t have to go through them, right?

And suddenly I’m 18, writing my final exams in school and it felt like the biggest task in my life. it felt like make or break. But the world did not end. I was able to graduate.

Then I got into the drivers academy, I am training, studying, and meeting people. I’m doing everything and anything. Because the world did not end when I was 13.

And it didn’t end when I was 16, overwhelmed with studying for school. It also did not happen when I was 19 and put under contract to be a reserve driver for Mclaren.

The world never ended. I begged and cried for all of this to stop. To have peace. Because I thought that I would only feel at peace, when nothing happens anymore. And the world didn’t end and now I sit here with you, talking about a tiktok trend.”

Lando understands her train of thought and sentiment immediately. “You know, I’m happy it didn’t end. These past couple of months with you here were pretty fun. Even Oscar admits it! With that true little smile, not in that monotone tone of his. These interviews and the media stuff is much more fun with these silly remarks of yours. And you are an amazing human being. I’m really glad that your world did not end, because meeting you made mine better.”

(Y/N) laughs, the tears being gone and cheeks heating up at that confession. “I’m glad too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to ravish my way through the mountain of pasta minutes before you came in.” They giggle, knowing they share similar food preferences and have the culinary plate of a four year old toddler.

And all that, because the world did not end.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x platonic!reader #x reader #x platonic!reader #reader insert #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic

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fairysluna · 1 year ago

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SINNERS — Chapter 4

After Maegor finds out his beloved niece is to be wed with her own brother, he absolutely loses his mind. He can't just let her go.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

PAIRING – Maegor I Targaryen x Fem!OC.

SUMMARY – A year has passed, Maegor's lies are exposed as Aenelys overheard a conversation and they both found themselves in a discussion that was interrupted by an unexpected visit and terrible news..

TW/TAGS – targcest (uncle/niece), age gap, angst, smut (humping, praising), cursing, maegor being his own warning, mentions of death, hurt/comfort, manipulation. if something is missing let me know!!

NOTE – finally i managed to sit and write for this, I'm sorry if it's not perfect, but I'm still struggling with my writer's block.😫 hopefully you'll like this!! pls enjoy🤍✨

WORD COUNT – 5.0k

PREVㅤ|ㅤNEXT

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

Maegor was unable to take his eyes out of her. His hand found its way to her back, caressing the soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips. His little princess was exhausted after last night, which finished with her limbs shaking and her beautiful doe eyes covered by tears.

Aenelys had been behaving these past year, and Maegor was pleased with it. As long as he made her believe he was hers, nothing could go wrong. He was smarter this time; hiding his mistresses in brothels while her princess remained oblivious of his acts, waiting for his return and opening her soft legs to him because she was getting obsessed with the pleasure he could provide to her.

He was no fool, not at all. He knew there was no way he could be inside her without getting her with child, and that was no good for his plans… he needed her a maiden, he could not allow her to breed a bastard, not when her title and prestige were at risk. Those were two things he needed from her, her title and her legitimate child, but for that he must be patient, wait for the right moment.

But that does not mean he could not have fun with her in the meantime.

Maegor found himself searching for new methods of pleasure that would work for both, one of his favorites will forever be having her plump lips around him. The first time she learned how to please him with her mouth, she was acting shy and flustered, nervously touching him until he decided to control her movements. Aenelys turned out to be strangely good at this, pleasing him like no other.

"Not even the most expensive whore can suck my cock like you do, my sweet dove," he had told her as he wiped the tears off her flushed face. Aenelys smiled widely, feeling proud after realizing that she was better than anyone. She thought that he would only seek release in her after that… but how wrong she was.

There is no secret that Maegor had some carnal need that needed to be fulfilled, and his wish to be inside some tight, wet walls were too overwhelming to be ignored. This is why, after those times where he could not get satisfied by her touch, he would leave once he made sure she was sleeping, and seek that much needed release with someone else; his dear friend and favorite mistress, Tyanna.

Ser Draqos knew about his dirty little secret, for he would guard the princess door each night, seeing how her beloved uncle and lover would leave her alone for some common whore. It was hard for him to understand how Maegor, a man who had in his power a woman as sweet and beautiful as the princess, decided to sneak out like a rat in the middle of the night and lock himself in brothels with other women. It was nonsense that only a fool could understand.

But now Maegor was laying beside her, his big hand on her back as she started to move, her eyes slowly opening as she turned around with a small, sleepy smile. Maegor put his hand around her neck, not squeezing it but leaving it there as a sign of some kind of dominance over her, something that the princess loved to feel.

"How beautiful you look in the mornings," he whispered, brushing his nose against hers in a strangely soft touch. "Did you sleep well?"

"I always sleep well with you by my side," she murmurs in response. Maegor smirked, almost hearing the devotion in her voice.

Without saying a word, he pressed his lips against hers in a hungry kiss. Aenelys moaned; the sudden act made her heart flutter, still not getting used to these heated touches that made her limbs go numb. The butterflies on her belly blurred her thoughts as he possesively devoured her lips with a fervor that left her breathless. She squirmed beneath him, so easy to arouse. Maegor knew exactly the effect he had on her, and he knew that if he dared to touch between her legs he would find nothing but her sweet slick running down her thighs. Her flesh begging to be touched.

She sighed as he leaned back, a small string of saliva joining their swollen lips as Maegor's darkened eyes stared at hers with a hunger that made her legs shake. He had woken up with the intention of devouring her in every way, not satisfied with the action that took place the night before. Aenelys felt his hand roaming down her body, a small squeeze on her left breast before he positioned himself between her legs, spreading them open for him to see all of her.

She blushed, looking at him with those beautiful eyes that screamed innocence - or at least what was left of it. Maegor growled, his fingers involuntarily touching her soaked folds as she mewled beneath him, her hips moving upwards as she searched for more of his touch.

"Look how wet you are for me, my sweet doe," he mumbled, towering her body as he leaned forward, a shadow casting over her petite frame and hiding her from the sunlight. "And all of this is for me, right?" He asked using that husky tone that sent her into a submissive and pleading state. She nodded as a response muttering a small 'yes' that could be easily mistaken with soft gasps.

Maegor, discontent with that answer, put his hand back around her neck and squeezed it. Aenelys purred under his touch and a smug grin appeared on her uncle's lips.

"I made you a question, princess," he murmured as he brushed his nose against her cheek. "Answer me." His low voice caused chills down her spine, making her pearl throb with excitement.

"It's- it's all for you," she replied in a sigh, her voice thin and weak as he pressed himself against her. His length felt the warmth of her folds and a groan left his lips as she moved her hips, starting to hump on him.

"Good girl…" he sighed.

Maegor then started to move as well, his hips meeting hers in slow but hard movements that made her whine. His hardness rubbing against her swollen bud almost made her eyes roll, her hands holding onto his shoulders at the same time he kissed her. The muffled noises of their passion were echoing in the room.

"I can't wait to be inside you, my dear," he whispered against her lips, "I bet you would feel so good around my cock, squeezing me with that tight cunny of yours."

His words did nothing but to increase her arousal, her cheeks turning red as her mind flooded with images of him claiming her as his. Her mouth dropped open with a whine, her clit throbbing as he used his free hand to press himself further into her soaked flesh. Aenelys closed her eyes, her back arching as his grip around her neck tightened even more.

"Does it feel good, byka mēre?" Little one. That bloody nickname sent waves of heat all over her trembling body as she whimpered a response. "Are you going to cum? I can hear how wet you are, love… So needy for me."

She felt the knot of her lower belly starting to form, searching for that needed release as his name fell from her lips like a sacred prayer. After he let go of her neck, his lips wrapped around one of her sensitive nipples, licking and sucking the delicate bud as she frowned in pleasure and her whole body shook. The stimulation between her legs, plus his hungry mouth roughly working on her breasts, made her see stars behind her eyelids, her limbs shaking as her cries of pleasure became louder.

Aenelys fell apart beneath his thick frame, crying his name as she reached her overwhelming climax. Her breathing was fast, ragged. Her eyes closed as he kept moving trying to find his release - which was far to come.

After a few seconds, Maegor kept going in an useless attempt to feel that knot in his gut. The stimulation was not enough for him, and the frustration was growing inside him, losing his patience. Aenelys started to cry even louder, the overstimulation being too much that it became a bit painful. Maegor groaned.

He let go, trying to use his hand but it was still not enough. Aenelys saw his struggle and she tried to make things better as she noticed how his patience was hanging from a thin thread.

"I can… I can use my mouth-"

"Be quiet," he snapped at her as he stood up, lurking for his clothes around her chambers.

Aenelys covered her nudity with the thin sheets of her bed, staring at Maegor as a tiny feeling of inefficiency filled her chest, almost making her cry. It was not the first time this would happen, and even when she would offer to please him in other ways, he would grab his things and leave her room… just like he did this time.

The princess felt a slight pain in her heart as she was left alone, trying to convince herself that the next time will be different. Trying to convince herself that he went to the training yard instead of a brothel.

Though she was not very sure of that.

A few minutes later passed before one of her loyal maids entered her room, preparing a warm bath for her. Aenelys found herself relaxing in the water while Henela washed her hair. The princess had been unable to focus on anything besides what happened with Maegor, she wondered what she could do to be better for him, to please him and leave him satisfied.

"Are you still a maiden, Henela?" The princess suddenly asked, the lady almost blushed at the question.

"Uh… no, princess, I'm not," she hid her nervousness behind an awkward giggle.

"So you know how to properly please a man, right?" Aenelys asked again without shame. She turned around looking up at the flustered maid, the curiosity shining through her eyes.

"Well, there's many ways to please a man," Henela explained, going to search for the princess' robe. "You can use your hands, or your mouth-"

"I have done those things-"

"Have you?" She interrupted with surprise.

"I have," Aenelys nodded, standing from the tub and wrapping the robe around her body. "But it seems as if they are not enough… Is there anything else I could do to please him?"

The shock on Henela's face was undisguisable.

"I'm not quite sure what else you can do, those things usually work," she murmured, now feeling a bit embarrassed. "Has he ever… been inside you?"

Aenelys shook her head, "he does not want to," she sadly said. "He says a princess shall always wait for marriage."

"Is he planning to wed you?" Henela curiously asked.

"Yes," she nodded excitedly, "Though I'm not quite sure when, but I know we will get married someday…" Henela felt a tingle of pity on her chest after seeing her dreamy eyes and knowing the truth about Maegor. "He gave me this necklace when I was sixteen," Aenelys said as she grabbed the pendant hanging around her neck, "I think he gave it to me as a promise…"

"Pardon me for my intrusion, my princess, but is he not already married?" Henela asked.

Aenelys smile trembled a little and she shook her head, as if she was trying to downplay the situation she was in.

"Oh, yes, but here we're free, and we can get married even if he's married in Westeros, can we not?" she shrugged, still with a soft smile on her face that was so hard to watch for her maid. "Besides, Ceryse does not love him, not like I do. He deserves a good wife, someone who can give him what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"A child!" Aenelys excitedly said.

"Oh…" she simply said.

"How lovely would it be to be carrying his child," Aenelys murmured, standing in front of the mirror and placing her hand on her belly. "But firstly, I need to know how to properly please him. Is there any advice?"

Henela sighed, "Men usually like it when women take control or seem to be confident in the marital bed," she explained, "for that you need to be on top, riding him."

"Like a horse?"

Her maid giggled softly, "not quite, but the movements are rather the same. Moving your hips in circles or back and forth, it drives them crazy."

"Does it?"

Henela nodded.

"Please, also remember that men like to hear your pleasure, so you have to be loud, but try not to be too obvious about it or they will know you are lying."

"That is a bit confusing," Aenelys giggled. Henela laughed too.

"Men are complicated, my princess, but if there is something that can keep them interested is a good sexual companion… I'm sure Prince Maegor would be rather infatuated once he gets to bed you."

"You think?" Aenelys blushed.

"Definitely, my princess," she nodded. "Sometimes we can get them to do as we please by just opening our legs, they always think with their cocks."

"Henela!" She gasped, laughing at the word she used and slightly blushing. It was not very common for her to hear a lady using that term.

"It is the truth!" Henela giggled, making her sit in a chair in order to brush her hair.

"I think the fact he's waiting for me is the purest act of love," Aenelys murmured, her silly smile and dreamy eyes coming back to enlighten her face. "The fact that he stopped seeing his whores is proof that he actually loves me, right?"

The way the princess smiled made her feel pity again; she could only ask for the truth to be out. She simply nodded, hiding the guilt behind a soft look in her eyes. Henela had a special spot for the princess, and she was not going to be the one telling Maegor's little secret and eventually breaking her heart.

A few hours later she was walking towards the dining room to break her fast. A freshened look on her face as she had taken a hot bath and had her braids done by Henela, leaving any trace of sadness behind after what had happened inside her room. She kindly smiled at everyone who crossed her path; the princess had known how to win every servant's heart, which is why they would always give her pity glances as she walked - they knew what her beloved uncle did behind her back. No one dared to say a word, everyone was too afraid of the Prince to even think about confessing his lie.

Everyone but Draqos, who was standing in the hall being threatened by a very angry Maegor. Aenelys found them, slowing her pace and quietly approaching the corner to spy. She was able to see her uncle's back and Draqos' face under the sunlight. She frowned, noticing how her loyal guard was visibly mad, his eyes throwing daggers at the man in front of him as they seemed to have a not so friendly conversation.

She was not able to hear clearly, but her heart ached when she heard his last words before he left: "Consider yourself dead if you dare to tell her about this."

Aenelys frowned, her confused expression being plastered in her face as she leaned back in the wall trying to make sense of what Maegor had just said. That is when a hand was pressed on her shoulder, a touch so gently and caring. Draqos looked down at her lilac eyes, and with a single glance he knew that he had heard part of the conversation.

"What did he mean?" she asked softly, trying not to jump into conclusions.

"Princess, you shouldn't have heard that," Draqos sighed, almost looking ashamed.

"But I did," she firmly replied, "what did he mean?" she repeated, her eyes never leaving his as she was forcing him to answer her. "I demand you to tell me what is going on."

The inner struggle was obvious in his eyes as he immediately looked away, unable to resist the temptation to tell her the truth if he was staring at her. Aenelys silently pleaded for an answer.

"He will not hurt you if you decide to speak to me," she told him, softly speaking in an attempt to make him talk. "I will make sure you are safe, I promise."

With that, Draqos was easily convinced. His sweet princess was begging for an answer and he was not going to be the one to deny her of it. He would never deny her anything.

"I'm afraid the prince has been seen occasionally escaping during the nights, and sometimes during the days," he started, his voice somewhat soft as if he was trying to make everything less painful. "He visits the brothels almost every week, seeking companionship in the arms of a courtesan named Tyanna."

Aenelys pressed her lips into a thin line as she took in the heartbreaking news of the not so unexpected treason. Draqos got a bit worried when he did not see sadness in her eyes; he saw anger. Her soft, doe eyes turned into flames as she imagined that woman touching what belonged to her.

"How long has this been going on?" she asked.

Draqos took a deep breath, "it has never stopped, my princess."

She sighed, a shaky sigh that almost broke his heart.

"I need you to promise me something, Ser Draqos," Aenelys softly spoke as she took a step closer and looked up at him. Their closeness would not be well seen if someone walked in, but he was not going to be the one to push her away.

"Anything," he whispered, his deep brown eyes looking at her lilac ones with a devotion she wished to see in Maegor.

"You are my protector, you sworn yourself to me when we first arrived here," she said as she grabbed his hand. "I do not want just your protection. I want your loyalty and sincerity. Do not lie or hide things from me again."

"Princess-"

"Promise me," she demanded.

"I promise you," he answered without missing a beat, not even doubting himself. "My princess, I will always be loyal to you… Until my last breath."

Aenelys nodded, taking in his words and closing her eyes when he leaned to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering there longer than they should have; it brought some sense of peace and calmness. The princess muttered a small 'thank you', before she took a step back and looked at the floor, as if she was avoiding his stare. She excused herself before her expression hardened again and she walked away from him.

With a single glance to her determined steps, he knew where she was walking to, so he walked behind her just to make sure she would be safe.

Aenelys reached for the door and pushed it open, hard enough to disrupt the calm environment that had been established in the dining room. Maegor frowned as he looked at her, the sign of dried tears in her rosy cheeks immediately worked as a warning that something was not right, and the realization hit when Draqos stood behind her.

"Leave," she ordered to all the servants that were staring at her with curious eyes. Everyone left, except for Draqos. "You too," she told him.

"Princess-"

"Go," she interrupted him. Draqos doubted for a second, staying still while giving quick glances to Maegor; he did not trust him. However, he eventually turned around, reluctantly leaving the room.

Aenelys saw Maegor leaning back in the chair; his legs spreaded, his jaw moving as he was eating while a small grin appeared on his face. She knew he was going to tease her, a daring provocation in order to make her explode; she tried not to get caught up in that, but her feelings were all over the place, her heart was beating too fast and the ache in her chest did not seem to cease.

"You lied to me," she murmured, trying to make her voice not break.

"Did I?"

"You did!"

"Ah…" he scoffed, drinking from his tea as if she was not falling apart in front of him. "When did I lie to you, darling?"

"You are fucking a whore, Maegor," she mumbled, wiping a rebel tear as she looked to the floor. A small tsk was heard from his side.

"Well, that's the thing, little one." He stood up, and he slowly started to approach her. "I do not remember telling you I'd stopped fucking whores. It is not a lie if I never said it, is it? You just assumed it."

There was a silence where Maegor reached for her face, cupping her cheek with his hand as his thumb wiped the tears away. It was a gesture so delicate and soft that it almost made her sigh; her eyes closed, her lips parted slightly, and her heart skipped a beat. It brought some calmness to the turmoil of feelings inside her chest. His softness, that was hardly ever shown, made her almost melt into his touch once again, but then his own voice made her wake up from the trance he had put her in.

"Who told you?"

That mere question brought her back to reality. She thought about how many people knew about it for him to ask such thing. She thought about how ridiculous she must have been seen by the servants that already knew about it, for she would never hide her undying loyalty and devotion to him.

She pushed his hand away from her, taking a step back as the anger consumed her once again.

"No one did!" she replied, raising her voice. "You really think I was never going to find out about this?"

"My sweet doe," he softly spoke, trying to calm her down. "You need to understand that a man has needs-"

"I'm the one who should be satisfying your needs!" She yelled. "I'll be your wife, I will marry you, not her!" She spat the last words with utter disgust.

He took a deep breath, slowly starting to lose his patience.

"I know that very well," he whispered, taking a step closer. "But there are different kinds of pleasure that you cannot provide me with. You know that."

"I do not care!" She yelled again, this time pushing him away. Maegor was taken by surprise, and he almost lost his balance. Pure shock on his eyes as he saw her unexpected outburst. "I can be all that for you if you only give me the chance!" She whined. "I'm right here, uncle! I'm yours, and I will always be yours. Why can you not understand?!"

His anger was immediately shown as he unexpectedly wrapped his hand around her jaw, digging his fingers into her flesh - strong enough to make her stay still. Her eyes widened in surprise, a slight panic running through her eyes as she saw the rage written all over his face. She whined, now out of pain.

"You cannot understand simple things, can you?" He muttered so close to her face that she was able to feel his hot breath against her lips. "Is your brain so small that it cannot comprehend anything? You think I haven't fucked you because I do not wish for it?" He scoffed. "Oh, you silly little thing. I could spread your legs and bury my cock on that needy cunt of yours right here if that is what I want, but I won't; because I'm smart, and I'm patient, you know why? Because I could easily fuck a bastard into you." Those last words were spat with rage, the kind of feeling he had never felt with her up to this point.

He was wondering how she could not understand what he had been explaining to her for months. Her obliviousness to certain things made him furious.

"Is that what you want?" He continued, tightening his grip. "A bastard is a weapon against maidens as you, something they can use to steal your rightful position in the throne, is that what you want? People calling you the whore princess because you opened your legs to someone who's not your husband? Don't act stupid, I know you are more clever than that."

He let her go, and she stumbled backwards as she touched her jaw trying to soothe the tingling pain that was left there. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down as he stared at her teary eyes. Maegor then approached her again, two of his fingers lifting her chin forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Listen to me, my love," his tone changed, returning to be the soft and gentle one he would always use with her. "You want to feel me inside that tight cunny of yours? You want me to breed you until your womb is filled with my seed? That is fine, and you'll have all of that…" he made a pause, appreciating the red on her cheeks produced by his words. "But for that you'll have to wait until we marry. Is that clear for you?"

She nodded, reluctantly.

"Answer me," he demanded.

"Yes…" she replied in a thin voice, and he smiled pleasantly.

"That's a good girl," he muttered before he leaned and left a soft kiss on her forehead. A chill ran down her back, a sense of uneasiness settled in her chest. She remembered Draqos giving her the same gesture, and causing the complete opposite emotion. "Now… this is the last time I will bear one of these tantrums, do you hear me? I will not forgive you again."

She was about to answer, but the door was suddenly open and Draqos walked in. He noticed the marks on her jawline, he saw the tears in her eyes and the way she looked away from him, avoiding any eye contact. He clenched his jaw as he bowed in front of them, wanting nothing to scream at Maegor for hurting such a delicate maiden like her.

He hid his rage towards the prince as a serious semblance was drawn in his face, clearing his throat before he made his announcement.

"Prince, Princess… The Dowager Queen is here," he informed.

Aenelys looked up at Maegor, trying to find the same surprise on his face, but he remained nonchalant to the words of the knight, almost as if he was expecting his mother to arrive.

Before Aenelys could express her confusion, Visenya entered the dining room, dressed with her riding attire and wearing an unreadable expression on her stern visage. The princess noticed how her eyes scanned her body, her expression slightly changing when she noticed the marks on her neck, but returning to be a hard look when she paid further attention to the marks that were left by her son's tight grip.

"Mother," Maegor greeted her, bowing before her and grabbing her hand to kiss the back of it. "What brings you here?"

"I'm afraid I've come all this way to inform you both of something not very pleasant," she started, her voice low and almost lacking any emotion. Visenya turned to look at Aenelys and she sighed as she grabbed her hands; it was at that moment that the princess felt her heart skip a beat. "Is your father, princess," Visenya sighed.

"My father?" She asked with slight confusion.

Visenya looked at her son before looking back at the girl in front of her.

"The King unexpectedly died last night in Dragonstone."

She felt the tears clouding her eyes, her nose itching and that agonizing feeling on her chest. She covered her lips with her hand as a sign of shock and disbelief, feeling as if the world had fallen on her shoulders and the weight of guilt was pressing against her chest, causing her to breathe rapidly and unevenly. Aenelys looked at Maegor, whose face was lacking any surprise - she was too shocked to recognize the mischievous glint on his devilish eyes.

"How… How did it happen?" she managed to speak between deep breaths and sobs.

"The war weakened him," she explained. Aenelys was taken aback by this new information.

Information that Maegor already knew and decided to hide from her.

"What war?" Aenelys asked again.

"The war with the Faith Militant," she explained, "The High Septon took your disappearance as an offense, for his niece is Maegor's legitimate wife. People in King's Landing are accusing your father of promoting this relationship between you both, and they raised against his reign."

Her dress suddenly felt tighter, the difficulty to breath making her gasp as the tears fell down her cheeks. Her eyes looked at Draqos, the despair and desperation was clearly visible in her face. He took a step forward, but Maegor grabbed her first. The princess buried her face on his chest while his hand went to her hair, cooing against her ear while she uncontrollably sobbed, soaking his shirt with her tears.

Suddenly, the entire discussion with Maegor was easily forgotten, for the pain in her heart was bigger and almost unbearable. The guilt making it impossible for her to calm down.

"Your mother and siblings are waiting for you in Dragonstone for the funeral," Visenya informed her, "King's Landing and the Iron Throne are now empty…"

Aenelys thought it was quite odd the way she pronounced those kasts words, but her mind was too blurry to even try to process them. Maegor, however, found himself understanding the message between the lines, and he held her close to his chest and gave a soft nod to his mother. Things had never been clearer.

It was time for him to take what was rightfully his, claim his position as King of the Seven Kingdoms, and make Aenelys his queen.

Everything went exactly how he wanted.

BOLD MEANS I COULDN'T TAG YOU.

GENERAL TAG LIST — @borikenlove @jvpit3rs @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore @clairacassidy @aemondx @randomdragonfires @gothtargaryen @melsunshine @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jamespotterismydaddy @padfooteyes

SINNERS TAG LIST — @hypocritic-trash-baby @misspendragonsworld @hangmanscoming @caramelcandescence @cold-v0dka @bellstwd @angeliod @uniquecroissant @winxschester @mrswhitethornbelikov @amygdtjhddzvb @vixemi @beebeechaos

#sinners #house of the dragon #maegor targaryen x oc #maegor targaryen fanfic #maegor i #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor i targaryen #maegor i targaryen x oc #fire and blood fanfic #fire and blood #house of the dragons #house targaryen #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd x oc

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bonefall · 1 year ago

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Thoughts about Goldenflower? Specifically her alignment in terms of Tigerstar being a massive Thistle law supporter, and Goldie being left to raise their kits alone after he’s ousted from ThunderClan and caused thw death of their elder son (intentionally or not). Girl has been through sooo much I’m kinda glad she wasn’t around to see what her surviving son became.

Golfy BABY, Goldenflower is getting a sizeable kiss on the head.

She is the daughter of Speckletail, future bulldozer attacker. She is every bit as intense as this implies.

Goldenflower is the same size as her littermate Lionheart. She just braids her mane, making her look smaller. They are both fucking massive

The most personal and painful part of Tigerclaw's betrayal was the fact he KILLED HER BROTHER.

She is really close with Frostfur after Lion's death, because she's super overwhelmed with two litters so close together AND being head of the kitchen patrol.

Swiftpaw and Brightpaw were practically siblings with how close they were. It really wasn't a surprise that they ended up in trouble together.

Golden was planning to not even speak Tigerclaw's name to Bramblekit and Tawnykit. Her opinion on Tiger was an IMMEDIATE, FURIOUS 180.

Generally Goldenflower isn't a "soft" person. She's a lot like her mom, Lionheart was the more gregarious and diplomatic of the two.

Snowkit was also a very serious cat like them. This family is generally pretty focused and pious.

They also had a middle sibling who tragically died in the Plague-- Mistleclaw. That was before Fireheart joined ThunderClan.

I really love how in canon, Goldenflower is firm and pushes back on how unfair Fireheart is towards her kits. So that's where I'm building from and generally disregarding fanon's take on her as a gentle mom. Society has progressed past the need for gentle moms. Goldenflower is currently telling you to sit up straight and take all those dishes on your desk to the sink.

She's waiting.

You will not keep her waiting. Go.

Good. She's proud of you.

Back on that 189 though-- that was for almost everything. Frostfur, Dustpelt, Longtail, a LOT of cats have a much slower reckoning with the ingrained beliefs that they'd accepted from Tigerclaw.

But Goldenflower was motivated by some pretty hard spite. She wanted NOTHING left of him. She was finding things to hate about him, and ended up "leading the charge" on ThunderClan's reckoning here.

Not neccesarily because of deeper principles, but because she was willing to wrecking ball her way through any leftover associations with him.

Before this point though, she DID support Thistle Law, juuust over the edge past Hard Traditionalism. She would speak very critically of Queen’s Rights, openly call for war, protested against bringing back WindClan, etc.

after Tigerclaw's betrayal, she's still more of a centrist Traditionalist, but will listen to a convincing argument, and slides towards Fire alone over the years.

I actually want to write Fireheart and Goldenflower developing a strong friendship in this moment, too.

She doesn't advise like Whitestorm does, but she's good at shutting up bickering cats when Fireheart is a fresh deputy. I always wished he had some more allies in that moment.

Also generally a very reliable senior warrior. Will absolutely be one of Firestar's choices for his first deputy, though he ultimately picks Whitestorm.

After TPB, she has another big role as the new mentor of Squirrelpaw. Unfortunately, she has had to flunk the little fireball on her warrior assessment TWICE.

She actually talked to Firestar like, "I'm aware that this looks suspicious but I promise I'm not holding her back to spite you. She threw herself into the river."

"No no, Golfy, I'm aware she's wreckless. I never assumed you were being unfair to-- wait the river? The river with the WATER??"

"Yes. The river with the water."

She is also surviving well into OotS, as an elder. I don't like how tiny the den was for so many arcs! SO, that does mean she is going to get a pretty good look at her son's early leadership and all that entails.

Unfortunately though, she ended up taking his side in the Reveal. In her eyes, Bramblestar was LIED to. The Queen’s Rights are to protect kits-- but that doesn't mean you just get to lie to the mate who's going to raise them.

(This is also definitely colored a bit by personal bias, she would be more charitable if it was anyone else but her son)

So when he decides that the Three aren't his anymore... Goldenflower distances herself too. Lionblaze is especially painful-- she used to think he was in honor of her late brother. But now she finds out that it was all a lie.

From the elder's den, she has various opinions on the changes happening to ThunderClan under Bramblestar, like the crumble of the ShadowClan alliance. I feel like she wants to support her son, even when she thinks his choices are questionable... but at the same time, her pride prevents her from being TOO soft on him.

Just generally being a strong traditionalist in the Elder's Den, but on the softer side as opposed to Mousefur on the hard side.

I'm currently planning to axe her in the Great Battle, because there's no way she doesn't go down swinging... though I am also keeping her in mind for one of the greencough outbreaks, since I'm trying to make those into an actual threat in BB instead of "kill some randos" disease.

In any case though I want her alive into OotS to have opinions about Bramblestar, because I find that too interesting to pass up.

#BB!Goldenflower #Better bones au #BB!TPB #I just think she's neat #It's just fun to have interesting background characters #She never becomes a main but I really enjoy her as a supporting char #Plus she's Speck's daughter like... I just really enjoy the whole Doekin family here #Let more cats than just fire and tigerkin have LEGACY GOD DAMN IT

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nomorefstogive · 7 months ago

Text

Path To Nowhere SFW Headcanons: Chapter 4: Shalom

Hello again everyone, and welcome to the 4th chapter of this fic of ours. We apologize for the rather lengthy delay with this chapter, but life has been rather annoying of late, and we spent a sizable amount of time working on a chapter for our Azur Lane fic…which is the longest thing I have ever written. With life and other projects further hamstringing our efforts to devote as much time to this fic as we wish we could.

Regardless, today we are covering a Sinner that was once again requested by EinarKaslana on Ao3, a woman who has left so much death and despair in her wake it could fill a sea, even if she herself has not lifted a hand to cause it directly.

A woman who, though frail of body, is beyond a doubt one of the greatest chess masters in all of Dis, having managed to deceive Paradeisos, the Underground, and many more in her bid to protect the ones dear to her.

A woman whose moniker will be forever synonymous with dread and terror to those who have made the unfortunate decision of standing in her way, and perhaps even to her own allies given the extremes to which she will go to obtain the most ‘ideal outcome’ to her plans.

Today we feature the Human Machine, the Monster of Paradise, the Hush of Paradeisos-

Shalom

1. She has many times attempted to usurp Nightingale as the chief’s adjutant in an effort to get closer to the Chief, with her efforts ranging from subtle attempts to discredit Nightingale, to outright attempting to have her transferred to a different Agency, though these efforts have all been in vain.

She has since switched her efforts from removing the Adjutant from play, to making her into an ideal subordinate to aid the Chief and to use as a proxy for her own plans to benefit the Chief, herself, and the rest of the MBCC through a variety of means, some of which have left Nightingale adamant in putting a bullet in the head of whoever is responsible for them.

2. She does not like overly spicy food, something with a little kick is fine, but anything above that is too much for her, a weakness that Coquelic somehow figured out and used against her by lacing one of her meals with a notoriously hot pepper.

Shalom’s yelp of pain as the spice overwhelmed her, and the way her eyes had begun to water as she downed her entire drink before she asked Rahu to get her another one, is an image that has been immortalized in the halls of The Garden via several covertly taken photos and videos.

That the Garden found its flower garden in the Greenhouse dying barely a week later, in addition to the Chief being unable to get her hands on any additional flower seeds to replace the ones they had lost for several months afterwards was certainly just a coincidence…right?

3. She still has a soft spot for Christina despite past…incidents. And while she desires for Christina to make her own path, she still considers her to be her detective, and as such maintains a careful eye on her.

From keeping track of which cases she is working, the threat they pose to her detective, the people she socializes with, her newest interests, her family’s state of affairs, to the way she decorates her room, and so on, she feels at ease knowing that her detective is safe and sound.

She has made it clear to her detective that she will always be present to offer her help should she need it, granted her help tends to come with the requirement of Chris having to spend time with Shalom while she addresses her as ‘Big Sister Shalom’ during said time and allowing the Hush to call her ‘Little Sister’ as well.

As such she is never able to fight the smile that comes to her face when Christina needs her help, especially when she is able to use the chance to pamper her detective and see how far she has grown while on her own.

4. This was a suggestion that came from EinarKaslana on Ao3, so all credit for it goes to them.

That said, it is a shared headcanon between us that she is fond of photography, and maintains many photo albums throughout her places of residence, with specific people, such as the Chief, Christina, and Rahu, having entire albums devoted to pictures taken of them by the Hush.

That some of them were taken by cameras they were unaware of is neither here nor there to Shalom, and so long as they remain unaware of them, it will be nothing to them either…especially so long as they do not discover the albums that contain more candid pictures of them in various states of undress or in certain…compromising positions.

It is safe to say that those albums are among her most well hidden and well defended of treasures, with even Schorl being unaware of their location.

5. She has a soft spot for cats and dogs, often leaving out food for them or taking the time to pet and pamper them when she encounters them, as such she was one of the staunchest backers for the MBCC gaining an on site pound/shelter.

That said, she is also an avid fan of cat cafes having dragged Christina and Rahu to enough that they can reliably name the majority of the cat cafes in Dis off the top of their head, with but a few exceptions for those that have yet to have the Hush grace them.

She also tends to leave very sizable tips at said cafes, enough that the staff go out of their way to meet her expectations, and that they do not say a word about her gathering enough cats to cover herself and whoever is with her at the time in them.

6. Her room is surprisingly rather homey, with a number of bookshelves lining the walls, only broken up by small tables or wall fixtures with lamps and candles resting on them, an assortment of dark colored furniture, a large amount of flowers, both in pots on tables and hanging from the ceiling, and a rather sizable collection of horror related media.

She also has a large canopied bed that she has covered in enough pillows that many periodically fall off when anything jostles the bed, and a rather sizable amount of scented candles and incense scattered throughout her room.

Her main outfit of choice, along with several copies of her favorite coat, is kept in a dresser near her bathroom, while a much larger walk-in closet is dedicated to other uniforms and outfits that she has amassed over the years, though they are a subject for later on.

There is also a room that is hidden within her cell, a result of her machinations and of several deals made to allow her skills to be used to benefit the MBCC, said room being filed with a wall of monitors and terminals, a large number of filing cabinets rigged with incendiary devices that she can activate by tapping a button on her terminal, and a sizable amount of targets for her to focus her skills on.

She can never stop herself from chuckling everytime she enters the room, picturing the look on her former handlers faces were they to become aware that the Hush of Paradeisos, has become the Hush of Minos, granted said role is kept secret from the Chief, but it is the thought that counts…at least to her.

7. While there are many Sinners and staff within the bureau that adore Shalom, there are equally as many that hold in her both dread and contempt, be it because they know just Who she is, or because they feel that something is not quite right with her, some sixth sense warning them to avert themselves from aligning so closely with her.

Among those who hold her in disdain are Langley, who has seen enough of the mountain of corpses the Hush has built as an agent of Paradeisos to fully trust her, even with her devotion seemingly to have switched to her rookie.

As a result, the Spider has a special bullet with Shalom’s name written on it for the moment she feels the Hush has become more trouble than she is worth keeping around.

Another one that holds the Hush in contempt is Chameleon, the hypnotist being able to see through the mask that Shalom wears and finding the thing she glimpses beneath it to be of no small amount of concern, hence her own caution in regards to her.

Her trepidation regarding Shalom was only further cemented by the fact that the one time Chameleon attempted to use her power on Shalom resulted in her awakening in her cell with a migraine, a bloodied nose, and a letter reading- “Please, don’t try that again. I would hate to have to explain your loss to the Chief. Sincerely-Shalom”

Of course there is also the Garden and their own wariness of the woman to consider as well, as, while they do admit her actions allowed for them to escape the clutches of the Underground, her methods…have done their perception of her no favors.

Though they can agree with her desire to support the Chief and to safeguard their new home, it does nothing to keep them from having their eyes on her, and a blade marked with her name on it should she overstep her bounds.

While there are many more who feel wariness of the former Hush of Paradeisos, perhaps rivaled but by that of the former leader of Rustifre is that of her own former protegee and pseudo sister, Chirstina.

Having seen first hand just how ruthless her mentor can be, along with having gotten a glimpse as to the true nature of her work for Paradeisos, she has since found that while she yet has a fondness for Shalom, she can never feel as at ease in her presence as she once did due to what she has done, something which is bittersweet to Shalom.

8. She is one of a very select few to have actually beaten Eirene at both normal chess, and a specialized version of it designed by the Head Of Quinn, with her version of chess being something which involves multiple chess boards linked to a rotating table, where the players are playing multiple games simultaneously with but a few moments to make each decision and move.

Said game lasted nearly 12 hours, and ended with Shalom claiming a resounding victory with but minimal losses upon the other boards, a feat which has since earned her no small amount of fame within the bureau, even from her detractors, and a standing offer to play chess with Eirene whenever she wishes to.

9. While she is physically frail, especially for an S-Rank Sinner, she is still heads and shoulders above an average person in terms of speed, strength, and endurance, being as able of breaking bones with a punch as she is ruining someone's life with a few well placed whispers.

That said, she is surprisingly somewhat unaware of the extent of this strength, especially given that she is severely lacking in training for CQC and the usage of firearms and other weaponry, given her preference for remaining on the backlines and using the overwhelming might of Schorl to contend with any foe that gets in her way, and has thus not really had any reason to use it.

Yet even without training, she is still a capable threat should someone get in close, something which has lead to several sinners and staff seeing the surreal scene of her casually flinging a corruptor, that had somehow bypassed Schorl’s scanners, three times her size against a wall before it was vaporized by the aforementioned Paradeisian weapon.

10. She has gained a habit of messing with Schorl by putting stickers and such on it, something which the machine does not seem to enjoy given how it will try and find any way it can to remove the stickers or markings from itself the moment they are applied.

Shalom even once went so far as to write on the Paradeisian device with a pink marker, using it as a means of reminding herself of an appointment she had with Dr. Iron and Nurse Anne regarding her health, with the machine actually allowing the message to be written and to remain…at least until after her appointment, at which point it bore a hole through a water pipe and used it to wash itself off.

Similarly, she once brought up the idea of coloring the Schorl, with the machine and its operators adamantly rejecting the very concept of the idea, going so far as to destroy the can of paint and paint brush that she had purchased to do so before they scurried off.

11. She cannot drive. This is one of the few points of agreement the Chief and Paradeisos have ever been able to reach as Shalom’s driving can lead to no small amount of damage to the vehicle she is behind the wheel of, along with the sanity and health of her passengers.

The last time she attempted to drive she managed to make it a quarter of the way to her destination before Rahu and Christina, both of whom were holding on to one another for dear life, managed to convince her to switch with Rahu while Christina and Schorl spoke with the sherrifs regarding the collateral damage.

They were less than 3 minutes into what should have been a 9 minute long drive at the time.

12. She is fond of dropping by the Chief’s office and helping them with their work whenever the opportunity presents itself, something which has greatly endeared her to the Chief, and, albeit begrudgingly, Nightingale.

That she tends to leave each of these sessions wondering just how it is that the Bureau has not imploded in on itself or declared secession from Dis in some fit of mad lunacy, is something that tends to add some enjoyment to her day by trying to make sense of the insanity of the MBCC.

She has even gone so far as to compile many of the more interesting stories and reports into a personal collection to browse for her own entertainment whenever she feels the need for some levity.

To this day, one of her favorites remains the time that Emp managed to weave so elaborate a lie that it resulted in the FAC spending nearly 4 days investigating a ‘Duck Sinner’ that was responsible for the destruction of a power plant, with the Archer even managing to, albeit unknowingly, have Paradaisos waste several days investigating the same claim when it was relayed to them.

The true culprit of the Power Plant overloading was of course, EMP herself, though Shalom vowed to take that secret to her grave in exchange for the amount of humor her lie gave her.

13. Rahu once attempted to teach her how to use a conventional weapon for self defense, in the event that Schorl was destroyed or disabled and she was not present, only for the attempt to end with Christina having to get her hat repaired courtesy of the bullet ricocheting off of the target, off of the ground between Rahu’s feet, the ceiling above them, the railing of the shooting range, and then into the top of Christina’s hat.

That Langley had the audacity to not only laugh when she heard the report, but to then order Shalom not be allowed to touch any firearms in the Bureau has since been something of a sore spot for the Hush, especially since both Christina and Rahu aid the Spider in enforcing such a rule.

14. While her fondness for the horror genre of film has long been a well established trend in the bureau, with her appreciation for it in literature and art being similarly well known, her fondness for horror games is a relatively new obsession of hers.

Most of this fondness for the horror genre of gaming can be laid at the feet of Etti, who Shalom overheard running a horror themed tabletop session, EMP, who introduced her to horror anime as repayment for lending her a movie, and Nino, who she watched stream a horror game that caught her fascination.

Since then, she has devoured many horror games in terms of both playing them and watching them, with some of the games being of such disturbing levels that even Schorl was driven to escape the room to avoid the more disturbing scenes and gameplay.

That her new fascination has started a trend among the ones in charge of monitoring her via Schorl using the media she enjoys as a form of Test Of Courage, is something she is aware of enough to greatly enjoy.

With her fondness later extending to Tabletop games and the potential for horror and suspenseful storytelling within them as she learned of many of the horror campaigns that had been run by other DMs.

This being something that led to her approaching Etti to request her guidance on the matter, with Etti agreeing to help her DM a horror themed session, the young dragon all too happy to help a fledgling DM in the art of destro-*Ahem* creating an enjoyable session for everyone with minimal tears and screams involved.

That said session she ran resulted in Horo hiding under Zoya’s bed, Christina hiding with Thistle in a closet, Hella and Ninety-Nine refusing to leave their room without ear plugs on as they cursed her to hell and back, was something that lead to Etti declaring Shalom to be her new apprentice in the art of DMing.

The sheer panic that announcement caused nearly brought the Bureau to its knees.

15. Upon learning of Cabernet’s ability to materialize and consume souls, Shalom sought her out with a rather curious request, as she wished for the Franc Heiress to materialize a piece of Shalom’s own soul so that she could taste it out of her own curiosity.

After a rather lengthy debate with the Chief, and several tablets of aspirin, it was decided to allow the experiment of sorts to take place, with Cabernet materializing 2 pieces of Shalom’s soul as a pair of grapes, one being given to the Hush and the other being kept by the Glutton of Souls herself.

Cabernet would later remark that the taste was bizarre, as at first there appeared to be no flavor at all to her grape, only for her to be suddenly hit with an overwhelming bombardment of taste to such an extent she was nearly ill, the heiress later remarking to the Chief that beyond all of the myriad flavors there was something else…a feeling that was unnamable to her, yet left her feeling uneasy for many days afterwards.

Shalom would claim that she enjoyed the taste of the grape as well, though the true joy of the experience seemed to be an idea that had come to her as she would later approach the Glutton with an offer that she would request be kept between the two of them.

What was that offer?

Perhaps it is better off unknown if the way the Franc Heiress refused to leave her room for several days afterwards was anything to go by, and it is likely better still to not question why it is she seems to make a weekly tribute of a grape to the Hush, one that could not possibly have been made with Shalom’s own soul.

Indeed, it is better not to question what was said between the two.

16. She is still in regular contact with, and financially supporting, her former maid from her time at Erica Villa, Rosa.

The young woman having managed to somehow earn the fondness of the former Hush to such an extent that she has been working quite tirelessly to convince the Chief to allow for her to be employed at the Bureau, her main argument being that she could be of great help as part of any of the departments that need her…along with being another at least semi-sane and responsible person to help keep the MBCC in…relatively stable condition.

With each day she makes the argument to the Chief she wears her down more and more until she will be able to have her maid back at her side, and once more enjoy teaming up with her to make Rahu, and soon the Chief, as flustered as possible with their shared teasing.

17. She is not allowed any form of caffeine, a rule Paradeisos ‘forgot’ to inform the Chief of when Shalom was sent to the Bureau, with Rahu and Christina thinking the Hush herself or Schorl would have informed the Chief of this rule…only to learn that was not the case.

Indeed, the Chief learned of this rule when someone, she is willing to bet her life that it was either Hella or EMP, saw that the former Hush looked tired and offered her some of Summer’s Special Brew Coffee.

What happened next is something known but to those who were there that day and who managed to gain access to the security footage, something which was soon locked behind the highest grade of confidentiality that Paradeisos could create, with the files being further encrypted by Summer and Langley as well.

Any attempts at acquiring an answer from those who witnessed what happened that day would be met with nothing but a thousand-mile stare, with several others whimpering and curling into the fetal position or turning and fleeing as swiftly as they can, with none daring to vocalize just what happened that day.

All anyone knows is that a substantial portion of the bureau needed repair done to it, several officials that had been adamantly against the Chief and the MBCC had to resign from their positions in disgrace once certain information regarding them was leaked, along with a rather sizable amount of collateral damage being done to several major roadways and side streets.

Schorl has since been given permission to destroy any source of caffeine Shalom manages to get her hands on.

18. She has been utilizing her abilities to commune with the Mania Monster made of her discarded humanity known as Rebel in a bid to earn its compliance and to be assemble to utilize it to its fullest one day, her primary reason for doing so being something of an emergency measure should Paradeisos attempt to remove her from play along with having an emergency ace in the hole for rainy days.

That it could be an additional tool for the Chief and a means of further defending her should anything befall the Hush, the monster having long made clear its own deep seated adoration for the Chief to her during their…’Conversations’, is but yet another lie she has come to tell herself.

That she also wants to reconnect with her lost humanity and to try and bond with it is something she has tried time and again to deny even to herself, yet as time has gone by, and her emotions have begun to return to her, she has found it increasingly hard to deny her true reason for wishing to do so.

The truth of the matter…is that all of this is being driven by Her ability to feel the loneliness of that missing part of herself and her desire to end it and fill the gaping wound torn in her own soul all those years ago by Paradeisos.

All she truly wants is to feel whole again.

19. She has an odd relationship with Hecate, somewhere between an almost sisterly bond and that of a mentor, with the former Hush often volunteering to accompany the younger sinner into the field to act as a mentor to her, that she still unconsciously tries to protect her is something neither will directly mention to one another.

The pair have likewise somewhat exchanged hobbies with Shalom managing to get Hecate interested in the horror genre, while Hecate has managed to convince Shalom to take up sketching and, to a lesser degree, painting as a hobby, something the Hush has taken the somewhat relaxed leash and observation she is under during her stay in the bureau to thoroughly enjoy.

That most of her works feature the Chief, several even having her in a state of undress or in various…compromising positions, is something that only the Hush and Hecate, who happened to mistake her sketchbook for an empty one, knows of.

It is safe to say the following exchange was quite awkward for the pair, though they were eventually able to work past it and continue their regular sessions of shared artistic endeavor…with the addition of a rather bright tag to mark which sketchbook is Shalom’s.

In a similar vein, Shalom has taken a rather sizable amount of time in teaching Hecate how to think strategically and to plan for various scenarios, with the young Sinner having shown a marked improvement in her Dispatches as result of the tutoring, that the Chief saw fit to praise Shalom was simply a bit of icing on the cake to her.

That said, many Sinner feel no small amount of unease at the idea of the Hush having taken the Chief’s Shadow under her wing, especially given the uncanny similarities the pair seem to share, the only comfort most have been able to find in the matter being their shared loyalty to the Chief.

Though even so, most fear the idea of just what Hecate could become if Shalom is allowed to mold her enough, thus all of those within the Bureau tend to keep an eye on the pair whenever they are together and they can.

20. She has mapped out the vast majority of the secret tunnels that span the Bureau, particularly all of the ones that lead to the kitchens and to the Chief’s room, with her making use of them to not only be able to sneak away to the kitchen for late night snacks or when she needs a drink during her work, with her also using the tunnels to deliver snacks to the Chief and to surprise her when she is working.

She also makes use of them to avoid certain parties and to surprise others, with her usage of them having gotten to the point that a not so small number of Sinners and staff are of the opinion that she is in possession of some form of teleportation device.

That Shalom seems to find some humor in these rumors and even tends to encourage them through her own actions and inactions has likewise led to no small amount of confusion and unease among the Sinner population due to the potential threat she could pose with such a device.

The Chief has tried time and again to dispel these rumors, only for them to constantly re-emerge after enough time has passed, something which has led to the Chief and the rest of the administration staff of the Bureau nearing the end of their rope in regards to how to handle the spreading rumors, with Paradeisos offering no help on the matter.

21. She has found something of a way to utilize her “Mark” in tandem with the Chief’s Shackles, a method of piggybacking off of the Shackles and utilizing her ability in a way that makes it considerably less obvious towards both the recipient of the ‘Mark’ and the Chief herself that one is under the Hush’s influence.

Even with this loophole removing her need for direct eye contact with her targets among the Sinners, it still requires for the targets to be in a heightened emotional state, and for the Chief to not be aware of her actions due to her ability to sense the influence through the Shackles and throttle it before it truly spreads.

The knowledge of this influencing power is strictly confidential so as to prevent any panic from spreading among the Sinners, especially among those who have prior experience with the Hush and her power., with the Chief having further heightened her security around the Hush, despite her claims of only wishing to use her power to aid the Chief.

That said, the loophole has a further weakness in that Sinners of strong enough will, or those who are particularly Contaminated, such as Nox, Dreya, and so on, can not only resist the influence of the Mark through this loophole, but can also somewhat retaliate against it, causing Shalom a sizable amount of pain when they do so, Nox’s own retaliation leading to her having a severe nosebleed and being near catatonic for several hours.

The final weakness of this ability is that she requires time to focus on the Shackles, and the slightest of disturbances can interrupt her ability, with contact with the chief being an additional means of furthering her power’s stability, though since this loophole came to her awareness she has made certain to be on her guard around her the vast majority of the time.

A final note is that by some means she has been able to keep this development secret from Paradeisos, using it as yet another tool in whatever schemes of rebellion she harbors against the organization.

22. She has given Thistle the equivalent to ‘The Shovel Talk’, with the exception of her talk involving her simply sitting in silence for a while as she looked Thistle in the eye, smiling as a triangle Mark flared in her eye as an unspoken warning of what awaits the assassin if anything befalls Christina.

Thistle’s reply simply being to lift up her sword and set it alight with her own silent vow, that should any of the Hush’s schemes cause harm to the detective, she would not live long enough to enjoy whatever form of victory she managed to achieve.

That the Hush has the audacity to smile at her actions a low chuckle slipping past her lips as she finished her tea before rising and walking past the assassin, pausing but to ruffle Thistle’s hair with an amused glint in her eyes as she left the assassin, only caused her to further despise the woman even if they could agree on protecting Christina.

That Thistle collapsed back into her chair as she fought to control her heart beat and suppress the adrenaline tearing through her body after Shalom had left the room, is something that she will deny ever happened that day.

23. She has met Christina’s step sister several times, each time ending in her being chased out of the house courtesy of the wheelchair bound girl either throwing objects at her or swatting at her with something as she tells her to stay away from Christina.

That said, she has not stopped her attempts at somewhat courting the young woman’s favor, having arranged for, and personally done, many things to make life easier for the young woman, such as aiding in her finding a stable source of income from home, and ensuring that she and Christina are able to visit whenever they wish.

Even with all that she has done however, the young woman still does not trust her, and does her best to try and mitigate any influence Shalom has over her, that said, she does appreciate Shalom’s efforts and has at least allowed for them to chat for more than 30 minutes before she starts chasing her out of her home.

24. While Shalom can be said to have a rather refined palate, she does also have a taste for more simple foods as well, especially given that Paradeisos did not allow her to indulge in them before due to her needing to maintain an image as their Envoy and their close monitoring of her.

As a result of this, and the somewhat increased freedom she has at the Bureau, she has gained the habit of searching for small hole in the wall restaurants and such to dine at with the Chief, Rahu, or Christina, with her having gained a reputation as an exceptionally generous patron.

More than once, Rahu has been caught off guard by seeing staff greet the former Hush by name and show her to her favored seat in the establishment, one time of note involving a rather portly chef who was easily double Rahu’s own size and weight leaving the kitchen to greet Shalom with an embrace as he sat her down and spoke with her for a little bit before going to cook her meal.

She has even tried some of the more exotic foods brought back by Wolverine from his hunts, such as the meat of Sand Worms, which she claims has an oddly gamey flavor to it that is not that unpleasant, and a form of lizard that she actually quite liked the taste of, much to everyone’s shock.

That said, she did refuse to even look at the scorpions and other multi-legged insectoid like creatures the Hunter caught, due in part to a reason that will be touched on below.

25. She has a case of Arachnophobioa, something even the Hush experiment could never fully remove from her, with her gradually returning emotions having only amplified her fear of Spider or rather anything with over 2 or 4 legs.

The Chief first learned of this phobia when an insectoid Corruptor, resembling a mutated spider/human hybrid, appeared and Shalom froze for several seconds, only for her to snap out of her panic and have Schorl turn the surrounding area into enough glass that the sunlight reflecting off of it could have blinded someone.

Despite the best efforts of both the Chief and Shalom to keep such information confidential, it somehow managed to leak to both Langley and the Garden, with the pair forming a somewhat un-official alliance to use this newly discovered weakness to get a bit of revenge on the Hush.

Rahu very much did not appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night by a rather frantic Shalom calling her and telling her that she needed her to come rescue her, that Paradeisos sent a message that, in a rather deadpan way said Shalom did indeed require her aid but that it was not urgent, only furthered her confusion.

Rahu would arrive with the Chief to see Shalom having barricaded herself within a dresser as Schorl hovered nearby, a rather large assortment and variety of non-lethal spiders having taken lordship over her room, with sizes ranging from small to far too large for comfort for most people…particularly the Chief who bolted into the dresser with Shalom, leaving Rahu to deal with the eight-legged invaders.

She had the damndest feeling that Schorl was laughing at her, the machine having not been of any aid due to the risk of damaging the prison should it start to utilize its weaponry on the perfidious vermin…she was certain it was also because whoever was monitoring the situation was getting a kick out of it, but she held her tongue.

It would take several hours, many spider bites, a lot of cursing, and several questionable sounds from the dresser, before at last Rahu claimed her final victory over the spider invasion, the only clue she needed to know who was responsible being a lone flower she found resting outside of the Hush’s room when she was finished.

A bright yellow tulip that seemed to be laughing at her weary form.

She felt no small delight in crushing it under her boot, and her joy only grew when she aided Shalom in her own retaliation on the Garden and Langley, said retaliation taking the form of causing a sizable influx of paperwork for Langley and the 9th as a whole, such that they did not leave their offices for almost a whole week, while the Garden found themselves invaded by a large amount of bees and ants, which would take several weeks to full eradicate.

In the end the groups involved called a cease fire to this chapter of their feud when the Chief tired of the chaos they were causing, interfered and threatened to avoid spending any time with them if they continued, the potential of the undesirable outcome causing a lull in their feud…at least until something else set it off once more.

26. That her and Langley have a somewhat…contentious relationship, is rather well known, though the exact reasons are not.

A part of it is something that is largely due to their differing approach on not only how they handle their work, but also in regards to how they view the actions each other have taken during their respective careers.

In terms of their work, Langley dislikes how little Shalom shares in regards to any matter she assigns the 9th, many times she has kept the vast majority of information and secrets that could lead to an easier time completing the missions close to her chest, leading to Langley losing many valuable subordinates.

On the opposing hand, Shalom dislikes how open Langley is with her subordinates in terms of sharing information and formulating plans, believing that by entrusting the information to said subordinates the Spider is putting herself and the operations at risk, a fact Paradeisos has agreed with many times, much to her silent disgust, thus leading to her keeping the aforementioned information largely close to her chest for fear of it being compromised.

In terms of how they view their actions, it boils down to how they justify what they have done, both of them accept that they have committed, and will continue to commit, horrific deeds in the name of a greater purpose, but whereas Langley claims hers is for the good of all of Dis, Shalom admits that everything she has done was in the name of Paradeisos and their own agenda, with many others being done for her own and the Chief’s benefit later on.

That Shalom readily admits the fault of her actions does not make them any better in Langley’s eyes, especially given how many of her men and women have been caught in the middle of the schemes of the Hush and Paradeisos and either killed or maimed to the point of no longer being able to operate in the field.

Her anger is only further stoked as, instead of attempting to change her methods and approach as she has regained her emotions and has gained the Chief’s aid, Shalom largely chooses to keep utilizing methods that are either similar to, or almost identical to, her original methods of achieving her goals, with the few moments she takes a different approach only further infuriating Langley as it proves that, while difficult to the extreme, she can change her methods but seems to not want to.

On the other hand, Shalom views Langley as being somewhat too self righteous, convinced that she and her Agency are always working for the best of Dis, bending and often breaking the laws of the very city they protect, along with Paradeisos’ own rules, which has lead to no shortage of headaches for her.

In that same vein, Shalom believes that Langley can be far too gentle in her approach to how she handles certain matters, along with allowing for her fondness for her subordinates to interfere with her decision making process, something that Langley has argued is not the case many times.

However, having said all of that, the pair are still able to work together remarkably well given the correct circumstances, from a major threat to Dis, to something choosing to target their Chief, these moments displaying just how formidable they could truly be, if they could ever bury the hatchet between them.

Though such a thing seems like it will take a miracle to occur.

27. The first time she met Oak Casket in person, the Lady of the Romanesque hall approached her and Rahu as they were walking down a hallway, with her stopping in front of them as she looked Shalom in the eye and told her that she could at last put a face to the name so many spirits had cursed to the depths of hell and beyond as they found their way to her.

She would further claim that even now, within the halls of the Bureau, the spirits of countless maniacs clung to Shalom like a shroud, with her likening her approach to that of a storm front, the wailing and crying of the maniacs being the wind, the rain being their unseen and unfelt tears, and their furious shouting the deafening roar of thunder.

While Rahu reacted with unease and prepared for conflict, Schorl similarly readying for battle, Oak Casket merely strode forward, uncaring of them, and walked past them, pausing but to say that if she was ever curious what their final words and thoughts were, she could ask the Chief where to find her.

She was not surprised when, several days later, Shalom arrived at her doorstep, the Hush vanishing into the Funeral Parlor director’s room, where she would remain for nearly the rest of the day until she left later on, finding Rahu and Schorl waiting for her at the door.

Shalom was silent and seemingly in deep contemplation for the rest of the day, with her only requesting that Rahu remain with her the rest of the night, with her responding to any of Rahu’s question with silence, Schorl, that had been eavesdropping into the room, surprisingly held its own tongue…perhaps owing to the sounds that had left its operator in a cold sweat that it had heard from said room.

It was that day that an odd…bond of sorts formed between the Lady of Romanesque and the Hush, the pair coming to spend time together discussing matters that left those who overheard them more than a little uneasy as they fled the talking pair.

28. She has a much higher alcohol tolerance than one would suspect on their first look of her, with Shalom easily being able to out drink most ordinary people and Sinners alike, with only the more heavy drinkers such as Zoya, Pacassi (When the mood strikes her), Demon (Again, when the mood strikes him), and Bai-Yi, being able to reliably out drink her.

That said, when she does manage to drink too much it is not readily apparent, she has long since mastered the art of hiding any visible signs of intoxication, even the subtle signs are held tight under her grip, with the only reliable sign that has been found being how clingy she becomes around those she feels safe around when she is intoxicated.

At a rather low level of intoxication she would prefer to brush herself against them, with a mid level being characterized by her latching on to their arm or holding their hand, and at a severe level of intoxication she will have them put their arm around her, and latch onto their side as she nuzzles into them.

The problem comes with her not wanting to let go of the one she has latched on to, with Rahu and the Chief having found themselves being pinned to a bed, chair, or any other piece of furniture that can support them by the drunken Hush as she falls asleep atop them, Christina having been spared the fate due to Shalom trying to maintain an image of a reliable older sister around her.

Though, the Chief and Rahu are not alone in having to deal with an intoxicated Hush, as at one point the Chief was informed that she was required in the Garden’s group dorm by a somewhat baffled looking Sumire.

Upon arriving in the dorm, she was met with the sight of the Sinners of the Garden looking on in dumbfounded shock as their Mentor was pinned to her bed by Shalom, the Poppy of the Garden shooting a dumbfounded look at the Chief as she approached, with her heaving a sigh as she began the process of trying to get the intoxicated Hush off of a flustered Coquelic.

Only to be pulled down and pinned by her as well, with the Flowers either chuckling silently at the scene of the Mentor scolding the Chief for getting both of them pinned, or trying to find a way to get them out of their situation.

Eventually, after much trial and error, they decided to utilize the most tried and true method of dealing with a drunken Shalom.

They called Rahu and Christina.

The pair arrived and, with a somewhat ashamed look on Christina’s face and an exasperated look on Rahu’s own face, managed to pry her off of the Chief and Coquelic before they carried her away to her room.

As for why Shalom was drunk that day, they would later learn that she had been having a conversation with Oak Casket as they drank what they had both assumed was a wine with a low alcohol content.

It did not, in fact, have a low alcohol content.

Where they got the wine, no one could ever figure out, though Nightingale and the Chief had a sneaking suspicion that it involved a certain supply office manager, who had taken a couple of days off to allow for the heat to di-*Ahem* to recuperate from a head cold.

29. While everyone is aware that Shalom has a vast collection of records, most are unaware of just how many records she actually owns, with her having not only several storage racks filled with them, but also a storage unit full of containers filled with duplicated of the ones in her room, the transferal of it from the surface unit to the Bureau was…an adventure in its own right.

Despite this frankly absurd number of records, Shalom has listened to each of them,and can even recite which songs are on each of them just by glancing at the abbreviated designation she has marked each of them with.

In addition to records for her vinyl player, she also owns a large number of cassettes, disks, and even digital copies of each of the songs she has on her records should something happen to them.

She also attends concerts and live performances whenever she gets the chance, typically draggin Christina, Rahu, and or the Chief along with her to the performance in question, though she has also extended an invitation to a rather dumbfounded Coquelic as well, the Garden’s Mentor has yet to give her a reply to the offer.

30. It is rather well known that she has something of an…odd relationship with the Mentor of the Garden, the pair able to go from amicably drinking tea together, to Coquelic attempting to throttle Shalom as the Hush smiles at her.

On one hand, Coquelic does appreciate how Shalom’s little scheme allowed her flowers and her to slip free from the Underground and to find a new home, but at the same time she is…decidedly less than pleased with the method that Shalom aided them, as well as how unapologetic she has been for the pain it caused her Flowers.

On the other hand, Shalom has a rather sizable amount of respect for not only the sheer power and skill that Coquelic possess, but also how she was able to wrest control of not only her own fate, but the collective fates of the rest of the Garden as well, an act which has earned her no small amount of admiration and, to an extent, envy from the dread Hush.

The pair have shown that, despite the occasional acts of hostility, they are more than able to have a working relationship between them, with the pair having come to work together to deal with any threat against the Chief or their makeshift home…that their methods are not what the Chief would approve of is simply a sacrifice they have deemed necessary to make for the greater good of her safety.

By combining the Garden’s, the 9th Agency’s, and Shalom’s own resources, along with the occasional input from various other Sinners, they have been able to locate and remove many potential threats before they could take any form of action against the Chief or the Bureau, the majority of said threats vanishing without being seen again, while others suffer a myriad of…‘accidents’ that can not be traced back to any of the involved parties.

The sheer efficiency with which they are able to operate is further proof of just how terrifying a force they are capable of becoming when they are not at each other’s throats, making it a rather sad thing that it only seems to happen under such…morbid circumstances.

Or whenever the Chief sits them down and forces them to work together so she can get some peace and quiet.

31. While Shalom can claim to be a woman of many talents, one talent that has always evaded her, outside of driving, is the art of ice skating, something that she has tried time and again to remedy to…very little success.

Her multiple attempts at learning the art have led to her having to either visit the medical wing for treatment for bruising, or to go to her room and spend a while laying down as she recovers from the aches caused by several falls to the ice.

Many times she has managed to convince the Chief or Rahu to assist her in the matter, Christina having long given up on the matter and declared it a hopeless endeavor, with the pair rapidly approaching agreeing with her, especially given how many times she has dragged them down with her.

That many of those falls have led to them being in compromising positions is something Shalom claims no responsibility for, something that the Chief and Rahu are uncertain of the validity of, due in no small part to how Shalom is always smiling and wearing a faint blush during these incidents.

32. She has an odd relationship with Summer, with Shalom having subtly leaked several pieces of Paradeisos technology and information to the genius sinner as a means of allowing for the Bureau to gain a leg up on Paradeisos and to develop their own Anti-Mania technology, something which Summer has been making many breakthroughs with, the rapid growth being explained as her having a bout of inspiration and her general eccentric nature.

The only request she has had for Summer is for her to find a way to either replicate, or to take control of, the Schorl that is constantly with her, an additional caveat being that she wants it to speak in the Chief or Rahu’s voice when relaying information to her, something which Summer is treating as an additional challenge.

As for how she managed to make the notoriously eccentric genius work with her, that can be chalked up to a rather sizable amount of expensive chocolate, anime (that a curious Shalom has been coerced into watching with Summer), manga, and many other treats, the promise being that so long as she makes progress, Summer will continue to receive these care packages.

On one hand, the Chief is rather cross with Shalom for going behind her back on this matter, but on the other hand, Summer has made a rather sizable amount of progress with aid from Eureka, Vanilla, and Dreya, and she has been on much better behavior since the arrangement began.

With the addition of the Bureau not having to pay for any of this, the Chief has begrudgingly allowed for the deal to continue, under the stipulation that it be closely monitored to insure that nothing goes wrong.

33. She has a rather sizable amount of wealth to her disposal, enough to be in the upper elite of Dis, due in no small part to large amounts of passive income that come from her many investments in wealthy companies, along with her running several shell corporations from the shadow as a means of further supplementing the rather generous amount of wealth Paradeisos has allowed her to draw from.

A rather large amount of this wealth is pooled into accounts for Rosa, Christina, the Chief, Rahu, and rather surprisingly Coquelic and Langley, with everything being arranged for them to receive access to these accounts should she die.

Rosa, Christina, the Chief, and Rahu, would be set to receive a rather sizable amount of wealth to their name, as well as controlling shares in the companies she has founded, along with control of her investments.

Coquelic’s account is different as it contains a mixture of money, as payment for a final contract, which is also included in an email set to be sent should she die, and a rather large amount of rare and exotic flower seeds.

Langley’s would not just include a rather large amount of money, but also several flash drives and files filled with all of the information that she has amassed over her rather lengthy stay within Paradeisos, similar files and drives being placed within Rahu, Christina, Coquelic, and the Chief��s own vaults as well, with the hope being that they would finish what she started when she dies.

She has also included several cans of bug spray, particularly designed to kill spiders, and a guide on how to make better tasting coffee within Langley’s vault, with Christina’s containing a sizable amount of novels and aids for her work, with Rahu, Rosa, and the Chief having similar personal gifts awaiting them as well.

She has also left behind a single bank account for Paradeisos themselves to access, with a flash drive loaded with enough Trojan Horse viruses to fry the servers of a third of Dis, all carefully concealed behind what amounts to her final report to her superiors.

34. She owns a variety of outfits that she has never quite had the time or reason to try on, ranging from casual everyday wear, to business attire, to formal party attire, alongside other things that one would not normally consider her one to possess, such as maid outfits and lingerie.

After she came to take up residence in the Bureau, she began to form a habit of trying on each of these unused outfits, or convincing one of those she is close with to model them for her, as she uses them as a dress up doll.

An example of which was Rahu, who found herself the center of an impromptu fashion show that started with her in a rather formal suit, it was a bit too tight but otherwise quite comfortable…though Shalom and the Chief spent a rather absurd amount of time looking at her before she was bid to try on the next outfit…a maid outfit that was much too tight and small that had her glaring daggers at a blushing Chief and Shalom.

Granted, the Chief was not exempt from becoming a part of the show, though she found herself with much more…lascivious clothing placed into her arms courtesy of Shalom, who had an oddly hungry gleam to her eyes as she watched the Chief vanish within a side room to don her new attire.

After seeing her walk out, clad in a much more revealing maid outfit, which was quite the achievement given how the one she had worn looked on her, Rahu felt no small amount of sympathy for the woman, something that soon became pity as she saw the rest of the clothes that Shalom had in mind for her to wear.

From an admittedly rather tasteful cocktail dress, though none of them could get the zipper to go up all the way, to a uniform resembling what a school teacher would wear, and even a copy of what the Hush usually wore with colors suited to compliment the Chief, something Rahu also found herself trying on…though it was several sizes too small for her.

Of course, Shalom also joined in, the scene of her wearing a Sailor Scout uniform from an anime that Summer had shown her, left both Rahu and the Chief gaping as they tried to process the sight in front of them, yet little time had they to acclimate to the scene before another blow to their mental state came when Shalom, after spending close to 30 minutes within the closet, entered her room clad in a school girl uniform of all things.

It took approximately several long minutes for the Chief and Rahu to process what they were seeing, with the pair blushing heavily as Shalom smiled to herself at their reaction, knowing fully well that she had many more things to show them.

It is safe to say that both of them needed to take a very lengthy, and very cold shower when they fled to their respective rooms amidst Shalom’s quiet chuckling.

35. She has joined several other Sinners in keeping an eye on the chief and making sure she does not overwork herself too much, with her method of getting her to stop being to simply walk into the office, grab her by the wrist, and pull her away from her computer and off to either of their rooms.

When that does not work, she will resort to decidedly more underhanded methods, such as slipping into the office via one of the hidden passages, putting her hands over her eyes and telling her that it is time to go to sleep as she waits for her to surrender.

Another option is to utilize the most tried and true method, that being the NHH method, which involves sicking either Nightingale or Hecate and Hella on the Chief, with said method ending in her either being drug out of her office by the Adjutant, often still in her chair, or being bullied into going to sleep by Hecate’s pleading and Hella’s cursing as she chews her out.

But should all of the above fail, should all seem lost in this endeavor, then Shalom has perfected a final tired and true method of forcing the Chief to relax, one that, during her first attempt almost ended with her becoming a head shorter courtesy of a rather infuriated Sumire.

The method in question?

Step 1: Walk into the office. Utilizing passages is not necessary as the sound of approaching heels clicking on the floor and knocking on the door adds a valuable psychological factor to the approach.

Step 2: Do not respond to any of the Chief’s questions, merely meet her gaze with a smile and walk towards her, navigate around her desk and push her back towards the wall behind her.

Step 3: Utilize greater than average strength to force her to remain in the chair by pinning her to ii, typically done by straddling her lap.

Step 4: Lean in close to her ear and begin to hum a lullaby as you stroke her hair, and rub her upper back, certain fragrance perfumes also assist in this method, particularly ones including lavender.

Step 5: Wait for her to give in and then wheel her out of the office and towards her room.

So far this method boasts the 2nd highest success rate out of her other methods of coercing the Chief into resting, the highest being the NHH method, though other Sinners boast of having more successful ones…granted one of them involves rendering her unconscious and another involves paralyzing her, but they still work, thus the Hsush shall not stop until she perfects a method of getting the Chief to cease overworking herself.

Her current approach being to simply insure that there is no reason for her to overwork herself, with her providing aid on matters that would otherwise take up too much of the Chief’s time, though the Chief is yet hesitant to fully trust her with much of her work, she has so far allowed for the help.

Only time will tell if this method works though.

36. She has a curiosity regarding the various other nations that exist beyond the walls of Dis, something that has led to her gathering as much information and memorabilia from those nations that she is capable of.

She regularly searches out any of the Sinners from foreign lands to speak with regarding their former homes, such as Pacassi and her long vanished hometown, Eirene and Fraser, KawaKawa and Stargazer for WhiteSands, or OwO and Goldion Ville.

It has become a small dream of hers to one day visit the lands beyond the walls of Dis and see what the world is like outside of the reach of Paradeisos and herself, though she does not want to go alone, so she has decided that she will try and take Rosa, Rahu, Christina (and of course where christina goes, Thistle goes.), and or the Chief with her come the chance to slip away.

But for now she will settle with enjoying what trinkets and information she can from those distant lands. She is particularly fond of the chess set that Eirene had brought over from her home city and the paper lantern that OwO made for her.

37. Similar to Langley, she has many times made use of the skills of the Phantom Thief pair of Priscilla and Tetra, though she has never directly spoken to them, instead utilizing multiple online accounts and middle-men to hire them.

The pair have long since ceased attempting to investigate just who it is that is behind all of the jobs that Shalom has given them, their previous attempts having ended with the pair finding a flash drive tucked into a drawer that contained their…toys, during a rather passionate moment.

Their session of intimacy being cast aside as they investigated what was on the flash drive, the pair soon finding themselves clinging onto one another as they saw a file containing both videos and images of them going about their daily lives, as well as on their missions, even their homes outside of the Bureau, including safe houses even the Chief was unaware of.

Amidst the flurry of images and videos was a single document, a simple text file that contained words which managed to send a chill through their cores.

“I would advise you to not bite the hand that feeds you, I harbor no malice towards you at the moment…but if you continue to pry into things best left unknown…then I will be forced to take much more direct action against you.

The presence of this hard drive should be proof enough of what I am capable of, as well as the extent of my influence, and be advised that what you see here is but a fraction of the data I have gathered on the two of you.

But that is neither here nor there at the moment, and I would truly hate to sully the wonderful working relationship we have at the moment, and in the same vein lose two exceptionally useful allies, thus I will take no action against you at the moment.

For now, I would advise you to hold one another close, perhaps enjoy the wine you have stored away in your cupboard. It is a wonderful vintage that pairs quite well with the dark chocolate that Tetra purchased a couple of days ago.

Take some time off to process this information, don’t worry about anything, your superior at the Bureau is a kind woman, she won’t pry too much, and you have likely received a rather sizable transfer to your account for a job well done in regards to your last few missions from me.

With that said, I must be going, I have a great many things to attend to that require my personal attention, though before I go, I have to admit that I was impressed by the variety of toys you possess. My own collection seems paltry in comparison…perhaps I should remedy that.

Sincerely X.”

The pair would take their mysterious benefactors' advice and spend the next few days with each other, not only scouring their homes and cell for bugs, but also in trying to bury the terror that the flash drive caused them.

That the damn thing vanished the next day, only further heightened their fears of this unknown X.

Curiously, the days following this incident would see Shalom spend a rather lengthy amount of time browsing certain…illicit sites in search of new additions for her own collection, that she asked Rahu, Rosa (Who she communicated with via sharing her screen in a call or by phone), and the Chief their opinion on the objects in question, is something 2 of the 3 mentioned would very much like to forget .

38. Upon learning that Peggy and Joan were two of the musicians whose tapes and records she possessed, she took time out of her schedule to ask for their autograph’s on the tapes and records in question, paying them quite handsomely in return.

She has likewise requested recording of several other musician Sinners performances, from Dudu, who spent several minutes in dumbfounded silence at just how much Shalom offered her before energetically shaking her hand and running off to get started, to Echo and her saxophone, the young musician being ecstatic to record a tape for someone at last.

Whether or not the music is any good by the standards of the masses is of no concern to Shalom, all that matters is that it is her choice to listen to and enjoy it, and not the whims of her former masters, with it also serving a memento of some of the more vibrant souls present within the Bureau.

39. Given her fixation on spreading happiness, and Shalom’s desire for happiness, it is a fair assumption to say that she has something of a relationship with Serpent, with the serpentine Sinner having taken upon herself the challenge of making Shalom give her a genuine smile through any means necessary.

As a result of this, Shalom has many times found herself given a front row seat to the shows that Serpent puts on within the Bureau, the serpentine Sinner having pulled out every stop during her shows to try and coerce as much genuine emotion as she can from Shalom, with the Hush often finding herself feeling emotionally drained and yet deeply satisfied after each performance.

She has also met the monstrous snake that Serpent keeps as a pet, granted their meeting involved it slithering through the vents and into her room as she was reading a book, but unlike many of her fellows she did not immediately panic and was instead able to keep the colossal snake busy until Serpent could arrive to recover it.

Though it did take them a rather long while to convince the snake to uncoil itself from around her and her chair, especially given that it seemed to be enjoying the story she was reading aloud to it.

That is not to say it is an entirely one-sided deal, as Serpent has come to find herself with enough money in her account to be able to afford the sun lamps she has wanted for a long while, with Shalom also taking upon herself the duty of babysitting Serpent’s snake when the woman has to leave it behind on a mission.

She has also aided Serpent in her quest to make the Chief happy, not only through funding but also by helping her in researching a rather large variety of means to try and appease the woman in question.

The Chief has since come to expect that whenever Serpent has a show, she will find herself being seated near the front with Shalom on one side, Eirene on the other, and Rahu and Christina as far away from the giant snake that accompanies Serpent as possible.

40. She gets cold easily due to her fragile nature, her heavy coat helps her with it to an extent, but during particularly cold or windy days, she needs to wear layers to the point that she needs several minutes to pry off all of them when she is out of the cold, otherwise she will begin to overheat.

In addition to getting cold easily, she also has a rather weak immune system, even with Paradeisos medicine at her back, thus she can easily fall ill during cold weather, leading to her being bedridden or consigned to the medical wing for several days before her condition stabilizes.

As a result of this, she tends to avoid leaving the warmth of the Bureau, or even her room for that matter, during such weather unless her presence is requested by the Chief for some matter, though even then she will demand heavy reparations for her presence.

Typically, said reparations will involve the Chief pampering her while she recovers from whatever illness has come to plague her, even should she be given medication to treat it, she will still request that the Chief stay with her till she is fully recovered.

That is not to say she fairs any better during hot weather, as she has to wear sunscreen or carry an umbrella to avoid sun burns during the intense heat, with her trying to minimize her exposure to the intense sunlight as much as she can to avoid heat sickness.

It is safe to say that she enjoys the more mild weather of spring or the cool and yet not freezing weather of fall as opposed to winter or summer, with those being the months she is able to enjoy the sights of the city and the world before she is forced to flee into cover at the changing weather.

41. She once requested Enfer to make use of her ability to try and sculpt something that could elicit genuine fear from her, with the artist devoting a rather obscene amount of time and effort towards the matter, Shalom funding her ventures as the sculptor tried everything she could.

Eventually, Enfer managed to create something that managed to provoke a reaction from Shalom, the exact nature of the work that managed to provoke a feeling of unease and distress within Shalom such that she was visibly unnerved is unknown however, as Shalom had any visual images of the work removed as she took it to a secure and hidden space within her room.

None but the Hush and the Sculptor themselves have seen just what was made that day, and Enfer refuses to share any information on the matter, the Mistress of Fear herself feeling no small amount of unease whenever she recalls the work she made, and sheer distress it caused to flicker through the normally blank faced Shalom as she looked upon it.

No threat was needed, no promise of revenge or wrath, nor was a bribe needed, only a glance at Shalom and at the artwork she had made was needed to bid her tongue to stay silent on the matter.

An oddity is that after the piece was finished and hidden away, the pair tried to spend as much time with the Chief as possible, as though something compelled them to do so…perhaps…no, it is better that road be left unwalked.

42. She is a regular listener to Eleven’s radio show, and is exceptionally fond of the radio host herself, finding her show to be the perfect thing to listen to as she focuses on work that has either kept her up late, or has awoken her exceptionally early.

Eleven is more than a little wary of the Hush, especially given the rumors she has heard of the woman, particularly from the agents of the Garden and various others, though at the same time she cannot ignore the way Shalom has spoken so highly of her, and the several times she has called in to her show to speak with her whenever she needed to take a breather during her work.

That said, Eleven wishes that the next time Shalom asks to take her photo, she does not have the flash on, especially given that the mirror she was standing beside managed to reflect it and disorientate both of them for several minutes.

43. She very much enjoys sleeping in on the days she has nothing to do though not quite to the extent of Coquelic, who prefers to spend almost the entire day in bed when there is nothing for her to focus on, with her trying to catch up on any sleep she has been forced to miss as a result of her work.

Whenever someone attempts to awaken her from this slumber they will typically either be met by her Mark blazing in one of her eyes as she glares at them, or with her reaching out to pull them into bed with her, something that Rahu, Christina, Rosa, and the Chief have been the victims of before.

The problem is that once she has a grip on them, and has begun to fall asleep, she very much refuses to relinquish her grip on them, with her poor victims having to either wait for her to awaken, or for them to find some way to wake her up.

Such as carrying her to, and proceeding to drop her into a tub of either warm or cold water, something that Rahu had to resort to at one point when something came up and Shalom was needed on one of those days.

She proceeded to learn that while Shalom is frail, she is still capable of throwing surprisingly heavy objects with no small amount of force at someone, particularly when they have their back turned to her.

On an unrelated note, she had to see Iron and Anne for some aspirin to help with a headache she gained that day, where it came from she would not say, only that both the source of it, and the headache itself, were exceptionally annoying.

44. Shalom is not counted among the “Sane People Of The Bureau” as the group of Nightingale, Cinnabar, and recently Matilda is called within the Bureau by both staff and sinner, this is no small part due to her past as the Hush and her fixation on the Chief, along with the extremes she is willing to go to in order to achieve her goals.

That said, she is still numbered among the “Somewhat Sane People Of the Bureau,” along with the likes of Langley, Zoya, and so on. As while she may not be the most sane of individuals, with Shalom even confessing such a thing herself due to her skewed view on morals and how she was brought up by Paradeisos, she is still more sane than most of the staff and sinners alike and is thus a candidate for leadership and advice should any of the Sane People Of The Bureau be indisposed after something occurs to effect the Chief…or when the chief needs to be overruled and or forced to take a break.

45. She has a deep seated fascination with the Immortals (Dreya, Vanilla, and Mantis) due in no small part to their own contributions towards paving the way for Dis to be founded by Keylan during the expedition into the Perishing Star, along with the wisdom and knowledge they hold regarding not only the star, but also what they can recall of the world before Dis was founded.

This is one of the few point where she and Paradeisos are in agreement, the information the Immortals possess has already caused several breakthroughs in regards to how the Perishing Star is viewed, along with information regarding both Mania and the effect it has had on the environment of the land around the star.

As such, Shalom has been asked by Paradeisos to keep an eye on the Immortals and to help act as an intermediary to exchange information with them, especially in regards to the subjects of the Illusory Moon and it seeming intelligence, alongside of information of the old world that was lost during the years before the Expedition breached into the Star’s domain.

She tends to speak most with Dreya as opposed to Mantis and Vanilla, as she find the astronomer to be the easiest to converse with of the group as opposed to the survivalist and logistician, though she has orders to try and gather information from Vanilla due to her being a largely unknown part of the Keylan Expedition, alongside of her understanding of the temporal hellstorm that rages within the Star’s domain and her ability to help in reconstructing some of the ruined monitoring stations around 00.

46. Shalom was rather surprised when she learned that the Chief refuses financial backing and aid from her sinners, alongside of only taking Hella and Hecate with her on her missions, the latter annoying her much more than the former due to potential safety risks.

As a result of this, she is one of many that have brought up the idea of the Chief taking other sinners aside from just Hella and Hecate with her during missions as while she may have success so far with just the pair, she also has tendency to run into situations that heavier firepower would be greatly useful in contending with.

As a result of this, she and several others, including Langley, Eirene, Demon, and Rahu, have worked to put together a means of coercing the Chief to accept further aid on her missions from those who are capable of doing so, with the more contaminated and mania sensitive sinners having to be kept on the sidelines due to contamination and potential risk of going full maniac allowing for them to narrow the suspects down.

That they have even been able to sway Nightingale to their side is proof of their devotion to this cause, though so far they have had little luck in convincing the chief to accept further help…at least willingly as they have several times simply either pulled rank on her (Langley) or threatened her with withholding her coffee and snacks (Nightingale) if she did not take aid with her on some missions.

Shalom would go with the Chief on missions herself, if she did not feel that doing so would run the risk of allowing Paradeisos too much information on the Chief and potentially causing the both of them future headaches.

47. Despite her fragility, Shalom possesses rather impressive healing capabilities, though not to the extent of Hella, she is still capable of surviving many wounds that would have been fatal to others, with Schorl furthering her healing abilities with its own technology.

She cannot regrow limbs or digits, nor can she regenerate organs, or is she immune to illness, but she is still capable of taking a stab or bullet and surviving, at least assuming it is not directly to her heart or brain, something she considers one of the few useful modifications Paradeisos made to her after she became the Hush.

48. She has an odd relationship with subjects unknown to her, as she is both wary of, and yet also fascinated by, anything that she has know knowledge or comprehension of, something which is quite rare given her eidetic memory and the amount of information she was taught by Paradeisos and has learned on her own.

This leads to her starting ventures into unknown subjects cautiously at first as she tests the waters before she begins to dive into them in full, hungrily devouring anything and everything she can on the subject until she feels that she is satisfied with it.

This is not something born of scholarly desire, but rather out of a desire to know what she can use and what can be used against her, alongside of it being something that she has the ability to choose to indulge in without being ordered to do so, it is also something she does to further cultivate her seemingly all knowing image to instill both respect and unease in those around her.

Among the subjects she has studied are things such as tailoring, animal husbandry (Christina learned far too much regarding breeding habits of animals when she was researching it), entomology (She felt it wise to learn more about her arachnid foes), cooking, and cocktail making.

49. It is a standing rumor in the Bureau that Shalom’s coat is able to repair itself, as no matter what is done to it, be it burned or slashed, it is always in immaculate condition the next time anyone sees her wearing it.

The truth is much less fanciful though, as Shalom simply owns many copies of her coat that she can use when she is unable to fix one of them or have a tailor fix it for her, with her having allocated a rather large sum simply to replacing and repairing her coats when they get damaged.

She at one point had to have a whole new batch made for her as, despite not being contaminated when the Garden and Langley unleashed a hell of spiders into her room, she one day went to put on one of her coats and found a rather large tarantula inside of it.

How it got there, she had no idea, only knowing that it was the doing of someone in the Bureau, especially given she has spider-proofed her room to the best of her ability since the ‘prank’ pulled on her.

Needless to say, she promptly had Schorl burn each of her coats for safety reasons.

50. She is very well aware of the irony of her name's meaning and of her profession and the deeds she has committed, with her finding it to be somewhat humorous in a rather dark way, with her using it as a part of several rather dark jokes that she makes when free of Schorl’s gaze.

51. While Shalom claims to have something of a Black Thumb when it comes to gardening, few know just how bad her attempts at gardening have ended over the course of her attempts at it.

As not only has she managed to kill the vast majority of her own plants, including ones that should not be easily killable by any stretch of imagination, but she has also managed to, through means known to not even Paradeisos, cause plants that others are tending to on her behalf to die whenever she tries any attempt at caring for them.

She was particularly upset the day she managed to kill a rose that Rosa had given her, with the maid having to visit the Bureau to console her former employer over the matter, said maid would later confide to the Chief that the flower was artificial and it should not have been possible for it to die.

52. Shalom very much enjoys egging people on when the chance arises, utilizing her position as a Paradeisian and her own connections to put people who have managed to earn her ire in a position of wishing to strike at her, but being unable to do so.

In particular, she enjoys doing this to high ranking officials or such that try and interfere in her aiding the Chief, finding the expressions they make as they grit their teeth in silent and indignant fury at her to be amusing to no small extent.

She is confident that should anything occur, Rahu would protect her, though her bodyguard has told her many times to cease her antics or to at least reign in her antics so that she did not have to have her hands on her weapons everytime Shalom meets an official that annoyed her.

The only response she received from Shalom was an amused smile and the faintest hint of exasperation from Schorl as the Hush went to another meeting with a board of officials, said meeting nearly devolved into a full on brawl due to her pitting them against one another as she sat back and enjoyed the show.

It is safe to say that Rahu has come to dread seeing Shalom smile during meetings.

53. She has many times commissioned Cassia to make perfume for her, with her finding the perfumers products to be vastly superior to even the perfumes that she would find in luxury stores in Eastside.

A part of the deal she has with Cassia is an exchange of fragrances so to speak, as she will let the perfumer take samples of her hair to make into perfume in exchange for custom perfumes, though her donations to help Cassia built her own Atelier within the Bureau don't hurt either.

Cassia considers the perfume she has made from Shalom’s hair to be an oddity, not just due to it smelling of a form of flower she has not smelled before, her best guess being some form of lily, with a rather spicy undercurrent of something akin to cinnamon, but also the feeling of peace it seems to bring the one wearing it, though she claims the feeling of peace feels…unnatural to her.

The perfumer would work to refine the perfume made of Shalom’s hair for several months before she seemed to reach some form of breakthrough, though it did not seem to be a desirable one as she soon destroyed the product and went back to her earlier iteration of the scent.

Why she did so, she would never say, but the look of pity and unease in her eyes when she looks at Shalom since her experiment ended, tells a tale all of its own.

54. She finds Hella to be rather adorable, though she is admittedly somewhat envious of the sheer amount and depth of emotions the young Syndician can feel, along with the ease at which she is able to display and switch between them.

Nonetheless, she has come to be rather fond of the gremlin’s antics, with her considering it a pleasant interruption to her day whenever she sees the hellion causing chaos within the Bureau, with her having gone so far as to aid her in her escapes and antics for her own amusement.

She is also oddly protective over the Syndician, as she has come to the conclusion that Hella is a vital component to the Chief’s happiness, and a valuable means of keeping her safe, and as such she takes many steps to insure that the little hellion is safe during her outings.

Hella once confronted her on the matter, surprising Shalom with her awareness of her involvement, the pair speaking for a while on their thoughts on the matter, with the Rat Queen Of Syndicate surprising Shalom with her maturity and intelligence during their conversation.

In the end Hella agreed to endure her meddling and watch, in exchange for her monitoring and protecting Ninety-Nine as well, with the gremlin threatening Shalom with going to the Chief and ruining her image in the Chief’s eyes if anything happened to the Berserker.

Shalom had chuckled at the statement, an honest chuckle of amazed amusement at the girl's audacity, before she acquiesced to her demand with grace, smiling to herself as she re-evaluated her opinion on the girl who finished her tea before she left.

Before Hella had left the room, however, she had asked her how it was she deduced that it was her that was involved, something which made Hella pause before she turned to look at her over her shoulder and said-

“I had a hunch it was someone high up, didn't know who though, so I took a gamble on it being you and you confirmed it for me.”

Shalom had been incredulous for a moment before she began to chuckle once more, basking in both her surprise and the genuine emotion she felt as she watched the young woman leave, silently vowing to herself to see the full potential of the young girl one day.

55. And the final one, is that Shalom fully expects to never truly achieve her happy ending and to die before she can be fully free of the shadow of Paradeisos, to never be able to watch movies with the Chief, see Rahu freed from her hatred, watch as Christina and Thistle grow together, or witness Coquelic and her Garden claim their own pound of flesh from both the Underground and Paradeisos.

Because of this, everything she has done and continues to do is her rigging the board as much in favor of the Chief and those she feels deserve it as possible, all to insure that once she is gone they will still be safe and can reach their own happiness.

She knows that nothing she has done can make up for even a fraction of the sins she has committed, but at the very least she hopes that these sins can pave the way to heaven for her loved ones while she descends into hell where the Hush belongs.

She could burn with a smile on her face, so long as she knows they will be safe and happy.

And with any luck, she will drag Paradeisos down to the depths of hell with her, so that they can all burn along with the monster they created.

Author’s Note: Well this has been a lengthy one, I apologize for the rather long delay with this chapter, life, writer’s block, and other projects kept me busy and left me little time to truly focus on this chapter, but I am quite content with it and feel that it is at a good enough point to call it for now.

We hope you all enjoyed this mess of a chapter, and we hope to hear your own headcanons and thought on Shalom if you wish to share them with us.

That said, we are going to try and update either our other PtN fic with a Shalom Chapter, or our Genshin Fic.

Either way, stay safe and take care all.

#path to nowhere #ptn #ptn headcanons #path to nowhere headcanons #ptn shalom #path to nowhere shalom #headcanons

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0v3rcast · 1 year ago

Text

Gnaw (5)

You drift in infinity, if only for a moment, in a place devoid of feeling. There is no heat or cold, no light or darkness, no life, no death. There is an overwhelming absence.

Hello, my maker, Says a voice into your ear.

Warm hands tug at your sleeve and turn you in place.

You make eye contact with a woman in perhaps her early twenties, wearing a simple black dress. She's somehow standing on the nothingness as if it's solid ground.

She gives you a smile.

I wish we'd have had any other way to meet. You a corpse, myself a stranger.

I am Nil. The Abyss Made Manifest. The first of your children. I'm sure you have no recollection of me from the... simulation of Teyvat. Genshin Impact, I believe they called it?

You nod, not quite sure what to say.

...or even if you can say anything, because this place probably doesn't have a way for your voice to travel.

She smiles, giving you a strangely abashed look.

Sorry. I'm not used to guests. Or anyone other than my children, the Abyssals. If I'd known you'd be coming, I'd have made you a chair or something.

You shrug. At this point, you'll settle for her not trying to maim you.

Which, in hindsight, is kind of pathetic to settle for.

She offers a hand. You take it, and she pulls you close for a brief hug before somehow sitting you down on a solid plane of nothingness, your legs dangling off the edge like you're both sitting on a pier.

I can't give you much help from here, and your body is much too feeble to sustain abyssal energies, but I've been putting you back together every time you die.

I know it hurts, and I know you probably don't want to be here if all it means is being miserable, but...

They know not what they do. To them, you're someone wearing their creator's face. And that's not a valid excuse for murder, but they're blind to the truth.

You don't understand. It's probably written all over your face, based on the sad, sympathetic look she gives you.

There's another you. Sort of. An unstable clone. Some alchemist made them when Khaenri'ah existed. They had been attempting to summon you and bind your soul to an immortal body so you could guide Teyvat as you did before. They managed to only summon a copy of your essence.

The elements and Celestia annihilated Khaenri'ah for playing with forces they had no right to control, and I devoured most of the survivors for supporting someone that was trying to pull you away from your rest.

You have many questions. And no way to ask them. She catches on.

Oh! Also, you can just talk in your head and I'll hear it. It's not quite telepathy, but you and I are closer than the elements are to you, since I was the first.

You ask why the people of Teyvat didn't kill them, or why the elements couldn't.

You didn't want us interfering with the world so directly. That's why you gave my siblings the ability to grant Visions and the Gnosis. So they could still shape the world and watch over the souls they cared for.

You didn't want them to rule Teyvat, or to terrorize it, so you set some limitations on them.

Let's just say vaporizing an entire civilization was the kind of thing that caused backlash, massively draining them. They've spent all the time since then regaining their strength.

As for the mortals, they were just happy to have who they thought was you back.

You ask what the past you was like.

I can't tell you that. You'll remember on your own time.

You tell her that's not helpful, and also kind of a dick move to get your hopes up like that. She giggles.

This you is much more feisty. I like that.

You ask for any advice she can give you, because you're pretty lost and more or less without a clue right now. She perks up a little.

You'll make some friends in Liyue. I promise. Not everyone on Teyvat is hostile.

She looks away awkwardly.

Just, um. Most of them. Sorry. And I can't tell you who.

You sigh. At least there's a chance for someone to not immediately murder you.

Our time is up for now. I'm sorry. The waking world calls for you.

You tell her that the two of you will meet again and give her a wink. She laughs.

(Her warm, bright laughter follows you up to the world above.)

You wake with a terrible pain in the neck, and a golden band around your throat where you were decapitated.

You're more than a bit pissed about having your head chopped off because of someone else that's wearing your face.

A shitty copy at that.

You hope you'll meet one of those friends you were promised soon, because right now there's very little attachment to Teyvat as a whole.

(You meet your new friend not even three minutes later when she trips over your prone form and drops all her herbs.)

You awkwardly stare at Qiqi, who stares back at you with a mildly perplexed look.

"You... are not familiar," she says, tilting her head slightly as if she was a curious puppy. "But you seem nice."

"I'd hope I seem nice. You're the first person to not immediately try and kill me." You say, defensively.

You think she looks concerned, but reading her face is... well, difficult. Since she's an undead and all.

She offers a hand to you, and with her help, you get back on your feet.

"Thanks, Qiqi," you say, and then immediately have an 'oh shit' because she hasn't even fucking introduced herself.

"Have we met?" She asks.

"Nope. You're just famous where I'm from," you hastily explain. "Lots of people like you and want to be your friend."

She seems to consider it, but about halfway through she forgets and stops caring.

"Do you want me to help you pick up your herbs?" You offer.

She nods.

Qiqi delicately retrieves the various plants that were in her basket, and you point out any she misses.

"Are you from Liyue?"

"No, I'm just passing through."

"...ah."

You have a sudden alarm ringing in the back of your head and hit the grass, grabbing Qiqi and yanking her down with you.

You give her a small smile. She smiles back and then seems surprised she can. Then her smile widens slightly as she smiles for the sake of smiling, too.

"I like you," she says simply, with all the confidence of a child zombie. "Would you like to be friends?"

"I'd like that." You say genuinely. "I don't have a lot of those here."

"Then we're friends," Qiqi says with all seriousness before pulling out a notebook. "I will write your name down so I always remember you are my friend."

An arrow covered in icy mist whizzes just barely over your head and explodes several yards away, freezing a large circle of grass.

"Fuck!" You hiss, looking up to see Ganyu in the distance.

The look on her face is nothing short of barely concealed hatred. Her face is nearly expressionless, but there's open aggression and hostility in her eyes.

If looks could kill, you'd be a smoking crater.

"Go, Qiqi," you urge gently, nudging the jiangshi in the back.

She may be a zombie child, but she is no fool, very clearly understanding what's about to occur.

She quickly makes herself scarce.

As soon as she's out of the way, your gift spins to life, and your hands crackle with arcs of electro.

Ganyu lets another arrow fly.

You launch towards her, the world slowing to a crawl as you accelerate, her arrow sluggishly spiraling by you.

Right as you're about to be in range with a weapon, she... disengages.

Leaving behind a fucking ice lotus.

A wash of pure cold carves into you, sapping your body heat and leaving you winded.

You manage to roll away from the lotus, but her next arrow gouges into your thigh. You cry out in pain, indigo blood oozing down your leg and staining your pants.

You slam into her shoulder-first with the aid of your gift, the two of you crashing into the dirt and grass with a brutal force that leaves Ganyu wheezing.

Her hands come up to grab your throat, her grip like iron and tighter than a vice.

You briefly claw at her wrists, but the edges of your vision are beginning to darken.

You reach out, grab a horn, and yank.

Snap.

Ganyu wails. Her hands instantly move from your throat as she scrambles back, clutching the bleeding stump of her left horn in one hand. She isn't even paying attention to you anymore, lost in the agony.

You gasp for breath, taking in deep lungfuls of air.

Ganyu doesn't move to re-engage. She seems to be having difficulty staying conscious.

When she stands, her legs are shaking, and her attempt to move in your direction ends with her toppling over.

It's likely her horns have nerves, given their nearness to her human brain, and who knows what kind of function they serve? Do they help her sense which way is upright or help her orientate her body?

Whatever the case, she's down by half and now struggling to keep her balance.

You pretend to throw the horn at her as a distraction tactic, and she scrambles for it, not quite realizing you never let it go.

You flee, the arrow still in your leg and sending bolts of searing agony through you, the Quilin horn clutched tight in your hand.

(You fall asleep beneath a tree, which begins to grow rapidly due to the blood oozing from your now-healed wounds. An Archon approaches your unconscious form.)

When you wake, it's to jeering. You're... on a boat near the Guyun Stone Forest. There's a crowd watching you from the docks and shorelines, spitting insults and calling for your death sentence to be hastened. You can only faintly hear them.

Your limbs are bound in heavy chain and weighted with dense iron locks.

Zhongli glares at you like you're nothing more than a particularly vile insect.

Ganyu keeps fidgeting with the band of gold holding her horn in place now. She seems unsteady on her feet, especially on this boat. She watches you with something between hostility and fear.

Ningguang snarls at you for a moment with raw hatred when you make eye contact, but she swiftly schools her expression into an icy glare.

Keqing doesn't bother to look at you.

Zhongli must not like the look you give them because he steps forward and backhands you so hard you pull something in your neck and lose a tooth.

How dare they do this to you?

Your lip is busted and throbbing with pain. You, in a fit of spite, spit your blood onto his boot.

You're swiftly tossed into the sea and immediately begin to drown.

Before the darkness can claim you, several stone spears pierce your torso and limbs and make you sink to the seafloor as if the stone was lead instead.

You are so very cold.

(The sea goes as still and flat as a sheet of glass.)

Your eyes open in the lightless depths of the ocean.

Before you lies an ancient, imprisoned serpent - Osial, the Overlord of the Vortex.

You lay next to one of his heads. A single massive eye is trained on you.

"...my creator?" He asks, hesitant. "Why - no, how - are you down here?"

"Morax."

His eyes narrow in anger. "Wretched lizard. Had I my freedom, I would skin him alive and offer his carcass as tribute to you."

You breathe out a sigh through the gills you didn't have before.

"I wouldn't stop you at this point." You murmur bitterly.

(You and Osial lay there in the darkness of the sea together, side by side, prisoners of the same Archon.)

((Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21

#genshin sagau #sagau cult au #sagau gnaw #its me #ya gremlin #here with more subpar bullshit #osial makes a guest appearance #(laughs in drowning liyue)#reader has a terrible time #you made a friend though #hopefully one of you likes this

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curekibouka-writing · 1 year ago

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Love is a Song (Twst fanfic)

**mild SPOILERS for Book 7 chapter 4**

Summary: Children are creatures of love and magic. If so, he’s willing to stay right here and give the last of what little he has.

Word count: 1528

Warning: Referenced character death

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A/N: This is for the event “Anthems of Old” from @briarvalleyarchives. This piece is inspired by the song "Love is a Song" from Bambi. Please feel free to listen to the Midorikawa Hikaru (Lilia's voice actor) cover of this song too! And pls wish me luck in finishing the third fic before the deadline ;~;

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It was a particularly still and freezing winter night in the remote woods in Briar Valley — or at least, it would have been, until you venture deep enough into the woods to hear the endless waves of a baby screaming and crying from a cottage too small for his enormous tantrum.

Some of Lilia’s bats have already been flying around wobbly since minutes ago due to the overwhelming noise, and Lilia himself is at wits’ end as well.

“Come on, Silver, please,” for the first time in he doesn’t know how long, Lilia pleads, “You are going to cry yourself a sore little throat at this rate.”

His son isn’t a baby who cries particularly much. He suspected it was the weather at first. Silver’s hand felt colder than usual as it grabbed vehemently at Lilia’s fingers, which caused Lilia quite an unsettled frown, considering that a human baby’s body temperature should easily exceed that of a nocturnal fae.

So now he sits with his son on his lap in front of the fireplace, and it only gives him another cause for concern because — considering how weak human constitutions are, let alone that of a human baby’s — the dry air is only going to make his poor boy’s throat that much more painful as the cries go on and on and on.

In all honesty, he has been summoned to the palace tonight, and he is already late. He would very much like to avoid being struck by Malleus’s lightning, or the Queen’s, even if they mean it as a tease more than a punishment. But he could not bring himself to even move from those tiny fingers. What if his sharp black nails rip that soft, rosy skin? What if his inhuman strength snaps that clumsy, fragile hand? What if?

“Please, my dear, I’m only leaving for one night,” Lilia continues to plead, it might be laughable how helpless he sounds in face of his son’s screaming protests, “The bats and the animals will be here with you. You love playing with them, do you not?”

As a thorough proof that he is not listening at all, Silver gives two small coughs and continues his raging screeches.

Letting out a sigh, Lilia glances around the cottage for anything that might help. He sees the clock hands showing that it’s well past Silver’s bedtime, yet the stubborn little baby is having none of that. It does not matter how exhausted he is, he’s determined that he isn’t letting Lilia go anywhere.

Letting out a heavier sigh, Lilia begins searching his memories for the answer to this dilemma.

“Children so young don’t understand our words yet,” her voice said in the dark abysses of his memories, of a time that he thought was too bright yet too painful to recall.

He opens his eyes and he was there again. In the chamber lit by ghastly green candlelight. He was folding his arms as he mumbled, “What a pain.”

She shook her head mockingly, “I’m sure even a stubborn prick like yourself will change your mind once you meet him.” She gestured at the egg she was cradling in her tail with pride.

“He’s just an egg right now. You don’t know that.”

“I know he would love you, Lilia,” she chuckled confidently, “Children are creatures of love and magic. You keep them close, let them feel loved and safe, and they would cling onto you with their tiny little hands and cry for you if you try to leave them.”

“They’re really a pain.”

“And they’re adorable. You’re a caring person with a big heart beneath that nasty tongue of yours. We both trust you to protect him if the need arises, but we trust you more to care for him the way we do when he hatches into this world.”

Lilia would’ve scoffed and told her how misplaced their trust was, if only she wasn’t always right. He didn’t understand what she saw in him, but he couldn’t say she was wrong. “I have never taken care of children before,” that was his attempt to deter her.

“Neither have I,” she admitted. But then she brought her egg close to her chest, and the air began to swell with her magic. The candlelight flickered, and in an instant, they were no longer ghastly, only soft and ephemeral. They seemed to blink with the colour of her voice as her magic flowed into her child, “I know he doesn’t see or hear me yet. But I’ll make sure that he feels me, that he knows I’m right here.”

And what did she do afterwards? Yes, Lilia remembers. He hasn’t done this in the last century or so but he remembers.

He brings Silver close to his chest — she said it’d make children feel safer — and breathes in.

He remembers the notes, the melody, the words. He remembers, and still he trembled. What if his son doesn’t understand the song? What if his voice scares the baby? What if—

‘Children so young don’t understand our words yet.’

“… you’re right.”

‘Just make sure he feels...’

“I’m right here, Silver, I’m right here.”

With the warmth of the fireplace pushing him on, Lilia begins to sing.

Love is a song that never ends

He remembers. He remembers why he stowed this song away in a tiny little attic in his memories like so many other things that belonged to her.

Life may be swift and fleeting

The song… her words were too true. It could bring him into a dream so real that he could almost feel them there again.

Hope may die yet love's beautiful music

But no. That’s not what she wanted to leave behind. It’s her voice, her tone, her presence, that she wanted her son to remember, that Lilia swore to pass on.

Comes each day like the dawn

And the candlelight that outlined her features that day, the glow of her voice that was like the warmth of fire on his skin, is never forgotten, never gone. It’s right there for him to remember.

It wasn’t a light meant for him. But it was a light that touched him and changed him and inspired him nonetheless. And once touched by such a light, it never fades.

So her song will never end. A century ago Lilia had often sung it to Malleus in her stead. Malleus remembers it, hums it, plays it on his violin. Whenever he does, Lilia knows that his mother would always be there with him. And Lilia could look to the night sky and ask her in his heart whether he was doing this right, whether he honoured her trust.

But now it’s different. Lilia lowers his head and gazes at his son, his own child lying snugly in his arms, his own precious little baby now soothed by the song and his voice, finally feeling exhausted from all that crying, and beginning to drift off to sleep.

“May the night bless you,” is a phrase he was so used to repeating after the lullaby, but he holds his tongue. He brings his son close, brushes aside the growing sprouts of silver hair, and leaves a kiss on his forehead.

The sleeping infant soon lets go of Lilia. With magic, Lilia smoothly slips another layer of pyjama onto Silver to keep him warm and places him gently into the crib. And as the sparkles of his magic fades from his child, he wonders — as he so often wonders lately — how much longer would his magic last.

He puts out the fireplace with a flick of his finger. He could’ve sworn when he first found out about his withering body, he was quite ready to join those on the other side of that night sky. But now, he thinks to himself in the darkness, what could he leave behind for his Silver with so little time?

No. He doesn’t need his song to last forever. He doesn’t need to leave anything behind. Wouldn’t it be better if the path that Silver will choose one day has none of Lilia’s footsteps? He frankly doesn’t know.

If she was truly right, and one day Silver would cling onto him and cry for him when he leaves, then at least, he wishes Silver would understand the words he left in this song.

His bats offer to watch over the baby, but he dismisses them softly, pulling up a chair by Silver’s bedside. He wonders — as he so often wonders lately — since when does it feel so simple for his lips to melt into a smile.

Nobody knows how the child is going to grow from now on. All Lilia knows is that, if children are creatures of love and magic, today right here, he’s willing to give the last of what little he has.

Outside the cottage window, the horned visitor hears and watches as the lights dim while Lilia’s garnet eyes continue to glow over the child. Malleus chuckles silently, wondering how amused his grandmother would be to learn of why Lilia was absent that night.

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #silver #twst silver #twst writing #malleus draconia #mallenoa draconia #twst fanfiction #twst fanfic #twst angst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland writing #twst #diasomnia #twst spoilers

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emilykaldwen · 7 months ago

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Fourteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Notes: Back from hiatus on April 26th! (Chapter 16 is just about polished and I finally made progress for chapter 17). I'm sending huge, huge thank you to my beloved beta and co-pilot, @vampire-exgirlfriend for all her love and support and kindness. There's been a lot of times that I've thought about stopping, about not continuing this story, about maybe just keeping it to myself. It's been her love and very aggressive 'that is DUMB' affection that has brought us close to the end of Arc I.

And a huge thank you to the people who have liked this story. I genuinely would love LOVE LOVE to hear your thoughts. In inbox is open, reblog and tag me, however you want to let me know that you're here <3

we are now entering the 'oh my god these too are so fucking into each other they want to fuck so bad it makes them look stupid' era

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Love the World Like I Should

Grandfather Rodrik shows up with love and gifts, and there's some smooching on the dance floor at Aegon's nameday feast. Also some political anxiety.

King’s Landing was filled to bursting in the days approaching Aegon’s nameday celebrations. Never had Abby seen so many people crush themselves into the Red Keep. ‘More will be at Harrenhal for the wedding’, Helaena had said, their small group seeking solace away from the gaggle of the court for a while. Baela had come with them, overwhelmed with the crush of noise herself, even if she did not admit it. The Princesses Targaryen, Abby, Wylla, little Floris, and Baela’s two ladies had all sought the quietest part of the gardens to hide from the increasingly aggressive attentions.

Now, though, Abby could not hide from the crush of people.

The Reyne retinue arrived in the early afternoon, and while an ancient and powerful house as theirs deserved their pomp, the familial presentation was for Rodrik Reyne, uncle to the Queen Alicent Hightower, and grandfather to the future Princess Abrogail Strong.

Grandfather to the potential future queen, as the whispers and rumors flew around the Red Keep with the coming celebrations. Rumors that Abby wasn’t sure would come to pass, but could not deny that the king’s wishes still might change. That was a future she wasn’t sure what to think about.

His hair was more gray than auburn, thick and wavy as if he were a man of twenty instead of near seventy. Lord Rodrik was tall and broad, an imposing figure on his gray and white courser, its fine white mane braided into little knots along the elegant arch of its neck. To see him and the king that was only feet away from her had a curl of unease snaking through her belly. To look at the king was to see a man wasting away, a man at death’s door. To see Rodrik Reyne dismount with fluid ease was to see a man who, while past the prime of life, clearly had so much left in him.

“Your Grace.” Lord Rodrik mounted the steps, arm clapped to his shoulder in the Westerland sign of fealty as he bowed. “It is good to see you in fine spirits, my king.”

“No finer time than to celebrate such a joyous occasion, Lord Rodrik,” the king said with a smile. Rodrik clasped Uncle Otto’s arm in a firm grip, pleasantries exchanged and his smile broadened as he bowed lower before Queen Alicent.

“You are the light of the seven, aren’t you, my dearest,” he complimented her, genuine to the core. The queen’s cheeks pinkened at the praise and she readily embraced her uncle, fingers grasping his arms.

“We are so glad you are here to celebrate, uncle,” she said. “I am pleased to see you in such fine health and I’m so sorry Aunt Dalla could not come.”

“It is a long journey and she is not as quick as she used to be. She was quite happy to stay back with Daerion and enjoy the children. I am their favorite, after all. It’s only fair that I give everyone else the opportunity to receive some attention.” Alicent blinked as she registered the joke, a chuckle spilling from her as her uncle pressed a kiss to her hand.

Aegon stood between his mother and Abby, and she felt more than saw him straighten up as Lord Rodrik turned his cool blue eyes on him. Age had not shrunk the man, and Lord Rodrik stood as tall as Uncle Otto, and though there was a far less threatening air to him, it made him no less intimidating. Aegon’s chin tilted up to meet the man’s eye and he inclined his head.

“It is good to see you, Lord Rodrik,” Aegon greeted, his voice polite and steady, when not two hours before, he’d been with her in the alcove behind the tapestry of Jonquil Drake frantic with nerves at meeting her grandfather. It seemed like the kisses she’d given him, as well as the growing bruise that was barely visible above the collar of his deep green damask doublet had not eased his worries. “I hope your travels were easy and without issue.”

The last time they’d seen any of the Reynes had been near a decade ago, at her mother’s funeral. They had spent time with her and her father at Harrenhal before coming down to King’s Landing to spend time with the queen and her children, and that event was entirely different than now.

“Good tidings on your nameday, nephew,” he returned with all the formality as if he were addressing him by princely title. “Our travels were well, and it’ll be good to be off the road for some time.” An expression of mischief danced in the pale gray-blue eyes of Rodrik as he assessed the prince before him, eyes catching on the bruise on Aegon’s neck and then glancing at Abby and the arm she had laced through his own. He raised a brow. “It would appear that your betrothal has made a man of you yet, my prince. I might even say you’ve grown an inch or two since I last saw you.”

Heat flushed through Abby’s face and Aegon’s own, his sputter brief and confused as the Lord gave him an amused look, as if he might ruffle his hair had Aegon been a decade younger. Instead, he gave another incline of his head before coming before Abby.

“You are most certainly taller than I last saw you,” he said, cupping her face in his gloved hands, the scent of horse and spice clinging to him as he kissed her forehead. Her hand slipped from Aegon’s arm to clutch at her grandfather’s crimson sleeves beneath his brown leather jerkin, warmth spreading through her chest at the gentle affection.

“Not much taller than this, I’m afraid,” she said, a light, awkward laugh. Her grandfather reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, where the rest of her hair hung in a long, simple braid down to the small of her back. He cupped her cheek, and she caught a shine in his eyes, a slow exhale as the familiar look of grief she knew well crossed his features, aging him in the moment. “I’m very glad to see you, grandfather.”

Rodrik Reyne nodded, pushing past the emotion before moving on to greet the rest of his nephews and niece, and she felt Aegon’s hand slide around her waist, fingers bunching slightly against the crimson and silver damask against her hip. She hid her hands in the belled sleeves, knotting them together and taking comfort from Aegon’s touch. Her chest ached painfully but she gave him a smile when he murmured her name.

“I am well,” she assured him, leaning into him momentarily before their party went inside, her grandfather speaking of the gifts he had brought for all of them.

Over the past days, it had been a bustle and flurry of becoming reacquainted with her grandfather, of suffering through her sister’s company. The apartments that she technically shared with her brother had served as the hub for the activity of their family. Houses Strong, Reyne, and Lannister moved in and out of the modestly decorated space. It had been overwhelming, but with the arrival of her grandfather, Cory’s acerbic tongue and judgmental looks had been averted, and Abby wondered if there was jealousy hidden beneath all that venom. She had fallen into her own acquaintance with the Queen, whom she had known when she’d served as one of Rhaenyra’s ladies when they were young.

Abby also had to organize the gifts brought from the Westerlands that would be sent back with Uncle Simon. Bolts of fine cloth of gold and silver from the expansive Reyne mines, a peregrine falcon, lovely cream and gray with black specks and bright black eyes she’d named Caelus. There’d been books too. A small chest carved with mountains and flowers contained five books, mostly from Myr, and some from Braavos, including what looked to be an interesting treatise from a Volantine woman who advocated for the importance of women’s contributions, and another on teaching woman to cultivate what she had determined as useful qualities, to achieve worthy acts in their lives.

‘A woman’s success,’ it read, ‘depends on the ability to manage and mediate by speaking and writing eloquently and effectively, for men so easily dismiss the thoughts of women, especially when their power is threatened by them.’

Perhaps she should look to promoting more copies of the sumptuously illustrated work. Perhaps she might even try her hand at replicating some of the images therein. There’s been a box of paints and new charcoal among the gifts, as well as a newly bound book for her to sketch in. Abby smiled at the idea, and had tucked it away for later.

“Mind the dress,” Wylla’s voice came from behind, already dressed for the feast and bossing about the red-clad maids of the holdfast who had been helping Abby as she worked to put together her household. Theraxis lay reclined along the end of the bed, his great yellow eyes watching the flurry of maids with such focus as if he too were supporting Wylla’s orders.

“Only a single lady?” Grandfather had balked, perceiving insult before she’d hurriedly cut in, explaining Wylla was more than enough, she did not want to be demanding, and hadn’t needed anyone else.

Wylla had snorted, eyes flashing in the familiar argument. “She’s meant to be looking for more ladies over the course of the festivities,” with all the same annoyance aimed at her as she had aimed at Aegon in the courtyard so long ago. “She needs six at least, but will she listen to me? Nay, she’s a wee stubborn thing and Lord Larys doesn’t seem to push it either.”

The gifts had not stopped there, and she was currently staring, wide eyed, at the most recent one.

The ornate wooden box before her was made of varnished rosewood, with inlays of silver decoration along the edges, and an equally delicate lock that her grandfather had carefully opened with a tiny silver key. The tiara that lay inside was fit for a queen. Ten citrine sunbursts wove together like flowers, the colors of them running from red to gold to orange and in the center of each, diamonds glittered. It sat in the center of the box, resting on a cloth of silver pillow and her mouth went dry.

“Th-this is too much. Grandfather…” Abby’s voice faltered and she lifted her gaze to meet his. Never had she felt so spoiled, so doted on. She felt guilt for it, the way it warred in confusing uncertainty. So long she had never asked for more, and it wasn’t as if Larys was a doting brother who snuck her sweets and trinkets the way Harwin had.

Her grandfather’s gaze was a mixture of annoyance, affection, and more that she did not understand. “It is most certainly not too much, dear child,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. Wylla slightly raised her eyebrows when he wasn’t looking and gently lifted the tiara from the box. “You are the blood of Castamere. You are my blood, my granddaughter,” he had said, cupping her cheek in a warm, rough hand and pressing a loving kiss to her brow. “The realm would do well to remember that you are a Reyne just as the queen is. It is not simply Hightower blood no matter how much my good brother likes to pretend.”

At least her grandfather was honest and she could not blame him for that. This was how the game was played. This was how power was brokered, even Abby understood the simple truth of it. Unlike most, Rodrik Reyne did not hide his motives, and the care that he expressed towards her since his arrival a few days ago had proven genuine. He did not ask her for favors, had inquired about her wellbeing and made sure she had what she was owed to her station.

Wylla’s nimble fingers had ensured the tiara was settled in her hair, twists of braids securing the citrine that matched her hair. The Riverlands style was one that she was glad not to give up and she would not have anyone thinking she was anything but the daughter of the rivers, and now a child of Castamere.

Her grandfather had escorted her down to the queen’s party. The king and her brother and uncle were already in the throne room and she could hear and feel the buzzing of growing anticipation as they approached the antechamber. Her hand rested in the crook of her grandfather’s elbow and her fingers spasmed with nerves. His hand found hers and she looked up at him, mouth parted as if to speak. He smiled at her instead.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said softly, his blue eyes misty and his smile warm. It took Abby aback. She had not seen the Lord Hand smile so openly and honestly. Larys barely smiled and when he did it made her wish to avoid it more often than not. The last man who smiled at her in such openness was her father. “She is here with us and she would be so proud of you.”

“Would she approve of this?” Abby asked softly. It was a silly question, the kind of question a motherless child who could barely remember her own mother asked. She could see the queen through the doorway at the end of the hall, hear Helaena’s laughter echoing along with Daeron’s.

Her grandfather paused and seemed to steel himself. The emotion was plain on his face. The grief was palpable and he did not meet her eyes as he composed himself. “Your mother was in the very fortunate position where I could let her choose who she wanted to marry. She could wait, and find a match that she got along well with. Lord Jason was a possibility, but even if your mother wanted to marry him, I couldn’t let her resign her future to a foppish imbecile like him, Lannister seat or not. She fell in love with your father and he did not demand heirs of her or money or prestige. He simply wanted someone to spend his days with and they found that in one another. That is what your mother wanted for you. A world where you were safe and loved.”

He cupped her cheek and Abby lifted her hand to hold his, feeling her own tears threaten. “The future has one certainty and there will be hard choices to make. Know that your family stands behind you, and that you may be a Riverlands girl, but there is a lion inside of you. They say in the north wolf packs survive together. You are part of a pride and are just as fierce. Dragons could not take the Westerlands and fire cannot burn the rivers.”

“He won’t burn me,” Abby said softly. “I trust him. I… care for him. I want him, not for a title, not for whatever the future may bring. I simply want him and he wants me and we just want to be happy. I think we can make each other happy, Grandfather.”

“Good,” he said and dropped his hand. “Then should the Stranger take me this night, it will be knowing you will be happy.” He gave her a watery laugh, amusement on his face. “And should he mistreat you, then I will haunt him to madness.”

When they entered the antechamber, Lord Rodrik pressed a kiss to her hand and went to join the rest of the gathering in the throne room. Helaena was in conversation with Daeron, and Aegon…

Aegon turned to look at her upon her entrance and his face went slack. She blushed, smoothing her hands over her gown, watching as the candlelight shimmered over the green and blue layers of the skirt, the fabric diaphanous, like currents of water around her legs. Her fingers found the golden dragons embroidered over her waist, intermingling with the glittering red weirwood leaves, worrying at the material. Her slippers were as gold as the dragons on her bodice, peaking out beneath her hem as she closed the distance between them. Aegon reached for her and she slid her hand into his and watched the smile spread slowly across his face.

‘I think we can make each other happy.’

Abby was not meant to be on Aegon’s arm as they entered the feast. He should have been escorting his mother as protocol dictated since King Viserys had entered the feast already. It was a heady feeling to know Aegon would not let her go, even as he was forced to drop her hand so she could tuck hers into the crook of his arm. A thrill that continued down her spine and coiled in her belly with the rest of the bursting butterflies dancing inside that gave her the strength to tilt her chin up as all her lessons instructed her to do. The perfect posture, the perfect gait all came rushing to her in a way that she finally understood why it mattered.

The pride that she felt wasn’t about being Queen Alicent’s pet project, or even that she had somehow snagged a prince for a betrothed. She was Lady Abrogail, heir to Harrenhal, the legacy of her mother’s fierceness and her father’s wisdom. As they walked behind the queen and Lord Otto, Abby squeezed her hand along Aegon’s bicep. She was the daughter of the Riverlands, and Aegon was lucky to have her, for there were many others that she could be with.

He looked at her with clear and bright eyes, the lilac full of mirth in a way she hadn’t seen from him in so long, and there were broad smile lines around his mouth, the flash of white teeth as he grinned at her. His hair was freshly washed, the silver curls gleaming gold in the sea of candleglow. His doublet was new as well - a fine, black silk brocade with a pattern woven in that evoked a shimmer of dragon scales. Golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads gleamed down the center. The seams were piped with red silk, and red silk trim embroidered with golden dragons wrapped around from the center and over his back. The same embroidered trim encircled his sleeves, which were slashed open along the back of his arms from bicep to the buttoned cuffs, the Targaryen red brocade of his shirt beneath poking through.

For the first time, he wore a crown upon his brow. It was a hammered circlet of gold that rested gently around his head, interspersed with seven circles stamped with dragons. Before the realm, he truly looked like the prince that he was.

A son who was celebrated by his parents.

She was lucky to have him. Let them see it. Let Queen Alicent see how brightly they made one another smile when they got to choose one another. Let them see she was not beholden to The High Tower, or to the Targaryens, or to anyone. Let them see that for all they may want to whisper about machinations and intrigue, she wanted him, and he wanted her.

Abby curtsied deeply before the king before they took their seats. Aegon was on his father’s left hand - the place of honor for the evening, and she was beside him. ‘How lucky we are’, came the thought again. She had not realized she had spoken the words aloud until Aegon’s grin widened into a beaming smile, his eyes crinkling with his own joy.

This was how the past weeks should have been. This is what the welcoming feast to Lord Tully and his party should have showcased: the two of them united, happy now, even as they set out to figure out what their marriage would be, what it would look like. There was enough time for that.

“You know, people like us don’t marry for love often,” Wylla had said, words that had stuck to her ribs.

The queen, her brother, and her uncle did not care for her and Aegon’s happiness, that much was startlingly clear to Abby. They had not come together in this betrothal by choice, but beneath the heart tree, they had made a promise. They had made their choice.

As her elder sister, Corynna, and her husband, Erwin Lannister sat beside her, Abby wished for the comfort of Wylla and Heleana at her side. The latter was at the other end of the table, and Abby’s gaze sought the friendly face of the young woman at the table below.

Wylla sat with Uncle Simon and Aunt Mya, looking striking in her black velvet gown. It was cut in the southern style, the neckline edged in white and silver cut across the line of her shoulders, her raven hair twisted into three rope braids woven with white ribbon and strung with pearls. She looked like a dream, Abby thought. A maiden of winter with all her pale skin and dark hair; striking in a way that many other women were not and Wylla wore it well. Harrion was beside her, his head inclined toward a lovely, red haired woman beside him. Wylla had said that his betrothed, Lady Alys Bracken, had only just arrived. She was so slight next to the northman’s bulk, her smile soft, eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed at something he said.

Wylla caught her eye and sent her a warm, reassuring smile that Abby returned with a little wave, uncaring of decorum at the moment with how shaky her nerves were starting to get now that everyone was staring up at her. Her dear friend had not shied about her own discomfort in crowds, declaring her own relief that she was not the one who would be center of attention in her teasing, sharp yet fond way.

A harsh pinch against her left arm made Abby jump and she turned sharply to look at her sister, who was smiling serenely as if nothing was amiss. “Stop it, you’re behaving like a child,” she hissed behind a gritted smile. “I’ll not have you shame me.”

“If returning a kind gesture and a greeting to someone across the room is childish, then I cannot imagine you have many friends, Corynna, that do not cling to your skirts.” She smiled at her sister, whose saccharine falseness turned quickly to annoyance. “Do mind yourself, Cory. You are not my mother, nor my guardian.”

She caught the sidelong glance Aegon gave her and she felt his warm hand on hers, drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles. Abby felt the spray of heat along her throat, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from biting at her lip and being too obvious. He kept hold of her hand, thumb running lightly along her knuckles in familiar reassurance, and leaned in to speak softly against her ear.

“Lady Abrogail, if that’s the kind of behavior you plan on keeping up, as your husband, it shall be my duty to discipline you for such talk.”

Abby’s mouth went dry, her flush deepening and she glanced up at him, demure beneath her lashes. “Prince Aegon, you get ahead of yourself. I am the image of propriety.” He smirked and they both drew back. Abby reached for her goblet to calm the different sort of butterflies fluttering through her stomach now.

The echo of a staff cracking against the stone floor of the hall reverberated through the hall and all fell silent as the king rose, the queen beside him in what was meant to be a show of unity. But Abby knew that she was there to steady him so he did not have to rely on his cane. The black, red, and gold robe he wore nearly swallowed him whole, and she wondered how heavy it was for him.

Beside him, Alicent Hightower wore the colors of her house instead of a glow of green. She was as regal as Abby had ever seen, in a storm gray damask gown with white flame embroidery along her neck and shoulders. A cape of gray silk felt about her and the gray sleeves of her gown hugged her arms until they flared out at her forearms to bell around her wrists. Her auburn hair was twisted back on the sides of her head before coming to a single twisted braid down her back. Upon her head rested her crown of state. It was a gold circlet with seven points of golden flame rising from it and in the center flame was a blood red ruby that matched the gold and ruby earrings dangling beneath her hair.

“Be welcome,” the king said. His voice had rarely been a strong one, but he had found the strength behind it to let the words carry now. “It is good to see so many happy faces here, as we come together to celebrate my son, Prince Aegon’s nameday.” He turned his head to look down at Aegon with a nod and a gap toothed smile that, while fleeting, was genuine. The people clapped, thumps on tables shaking the cutlery, and Abby grinned at him. Aegon looked taken aback by the well tidings, the shouts of wishes for good health and good fortune. The hand that he had rested on her knee tightened and Aegon straightened in his seat, smiling back and giving a wave of thanks as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

The King continued, “The Queen and I also honor House Strong this night. Since my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, landed upon these shores, the Strongs have been a leal and loyal house. Ser Osmund Strong himself was the longest serving Hand, and through the decades, this family has proved themselves time and again, their fealty to the throne and their dedication to the realm. It is why upon the passing of the beloved Princess Rhaena, that my grandfather, King Jaehaerys, bestowed the great Harrenhal to House Strong. It is this dedication that before he passed, our late Lord Lyonel Strong, the Seven keep him, agreed to a proposal. We welcome you all to celebrate with House Targaryen and House Strong as I announce the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon, to the Lady Abrogail Strong, and their investiture as the future Lord and Lady of Harrenhal, under the wise and clement eye of Grover Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

The whispers of the betrothal had already snaked their way through the keep over the past weeks. First the servants gossip, then the unofficial talks among the lords who had, by now, sent ravens back home to their holdings in the Riverlands. It was news that had passed naturally among the realm, and while Abby did not see any surprised faces, the cheers that roared up took her by surprise. The slamming fists on the tables, the clapping, the shouts of well wishes and even some crass remarks was not at all what she had expected. She felt her cheeks burn and the flush of it snake across all the exposed skin of her gown. She yearned for the coverings of her linen gowns so none could see how red she had turned at the attention.

Yet, Abby did nothing to hide how large her smile was, so wide it nearly hurt. She met Aegon’s eyes, his own grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she never, ever wanted to see him frown again if this was how bright his smile could be. He then looked at the crowd and she followed suit, waving at the smiling faces, blowing a kiss of thanks to all. She did not startle when Aegon lifted his hand from her knee to tuck beneath the fall of her curls and rest along the back of her neck in a possessive gesture that made her belly roil with heat. She looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw that his bright smile had set into something darker, more firm.

The feast began, servants coming out of the shadows. Trenchers of roast pork in red wine and plum sauce were placed before them, steaming with scents of ginger and cinnamon. Shrimp cooked in fennel and white wine steamed from large platters, boiled eggs cut and stuffed with fragrant cheese and herbs nestled among salads of other fresh herbs and greens. Abby gasped, admiring the hollowed out Stormland lemons with glistening pieces of Dornish blood oranges and lemon sticky with sugar dotted the table in pops of bright, delectable color.

Aegon was eagerly filling his plate with the roast pork he so adored, and she reached for one of the sour orange treats, popping a sticky piece of fruit into her mouth and hoping it calmed the knot of nerves that were growing insistently.

“They certainly spared no expense,” Corynna’s voice was soft at her side. Abby glanced over at her sister who was commenting on the wine being poured to her husband. Her sister was as beautiful as she was sharp, resplendent in the colors of House Lannister, a ruby red gown that set off her golden skin, and an overdress of golden silk. Her brunette curls were tamed and pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck, encased in a jeweled net of gold and rubies, a heavy lion pendant hanging from her throat. She decided not to engage with her sister’s low commentary, for it was exactly what she wanted, and instead busied herself on the treat in front of her.

“Here.” Abby glanced at Aegon, who held his fork up with a piece of pork. She opened her mouth to decline, and he popped the piece in with that dangerous smirk flashing across his mouth before going back to his food. It was good, the spark of ginger cutting through the sweetness of the plum. It had also served to get her mind off the fact that they were eating at the head table, and she let her gaze drift, ignoring her sister’s tut of disapproval.

Abby caught Baela looking at them curiously. She was beautiful that evening in the colors of her mother’s house. The aquamarine gown was cut in the Pentoshi style like the previous one she wore to their family dinner, with a deep v cut into the bodice and the layers of fabric pinned like a chiton at her shoulders. On her head she wore a silver tiara shaped into the heads of seahorses with matching gemstones for their eyes. Abby gave the princess a small smile. “You look lovely tonight, Princess. I am truly glad to have you here and I look forward to us getting to know one another.”

Baela’s violet eyes narrowed somewhat at being addressed, and Abby felt Aegon shift beside her as he honed in on the conversation. “May your futures be bright and happy, Lady Abrogail. Cousin.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Aegon replied with his tight smile. “Perhaps it will be your nuptials we’ll be celebrating next.” The words were friendly, at least somewhat so. Abby suppressed a sigh, but knew it was at least a small win. Baela did not seem to mind sitting next to Daeron, for the pair of them had fallen into a discussion about their dragons and how Tessarion had fared in Oldtown. “I heard Mother wondering if her and Jace will wed next.”

Jacaerys.

Abby chanced another look at the incredibly awkward end of the table. There was the queen, then Lord Otto, then Larys, and then… Aemond, Helaena, and Jace. The three of them were utterly silent, like mimes in a play, and it was hard to tell what made it worse: the fact that Aemond and Jace had ended up wearing near matching doublets that evening, or the sapphire sun that was Helaena between them.

Aemond and Jace and Baela should have been separated, but Jace could not sit next to her, for the rumors that would cause and so poor Helaena was stuck as the wall to separate them.

She looked every inch the beautiful princess from a song. Her silver hair hung loose and free down her back with four braids keeping her hair from her face. The twists wound themselves into the silver tiara she wore, the sapphires winking out like stars from the woven metal strands that took the place of her usual braid. Her gown was diaphanous silk, her shoulders bared. The sleeves were a light blue and the sheer fabric hugged her arms. The gown went from a lovely sky blue to a deeper shade of twilight along the hem, and the silver embroidery evoked silver flames dancing across the gown. She wore the colors of Dreamfyre, dragonrider that she was, the princess of House Targaryen that did not need to evoke her house colors to state her place in the world.

The look on her face was blank and somewhat wide-eyed, focused on the shrimp in front of her. Abby’s heart ached, wanting to go to her and get her out of the situation she was in, but there was nothing for it. Helaena already grew anxious with crowds and she didn’t need the extra stress of being caught between two petulant looking boys.

Jace tilted his head towards her, saying something that drew a small smile from Helaena, and the knot of worry eased slightly.

The course was cleared away, the minstrels along the side gallery merrily playing songs from each of the realms present there today. Currently it was a Westerlands tune, fewer drums than the melodies of the Crownlands, and Abby caught Lord Tyland’s head bobbing to the music from his place at his twin brother’s side.

The next course was brought out and it was the largest pie Abby had ever seen, along with pottage of wild hare and cabbage, roasted lamb smelling of caraway and fennel and thyme. There was roasted chicken in orange glaze. Her gaze returned to the pie. It was as big as a wagon wheel, the pastry crust browned and caramelized and surrounded by many smaller pies like a crown. The crusts were slivered all around and gilt in gold along the top, and she could smell the saffron and cloves. They were stuffed to the bursting with more eggs and mixed meats and smelled delicious, but Abby’s stomach was knotted with nerves combined with the heady twist of arousal that pulsed every time Aegon’s knee bumped hers, or the way he’d tap his fingers upon her wrist to make sure she was alright.

Aegon inclined his head towards her, waving the servant away and pushing his plate between them. “You’re not eating. We’ll share.” He even pressed his goblet into her hand, taking hers and sipping from it in such an intimate gesture that Abby’s nerves were utterly forgotten about in that moment. She took a sip from his goblet, unsure of what to say. Aegon raised an eyebrow at her. “Eat,” he ordered and she knocked her slippered foot against his boot.

“You’re eating enough for the both of us, Prince. I couldn’t possibly keep up with you.” His appetite was a voracious one, and the plate he’d pushed between them had already started inching back towards him. She stabbed a piece of meat and gave him a look as she ate. He looked only somewhat abashed and popped a piece of crust in his mouth, licking juice from his fingers. She was reminded of the lakeside picnic, and the way his lips felt against her fingers while she fed him, the blushing heat as he fed her cakes in return and the kisses shared.

It must have shown on her face because a wicked gleam flashed across his eyes, gaze drifting to the low neckline of her gown and the gentle swell of her breasts. A voracious appetite indeed. He laughed when she busied herself with her goblet.

“Everyone is staring,” she whispered, unsure if she was chastising him or reminding him. Aegon’s gaze raked along the bare expanse of her shoulders, his hand twitching along his stolen goblet as if he was keeping himself from reaching for her again.

“Of course they are, hunītsos. Let them. Let them see how happy you look.” His gaze grew uncertain for a moment and she understood what words he held back.

“How happy you make me,” she offered softly. It was finally Aegon’s turn to blush, the expression uncharacteristically shy, and Abby could not help but lean over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Satisfaction was bright in her chest when his blush deepened before his own satisfaction crossed his features.

Let them witness. Let Edmund Vance and whatever moody River Lord conspired against them see that Aegon was hers, claimed by the rivers.

“Prince Aegon,” Erwin called halfway through the following course - mutton and stag and boar drenched in plum and wine sauces, brown sauces, and surrounded with dates and figs. The youngest Lannister brother was a gleaming gold lion, square faced with bright green eyes. He was not lanky as Lord Tyland nor as haughty as Lord Jason. He was a third son, bred for battle, and while he did not appear to cross swords with her sister, Abby wondered if that was a battle he had no desire to engage in. “I hear you’ll be participating in the melee on the morrow. Do you wield a morning star like Ser Criston, then? Or perhaps a battle ax?”

Corynna tutted, leaning back with exaggeration so her husband might speak. “It was only a matter of time before we talked swords.”

“The Prince is admirable with his sword skills, Erwin,” Abby piped up proudly before Aegon could speak, her turn to boast of him as he had done for her.

Aegon’s hand rested along the back of her chair as he leaned over with a grin on his face. “Some could say. It’ll either come down to skill or my lady’s favor, should she grant me. Mayhaps I’ll have the good fortune of meeting you in the ring?”

“Everyone knows the joust is where one proves themselves,” Baela cut in.

“Prince Daemon was quite impressive with his blade in the last tourney I saw him in, just as he was with a lance,” Erwin said with ease and a smile. “All the bouts require their own skills and strength.”

The conversation of the small tourney for tomorrow kept on, with Daeron joining in. Abby ignored her sister’s displeased muttering and her husband did as well. Perhaps that’s how the peace was kept in their household.

As the dessert course came out, those in attendance began to move about the room. No doubt they were eager to speak of the confirmation of what had been announced, judging by all the gazes that flitted in their direction. There were her favorite strawberry and cream cakes just out of reach, but she found that she had no appetite for the rich confection with the nervous energy building. Instead, she snagged a piece of marchpane dragon off Aegon’s piled plate of treats. He playfully snapped at her as if he was going to bite at her hand before handing her a marchpane crown without comment.

She leaned towards Aegon, brushing his ear and delighting in how he shivered at the contact. Her fingers tapped against his arm. “I’m going to speak to Wylla.”

He reached up to snatch at her wrist. “Stay,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. Don’t leave me alone next to him, she knew he was asking. Abby shook her head.

“We have to mingle, Aeg, We can’t sit up here all night.” He rolled his eyes and Abby tutted. “Go rescue Helaena.”

Aegon glanced down at the miserable end of the table and they spied Gwayne having come up, a hand braced on Aemond’s shoulder as he spoke to Larys and his father. “I’m surprised Aemond hasn’t stabbed him yet,” Aegon muttered and gave a nod. “Is this to be our duty now, my lady?”

Abby scrunched her face up in amusement and took his offered hand to rise from her chair. “Aye, it shall be, my lord. Save me a dance.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and they parted, Aegon going to join his uncle and siblings at the end of the table. She tilted her head, admiring him as he walked from her before heading towards Baela.

When Abby looked at Baela, she was reminded by the statue of Visenya that Aemond favored so in the gardens, or the tapestries that hung in the upper levels of the gallery: women who rode the skies with braids twisted into their long hair, the fierce and determined looks on their faces showing their command of the world. Targaryens were the closest one came to gods in Westeros. This fact Abby had grown with all her life. Everyone in Westeros did. She saw how the smallfolk clamored for the affections and attentions of the dragonriders during parades, the furrowed brows of the septons who disliked the competition to the Seven.

“Princess,” Abby gave the other a bright, welcoming smile. “Come with me, I have someone to properly introduce you to.” There was deference in her tone that Baela was owed, but Abby also clung to the reminder that she was to be a princess too. They would be equals in a few months, and the Queen wanted her to grow accustomed to this fact.

Baela, her lovely, violet eyes narrowed in her direction, seemed to have other ideas. Abby had asked Helaena the other evening what it was that Baela had said in Valyrian, and the princess had only said that she should not worry, for she did not believe Baela would speak so carelessly in the future. The other woman held her gaze, assessing in the way Abby was sure her dragon, Moondancer, would assess and Abby swallowed past the lump of nerves beneath the gaze. She realized after a moment that it was one of uncertainty. It had initially felt hostile - which considering whatever Valyrian she’d spoken upon arrival had been clearly hostile, it made sense - but it had also become clear that the princess was uncomfortable and therefore more judgemental, Abby thought, than she might normally be. At least, Abby hoped that was the case.

“You have people to introduce me to, Lady Abrogail?” The disdain was not obvious, and Abby wondered if this was what it meant to be unaccepted by the Valyrians. The family had kept to themselves since the landing. She had studied the Targaryen family tree in her studies and knew how rarely they married out of the houses. ‘The blood of the dragon must remain pure’, was stated when they’d learned about the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that allowed the practice of incest, and outlawed the multiple wives that The Conqueror and King Maegor had taken.

Would Aegon have wanted multiple wives? Would he have wanted someone more Valyrian to make him feel closer to his heritage? The curious thought flitted through her mind, and Abby felt a stab of jealousy at the idea of such a scenario, along with an uncertainty she couldn’t quite identify, but similar to the feeling of otherness that she found herself experiencing among the company of the other Riverlanders.

“I do. I hope, very much so, that your time here in the capital will be as comfortable as possible. I understand that it must be quite the change from Dragonstone, and the company of the rest of your siblings.” Baela said nothing at first, lips pressed in a thin line before looking down the table. Abby followed her gaze.

Jace and Helaena had a series of tarts and other confections in front of them, and Helaena was laughing brightly at the marchpane tentacles rising from a plum tart. Jace plucked one of them, slathered in cream to take a bite, offering the piece to Helaena who shook her head in amusement and reached for one of the candied lemons.

Aegon had pulled his brother away with a firm grip on his shoulder and the pair of them had headed towards the floor, goblets in hand with heads bowed towards each other. They were accompanied by some of the other young men at court; the Fossoway boys, Ser Leo Costayne, brother to Lord Owen, and their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, heir to the Oldtown seat.

Ser Leo was the eldest at over twenty, his almond eyes from his mother’s Lyseni heritage striking with the silver hair of Valyria that spread across the empire. He had already earned the title of The Sea Lion, the West taking pride in their own fierce seafarer as House Velaryon did with The Sea Snake, Lord Corlys. Little Floris had found him handsome, blushing when her avid gaze had been pointed out by Helaena. Abby had found herself readily agreeing.

At four and ten, Lyonel was as tall as Aemond with the promise to be taller, with the same cut cheekbones Abby could see was a Hightower feature, while Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena shared the soft roundness of their Reyne mother. His skin was swarthy from his Dondarrion mother, a contrast with his lighter brown hair. Her eyes drifted to the group of ladies, colors of the Reach and Westerlands in their clothes, and how they clearly were eyeing Prince Aemond, who was doing his best to pretend to be above it.

Far better for their attention than that of Cassandra Baratheon, who was stoically sitting by her heavy set father, face flushed with wine and quietly hissing at his eldest daughter. An unbidden pang of sympathy pulsed through Abby’s heart at how unhappy the other woman looked, momentarily overriding her displeasure.

Abby turned her gaze back to Baela, whose own eyes were sweeping the mass of people before them. She wondered if the rumor was true of a possible betrothal between Jacaerys and Baela, the future king and queen of the realm. Dragonriders both, in the Targaryen ways of old like Aegon and his wives, like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. She wondered if it had happened already and was simply unannounced, Rhaenyra waiting for the most opportune moment. Or perhaps the pair were simply siblings, mayhaps promises made out of stubborn pride. Would that explain Baela’s disdain for them? Did she see them as interlopers in a place that she considered her birthright by conquest and the Valyrian blood flowing through her?

Baela finally rose, fluid and graceful and confident in all the ways that Abby still found it difficult to be. The other woman stood a few inches taller - not a difficult feat by any means, but Abby was envious of the graceful turn of her neck. She was reminded of the descriptions of Visenya: comfortable in silks as she was in armor. What a sight the other would make upon dragonback with a war cry tearing from her. How confident Baela Targaryen was;in her sense of self, her place in the world, in all that made her Valyrian.

It struck Abby then how she did not feel like a child of the Riverlands no matter what she claimed. It felt as if she were spinning falsehoods into a cloak to shroud herself in, to distract from her own sense of confusion. As they approached the closer table where her Uncle Simon sat with the Brackens, listening to the conversation blend before her in the lilt and familiar cadence of the Riverlands, Abby found herself feeling like an outsider. It had not quite been like this at the welcoming feast those weeks ago, where they spoke the language of the capital. Her mother tongue had been one lost to her over the years since her father died, relegated to the dinner table and bedtime stories, of ephemeral memories of lullabies long sung. To hear Wylla’s own northern brogue share in the words of Old Tongue falling in a similar harmony, panic settled in Abby’s chest to find that she couldn’t quite keep up with the words exchanged.

The panic was frozen when Wylla turned her head, and all at the table gave move to rise and give their courtesies to Princess Baela. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Baela shift a little, felt the whisper of silks brush against her. “This is Lady Wylla Karstark, from Karhold,” Abby introduced, her voice coming out higher than she intended as she forced past the lump in her throat. Wylla rose, nodding to her brother who was also getting up to speak with some of the other lords.

“Princess Baela, I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”

Baela inclined her head but said nothing.

“She is my dearest friend and also far from home. Also quite the archer.” Abby reached for things that Baela might find intriguing and welcoming, hoping her instincts weren’t wrong.

Wylla shook her head slightly. “You are too kind, Lady,” she lightly teased with the use of the title.

Baela’s head cocked, the tinkling of the silver charms in her hair soft among the din of the room. “My, all that snow and ice. It’s a wonder you do not melt beneath the dragon’s heat,” Baela said and the challenge was clear in her voice.

Wylla smiled in her sharp way, ever the winter fox. “As a daughter of fire and sea, I would assume you to be well acquainted with contradictions. One must burn hot to survive the cold.”

Baela actually smiled at that and Abby took the chance. “Wylla is a far better archer than I, Princess. I hear you yourself are well acquainted with the bow.” Wylla’s storm gray eyes flitted to her and Abby did everything she could not to shift awkwardly beneath her friend’s gaze. Not in this dress, and not with the sunburst tiara that graced her head. Instead, she grinned back at her. The princess merely glanced back at her before shifting closer to Wylla.

“Do you hunt, Lady Wylla? I hear there’s to be a hunt later this week and I do so miss hawking…”

Abby released a soft breath, pressing a grateful squeeze to Wylla’s shoulder before moving on to her aunt and uncle. Her cousin, Gareth, had stayed behind at Harrenhal, and she had fuzzy memories of her Aunt Mya. The older woman was plump and warm, brushing a soft kiss with a greeting. The din of the throne room grew louder as the meal came to an end, servants dashing between the party goers, removing plates and replacing carafes of wine and small foods for guests to continue to indulge in. The music shifted to a more lively fair and the dance floor quickly filled with eager revelers.

Lythene Ryger of Willow Wood had drawn her into the shy gaggle of maidens who were standing expectantly along the edge of the dance floor, trading glances across the room at the lords and Abby had noticed the looks they’d thrown in Aemond’s direction. Lady Lythene was five and ten, soft featured with honey brown eyes, her strawberry blonde hair woven with strands of river pearls in the common half knot coil that was common in the Riverlands.

“If Lord Yorick were here, none of these men would have a chance to win tomorrow,” Melony Piper said, all dark hair and more freckles than one could count. “My sister says he was the most fearsome knight not so long ago.”

“Psh,” Lythene rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows Ser Gwayne is a force to be reckoned with. Besides, Lord Yorick never leaves Runestone and if he did, Lord Borros would throw a fit.” She looked smug with the knowledge imparted and whatever look on Abby’s face seemed to spur her on. She leaned in. “Lord Yorick is married to Lord Borros’ younger sister with a son of their own. Should Lady Elenda not have a son, it’s said his sister may push one of her son’s claims to Storm’s End.”

As one, their eyes swiveled in the direction of Cassandra Baratheon, perfectly coiffed, and everything the daughter of a Lord Paramount would be. Raven hair wild as storm clouds around her bare shoulders, her golden dress sparkling in the dancing torchlight with an opal the size of Abby’s fist nestled in the hollow of her throat. Abby’s hands twitched, smoothing over the cloud of blue and green silk organza, the golden dragons and weirwood leaves embroidered over her bodice.

A warm hand touched her wrist and Abby met the gentle, honey eyes of Lythene, who smiled up at her. “Tá cuma álainn ort, a bhean,” she said softly while the others tittered. It took Abby a moment to register the words, “you look beautiful, my lady”, and Abby smiled shyly.

“Go raibh maith agat,” she thanked her and Lythene bit her lip as if holding back a chuckle.

“Agat,” she pronounced softly, the inflection different. “A little closer to got, and less like goat.”

Her cheeks burned and she repeated it softly and Lythene took her hand, squeezing it. “I can’t imagine you get to practice with many people here in the South,” she laughed, a tinkling like bells that drew the attention of other men.

“I haven’t. I’m looking forward to getting to speak it more, but I can’t get that sort of practice teaching Aeg- Prince Aegon.”

“You mean he’s actually going to try learning our tongue?” came the aggressive disbelief of Lady Melony. “Targaryens aren’t ones to debase themselves so.”

Lythene opened her mouth but Abby cut in, a frown slashed across her face. “Aegon is a Targaryen and a Hightower, a family that traces their lineage and impact to before the First Men, some say.” She tilted her head, exhaling softly and shook her head. “The Targaryens may be above us due to the gifts of the dragon, but you can be assured that Prince Aegon will take his duties seriously.”

She was reminded of the words Edmund had sneered at her, of how none would trust a dragon coming into the Riverlands and it was foolish to think so. Lythene said nothing, watching her curiously while Melony Piper’s bright green eyes narrowed somewhat, thin mouth pursed. Abby’s grandmother had been a Piper, which made the two of them kin.

Seven and the Old Gods help her if Aegon did not live up to her promise, but Abby trusted that he would. That he would, at the very least, try.

Melony opened her mouth to speak again but murmurs danced through the crowd, attention towards the dance floor. Abby looked over her shoulder in surprise.

Jace led Helaena by the hand to the crowd of dancers as the next song started, fingers touching as they circled around one another. She was a glittering, blue dragon amidst the crowd, hair like mercury as it flowed around her. Helaena loved to dance and the joy was obvious on her soft features, Jace’s own smile a shy one, his broad frame more obvious as he circled around her. Not as tall as Aemond, but Jace would grow taller yet.

“Well,” Melony’s attention had changed. “That’s an interesting development.”

Abby’s eyes instinctively cut to the queen where she sat at the King’s right, a slight furrow to her brow, and the Lord Hand beside her, his attention also on the pair dancing. A fond smile cut across Otto Hightower’s face as Helaena laughed when Jace spun her, and Abby wasn’t at all sure what to make of it.

Helaena looked happy, though, and that was all that mattered.

Abby startled at the feeling of a warm hand stroking against her elbow and Aegon’s laughter was soft as he stroked his fingers down her arm in a way that had goosebumps flaring across her skin. His fingers twined with hers and the ladies around her bobbed curtsies, murmuring My Prince and Your Grace.

“You all look like you’re having so much fun here, but I must steal my betrothed away,” Aegon said, his voice light and amused, in his element as the center of attention and even more dangerous without drink to cloud his senses. Abby felt the heated flush creep along her throat when Aegon tugged her into him. “I promised you a dance, didn’t I, Lady Abrogail?”

Lythene looked amused, Melony uncertain and Abby turned under Aegon’s arm so that she was facing him. “You did, my Prince. Thank you for the conversation, Lady Lythene, Lady Melony,” she thanked as Aegon began tugging her away. “It was good to meet you.”

Everything else drifted away when Aegon pulled her into his arms. The contrast to the last time they’d danced together was palpable. There was no anger between them, no confusion, no fear. He twirled her as he drew her into the space as if he were showing her off, her skirt flaring around her, rippling greens and blues like the rivers of her home, the candlelight glimmering along the golden threaded dragons on her gown, and the citrine bursts along her tiara. When Aegon pulled her into him, she could feel the heat of his body barely pressed against her, the flush of it coursing through her with every hammering beat of her heart.

“I wish we were somewhere more quiet,” Abby murmured to him as they turned around one another, clapping their hands before reaching for each other again. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Aemond tugging Wylla on the floor, her friend caught between surprise and a pleased flush along her cheeks. Abby would have to tease her later, in return for how merciless Wylla had teased her.

“Do you?” Aegon asked, grinning at her, eyes full of heat. “We could, you know. It is my nameday.”

“We’ll be caught, and I’d rather your mother not find us,” she chuckled, spinning away from him to turn around Lord Tyland, who smiled down at her indulgently while Aegon politely moved around Lady Johanna Westerling, Tyland’s goodsister and dance partner. Her gaze kept pulling back to Aegon whenever they were separated in the dances, and when they came back together, there was an ache in her chest that she could not identify. Relief? Want? Longing?

Everything?

“Remind me to get you a map of the tunnels,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple and she couldn’t help the bubbling of giggles that escaped her. Aegon looked incredibly pleased with himself, and as the next song started, he pulled her closer to him, hands possessive on her hips as he lifted her in the air and spun her around.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. Then it clicked. “What, so I can sneak to your room?”

Aegon winked at her. “Clever girl.”

“I try.”

As Abby turned, her eyes caught on the furious, dark gaze of Edmund Vance across the hall, accompanied by Lord Piper and some of the other River Lords. Abby blanched, the joy she had felt abating like water on a fire at the ugly look in his eyes. So distracted, she was, that she stumbled her steps of the complicated dance, nearly falling had Aegon not pulled her to him in time. She saw his gaze follow hers, his own smile morphing into a hard look.

“I’ve taken care of it.” Abby didn’t understand, trying to find the steps again without ruining the entire dance, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Aegon’s hand brushed soothing along her arm, his other hand warm on her waist and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Focus on me, eyes on me, hunītsos.” His voice was gentle and firm all at once, quiet and earnest and Abby focused on the sound of it, her gaze finding his, softened now. “Aemond saved me from making a scene, but I’ve handled it.” He tilted his head. “I don’t need to take his hands.”

Abby struggled to find words, a strange and unfamiliar thrill coursing through her that she could not examine too closely in the moment. “And what have you decided to take instead?”

As the dance came to a close, Aegon reached up to cup the softness of her cheek, tilting her head back with his thumb on her lower lip. He leaned in, mouth brushing against hers, and the vow he made was full of promise.

“His pride,” he murmured, and kissed her in front of the realm to seal it.

What was your favorite moment of the chapter? What's something you're looking forward to? Any fun theories!? I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you're enjoying about Maiden and any curiosities you might have! And if you're not sure what to say, just a kind reblog with a heart or something would be lovely <3

[Chapter Fifteen]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby #my fics

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imakemywings · 5 months ago

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For the femslash writing, a Meladriel would spark so much joy 💛

Alright, this will be the last fill for the month (and a day late whoopsie)

I think the power plays Galadriel pushes these two into make for such an interesting dynamic. This fulfills the "euphoria" square of FotF's Pride month bingo (I think).

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Pairing: Galadriel x Melian

Length: 3k

Summary: Galadriel is determined to show Melian she is capable of more than Melian believes. Melian wonders if her pupil grasps her lessons.

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

The Patience of the Oak

The resistance of Melian’s mind was as the howling of the winds storming the Helcaraxë. Galadriel wobbled upon a hair’s breadth of solidity beneath her feet, as though she were up in the flexible treetops amid the crack of thunder, or balanced upon some high-flung crossbeam of a ship at sea. If she did not keep her balance, she would fall. If she did not keep her focus, she would be lost, swept out into the ether of those winds.

Still, she pushed forward.

That she could do so at all was a riot of triumph; half of her had expected to get nowhere at all, and while the force of Melian send her skidding backwards, it did not drive her out entirely.

In the physical world, she was only most distantly aware of her fingers clenched around the edge of the table, of her toes digging into the floor until the joints ached. There was no space in her consciousness for the physical now; there was only the vastness of Melian’s mind and the determination of Galadriel’s spirit to know it.

In her own strength, in her conviction, Galadriel had confidence; Melian believed her feebler and more delicate than she was in truth, but Galadriel could show her her error.

The wind blew harder, a silent roar in the blackness through which Galadriel could feel the shine of light from those things she wished to know, those repositories of Melian’s knowledge and power. She stretched herself out towards them, reaching, reaching, reaching, and with another extension of herself, tried to ward off that part of her mind so keen to liken this experience to the terror of a blizzard (She, unlike her sentimental siblings and cousins, would not fall prey to dwelling on the death of Elenwë, lost in just such a storm). The more she allowed those thoughts to enter her mind, the greater risk they would sink their roots in, reshaping this experience into that one, and Galadriel did not want the dual struggle of fighting to reach her goal and not to be overwhelmed by her own past.

There, just ahead of her, a softly glowing center of thought; Galadriel, so near to her goal, surged forward with renewed energy in spite of the flagging of her strength; she did not mean to take yet, only to touch, to show Melian she could—

That’s enough, I think. Melian’s voice sounded faintly amused and not altogether unannoyed, as one whose pet is both bothersome yet entertaining. Like a flick of her fingers, Melian snapped Galadriel out of her mind, flinging her fully back into the physical realm, and Galadriel staggered away from the table, stumbling over her feet until she landed hard on her seat, sucking in air like a winded horse.

The smoothness of the wood on the table did not allow Galadriel to do much damage to her hands, but her fingers ached from gripping it, and deprived now of the ecstasy of struggle and success, the full measure of her exhaustion came upon her, and she slumped down to the floor, hair strewn about her, and slept.

***

In the garden, Melian waited. Galadriel had felt her call earlier in the day, but forced herself not to rush. With care she dressed and arranged her hair in a neutral style and sipped weak wine as she reassured herself no damage had been done. Standing now upon the threshold of the eastern Jewel Garden, characterized by riotous bursts of a rainbow of fruits and flowers, she smoothed her skirts and lived in the final moments before having to face up to the queen’s displeasure. In her mind, she rehearsed the many words she had prepared for this meeting, but when she came near and met Melian’s night-dark eyes, those thoughts ran wild and she fought desperately to rein them back in.

“So, my pupil—”

Galadriel did not mean to interrupt, but the amok words burst through her teeth before she could swallow them.

“You underestimate my strength!”

Melian fell silent, those dark eyes sweeping up and down from the thrust of Galadriel’s chin to where her toes dug into the grass. She set aside the pomegranate she had been picking over when Galadriel arrived (Melian did not need to eat, but playing with the food of the Elves seemed to entertain her; she would leave the seeds out for someone or something else to claim.) Galadriel held open the curtains of her mind, inviting Melian inward, to show how little she had to hide from her teacher.

Melian wore the form of the Elves, as was her pleasure, and on that day gleamed in carnation yellow, her sleek black hair drawn away from her face with crisp white deer-bone clasps, a gift of the king.

“It is a particular kind of pride, to receive a gift and demand only more,” the queen remarked, and Galadriel drew in a painfully sharp breath. Now in the moment, now with Melian’s low, musical voice picking apart the flaws in her, the shortcomings in her behavior, it seemed foolish to tell herself her tutelage with Melian was not potentially on the line. But she could not now contemplate being exiled from Melian’s presence, or she would falter.

“I respect the extent of my teacher’s knowledge,” said Galadriel, lowering her head. “Had I no curiosity in it, we would never have begun this. Is it not natural I should wish for more?”

“That for which you wish and that of which you are capable do not always resonate,” said Melian. “As we have discussed before.”

Galadriel looked up without thinking, to fix Melian with an expression of helpless desire.

“And still I protest,” she said, straining to keep her voice even. “I am capable of more than my teacher believes.”

“Young you are still, and—”

“I am not a child!” Galadriel insisted urgently. “Horrors have I seen as well, teacher, and much did I overcome to make it to your doorstep. I am strong enough for what you may impart!” When Melian did not immediately respond, Galadriel could not restrain herself from adding: “Much more do you show Lúthien. Is it because I am no daughter of yours that I am not worth more?”

“You are not like Lúthien,” said Melian. “She who bears my blood is no Elf, though she may in face and body resemble her father. She is unique, and better able to grasp my knowledge and my power.”

“You have not faith in me,” Galadriel concluded, casting her eyes down unto the ground in tense despair.

“Had I not faith in you, we would not stand here now,” said Melian, rising to her full and considerable height. Again, Galadriel lowered her head. “Still I once more counsel you to restraint. Lúthien, besides being my daughter, has many more years to her name than you. She has had more time to learn and to develop her patience. Yet as I have said, your potential is strong. But you will squander it and turn to cruder, lesser matters than you might if you do not exercise care.”

Melian drifted around her, pale feet sliding noiselessly through the grass, her fingers brushing over the boughs and flowers that surrounded them.

“I feel your hunger, daughter of Eärwen,” she murmured. “Never do I touch your mind but I feel it. Already you have shown greater restraint than others may have. Yet I would look for more.” Even behind her, out of sight, Galadriel could picture, could feel Melian so clearly it was as if she looked upon her. “Those most eager warrant the most caution.”

Galadriel held her tongue and remained still until Melian came back into her sight. The queen did not touch her; never had Galadriel seen her touch another but the king or the princess, and those rare times when she laid her hands on Galadriel for a lesson.

There was more that Melian could have said, that she must know, but she did not, and Galadriel was relieved.

“What is it you desire from me, child?” Melian asked, and Galadriel seemed to feel her words as much as hear them. Her eyes darted up to Melian’s oval-shaped face, divine in her beauty, distant even in her nearness. “My power? Or something more tangible?”

Galadriel’s legs felt weak. The beat of her blood was too loud in her ears.

“I…desire…whatever my teacher would give me,” she said, speaking with markedly slow deliberation.

“You ask for things you do not understand,” Melian said.

“I know my strength,” Galadriel insisted, meeting Melian’s gaze directly. Melian held it, tilting her head slightly, observing, observing. Then she turned away.

“Your inability to admit or recognize your limitations tells me I have been right to maintain the pace we are at,” said the queen, and Galadriel’s gut turned to ice. “You have not yet the maturity for more.” She made to walk away, and Galadriel should have been grateful that Melian was not going to punish her for the invasion of her mind—though she knew now she had gotten as far as she had only because it had amused Melian to see how far she could push against the queen’s half-hearted resistance—but all that consumed her mind was the intolerableness of Melian’s dismissal.

In desperation, she threw up her hands and a bubble of silence ensconced them both; within the bulb of Galadriel’s power the birds hung still in the air, the beetles froze midflight; the wind did not sway the leaves. Slowly, Melian turned back to her.

“I am more capable than you acknowledge,” Galadriel said, straining to speak with so much of her focused on maintaining her spell. “I am a princess of the Noldor, a Calaquendi of the Blessed Realm, a daughter of the houses of Finwë and of Olwë. I have gazed upon the light of the Trees and I have sat at the foot of Manwë and Elbereth Gilthoniel. I have crossed the Helcaraxë. I have fought the forces of Morgoth Bauglir. I am not a child, nor an ignorant. I am not careless, nor incapable.”

Melian made a turn of the extent of Galadriel’s spell while she sweated to keep it up. The queen touched the birds, the bugs where they dangled midair, aware or unaware of their imprisonment.

“Remarkable,” she said, and through the burning of Galadriel’s straining body, she almost smiled.

Melian waved her hand and Galadriel’s spell burst apart, returning the denizens of Doriath to their freedom. Galadriel panted and bent forward, her face hot with exertion.

“You would do better not to trap things so idly,” the queen remarked lightly. Her eyes flashed over to Galadriel’s face. “It has never been your power I doubted, my pupil.” Melian came to her then, and she smelled even at a distance of the onset of rain, so that to breath her in was as if to stand amidst a gathering storm.

Melian reached out, and with her fingertips, she touched Galadriel’s face, tilting it up towards her. A spidery hand crept over her cheek, her nose, her mouth.

“What a fascinating spirit yours is,” she murmured, and as nearly always, her expression was inscrutable. Galadriel did not dare reach out to Melian’s mind now, but she made a slight opening of her own. “Is this truly what you desire?”

“Yes,” Galadriel breathed. “Greatly have I desired this.” It was no good to lie to Melian now; even if she had kept her mind closed, it seemed she had made herself too plain. Lying to herself was a far simpler task than lying to Melian.

“Very well, then. Let us explore.” Melian leaned in, and Galadriel felt the prickle of electricity along her arms and down her back before Melian’s lips touched hers.

The wind was back, but this time it drew Galadriel in rather than pushed her out; she was wrapped up in the maelstrom, that electricity surging through her until her nerves were alight and her lungs breathless. The queen’s mouth was cool and wet against hers, and despite Galadriel’s height, she had to push up on her toes to seek a deeper kiss. All around her was the presence of Melian and that crisp-rain smell filled up her senses; she curled her hands at her sides to stop herself from grabbing at the queen for stability as the presence of Melian bore down on her.

And then she swooned.

***

When Galadriel opened her eyes, she saw the layered canopy of Doriath undulating in the wind above her, and amidst the green, Melian’s face, from below. Immediately she moved to sit up, but she felt drained, not unlike her weariness of the day before, and Melian placed a hand on her forehead to hold her in place.

“Take a moment, Arwen,” she said. She looked down, and smiled, and Galadriel stilled. “I did warn you.”

Galadriel’s eyes fluttered shut in chagrin, but only for a moment, as she did not wish to deprive herself much of the sight of Melian looking on her with such fondness.

“Elwë fainted in the beginning as well,” Melian reflected. “Before we had learned how to be with each other.” This made Galadriel only more determined to prove that she too, could learn to be with a Maia. She wondered how long it had taken Melian to learn to moderate her strength with an Elf. “Shall I take you back to your rooms?”

“No,” Galadriel managed. Her mind felt fuzzy as if from a long sleep, or too much wine. She could not tell if Melian was still in her thoughts or not. “I wish to…remain.”

Melian hummed an agreement and stroked a hand through Galadriel’s golden hair.

“But you should rest,” said the queen. “And do not rush.” Despite her will—or perhaps in service of another desire—Galadriel’s eyes slid shut and her mind focused the more on the touch of Melian’s hand.

“I am capable,” she insisted quietly. “I can learn whatever lessons you would teach me, Your Grace. I will make myself learn them.”

“This I know,” said Melian. “I would not have taken it upon myself to teach you if I did not believe in your abilities. Yet you are young—no child, by the measure of Elves, I know—but young still, and impatient. You would rush headlong from one thing to another without truly understanding either. And I would see you cultivated with more care. Do you not trust me as your teacher, Arwen?”

Now Galadriel needed to pause and consider, for Melian made valid argument: She believed in Galadriel’s ability to learn, and so had taken Galadriel as her student. But why had Galadriel taken Melian as her teacher if she did not believe in Melian’s ability to teach?

Ah, Melian called again on her pride—daring Galadriel to say she believed that she knew better than Melian the pace and scope by which her lessons ought to progress.

A part of her wished to groan; the better part was more concerned with the presence of her head in Melian’s lap, and the queen’s graceful hand on her head. She could almost forget she had come here for a scolding.

“I am tired,” she murmured. “I trust you, teacher.”

“After your expenditures the last forty-eight hours, I am not surprised,” Melian said, again sound amused in spite of Galadriel’s rather inappropriate behavior.

“I wish only that you should know I may understand you.” Melian hummed something neither fully agreement nor disagreement and stroked Galadriel’s hair again.

“In stillness, one may come to know the forest,” she remarked after a long silence. “But without patience and quietude, much will go unobserved and unknown. My lessons for you are not only in the realm of magic and of wills.”

If she were less worn out, Galadriel might have found it in herself to be embarrassed to realize Melian had been trying to temper her impatience from the start.

“Forgive me, teacher,” she said without opening her eyes. “There is much you know that I wish to know also.”

“And much you will know, in time,” Melian said. “A sapling cannot know the truths of the oak without the will of time.”

Now Galadriel made a soft noise not quite a groan and turned her face more to Melian’s lap, which she supposed was hardly more improper than her presence there already, which Melian had created herself.

“You need not drive yourself so hard,” Melian said gently, her nails scraping lightly over Galadriel’s scalp. “Forget not the value in rest, and slow progress. As long as I stand, you will be safe here. Accept this gift I give, and the time which it grants.” Galadriel relaxed her shoulders and breathed in the sharp rain-scent of Melian.

“Shall I sing to you, dear?” the queen asked.

Galadriel mumbled her agreement, and Melian smiled. Carding her fingers through Galadriel’s hair, she set to warbling a tune about the wind whistling through the treetops and a robin looking for shelter. In the clear ringing of Melian’s voice, Galadriel could understand how one might forsake Eldamar to linger a little while more in the reach of her song. It seemed to soothe away Galadriel’s fears and anxieties, and yet to open her to wonders of the world ‘til then unknown to her. While Melian’s voice washed over her, she seemed to sink into new communion with the woods around them, as if through Melian those other things reached out to her: the moles in their burrows and the squirrels in their trees and the moss creeping over the rocks and the worms tunneling underneath. Melian was a part of it, and it was a part of her, and she drew Galadriel into this world which she otherwise touched only through a veil.

Yet it did not alleviate her exhaustion, and to the sound of Melian’s singing, with the queen’s thigh beneath her head and her hand in her hair, Galadriel slept.

#galadriel #melian #meladriel #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #rocky writes #sapphictolkien #pride month femslash requests

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