#instant shawl

[journeyman-tier-fibercraft]

Shawl 13 | Pattern Doily 10 | Pattern | Yarn

It's Wednesday my dudes. Just finished row 98 out of 123 on doily 10 and I'm ALMOST done with the hell that is 450 stitches of twisted ribbing for shawl 13. Just one more easy (p1, k1tbl) row and one more Evil (k1, p1tbl) row.

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART I: HEAVEN KNOWS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part II // part III // part IV // part V

wc: 4.7k cw: guns, brief descriptions of violence author's note: ty @mirconreadzztuff22 for being my arcane encyclopedia!! This is gonna be a seven part series so buckle up!!!

You blink awake, the world slowly coming into focus as a cacophony of muffled sounds pierces your slumber. Squinting one eye open, you’re able to see shadowy figures dragging your companions away, their struggles futile against the intruders' iron grips. Your heart races, but instinct kicks in. You remain still, feigning sleep, as footsteps approach.  

Someone looms over you - in the dim light filtering through the drugstore's grimy windows, you catch a glimpse of her scarred face and steely gaze. As she reaches for you, adrenaline surges through your veins. In a flash, you slam into her, catching her off guard.

For a split second, you had the upper hand - but it's short-lived. The woman recovers with lightning speed, her combat skills levels way above yours. She easily corners you against the cold, dusty shelves, her knife finding its way to your throat. The blade's edge kisses your skin, a thin line of warmth trickling down your neck.

"Move any further, and I can end this now." she growls, her breath hot against your ear.

You raise your hands in surrender, and she roughly drags you to join the others. You're thrust into the main area, forced to your knees alongside Vander, Vi, Caitlyn, and Powder. The scene before you is horrifying - Through the front window, you see a horde of walkers slamming against the glass. Their decaying faces press against the surface, leaving smears of rot and congealed blood. 

At the fore stood the woman who captured you, her gang forming a menacing circle around your group. You noted how tall and muscular she was, her dark skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light. A red shawl draped over her left side, obscuring her arm and shoulder.  Her short, styled hair framed a face set in stern lines, but her eyes, they sparkled with something dangerous, almost predatory.

The woman’s gaze swept over your group, lingering on each face before settling on yours. "Looks like we've got ourselves some lost lambs," she drawled, her voice a low, smoky rasp.

You felt Vi tense beside you, her fists clenching. On your other side, Caitlyn's fingers twitched near her now empty holster. Powder, uncharacteristically quiet, had her gaze fixed on the panels with the undead clawing their bloody fingers at.

The air crackled with tension as Vander spoke. "We're just passing through, we don’t mean to cause any trouble."

"Do you know whose territory you're in?" she demands, her voice cutting through the moans of the undead outside.

"No… but we weren’t going to settle here, let us go and we’ll get out of your hair."

The woman's laugh is harsh and devoid of humor. "I don't care," she sneers. Her eyes scan the ransacked shelves of the drugstore. "What I care about is where the remaining medications are. Hand them over."

Your throat tightens. You know exactly where they are – hidden in your pack. "I have them."

Her gaze locks on you. "Hand them over."

"Why should I?"

In an instant, she's in your face, so close you can see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes. Her scarred lip curls into a snarl. "Because you don't want to know what happens if you don't."

Your mind races, torn between protecting your group's precious resources and avoiding the wrath of this formidable woman and her gang.  Would she really let you go if you acquiesced? 

The tense standoff is suddenly interrupted by a burst of static. One of the woman's group members fumbles with a radio clipped to their belt. A male voice crackles through, urgent and clear.

"Sevika, the store's surrounded now. Get out before dark hits. Over."

The tall woman - Sevika, you now know - snatches the radio. "Copy that," she replies tersely, her eyes never leaving your group.

With a sharp whistle, her group springs into action. They wordlessly pack supplies, secure weapons, and prepare for evacuation. The efficiency is impressive, and you can't help but admire their coordination even when you had two of them keep their guns trained on your group.

“What about us?"  

Sevika's lip curls in amusement. "What about you?"

"Are you going to let us go?" Vander presses, his voice steady despite the circumstances.

"Sure," Sevika drawls, then points directly at you. "After she gives me the meds."

"What? How the hell are we going to get out of here ourselves?" Vi protested. 

Sevika's response is cold and indifferent. "If you want to get out that bad, do it yourself."

You watch Vander's mind work, always strategizing. "You have a base, it’s obviously well-supplied based on the amount of weapons and people you have. Take us with you, we can fight and help."

Sevika scoffs. "Now, why would I do that? You're lucky enough I'm letting you go alive."

Someone in her group chimes in with a smirk, "If they can get out alive." Snickers ripple through the gang, and your stomach turns at their callousness.

As Sevika's group continues packing, she allows your group to stand. You seize the moment, stepping forward. "I've got EMT training. I know how to use the medications I took."

Sevika dismisses you with a wave. "No thanks. We've already got a doctor."

"More help wouldn't hurt."

Her patience wearing thin, Sevika snaps, "I'm not picking up strays, especially ones so easy to put down."

You step closer, your face inches from hers despite the notable height difference between you two. "We were easy to capture because we were sleeping. That's a coward's move."

One of Sevika's people moves to intervene, but she halts them with a raised hand. Her eyes lock with yours, and to your surprise, her scowl turns into a smirk. 

"Okay," she says, her voice low and challenging. "Prove to me right now that you can survive.  However many survive, we'll take them in. But anyone left behind, I'm not coming back for. You're responsible for this."

Vander nods grimly. "Fine with us."

The moans of the undead grow louder outside.  While Sevika's group finishes their preparations, your group hurries to gather what few possessions you have. 

Vi angrily stuffs clothes into her backpack. "This is bullshit," she hisses. "We can take 'em. I say we fight our way out."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "That's suicide, Vi. They outnumber and outgun us."

You kneel beside Powder, helping her gather her collection of odds and ends - Her hands shake slightly as she works.

"It'll be okay, Powder," you whisper, giving her a reassuring smile. "We'll stick together, just like always."

Powder's eyes dart nervously between you and the others. "But what if they separate us? What if-"

"Shh," you soothe, squeezing her shoulder gently. "We won't let that happen."

Vander's deep voice cuts through the murmurs. "Enough," he says firmly but quietly. "I know none of us like this, but we're out of options. We can't keep running forever."

Vi whirls on him, eyes flashing. "So we're just gonna roll over and let them take us? After everything we've been through?"

Caitlyn places a calming hand on Vi's arm. "Vander's right, Vi. We're exhausted, low on supplies. This might be our only chance at something better."

You stand up, looking around at your makeshift family. "Maybe this is an opportunity. We don't know what their community is like but it could be a chance for a real home."

Vi scoffs, but there's a flicker of hope in her eyes that she quickly tries to hide. "Yeah, right. And I'm sure they invited us out of the kindness of their hearts."

Vander steps into the middle of the group, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Listen to me," he says. "I don't trust them any more than you do. But right now, we need to play along. Stay alert, watch each other's backs, and be ready for anything. We're stronger together, remember that."

There's a moment of silence as his words sink in. Then, one by one, you all nod in agreement.

As you finish packing, you catch Sevika watching you, that same unreadable expression on her face. 

"Alright, time's up," Sevika calls out. "Let's move."

The moans of the undead grew louder outside, time was running out. With one last look at each other, your group falls in line behind Sevika's squad. 

Sevika's group snap into formation, they move with a fluid precision that speaks of countless drills and shared experiences. Sevika stands at the center, her scarred face set in grim determination as she outlines the plan to her team. You edge closer, straining to hear every word.

"Listen up," Sevika's voice cuts through the air. "Dustin, you're the distraction. When I give the signal, toss the radio into the parking lot. That should draw most of the horde away."

"Margot, Ran, Renni take position at the rear, pick off any stragglers that get too close. Conserve ammo, make every shot count.  Finn, you’ll lead - make sure everyone is accounted for, then go, don’t wait for us."

"The rest of you, we're on supply duty. Grab everything you can carry, and prioritize non-perishables." Sevika's eyes sweep over her team, then land on your group. "I'll be keeping an eye on our new 'friends'."

As the plan springs into action, adrenaline courses through your veins. You dash to your pickup truck, sliding into the driver's seat. Powder hops in beside you, her eyes wild with excitement. In the rearview mirror, you see Caitlyn and Vi taking up defensive positions in the truck bed, their guns at the ready. Vander moves with surprising agility for his size, efficiently loading supplies.

You hear hard rock playing from the blaring radio that Dustin hurls into the parking lot. The walkers' heads swivel towards the noise, their groans intensifying as they shamble after it.

Gunshots crack the air as Sevika's shooters pick off the walkers that didn't fall for the distraction. You grip the steering wheel tighter, ready to peel out at a moment's notice.

Sevika appears at your window. "Ready to prove your worth?" she challenges, eyebrow raised.

You’re about to respond when a voice from above steals your attention.

"Sevika!"

All heads turn to the roof. A kid stands there, panic evident on his face. Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief.

"What the fuck? They forgot Ekko?" she snarls, livid at the oversight.

The momentary distraction costs you. Walkers, drawn by the commotion, shamble towards your truck. Only one corner of the store remains clear, but it's too far for Ekko to reach safely.

Your mind races, and adrenaline sharpens your focus. "I know how to drift," you blurt out. "If you guys can clear as many walkers as possible near that open corner, I can whip the car close enough for him to jump down."

Sevika eyes you skeptically. "You have an interesting set of skills…  you’re confident you can get us close enough?"

"I can do it in my sleep. So, are we doing this?" you ask.

She nods curtly. "Fine. But don't get tempted to fling me out of the car."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sevika barks orders into her radio, relaying the plan to Ekko. The air fills with gunfire as both groups focus on clearing a path. You rev the engine, calculating angles and timing in your head.

"Hold on!" you shout, then slam the accelerator.

The truck lurches forward, tires screeching. You weave through the thinning walkers horde, your heart pounding in your ears. As you approach the corner, you crank the wheel hard, initiating a perfect drift. The world blurs around you as the truck slides sideways, stopping just beneath Ekko's position.

"Now!" Sevika roars.

Ekko leaps, landing with a thud in the truck bed. You don't wait for confirmation, immediately spinning the wheel to face the exit. In the passenger seat, Powder whoops with glee, while gunfire erupts from behind as Caitlyn and Vi pick off any pursuing undead.

A sharp tap on your window startles you from your laser focus on the road. You roll it down, coming face to face with Sevika's intense gaze.

"Need some directions?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you realize you've been blindly following the road away from the store. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great," you manage, trying to mask your embarrassment.

As you follow Sevika's directions, a sight on the horizon makes your jaw drop. A gated community looms in the distance, its high walls painted with the word “Zaun” on it represent safety you haven't seen in years. Suddenly, the organized efficiency of Sevika's group makes perfect sense. This is nothing like the ramshackle shelters you've cobbled together over the years.

The convoy of trucks comes to a halt in front of the gates. You expect them to open, but Sevika raises her fist. Your brow furrows in confusion, but before you can ask, she's out of the truck, moving with predatory grace toward the other vehicles.

She stops at one truck, yanking the door open with such force you're surprised it doesn't come off its hinges. In one fluid motion, she drags out the man who was supposed to be in charge in her absence earlier, Finn, and slams him against the side of the vehicle.

"You coward," Sevika snarls, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're a disgrace to this group."

You're transfixed by the sheer intensity of her anger, the way she towers over Finn despite not being much taller.   Then you see it - movement in your peripheral vision. A walker, stumbling closer to Sevika's unprotected back. Your heart leaps into your throat, panic flooding your system.

"Sevika!" you try to shout, but it comes out as a strangled whisper. Ekko's grip on your arm tightens, holding you back.

"Don't." he warns, but you barely hear him roaring in your ears.

Your mind races, unable to comprehend why no one is reacting. The walkers are mere feet away now. You struggle against Ekko's grasp, every fiber of your being screaming to do something, anything.

The walkers' rotting hands reach out, inches from Sevika's shoulder. Time seems to slow down. You're about to break free, to hell with the consequences, when-

CRACK!

The walkers crumples, a clean hole through its skull. The bullet whistled so close to Sevika you swear it must have grazed her.

But Sevika doesn't even flinch. 

"You're pathetic," she spits, her eyes boring into the man.

And suddenly, it clicks. The walker was never going to be a threat, but Finn was going to let the walker get her.  That decision was a huge fucking mistake.  

Before she let go, he leaned in to whisper something imperceptible but it had enough effect that she practically threw him onto the ground in response.

The gates begin to open, and as Sevika strides back to your truck, you can't help but feel a mix of admiration and fear.   The woman before you was no ordinary one, she was willing to put her life on the line to protect her people and weed out the weak links.

Sevika slid back into the seat next to you, her eyes meeting yours.  You feel exposed, like she can see right through you. There's a challenge there, a silent question: Do you know what you’re getting into?

You swallow hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

As you drive through the gate, you couldn’t conceal your awe. The scene before you is like stepping into a different world - one untouched by the horrors of the apocalypse you've grown accustomed to.

Neat rows of houses line well-maintained streets. Lush gardens and small farms dot the landscape, bursting with life and color. People - actual living, breathing people - stroll along sidewalks, chatting and going about their day as if the world outside these walls hasn't ended.

You count maybe 15-20 houses in total, but the sheer number of people you see is staggering. There are more living souls in this one community than you've encountered in years of scavenging and surviving.

Sevika directs you to a parking spot, and as you're climbing out of the truck, a woman approaches. She's tall and dressed in a neat uniform, with short-cropped gray hair and a face etched with the kind of hardness that comes from years of survival. Her sharp eyes remind you of a hawk's.

"How much longer were you gonna keep talking before you let me shoot?" she asks Sevika, a hint of amusement in her gruff voice.

"As long as it takes to make my point, Grayson." Then, gesturing to your group, she adds, "I picked up some strays today. Oh, and a spot just opened on my team, by the way. If anyone in your group wants to switch sides..."

"Enough of stealing my patrol, Vika."  For the first time, you see Sevika truly laugh. You notice her tooth gap, she looks almost carefree.  

“Well, looks like you survived,” Sevika says, turning to your group.

“You could say that with a bit more enthusiasm next time.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips at your quip.  “It’s your turn to uphold your end of the bargain now.”  She puts out her hand.  

You retrieve the bag you stuffed under the seat, it rattles with the pills as you hand it over.  Without even a goodbye or thank you, she turns to leave, and you watch as her group immediately follows suit.

Grayson gives you a once-over, then nods. "Alright, let's give you the grand tour."

The houses were luxurious and belonged to a class you never knew. Some have solar panels on the roofs, explaining the electricity you can see being used. There's a central square with what looks like a communal dining area. The smell of cooking food makes your mouth water - real, fresh food, not the canned goods and stale rations you're used to.

You pass by a building that Grayson identifies as the infirmary. Through the window, you can see shelves stocked with medical supplies. It's more medicine in one place than you've seen since the world fell apart. You notice guard towers strategically placed along the walls - despite the idyllic appearance, it's clear this place is well-defended.

"I've got a meeting to attend but Ekko here will take care of you, though I do hope that we will meet again - my patrol squad is always looking for new members." With that, Grayson strides away, leaving you all trying to take in the scenery.

"Come on, let's get you settled in! Sky will get you guys all sorted out." Ekko waved at your group to follow.

He leads you through the streets, and you can't help but marvel at the sense of normalcy. People are going about their daily lives, talking, and laughing. It's like stepping into a memory of the world before.

"Welcome!" Sky says, her voice gentle with a hint of anxiety at the sight of your group - soot ridden and blood stained clothes weren’t the most friendly image. "We got a spare house. It’s not huge, but it should accommodate all of you comfortably."

She hands Vander a set of keys and a small map. Then, with a delicate clearing of her throat, she adds, "If I may suggest... There are showers in your new home. I think you'll find them... refreshing after your journey."

Vi snorts at the polite understatement, while Caitlyn looks slightly embarrassed. 

Sky continues, "Once you've had a chance to clean up, Ekko can show you to the pantry. We'll make sure you have enough food to get started."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing. Showers? Fresh food? It seems too good to be true.

As if reading your thoughts, Sky's expression softens. "I know this must be overwhelming. Take your time to settle in. It must be hard adjusting to how it is here, but this place didn’t happen overnight. Everyone here has a part in maintaining things the way it is. "

Ekko nods, gesturing towards the door. "Ready to see your new digs?"

As you follow him out, you exchange glances with your companions. There's hope in their eyes, but also caution. This place seems like a dream come true, but you all knew that nothing was ever permanent. 

The moment you step into your new house, chaos erupts. Bags fly everywhere as you all rush to claim spaces. Vi tosses her pack onto a bed, while Caitlyn more carefully sets hers down. You and Powder are a whirlwind of motion, exploring every nook and cranny.

Tears prick your eyes as the reality sinks in. A real home, after so long.

"I call the couch!" Powder shouts, leaping onto it.

Vi raises an eyebrow. "You can have the bed, you know."

"Nope! This is perfect," Powder grins, bouncing slightly.

You all burst into laughter, the sound foreign but welcome after so much hardship. As the laughter dies down, you realize just how hungry you are. Powder’s stomach growls loudly, causing another round of giggles.

"I think that's our cue to hit the pantry," Vi says, standing up and stretching. "Come on, let's see what they've got around here."

At the pantry, you're shoveling food into your mouth, barely pausing to breathe. "I know this is canned, but why is it so good?" you mumble around a mouthful.

Ekko chuckles. "We have fresh fish, vegetables, and fruit too."

Your eyes widen in disbelief just as Sky walks in, Sevika close behind.

"Oh perfect, we were looking for you guys!" Sky says warmly.

Sevika's eyes scan your group. "I see you're settling in already. We’ve got jobs for you."

She starts assigning roles, Vander and Vi in food gathering. Then she turns to you, Caitlyn, and Powder. "You three will be working here in the pantry."

"What? Even after all those 'interesting skills' you said I had?" The words are out before you can stop them, tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger.

"This is a serious job. Making sure everyone gets the right rations is important. Preventing theft, too." Her tone is cocky, almost challenging.

Fury bubbles in your chest. After everything you've been through, all the skills you've developed to survive, you're being relegated to... food inventory? You want to argue, to prove your worth, but the words stick in your throat. You're acutely aware of how precarious your position is here.

Beside you, Caitlyn looks equally stunned. She's an incredible shot, her skills were wasted on this task. But like you, she remains silent.

"Understood," you manage to say, the word tasting bitter. You exchange a glance with Caitlyn, seeing the same resolve in her eyes. 

The days blend into one another as you settle into a routine at Zaun. It's surreal, to be able to think beyond mere survival. Conversations here with others touch on memories, hopes, dreams - luxuries you'd almost forgotten existed.

You're lost in thought, mentally cataloging the supplies, when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.

"Looks like our newest recruits are really getting into the swing of things."

You turn to see Sevika leaning against the doorframe. Her presence fills the small space, making the pantry feel even more cramped than usual.

"Don't you have something more important to do?" you mutter, trying to hide your annoyance. "Like, I don't know, running this whole place?"

Sevika chuckles, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the pantry. "Multitasking, sweetheart. I can keep an eye on you and run this place at the same time."

You roll your eyes, returning to your task. But Sevika doesn't leave. Instead, she picks up a can, tossing it from hand to hand.

"You know," she drawls, "when I brought you in, I thought you might be more... useful. Didn't peg you for the grocery store clerk type."

Her words sting more than you'd like to admit, and it was also enraging - how dare she act like it wasn’t her fault you were assigned here in the first place? 

"We can't all be badass scavengers," you retort, reaching for a high shelf. Before you can grab it, Sevika's arm extends past yours, easily plucking the item you were struggling to reach.

"Here," she says, handing it to you. Your fingers brush as you take it, and you're struck by the calloused warmth of her hand.  You mutter a reluctant thanks, hyper-aware of her proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Caitlyn watching your interaction intently from across the room. Her gaze flicks between you and Sevika, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes.

Sevika notices too. She turns to Caitlyn with a raised eyebrow, the casualness in her voice from earlier gone. "Something on your mind?"

Caitlyn quickly averts her gaze, busying herself with her task. 

As you reach for another box, Sevika beats you to it, effortlessly lifting the heavy container. 

"How do you even have time for this?" you blurt out, frustration and confusion coloring your voice. 

Sevika sets the box down, her eyes meeting yours. "I don’t." 

The moment stretches between you, fraught with tension. Sevika's typical scowl returns, and she turns to leave.  "Try not to burn the place down with your expert can-stacking skills," she throws over her shoulder as she exits.

These encounters with Sevika were becoming more frequent, each one leaving you more uncertain than the last. But the random checkups made sense - you don't trust her, and neither does she.  

The pantry job was a way to keep your group in check but it coincidentally became a test of patience as well. Powder flits in and out, her time increasingly spent with Ekko. While part of you was frustrated by her lack of help, a larger part was glad she actually got to enjoy her childhood.

The breaking point comes during an argument with a burly man demanding extra rations. 

"Sorry, but rules are rules," you say, trying to keep your voice level. "Take it up with Sevika if you have an issue."

His face reddens. "Screw that, I'll go straight to Silco!"

The name hangs in the air, the mysterious leader of Zaun you've yet to meet. You knew Sevika's role as his right hand, but Silco himself remains an enigma, spoken of in hushed tones.

As the man storms off, you lock eyes with Caitlyn. Without a word, you both know - it's time for a change.

You find Grayson at the tennis courts, an incongruous sight that still makes you do a double-take. She's lounging in a weathered lawn chair, a beer in hand, watching a lackluster game between two residents.

The sun beats down on the cracked concrete court, weeds pushing through the fading lines.

Grayson spots you approaching, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes a long swig of her beer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You can smell the alcohol on her breath as you draw closer, noting the slight flush on her cheeks. Despite her relaxed posture, there's a sharpness to her gaze that tells you she's far from incapacitated.

"We need to talk," you say. "About our roles here."

"What about them?"

Caitlyn steps forward, her posture straight and confident. "I want to join your patrol team."

You nod, adding, "And I want to join Sevika's scavenging group."

Grayson snorts. "If you want to join Sevika's group, why come to me? Why not ask her yourself?"

You feel your cheeks heat up as the memory resurfaces. "I did..."

Sevika stands before you, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk on her face. You've just finished explaining your request to join her team.

She laughs, the sound both mocking and somehow enticing. "If you can beat me in sparring once, sure." Her eyes rake over you. "But we both know that's not happening anytime soon, pantry girl."

"I need you to train me," you tell Grayson, determination in your voice. "Make me a better fighter. All I did was drive and fix wounds, but I know I can do more."

Grayson's eyes narrow. "How do I know I won't be wasting my time helping you two?"

Before you can respond, Caitlyn moves. In a blink, she's drawn Grayson's pistol from its holster and fired at a beer bottle perched on a table at the end of the court, shattering the bottle.

"Because we have the skills to prove it," Caitlyn says coolly, handing the gun back.

For a moment, there's silence. Then Grayson's face splits into a grin. "Alright, I'm convinced." She stands, stretching. "But today's my day off. I'll see you two at the west watchtower tomorrow morning." 

Her expression turns serious. "If you're late, don't bother asking again.  Do we have a deal?"

You and Caitlyn share a look.

“Deal.”

[eyesxxyou]

Cybersex

★‧₊˚ 💋⋅ hobie brown x camgirl!reader

rating. m

word count. 4k

synopsis. after a scandal, hobie decides he needs a change in his career. that's where you come in, a camgirl he plans to make a sextape with.

🍓・．❕warnings. mentions of cocaine usage, recording sex, p in v sex, protected sex heavily advised, oral (f & m receiving), doggy style, hair pulling, spitting, dirty talking, ass slapping, ass grabbing, degrading praise, condom taken off

Hobie really fucked up according to his manager. If you asked him, he did nothing wrong. It was perfectly normal for a rockstar to be doing coke in the bathroom of a venue in his opinion but for some reason it had caused a lot of controversy. It’s not like he was addicted or anything, that time being only the second time he’s ever done it but his manager put out a statement that he would be taking a break from his tour in order to attend rehab. Which he did and it sucked. He was in for 2 months, “working on himself” supposedly.

“Why’d ya do it?” His manager asked him as they sat side by side in the back of his car, his driver taking him home from rehab after 2 of the longest months of his life. “I mean– you have all anyone could ever want. So why?”

It was such a stupid question that deserved the half-assed answer Hobie gave. He just shrugged and grunted. Why did he do it? To escape this fad of a life. This was never what he wanted, all of this. This expensive car, a designated driver, a manager. This was never what he fucking wanted. Somehow, in his pursuit for success, he lost everything that made him who he was, lost his initial values. He was nothing but a poser now.

He was done being a poser. He’d get back to his original self somehow, some way.

So the moment they got back to his boat, Hobie fired his manager as well as his chauffeur. “Take the car wit’cha.” It was the best decision he could have made for himself, for his dwindling career. He had to get back to his roots, just him making music on his boat with his guitar and his mates.

He needed something to reignite his career, to appeal to the crowd who once supported him for being a voice against authority and establishment. The coke incident had riled people up, weeded out the posers from the real deal. He needed something more.

That’s where you came in.

“So you need my help to get your career back on track…how exactly? By having sex with me?” You sat across from Hobie inside a bar you two agreed to meet at. You were a pretty girl, gorgeous actually, with make up that told him “I put in effort, just not for this” and a pretty, delicate, white dress, black shawl, platform, leather boots, and a long rosary around your neck, though something told him you weren’t catholic. It could be the extensive history of porn you have online.

You were a camgirl. And he was a fan. Turns out, you were a fan of his too.

Hobie bought you a drink and a couple shots for you to share. You teased a cherry between your faded glossed lips and used your tongue to tie the stem into a knot. He liked you, liked you a lot. You were perfect for the job.

“By leakin’ mw own sex tape.” Hobie corrected you. “‘M jus’ tryna stir the pot. Drum up some interest, y’know?” You of all people would know better than the rest. Your entire career was built on this. You were a master at it. He was right to come to you.

“Bu’, Ion wan ya to think ya haf’ to. The offer’s on the table.”

“I know I don’ have to do anything.” He liked your attitude, the twang of your accent in your pretty voice. He understood why you had so many fans, you were borderline perfect, pretty lips, pretty eyes. He’s watched some of your videos, with partners and alone, you’re so captivating. He was an instant fan. “I just want to make sure I understand before I agree to anything.”

You leaned in with your chin resting upon your hand with your elbow on the splintering wood of the bar counter. “I’ll do it, just ‘cause I think you’re pretty.” You stood up, even while sitting down, his abnormally tall body towered over your. “I’ve got rules though, strict rules, not even a pretty boy like you can pass them.” Your hands were on his thighs as you looked up at him. He could kiss you now if he wanted to, but he waited to hear these rules of yours.

“You have to use a condom.”

“Done, already got one.” Hobie assured you. He always carried one with him just in case.

You chuckled a bit, “Good for you. We also have to do it at a hotel, you pay. I don’t wanna be at your place and I don’t want you at mine.” Hobie also liked how serious you were, how you didn’t play about your business. He appreciated it, found it a little hot too. How in the world was he supposed to keep his hands off of you until then? “FIne by me.”

“FInally, no catching feelings.”

Hobie began to laugh, a snarky grin growing across his full, pierced lips. “Confident, are ya? You don’ haf’ta worry about nothin’ like tha’, luv. I’m just attracted to you.” He reached out and pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. He leaned in close, his breath fanning your lips until he touched his lips with yours and kissed you softly. You didn’t kiss him back.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Brown but I’m not with it. Text me the details when you get them.” You pulled away from him with a scoff and tapped his cheek softly with your hand before grabbing a shot, tossing it back down your throat before walking off to take your leave.

Hobie set everything up for the following week, a nice hotel where the two of you could hook up for the night and leave it at that. It didn’t have to be anything more. Hobie was out to jumpstart his career while you were in it for the followers you would gain from all of this. It didn’t have to be anything more than just this.

“Hobie, open the damn door, I’m not waiting out here all night!” Your fist met the door for the third time since you’ve been standing here. You were just about ready to leave when the door finally swung open and Hobie was standing there without the slightest look of apology on his face. “Sorry, luv. Come on in.”

You waltzed in past him, wearing a black dress, black, distressed stockings that clipped onto a garter around your thighs, thick, mary jane shoes, and a leopard print, fur jacket that all fit together with your locs tied into a ponytail with hair clips that matched your coat. Your lips were full and glossy, eyes framed in dark makeup that made your gaze all the more mysterious. You were adorned in hanging necklaces and large rings, the prettiest person he’s ever seen. “Nice setup. We just recording on your phone?” There was no camera but you supposed that it wouldn’t be that believable of a leaked sex tape if it was on a professional camera. You two weren’t exactly Kim K and Ray J.

“Unless you brought a camera.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You waved your hand and set down your bag before beginning to remove your jewelry and set them down on the bedside table with a small ‘clack’. “Pretty ingenious idea you got here. How’d you come up with it?” You began to remove your necklaces one by one and placed them beside your rings, glancing over at Hobie who sat on the bed beside you.

“I was horny and tired, luv. Le’s cut the small talk ‘n get on wit’ i’, yeah?” Hobie reached out for you, pulling you in between his legs while holding the slope of your waist, stroking and caressing until his hands slid down your thighs then by up under your dress. There was nothing but your panties, small and lacy.

Your lips curled into a smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.” You climbed into his lap, straddling his hips with your thighs as you pressed your lips to his. It was a curt matter, a nicety you offered him. There was passion but nothing behind it except lust, feverish, violent, tearing lust that had you rolling your body against his and your pussy pressed against the growing bulge in his pants.

Hobie placed his hands on the underside of your thighs and lifted you up, your legs automatically coming around his narrow waist. He held you with a surprising amount of strength for someone so lean. He pushed you up against the wall, your hands pulling at each other's clothes in a fervorous attempt to get the other naked. He tore your stockings while you pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side. He helped you remove your shoes between kisses and you helped him remove his.

Hobie licked down your body, the warm, smooth skin of your naval all the way down to the waistband of your thong where he kissed and licked, his hands grabbing at his pockets to find his phone before handing it off to you so you could record.

You gazed at him through the camera, moaning softly as he pulled down your underwear and you stepped out of them. You lifted one leg over his shoulder, soon followed by the other, your entire weight supported against the wall, your pussy on display for him to devour with his eyes and soon, his tongue.

You were already wet, your lips nice and slick, your pretty cunt slightly gaping and ready to be filled. Hobie licked his lips and looked up at you, nodding to signal you to start recording. You kept a firm grip on his phone with one hand while your other grasped at the hair closest to his scalp. You pulled him in, forced his lips to kiss your cunt, to praise and worship.

You tasted like fruits and berries as he dipped his tongue between the gates of heaven and teased at your cunt with the warmth of his tongue teasing at the underside of your clit. His fingers played in your creamy juices, coating them before he eased a single digit into your aching hole.

“Ah~ fuck– Hobie. Mmh.” You ground your hips against his face, the friction of his hot tongue and long finger drove you crazy. You bit your lip, made sure the camera was on him, and pulled him in further. “Add another finger.” It was a plea for kindness, you needed another finger or you’d go crazy. His tongue worked you in a way you had never experience before, it was fluid yet stiff and so precise against your swollen bud. His lips latched and suckled and his tongue swirled.

Hobie eased another finger into your cunt inch by inch, curling in search of the soft ridge that would send you into ecstasy. He spat on your pussy, ate it with the eagerness of a starved dog while looking up at the camera with those pretty, deep-set eyes of his.

You cried out for him,“God, Hobie– pl–ease.” He slid his tongue into your cunt with his fingers, stretching you just a little further while the bulb of his nose nudged your clit. You would have collapsed then and there if not for the fact he was the only thing holding you up, on his knees with his face in your pussy, devouring.

“Ya gonna cum fa me, luv?” Hobie spoke against your core, making you thrash and moan his name in something of a pornographic sound of pleasure. You reacted to every flick of his tongue, your back arching from the wall and your pussy aching, pulsing, squeezing around his fingers that have finally found your sweet stop and is now playing it like a fiddle.

Your grasp on the phone became shaky as your orgasm threatened to grasp you and hold you in a grip so tight you’d cease to breathe. Never before have you come upon your climax so quickly. Hobie was skilled at this. He’s made more people come with just his mouth and fingers than he can count on said fingers. He left them bleary-eyed and pleading for more, all of them dreaming of just another chance with him.

“Hobie, Hobie, Hobiehobiehobie.” His name was on your lips like a prayer to a god who did not exist in this room. Hobie had the face of angel but the mouth of a demon and how much you praised whatever high power above for it.

He chuckled against your pussy as you gasped, all your muscles tensing then relaxing at once, an orgasm seizing your body like a demonic possession. You held his face against your core and let him taste the product of his work. You worked hard to make sure you tasted good for your partners and Hobie appreciated it, adored it.

He slipped his fingers from your cunt and lapped at the creamy juices you excreted in the midst of your orgasm. Hobie moaned at the taste of you on his tongue, licked you clean until the taste of you stained his tongue. He smiled up at the camera with his wet lips and grabbed it from you, pausing the video before helping you down from his shoulders.

His hands were on your waist again, pulling you into his body before kissing you again. He forced his tongue against yours, sliding and lapping, caressing every portion of yoru mouth he could reach. You could taste yourself in him, your cum still wet on his tongue. You liked it, you liked the taste of his mouth and you intermingled.

Your hands soothed over the sides of his face, one sliding behind his neck to pull him closer while his large, slender hands grasped handfuls of your ass. He was so much bigger than you, so much taller, he was so easily able to toss you onto the bed. You landed on your stomach, looking back at him as he removed the rest of his clothing and remained just as naked as you were.

God, his cock was so fucking beautiful. It was perfectly fitting, nice and long with a good amount of girth but not two much and a few veins here and there. The tip weeped with precum, begging to sink into a nice, tight, warm hole, preferably yours. Your pussy fluttered at the sight of it, at the way he came over and forced you face down ass up with him kneeling behind you.

Hobie rubbed his length against your ass, his precum smearing against your pussy every time his tip teased against your entrance.

"Condom." You reminded him firmly, pulling away from him until he complied. You'd get up and leave right now if he didn't abide by your rules.

Hobie got up and searched through his discarded pants for his the condom he made sure to bring with him. Once he found it, he tore it open and placed it against the tip, rolling it down the length of his dick until he reached the base of his cock.

He took up his phone and began to record again as you whined and pushed your hips back, begging for him to fill you up and finish you out. You spread your legs wider, arched your back, anything to entice him to fuck you the way you needed.

"Aww, the pretty slut wan's my cock." Hobie brought his free hand back and spanked your ass with a sharp swing of his hand as it met the flesh of your behind. He ran a soothing hand against the burning mark he left. "Go 'head 'n beg fo i' then."

Your pride wouldn't let you, your lips remained sealed but they parted with another slap to your ass. You gasped again and whimpered out something pathetic as your ass ached in pain and your back arched. "Please."

"Say i' louda fo tha' camera, luv."

"Please fuck me, Hobie."

He scoffed and chuckled behind you, lining up his tip and easing it into your wonton cunt. "I knew you wan'ed me to slut ya pretty pussy out." You let out something of a squeal as he sunk into your hole, his cock stretching out your walls unused for months now. You were tight, your pussy lips parted to accommodate his size. Hobie let out a hiss then a moan of pleasure, his hand grasped at your hip and ass almost to assure himself you were real. "Fuck, doll. Oh my– shit."

He wished he could feel you, just skin to skin, flesh to flesh, your silky, wet walls against his bare cock. He might have came right then and there if not for the condom as a slight barrier keeping his from absolute euphoria.

Hobie fucked you like it was the end of the world, pounding, borderline abusing your poor pussy all while you squealed and moaned and choked beneath him. Yours hands grasps at the sheets, neatly made by maids who had no clue what their hard work would later be used for.

Hobie recorded it, the way his cock dove into your pussy like he'd die if he didn't fuck you with everything he had. His dick touched places you weren't even sure existed within you, caressed parts that haven't been touched in many, many years. It's been a long time since you've had a good, thorough dicking down and you had forgotten how good it felt.

"Right there! Please…Hobie, please!" You moaned into the pillow beneath you. Cohesive sentences evaded you, all you could think about was how his cock was stirring your guts and how you didn't mind at all.

Clapping filled the room, the sticking of skin to skin from sweat and slick made it hard to distinguish where you ended and he began. It ran down your thighs, your arousal, the way he pushed it out of you and smeared it along your inner thighs and the base of his cock.

Hobie was obsessed with the way your ass jiggled against his hips, the way your back arched, how you seemed to be fucking him back with each other this thrusts, meeting him in the middle. Your makeup was smeared against the pillow, messy against your eyes and lips as you turned your head to the side to look at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

Now he understood why you had that last rule. A pussy like this could make him catch feelings. It was so tight and creamy and good god, the way you moved was so perfect. He was losing breath, losing sanity.

Hobie grabbed you by the hair and pulled you up to hear your moans better, your neck craned back. He leaned over and pressed his body into yours. "Say hi, dove." He put the camera in your face, only to see you all fucked out and drooling. You could only whimper, your gaze meeting the camera with teary eyes before closing. "Fuuuck." You cried you as he sat back up, his hand readjusting his grip on your hair, and fucked you harder.

"Yah makin' me lose it, luv." Hobie let out a huff. His hand grabbing the round of your ass and squeezing the meat there before sliding up to the small of your waist where his hand settled so he could pull you back on his cock. “Go ‘head ‘n take wha’ ya wan’, pretty slut.” He paused his hips, let you do all the fucking since you were such a pro. “Put on a good show.” He adjusted his hold on his phone camera and watched through the screen as your spread your legs a little further and pushed yourself back onto his length.

You started with just the tip first, just playing with that before taking the whole of his length. You were a professional at this. Looking back, biting your lip, working his cock like it was your last night alive. His mouth fell open with a moan, pussy so tight Hobie was scared the condom was gonna come off.

Hobie shuddered with the beginnings of an orgasm. “Jus’ like tha’, doll. ‘M so close.” He let out in a breathless moan. He watched your greedy cunt take him fully, down to the hilt, the grip of your walls sending him overboard.

"Take off the condom, cum on my ass. It'll look good for the camera." You were a pro at this. You knew what got the most clicks and a cumshot on the ass was only second best to a creampie. Hobie held no objections as he pulled off the condom quickly and wrapped his hand around his member to jerk himself off.

It didn't take much. Hobie muttered incoherently under his breath profanities and obscenities as he came hard. His balls tightened as he came against the round of your ass. "Fuck!" He barked and squeezed out all he had to give, coating your plush flesh in white, dripping in wet globs down your trembling thighs.

You rocked back and forth against his cock, milking him for everything he was worth, another ribbon came and dribbled down the slope of your back. There was just so much, nice and creamy, all over you. The fans would eat this up.

You stretched out much like a cat, even purred a little as you groaned and looked back at him, a little dazed, completely starstruck. He stopped the recording and put down his phone in the middle of the bed. His hands grasped your waist as he bent over you and began to kiss down the slope of your back, his gorgeous lips peppering butterfly kisses against your shoulder blades.

"What did I tell you, Hobie? No feelings."

"Nothin' felt, jus' needed to appreciate ya a little. Lemme clean ya up." Hobie gave you one more firm slap to your ass. He went to go grab one of the fancy, white washcloths hanging in the bathroom to clean you up with. He wet it, wrung it out, and came back to run it down your back in long, gentle strokes, folded it over, then got the rest of your behind.

“I guess I should return the favor, huh?” You said, getting up, sitting down before his kneeling figure. His cock was still half hard and dripping wet with the remnants of your juices and his cum. You look up at him with those eyes that could make a person fall in love, biting your lip to hide a smirk as you wrapped a hand around him to guide his cock into your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around him and lavish your tongue across the expanse of his member. He was so sensitive, shivering as your tongue passed over the salty tip. “Fuck, doll. You’re a masta’piece.” He stroked the side of your jaw with the tips of his fingers before reaching for his phone to record a little more.

He recorded you lazily sucking him off, the outline of his cock inside your cheek. The sink there was so soft, so wet, so good. “Look a’ the camera, luv.” He lightly slapped your cheek when you averted your gaze. You looked up at the camera, sloppily sucking before hollowing out your cheek and letting him go. It was a bit of a power play.

“Nice and clean, no?”

“You’re such a tease.”

You watched the video back when Hobie posted it a few days later, smiling as you bit your nails and watched the shaky, unprofessional camera work. It looked pretty authentic, just two people fucking and the video getting purposely "leaked" by him. It worked perfectly. Hobie was slowly returning back to his controversial, anti-establishment roots and your account was swarming with new followers.

As you watched, Hobie's contact popped up as a drop down notification at the top of your screen.

Wanna do it again?

[minsyal]

Until the End

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

SPOILER WARNING!! This has A LOT of spoilers for the next season of the show.

Summary: Aemond informs his wife of his impending battle. (Sorry if it’s kinda bad, just an idea after I read the book and I mean, he’s dreamy in a troubled kinda way.)

“A fortnight, then.”

Flame-lit logs crackled within the stone hearth, answering her words like a captivated audience. The murmur of gossiped tripe ached in her bones the same way it had since the beginning of her husband’s family affairs.

“I thought it right to tell you.” He replied with mixed emotion in his tone.

Ignoring him, she focused herself on the fiery embers as they rose upward, disappearing beyond the chimney’s base. Shades of bursting orange and flickering crimsons cast dramatic shadows across the contours of her warming skin. A rose blush crept onto her cheeks, and yet she pulled her shawl further around her shoulders.

“She is pregnant.” It would have been a question if not for the glaring truth of it all strewn upon his face. “Heavily pregnant.”

There was a distinct hesitance in the words that passed his lips next. He wondered if she had known all along; perhaps he had not hidden his affairs to the extent of his thoughts. Anyone with eyes or ears would have known. Yet, he had convinced himself that out of everyone it would not be she who held disbelief in his alignment.

“My love,” his words died as her anger erupted and flowed slowly from the tenseness of her shoulders.

“Do not.” Bitter as a soured fruit, her words were cut from her tongue. He opened his mouth to speak but was hushed by her calm rage. “If those words should ever leave you again, you will not have a tongue. I have dedicated myself to you, my life, my cause, everything.” She wouldn’t meet his eye. “You have no right to speak to me in such a manner. So, I only implore you for this and this only. When is the child due and will it be you who claims it as your own?”

Their relationship had never been a tumultuous one. Often they sailed upon smooth waters, their portage was met with clear skies and an outlook on the vast openness that was their journey together. But something was always lurking just below its surface. While his anger came in outbursts and pointed attacks, hers was more subtle and subdued. Her ferocity slithered beneath her exterior, only showing itself in passive quips, sharp words, and the intense avoidance of her gaze.

In truth, she was never more than a passing glance. Her beauty was outshined by that of her mother or even that of her grandmother. While desirable, she was often overlooked in a room of people. She was an always present individual, even if it were only physical and not of heart and mind. Countless times she was given grandiose offers for her hand by the endless barrage of scrambling lords who wanted to better their position and house’s prestige. Countless times she would hear whispers of their denials and the subsequent mild rage that seethed from the men’s bodies who were often more than twice her age. Even those who had attempted to court her mother in her blooming years had thought it right to do the same to her, expecting a different outcome. But it was their mistake, for they did not realize she was promised to another.

“I cannot give you information I do not have.”

His fingernails, though cut short and clean, dug crescents into the palms of his hands.

“Then you will contest it? You will deny to me in this instant that her child is yours? You will tell me that you have not taken her to your bed?”

“I can tell you whatever you would like to hear, my love. But I cannot promise the truth to my word.”

“Then I do not wish to hear it.” She sighed, but in a way that oozed resentment opposed to one of defeat. “Leave me.”

The weight of his stare pushed harshly against the vibrancy of her being. It swirled around in the air like smoke and ash, threatening to envelop her whole and take her to darkness. “I will not.” He defied her demand, standing firm just steps away from where she had positioned herself to watch the burning wood that warmed the room.

“You will do as I demand and leave me.” His steps were heavy as he drew closer, halted by her speaking once more. “Leave me.” The veins of her neck were strained, pumping blood viciously to her face causing it to blush a shade of pink. Yet, she continued to not meet his eye.

Even when he laid his hands upon her shoulders and shook her body wholly, she flouted her vision and expelled him from her line of view. He gripped her frantically, grasping at her upper and lower arms as he searched her for a semblance of the woman he knew.

“Look at me!” He repeated, growing more and more discontented. The pupils of his lilac eye vacillated from a pin-prick to an endless abyss. “I command you to look at me!”

It was almost childish. The two of them battled in distinctly different ways. He let his anger bubble to the surface and spill from his edges, while she preferred to not give people the satisfaction of seeing her hurt. They were both terribly flawed in their processes.

“Look at me!” He was yelling now.

“You cannot command anything of me.” She refused, choosing to focus on the golden clasps of his tunic that had been marred in dried brown blood. Whose, she did not know, but the sight of it left a poor taste upon her tongue.

“I can. You forget your place in the hierarchy.” His gloved fingers burnt against her skin. “Allow me to remind you,” he lowered his chin to rest upon her shoulder where his words vibrated from his chest to hers, “I am your lord husband and you are my lady wife. I am prince regent, my word is law.”

She could feel his resolve softening slightly as the steady beating of her heart and the softness of her breasts soothed his rugged rage. She could give in. She could allow him to coax her back to the ground where his iron heart kept him planted to the solid surface. There were many things she could have done and she chose the worst of them. All the hurt he had put her through was festering in her stomach, twisting and turning her insides in a wild rage. He had killed her brother and cousin, waged war against her mother and step-father, and kept her concealed within the Red Keep until they could be sure of her alignment. To top it all off, he had defiled her trust in him as a partner. He had taken another woman to bed.

“You cannot command anything of me as your command comes from your false claim to the throne.”

A crack in her voice was the only emotion in her words.

“You wear the conqueror’s crown yet have conquered nothing except for a common whore.”

He pushed himself backward in a way that did not use her body to project him so. Her feet remained planted and firm, unswaying in the storm that brewed in his chest.

Thundering and electrifying below the surface, he writhed in the sheets she had laid out before him in the bed he had made himself. He aimed to hurt. Taunting was his warfare and striking words were his blade.

“At the very least, my Alys can bear me children whereas you have failed at your only responsibility to me.” He took a step backward and composed himself, lifting his jaw and peering at her from the top of his cheek. Only when she finally brought her eyes to his did he turn it back down to stare down the bridge of his nose. “A fortnight, then.”

He turned on his heel and left his wife alone with her thoughts. If he had stayed a moment longer, he would have seen her shoulders tremble and her hand coast along the bodice of her gown. All the pain of his words was on display in her glassy eyes. All the rejection of his movements slowly burnt the bridge that connected them.

On day thirteen she remained locked in her chambers, hiding amongst the quilted sheets of her bed. No handmaiden or guard dare bother her and any movement on her behalf would have been reported to the prince who lingered on the grounds.

She only saw the moonlight on days twelve and eleven, waking from fitful dreams to an empty bed. Aemond had not warmed her sheets for months, constantly gone to battle and in the arms of another.

She emerged from her silken cocoon on day ten, wrapping herself in a black shawl before lingering in front of the fire for the remainder of the day. Homely sounds of her nieces and nephews pattering feet, her grandmother's anxious words, and the general organized chaos of the castle were ghosts in her ears. The room where she stayed now was not home. It was a prison. At first she thought it loving of her husband to take her to safety, to conceal her away from the battles. But the longer she remained, the more she grew to resent him.

On day nine, she was served a brothy soup that smelled of fresh thyme and flavored oil. It settled uncomfortably in her stomach and the heart of her meal was left in the bowl to chill in the midnight air.

It wasn’t until day eight that she finally stepped back into the land of the living where nothing had changed from the way she left it days prior. A guard noted her exit and promptly left, likely gone to alert the prince of her movements. A handmaiden, no older than she, guided her through the corridors, careful to not lead her in the direction of her husband’s new chambers.

“My lady, the prince requests you join him in his study.”

She continued past the guard who had been sent to summon her, her feet carrying her in the opposite direction.

The gardens were mild and temperate with summer flowers in bloom that seemed to cascade like waterfalls down the sides of the castle’s old stone walls. Colors of vibrant blues and pearlescent white were sprinkled about, contrasted by the brilliant deep green of the growing ivy.

Her handmaiden kept two steps behind her, occasionally picking a fallen leaf or petal out of the dress’s train. Otherwise, the two walked in a calming silence until she returned to her chambers for the remainder of the night.

On the seventh day, a sennight until her husband's battle, she woke to a bouquet of fresh heliotropes. They were all shades of purple, some amethyst and others deep like obsidian. She did not need to ponder long who they had come from. They were the same flower that adorned the Red Keep’s great hall on the day they wed. Eternal love was symbolized in the flower’s petals, but the definition of eternal seemed to end in the sheets of Harrenhal.

On the sixth day, she again spent her time awake in the middle of the night. Her room in the Holdfast overlooked some of the gardens where only guards patrolled at this late hour. However, she was not in the Holdfast. Dragonstone had become her new home. She sat in the window, a velvet shawl draped over her shoulders, bathing in the moonlight. There was vastly more to see here. From her perch, she could see the grounds below, a small village, and the empty ocean that reminded her of her father.

She wondered what her mother was doing. After being locked within the Red Keep, she lost all contact with the outside world. Any news of the war was only fed to her though eavesdropping either on maids or her cousins. It was rare for her to think about the consequences of her family’s actions, but with nothing else to distract her, her mind wandered. When she arrived in Dragonstone it got worse. All news of the war stopped as if everyone had been instructed to keep it a secret from the princess.

She thought back to the day she was told she was to marry her cousin. Her mother had taken her into the gardens and walked with her for hours. The two walked endlessly through the ivy and wisteria, eventually making their way into the less traveled pathways. Rhaenyra told her that she was betrothed and from that day forward she took her duties as a wife very seriously.

Until the day Rhaenyra and Laenor left for Dragonstone, she was counseled by the Queen, her grandmother and soon-to-be mother in law. Alicent had taken to the girl like her own daughter. She instilled a deep sense of duty and honor into her moral code, encouraging her to age with grace and the makings of a royal. The young girl enjoyed her time with both her mother and grandmother, but especially the moments she spent with her future husband.

Deep in her heart, she knew the days of married bliss were mere memories she had built with rose-colored glasses. She wondered if they were ever truly happy together.

On the third day, she emerged from her chambers clad in a gown of black and gold. Thick brocade fabric formed soft pleats that barely grazed the ground beneath her feet as she walked. A necklace of gold and sapphire laid delicately against her collarbone. She was tired of playing the part of a broken woman. Whether she liked it or not, she was the first born daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon. Laying down in defeat was not an option on the table.

Again, the prince regent called for his lady wife. Again, she did not heed his request, instead making her way through the halls of Dragonstone where she would eventually find herself standing at the edge of the cranberry bog where small pink flowers swirled together like a sunset sea. Come autumn they would be red fruits, ready to flavor the season.

“You have been avoiding me.”

The voice jostled her from her thoughts.

There, no more than ten feet back, stood her husband. He wore his usual attire, blackened leather with sleeves that came to his wrists. Platinum blonde hair was less tame than usual, wild strands framing his face in a delicate yet dangerous way. The sun glistened against his sapphire eye, matching the way it did against her necklace.

A simple nod in agreement was all she gave. It was easier to turn her back to him and let the past consume her.

“My,” he stopped himself. “I want to talk.”

“Then talk. Nobody is stopping you.”

His body pressed into hers in an intimate way it had not in ages. Long steps drew him near and the warmth of his waist was pressed into her side as he found his footing in the grass. His arms were latched behind his back with one hand cradling his other’s fingers.

“I remember the first time we properly met as betrothed children. You were a child of eight and I, nine. My mother had just denied a proposed betrothal between Helaena and Jacaerys.

My mother proposed a union between us. We were the leftover children, naturally we suited one another. You had just returned from the godswood and we were made to dine together.” The smallest smile tugged at his lips. “You hated every minute of it.”

“As did you.”

“I knew my duty was to you, to be a good husband for you, but I did not know you. Then you moved here. I had tried writing to you on multiple occasions, but the words never came to me naturally. I knew what to write, but without emotion it felt disingenuous. I wanted to be genuine.

However, at nine, I cared little for marriage. I wanted to be stronger, a better swordsman. I wanted a dragon, a true symbol of Targaryen power.

When Laena passed and we met again in Pentos, you were a different person. A year older and entirely different. You were the only one in your family to stand by my side when I was injured. I remember the way you screamed at your brother, telling him it was over and that violence was not the way. The sound of your screaming still rings in my ears as I tried to stop the bleeding. I can still feel your trembling hands as you tore the hems of your dress to give me the fabric. I can see the way your brothers seethed at the sight of it all.”

A breeze brought off the cliff side rustled the ruching of her gown. It had been many years since she thought back to that day. As a child of nine she was far beyond her years of maturity. Some would tell her she was the perfect bride for her husband-to-be. Calm in temper, she would tame the other who was constantly on edge.

“They loathed me for years afterward. My step sisters never quite forgave me.”

“And yet, you remain by my side.”

She laughed bitterly, tucking her chin to her chest as she angled her head away from him. “And yet, I do.”

Hesitancy was not a trait carried by the prince regent. In fact, there had rarely if ever been a time in which he had not displayed a self-assured attitude in every aspect of his life. But in that moment, with an outstretched arm, he hesitantly placed his ungloved hand to the small of her back.

A burst of uncomfortable tension crawled beneath her gown, spreading to her sides and shoulders in a crushing wave. She stiffened, eyes cast downward to the grass. It was only when his fingers, long and nimble, began to rub small circles of familiar softness. He had often done this since their union. Especially so when in the unforgiving presence of her step father and mother who grew to regret agreeing to wed the two.

“Do you regret it?” Aemond asked, his focus now shifted to the side of his wife’s face. He could see the turmoil in her creased brow in the way her eyes squinted and lip upturned. “For even a moment?”

The answer came with a surge of relief and confusion.

“No.”

How could she not regret it, he wondered. For all that he had put her through: the separation from her family, the loss of those closest to her, the grief of miscarriage, and the pain of intense heartbreak stemming from his adultery. He had stolen the comfortable life she lived from her and crumpled it beneath his shoe the moment she was promised to him.

A part of him wanted to shake her as he did a week prior. He wanted to scream and demand a reasonable answer as to why she does not resent the relationship. Every fiber of his being was set aflame with confusion.

“No?” He repeated. The hand placed on her side grasped at her waist to turn her body in his hold. Only when the tip of his finger coaxed her chin from her chest did she meet his gaze.

Wetness pooled at the rims of her eyes, clawing through her lower lashes to stream down her sunken cheeks. She was not one to cry. Even after the loss of her first, she did not publically shed a tear. “No.”

Aemond felt his betrayal, then.

The feeling bubbled in his stomach, churching uncomfortably in a wild whirlpool of emotion. It threatened to come up his throat, leaving long gashes of red hatred in his body. Each tear she shed was like a hole burst in his chest. The iridescent droplets were reminders of his sacred vow broken.

He choked on his response, leaving her an open stage to speak.

“Please, do not choose her over me. I have lost all, I cannot lose you too.”

Whatever was left of his heart shattered as he found his eye glassy, blurring with the same salted tears as hers.

He suddenly pulled her close, his hand smoothing down the back of her head to bring her to his chest. Horrible sobs racked through her body causing her shoulders to quake as his hands desperately tried to soothe her. “Never, my love.”

~*~

“I sent the whore away.” Aemond walked with purpose, coming to stand before his wife who was seated at a table with a steaming cup of tea. His fingers were latched behind his back.

It was two days until his battle was set to take place.

A slight nod was given, gradually turning into a full one as his wife placed her cup down onto the table. “That’s… good. That is good.”

Bile still rose in her throat every time she thought of the woman. Older and more mature than she, Alys Rivers was her name. A common bedwhore from Harrenhal was her occupation and she bore no name of any relevance as she was a bastard. What had been so enticing about her that he would break his sacred vow?

“Your happiness in the situation is lost on me.” The seat across from her was filled with Aemond’s presence as he quickly filled the empty space.

“No.” She interjected. “I am very happy. Truly.”

The storm of emotion in her features said otherwise.

“But something still ails you.”

She got lost in the plumes of steam that rose from her cup, floating into the stagnant air as if being pulled up by strings. “It is nothing. A simple insecurity, not a problem to breathe life into any longer.”

“It is my infidelity, is it not?”

Looking like a child who had been caught out of bed, she folded her hands in her lap and stared at her husband.

“She is a witch.” Aemond stated as if it were a common thing. “She has visions; she sees things in the clouds and flames. I cannot explain it. She used potions to cause my eye to wander.” Holding his wife’s gaze, he slumped his shoulders and let his back arch to rest his forearms on his thighs. “I should have been stronger. I should have seen through that witch-” he grew angrier but she was not sure if it was in truth, “that whore’s facade. I should not have let myself cause you, my beautiful wife, any pain.”

His head slipped into his palms, forehead cradled and fingers tangled in his platinum locks.

“How am I to know your words hold truth?” She watched as Aemond shook his head.

“It was a lapse in my rational judgment. I will always return to you, my love.” In a low strained tone he breathed his words. “She means nothing to me.” But his unwillingness to use her name, Alys, made her doubt his statement.

It did not take long for his wife to thrust herself from her seated position and move to kneel at his side. Her dress collected dust as she lowered herself to peer beneath the curtain of hair that blocked his face.

“She is not our problem now.” Assuring words were what his wife needed to hear, not him. But she could not resist the way he pulled at her heartstrings. “We will move forward together. The war will end and we can find peace in our lives. I am still young, we will find a way to bring healthy children into our lives.”

Conflict, she found, was not a flattering color to bathe in. There was nary a time that the Targaryen dynasty did not partake in one form of insanity or another. It was written in their fates to continually live in turmoil. Even those that tried to keep peace sprouted seeds of distress in their descendants or amongst their people.

Aemond and the princess were no exceptions.

They had wed hastily but were able to get through the evening without a duel or death. Viserys II’s health was failing him. Though able to walk still, he struggled in his everyday life. The princess was sent from Dragonstone to Kings Landing where she had a quick ceremony that her direct family did not attend. This attributed to her feelings for her husband. She found comfort in his presence. He was there when others were not.

Her life felt as if it were out of her control. From the moment she was brought into her cruel world others were planning her future and she was locked in her gilded cage. With Aemond, she felt like she was in control. Though the truth in that could be debatable.

They laid together that night for the first time in many and possibly the last. Memories of brighter times had been shared as they basked in the afterglow, lit by only the moon. He had more scars than she remembered. While still lean and pale, cuts of bright pink and burnt auburn were spliced across his torso. Distinct claw marks were marred into his shoulder blades, reminders of his infidelity.

It was almost as if they could talk to her as she counted them in the moonlight. Aemond had turned in his sleep, his back to her. Displayed like an open canvas, she couldn’t help but find her mind shrouded by hurt and anger again as the name burst into her ears. Alys Rivers, the whore, the bedmate, the bastard, and the woman who caught her husband’s wandering eye. She cringed as she tried to picture her. Surely she at least had wrinkles. There had to be a flaw to her appearance. As hard as the princess tried, she could only picture a woman of beauty.

Lost in her insecurities, she had not noticed that Aemond had turned over and now studied his wife’s face as it twisted and contorted. He knew what was troubling her. Instead of lying, telling her that Alys was a horrid woman, he said nothing and took her into his arms. Crushing her in his embrace, he held her like it would be the last time he could. He memorized her shape, her smell, her warmth and her love. His eyes closed and he rested his chin atop her head.

“I love you.” He whispered into the night, unsure if she heard him or not as her chest rose and fell like a metronome keeping a beat. “I love you.” He repeated, holding her tight as he willed himself to sleep knowing what was to come the next day.

~~~*~~~

“Stay.”

Her hand caught his as he made his way toward Vhaegar, dressed in his charcoal armor. The helm was down, concealing his face within.

“Aemond, please.”

The full grasp on his wrist halted him in his tracks. The beast let out a low grumble, growing impatient as its rider stood motionless on the cliff side. A gentle breeze blew in, bringing with it salted air that watered her tongue.

“I will return.” Assurance in the face of death was just words on the breeze, taken far away before they could drop like seedlings and plant themselves in her mind.

“Whole and alive with a beating heart or in memory?”

His hand, though covered in a thick leather glove, came to rest upon her cheek. The other pulled the visor of his shining helm up to reveal his contrasting eyes. “Do you doubt my abilities, my love?”

“Not for one moment.”

His palm pressed against her cheek, lingering longer than he intended as she leaned into his touch. Lashes fanned across her skin, fluttering softly as her lips pressed into a fine line, holding back whatever emotion was within.

“I will return. I vowed to protect you, until my very last day. That day will not be today.” Though he could not press his lips to hers, he drew her in close, holding her firmly against him. “Wait by the ocean until the sun dips below the horizon. I will be here by your side the moment the world is cast into darkness.” He held her back, staring deeply into her eyes. “I promise, my love. I will return.”

She cried as he turned and mounted Vhaegar. Tears streamed from her reddened eyes as he waved her off with another proclamation of his return. Even the frightful blasts of warm summer air could not dissuade the constant river that bled onto her cheeks.

It was late when her sobs ceased and the whisper of prayer died on her lips. The protective light of the day had fled from the sky leaving her cast in darkness and broken promises. Her knees had formed deep grooves in the fine sand where they landed hours before. Fists full of earth could not move the clock backward. Aemond was lost to the wind.

Grief kept her going in the deep midnight hours as she gazed into the distance where Westeros lied. Every speck in the sky had her heart beating faster than before. Each turned out to be nothing. It was only when the morning came and the world continued forward that she moved from her spot. The tide had brought water in around her thighs, soaking her dress through.

She ached like nothing else in the following days. It was as if she could feel every wound her husband had endured. Her dreams were haunted all the same. Blue eyes stared at her through the misty haze that rolled in. Aemond filled her thoughts. At night, she could see him in the darkness looming in the corner of her room.

Word of his death eventually made it to Dragonstone. Mention of his Alys occupying Harrenhal was floated by the guards. How he had brought her to the battle, kissed her passionately, and died in the skies only posed as daggers thrust into her heart.

It wasn’t until years later that Aemond returned to Dragonstone, to his wife. Though, she did not greet him on the beach. She met him in the crypts, sealed away in stone tombs left to collect dust.

She had died of a chill in 133 AC, taking her final breaths on that same sandy beach.

Although not by his doings, he had kept his promise. Brought back in a box of black and red sealed tight with dark metal, Aemond was laid to rest at his wife’s side.

I will return.

[divortion]

decided to transcribe some of the last words from claudia's notebook

Young girl: "Please, Please don't, please stop!" Man in the last row at the Son of the Sheik Picture Show: "You said you had cigarettes" School teacher: "Guard your heart" GRUMPY waiter taking out trash: "What a creep you are. Don't" Kissing couple under the bridge - Man: "Get a load of this kid" / Woman: "This can't be real, but you're just a child. No please" Oyster shucker on Main Street: "Little lady miss - you devil!" YOUNG MAN AT TRAIN STATION: "WHAT ARE" Musicians at cellar restaruant - Cello: "Is this a joke? You can't Oh god it can't be!" Violin: "It's a devil holy lord." Swan in the lake: (Hard to read. Terrible something... terrible taste?) [Unseen names]: "Sweet lord almighty", "Please I beg you" "Get your hands off-" "Dear God how" Woman in powder room: "Stop what are you. Child stop this instant" French man: "Mademoiselle arrete", "Porquoi tu fais ça moi!" Mother and daughter in town (near Jackson unintelligible) - Girl: "Mama my ice cream no why", Mother: "Good heavens not my child please!" Man on ???: "Keep your distance girl I know what you are I've seen you at night" Fisherman at Algiers Point: "Oh god what in heavens!" FLOWER STAND SELLER: "Dear we're closed now. You CAN'T WAIT YOU CAN'T BE. NO!" Sickly woman in shawl: "God will seek revenge on the evils in this world you devil." (Annotation from Claudia: "I laughed!")

[throwaway-yandere]

ERROR 410: GONE (Yandere Faceless!Kamisato Ayato/Reader)

A/n: thank you for the 5 dollar tip, "anonymous"! I asked them for what they want in exchange and they asked for a fac█le██ ayato fic... Alright then... You did ask for it...

Unreliable synopsis: Your new coworker doesn't seem to be from around here...

It was a cramped night at the bus stop. Except for the elderly, many people had their phones out since it was nearly midnight and nobody had the stamina to engage in conversation. You recently got promoted as a district manager for an international company, and oh, the work is just too exhausting to drone about. However, in this station, it didn't matter if you were an energetic student or an employee. The bus is abnormally later than their usual "lateness", and such a redundant statement elucidates just how shoddy their schedule is. Everyone was simultaneously stressed and drained and each of their war faces screamed that they would selfishly fight for the seat ride home.

All except for one man.

From the moment he arrived, you were peering at him. He had a similar appearance to the character you were "maining" in the video game you were enamored with for approximately two years. Though you seriously doubt he was in cosplay, he and that favorite of yours look eerily identical. His long-sleeved black coat and simple white turtleneck blend in with modern fashion fairly, save for his elaborate light blue hair, which was organically unkempt and not at all synthetic. His keen eyes led you to believe that he is from an Eastern lineage, most likely Japanese, but you didn't want to make any unfounded assumptions. Because it's simply impossible for someone to cosplay at this time, you were left silently marveling at the incredible coincidence.

He muttered something to himself, but you did not hear it.

“11:56 PM.”

You had a smidgen of knowledge regarding the bus schedule enough to give yourself a pep talk in the hopes that it would motivate you to give him directions. But no amount of psyching yourself up could have prepared you for when another person walked up to him. She asked the question you had been meaning to ask for the past three minutes, assuming she was a college student. He grinned at the worried girl. 

He was stunningly gorgeous when he smiled.

Wholly unfair how he exudes an aura of elegance whilst wearing normal clothes while you look like a sloppy burrito wrapped by a beige shawl this dead of night.

“Oh, no, no. I am not at all lost. I’m simply looking for someone.”

Everyone was fairly sure that person would never arrive, but he stayed roving around the room, pacing back and forth as if the person he was looking for will arrive the next minute. Whoever it was, you were starting to get angry on his behalf. Who would leave such an attractive man waiting? It was improper. 

But to be honest, you have already admitted to yourself that your life is quite dull— so you’re aware that this nonsensical drama you had over this imaginary person stemmed from boredom.

Out of the blue, he fixed his gaze on you.

The stranger’s eyes softened. The simmering panic in his expression vanished in an instant the moment he saw your face, and his mouth gaped open for a short while before he sauntered forward, ignoring the student who awkwardly shuffled back to her waiting spot.

You immediately felt small, upright, and astoundingly nervous. Not ready to be accosted by anyone at all.

“There you are…” He gave you that smile again. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Mx. (Y/n).”

You scanned the area before jabbing your finger at your chest. He nodded as if you were being ridiculous to consider that it may be someone else.

Ah, so the lookalike was waiting for you. 

You were mentally fighting yourself.

“I’m ███████ █████,” he said in a gentle tone— not at all reflecting the stressed out look he sported a moment before. “— The new product manager. I’m an incredibly recent hire, so please do not feel bad for not recognizing my face.”

That wasn’t the reason why your eyebrows were knitted, though. It’s because you DO recognize his face, but you doubt he’d take you for a reasonable person should you start pointing out his physical similarities with a fictional character.

███████ █████, huh? His full name is a bit average-sounding. Sounds like something you may have read on an early 2000s Weaboo forum on "What would your Japanese name be?" which lists down dates, birth months, and the first letter of a person's first name. However, it wasn’t entirely unbelievable— you just chalked him up as an unfortunate kid whose parents were eager to give their son the name "John Doe" when given the chance.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mister █████.”

“P-Please,” he shook his head. “Let’s drop the formalities. We shall work alongside together officially tomorrow. I would like for us to talk more casually if you would not mind.”

His vocabulary was painfully filled with constrictive pleasantries for someone who seemed to be eager to have a casually cordial relationship with you. Since a product manager and a district manager have roughly equal levels of authority in your company, his desire for friendship isn't too shocking.

Yet, you can’t help but stare… It’s still so strange how he also has a mole right underneath his lip.

He looks just like Kamisato Ayato from Genshin Impact, but not for long.

At first, you envied █████’s youthful glow and wanted it for yourself, but upon learning that he will replace Mister Blaiddyd, you mentally prayed that he wouldn’t lose his mind from stress like his predecessor. That’s how stressful being a product manager is. Give him two months and he’d probably start ruining his coiffed hair during crunch times.

“Understood,” your eyes darted back to the bus station, which remained regrettably devoid of any vehicle. You were starting to consider taking a taxi to avoid this awkward conversation but there’s not a single one in sight. “Since you’ve mentioned that you were trying to find me, might I ask why that is, exactly?”

“Ah, yes,” he instinctively adjusted his collar. His sharp and sophisticated face never averted away from you. “You see— Miss Goneril had informed me that I should approach you if I had any concerns about work.”

Ahh… Hilda…

His future plight still doesn’t change how annoying this situation is. Can’t believe you’re already assigned to helping a newbie out as soon as you got your promotion. She’s planning to milk your kindness dry this month, isn’t she? Despite being your best work friend, Hilda doesn’t have to be unkind to someone to exploit them. But you suppose you wouldn’t mind too much, given how he doesn’t look half-bad. Call it vain, call it a “coping mechanism”, but there wouldn’t be any shame on your end to teach a new attractive coworker the ropes of your job. 

You'll treat him nicely. As the good Samaritan you are, maybe you'll also ask him to give up while he's ahead for good measure.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind helping you out—”

“I'm most grateful!”

“—but it is VERY late.”

You took a quick look at your phone. 11:53 PM—and there were three messages from Miss Goneril confirming that █████ is the new hire. Since Hilda never filtered her remarks when it came to... aesthetically pleasing people, you instantly pocketed your phone. It was a grave oversight on your end that Hilda found out earlier that you weren't paying attention to her babbling earlier. You wouldn't get such a long message on how "hot" █████'s mole was if you were a better pretender. Her thirst was kind of unsettling.

Ah, whatever. You’ll just delete it later.

You held back a yawn, “where’s your stop?”

“███ ███████.”

“Ah, that’s where I drop off too.”

Additionally, it is the bus's final stop, so you would have to spend a lot more time with him. Great. You hoped he wouldn't try to strike up a conversation with some small talk.

He placed his hand on his chin. Now that he’s up close, you realized just how long his sleeves were. The silhouette nearly reminded you of Kamisato Ayato once more. █████ nodded with a half-teasing smile.

“Oh, not to worry, I know.”

Hilda must have told him right away. You secretly hoped that the main reason she paired you two up was because of your shared destination so you could applaud her wise decision-making skills, but you knew better. Once more, Hilda is attempting to match you with someone.

You cleared your throat, “well then, you better prepare yourself with some sleepless nights because the buses around here don’t come around plenty. You’d have to stand most of the time—”

He muttered something again, “three minutes left.”

“Hmm?”

“Ah, no, it’s nothing. I’ve recently moved here so please do continue explaining.”

“… Right.” You sighed, “do you live in ██████████?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’d go in opposite directions. I live in █████ so this is the only bus we share.”

“Unfortunately.”

That almost made you snort. Unfortunately? It's not at all unfortunate, though. During these hours, you rarely feel socially motivated to communicate, and you just know deep down that once he starts working, you'll find a method to board buses separately from him.

“If it’s alright for me to quickly digress— may I trouble you with something, (Y/n)?”

“Sure.”

“May I take a picture with you?” █████ asked. “I want to upload it in my Instagram Story to show my friends and family that I’m faring well. They’ve been insistent that I should make friends on my first day of work— even when based on technicalities, this doesn’t qualify as my first day.”

He must be the eldest and the breadwinner of the ████████ family. That's admirable. Working with someone like him is not a problem for you. They constantly know how to get the job done.

“I don’t mind,” you said, slightly nervous. “But can you not add any weird stuff?”

“Weird stuff?”

“Like, maybe a “my new coworker is ugly” or something like that.”

“W-What?!” █████ jolted. “I would never do such a thing! Especially towards you, my bel—”

“R-Relax, that was just a joke.” Not really. “Is it okay if I don’t take my face mask off?”

“… Of course, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Great.”

█████ scooted closer to you, placing his phone up and angling it in the direction that mostly showed your face. It’s as if he didn’t want his face to be seen, but with a handsome face like that? You’re highly doubtful that is the case. His hands were trembling. The poor man must’ve been incredibly sleep deprived and running on coffee like you.

Unwittingly, you placed your hand above his to steady his phone and you heard him gasp softly. You quickly withdrew your hand away as though you touched a hot kettle when its anything but warm.

His hands were cold, it almost didn’t feel human.

“Oh— sorry!” You shrugged, cringing. “I didn’t mean to—”

“N-No, it’s fine!” He chuckled nervously. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I have been told that I am terrible at using a Kamera.”

Why does he say “camera” with a hard “K”? You’ve never heard anyone else pronounce it in that way. Possibly a local accent. It was tempting to ask where he’s from but perhaps that topic would be better brought up some other time. Asking that question might just make him miss his family more, and his parents might be wide-awake right now anticipating any form of reassurance that their child is doing fine.

“Then allow me to take the pic for us.”

He smiled eagerly, “I would greatly appreciate that.”

█████ handed you his phone. You set it up at the same angle he had originally intended, although this time his phone's screen displayed both your faces more clearly. Although you made an effort to contain your emotions, you couldn't help but be overwhelmed by how much he resembles Kamisato Ayato. You mentally readied yourself for the possibility that you would feel his breath on your neck, but you didn't feel him breathe. That doesn’t make you feel untouched, however, since he rested his hand on your shoulder to pull you close enough for the picture.

Is he holding his breath?

“Stay still,” he commanded.

You clenched your fist, trying hard NOT to think about how close his voice is to Chris Hackney’s.

After you pressed the shutter button at least three times, you opened the pictures you’ve taken.

He really does have a beautiful smile.

“Is there something wrong with my face…?”

“Hmm? N-No,” you sputtered out. “I just thought it was a good pic.”

“I’m glad,” he laughed heartily. “I’m still getting used to this face after all.”

… Huh.

Maybe you lack sleep, but the photos remind you of those AI-generated photos on social media— the stolen ones that artists rightfully plead credit for. Maybe you just find him excessively gorgeous because he reminded you of a fictional character you were familiar with, but his appearance somehow seems otherworldly…

“11:55, one minute left.” He muttered again as he crooned above your neck, gazing at his phone.

“For what?”

█████ laughed heartily. 

“For the bus, of course!”

You raised an eyebrow. The station was incredibly empty. You genuinely can’t tell who would lie to him about that.

“Sorry, █████, I don’t know who told you that but there’s genuinely no pattern as to when the bus arrives here. That’s fake news—”

“██████████!!! ██████████!!!”

You immediately snap your neck at the sound of the bus conductor.

“H-Huh?” Your eyes widened.

█████ wore a smug smile on his face as he watched you stare at his phone in disbelief. He was correct; the time was 11:56 pm. But before he had time to gloat and act “mysterious”, you snatched his cold hand and sprinted for the seats— apologizing to the college student you bumped into along the way.

No way in hell you’re going to wait for the next bus.

“We need to go! Now!!!”

You woke up the next day feeling more tired than the previous morning.

Tuesday means that you will inevitably have to work today. You woke up before your alarm, but instead of being a responsible adult and opening up a parcel of bread with hot coffee on the side, you rolled on your bed to whisk your charged phone from the nightstand. You received notifications from several social media apps and a work email from Mister Gautier, but you'd prefer not to startle yourself by hearing one of your subordinate's absurd justifications for being absent. Instead, you launched the Instagram app that you reluctantly installed because of Hilda.

The picture you took together with █████ is still up on his Story.

The image is just as you recall it. You might even say that your opinion of his appearance significantly increased after a good night's sleep. How did you manage to converse with your new coworker last night without turning into a stammering wreck when he is THIS drop-dead gorgeous? You're confident the picture wasn't edited in any way. After all, you saw him upload it directly to his phone's social media account because you wanted to make sure he wouldn't add any odd captions. Congrats to █████ for being incredibly photogenic. He genuinely looks like an AI-generated person with how flawless he appeared. You would have told Hilda straight away that whatever she was swooning over had to be some kind of catfish if you hadn't met him—

You squinted.

…

“Wait a second.”

You looked closely at his hand which rested on top of your shoulder.

“… Are those six fingers?”

That can’t be right.

Sure, he does look like an AI-generated person in the flesh but six fingers? Absurd. It’s probably due to the horrible lighting.

You can’t zoom in on a story, so you took a screenshot but—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“Shit.”

You had no time to spare. Hastily, you rolled out, tossed your phone on the bed, and staggered to the restroom. You had to go as soon as possible since you have a meeting this morning. At this rate, soldiers who lived ration by ration likely had a healthier diet than you– but your boss is the embodiment of evil.

You’ll just have to look at the image later.

“Bad morning?”

“Oh, nice to see you here, █████.”

█████ grinned, pointing at the chair beside you, “would you mind if I sit?”

You smiled politely, “I don’t own this place, you know?”

He chuckled, “fair enough.”

It's 4:07 PM. Even though one of your team members arrived later than expected, you eventually built momentum and finished the presentation on a high note. Working with Mr. Gautier is such a headache. Thankfully, district managers have to go out in the field, so before you know it, you've excused yourself to eat lunch at your preferred café. The barely-melted coffee powder you had at home wasn't going to help you get through the day like your favorite cup here. Your cup was no longer a "morning joe", but better late than never.

█████ sank on the cafe’s chair, inhaling the aroma of the rich coffee you ordered. You assumed yet again that it was Miss Goneril’s atrocious wingman skills that led him to this place. His shoulders relaxed a bit afterward as he eyed your cup.

“I do wonder what real coffee tastes like…” █████ mumbled.

You'd give it to him, but you're stressed out—probably more so than he is, given that your supervisor basically holds his hand around the office like a newborn child. The gravity of the problems you carry as a District Manager is nothing to laugh at, either. It’s just a matter of getting used to it.

“Looking already stressed on your official first day, hmm?” You teased before you sipped your cup, pretending you don’t feel his jealous eyes. “Is being a Project Manager not what you had expected?”

█████ shook his head, scoffing with a lopsided grin.

“Oh no, I used to have bigger workloads. I’m only behaving this way since I’m not used to moving this face often.”

This face, huh? What a unique yet expected phrasing. After all, he is so attractive that it wouldn't surprise you if he thought of his face as a separate entity that must be maintained. █████ must be the type of person who cares an awful lot for skin care and self-love. Good for him, good for him.

“Never worked in retail before?” You tilted your head. “Never practiced your customer service smile?”

“In a way, yes,” he chuckled. “I am more accustomed to working behind the scenes since my younger sister takes most of the spotlight in the commi— our family business.”

█████ sure laughs a lot.

“Ah, is she something of an entertainer?” You teased. Knowing a thing or two about other people’s younger siblings, you anticipated some messy anecdotes which served to amplify your opinions on how chaotic having siblings is.

“No. On the contrary, she’s incredibly reserved and poised.”

“Then I bet there’s just something charismatic about her— is she the artistic type?”

“She is. Our family’s beloved princess is quite skilled in the art of dancing and calligraphy. You ought to watch her perform someday.”

You made an effort not to grin foolishly as humiliating thoughts ran rampant inside your head. His sister sounds like Ayaka already. How surreal would it be if you opened up your phone and did your Daily Commissions in front of him—

Oh, right! Your phone— that screenshot!

You ferreted your phone out of your bag, side-eyeing him each time you failed to find it inside its mini-pockets. █████ kept smiling as you busied yourself in hopes you’d locate your phone sooner. To fill in the dead air (and to avoid getting uncomfortable knowing that a man was keeping a close eye on you), you got right onto the meat of the subject by asking questions.

“Hey— I know this is weird, but can I see your hands?”

█████ didn’t respond for a while, lost in a trance before you lightly waved at his face. His soft gaze broke as he blinked fast multiple times.

“My… hands? Alright.”

He pulled his long sleeves— which iconically trailed longer than any other coat in the company— to smoothly show off his slender fingers. █████ glanced at his wristwatch in the process. 4:09 PM. Just one minute more.

Meanwhile, you flinched. He clearly had five fingers in each hand. The normal amount. You didn’t know what exactly you were expecting.

“Hah, I’m definitely sleep deprived,” you spoke humorously. “When I checked our picture this morning I swear I saw six fingers.”

He didn’t laugh. Slowly, he closed his eyes, unamused.

“You’re wrong.” 

█████’s voice dipped low.

You never realized how warm his servile gazes were until he starts looking at you with a cold glare.

You felt your spine tremble as you took note of how he crossed his arms. What’s with this sudden shift in atmosphere? Shouldn’t he laugh at how strange your question was instead?

Why did he sound so offended?

Due to the nature of his tone, you sputtered out an excuse to bring back the light conversation you had before, “must’ve been because its dark— here hold on I took a screenshot of it.”

You opened your gallery, not bothering to scroll deep into it since it should be a recent photo. Yet, you paused, and frantically swiped up and down. You expected that screenshot to be the first image that greets you upon opening the app, but you only saw an entirely black PNG file. Why on earth did that screenshot turn void? You tried searching but you only found recent scans from the last week’s meetings and some “candid” selfies Hilda most likely snapped for herself. 

This makes no sense whatsoever! You swore you took the screenshot earlier and there was no notification that it failed to save it.

“█████” smirked.

11:56 PM M: (Y/n) waits at the bus station.

02:33 AM T: (Y/n) arrives home.

8:01 AM T: (Y/n) has a meeting.

4:10 PM T: (Y/n) looks at their phone at Cafe █████.

4:10 PM. GONE.

You’re so adorable when you have your phone close to your face with your eyebrows knitted like that… Oh, his dear beloved, you nearly got him…

It’s such a shame that he knows your phone like the back of his palm.

“Is something the matter, (Y/n)?”

Kamisato Ayato chuckled behind his sleeve.

You wouldn’t meet his eye, “I was pretty certain I took a screenshot of it this morning, this is so strange…”

Quickly, you opened Instagram to check “█████”’s Story, but the image was missing as well. Since Stories only expire after 24 hours, and it has only been a little over half that time since it was posted, it shouldn't have disappeared. Your eyes remained glued to your phone, unbeknownst to the sinister smile your coworker wore amidst your defeated state.

“Say, did you remove your Stor—”

“Here.”

“█████” slid his phone onto the table.

You picked it up. It’s the picture you two had at the station. You zoomed in on his hand.

Five fingers.

“… Yeah, it’s definitely five,” you whimpered almost inaudibly. “Here I thought I could show you something funny. Damn. I’m really sleep-deprived.”

“I know, you sleep at around 2:30 after all.”

“Yeah—”

You took a breath and then shook your head. There is no need to be skeptical about that statement; it's simple arithmetic. He reportedly knows a lot about accounting, thus he most likely estimated the length of your ride home as if it were a no-brainer. You gave him a wary smile. He's a lot more calculating than you first thought; he even picked up that you were looking for the photo you took the night before without your having to tell him.

Doing what needed to be done without being asked…

“█████” swiftly took his phone back.

“Now then, would you care to enlighten me as to what tastes good on this cafe’s menu?”

You smiled.

Yeah. You think you’ll get along with the new Project Manager just fine.

“Why, it’ll be my pleasure! First off, the frappe here is not that bad…”

[nemo-in-wonderland]

River Lullaby

"Hush now, my baby Be still love, don't cry Sleep like you're rocked by the stream

Sleep and remember my lullaby and I'll be with you when you dream

Drift on a river that flows through my arms Drift as I'm singing to you I see you smiling so peaceful and calm and holding you I'm smiling too

Here in my arms, safe from all harm Holding you I'm smiling too"

"River Lullaby" - The Prince of Egypt

HELLO HELLO.

So, yesterday I was all busy playing playing Act 3, and as you know, while in Rivington, you can meet Yenna and if you are kind to her, she would sneak in your camp.

Well, while talking with her, she asked if she could stay at camp with us, and Halsin intervened, saying that the laughter of children would be more than welcome.

WOOF. SIR.

PLEASE.

I STILL REMEMBERED SO WELL YOUR EPILOGUE IN MY FIRST PLAYTHROUGH, AND HOW YOU HAD A WHOLE ACOLADE OF WARDS THAT YOU HAVE ADOPTED.

INSTANT BABY FEVER.

So my brain started to itch TREMENDOUSLY and I needed to draw Papa Halsin, because imma be honest, I was thinking with my ovaries ngl.

So, I scavanged among all the pictures I have of when Baby Nemo was a newborn and was being held by my husband AND BOOM.

This is the result (also, I just took the chance of try my hand at rendering eheheh!)

Halsin holding his adored spiderling baby Asra, who is sleeping serenely in her papa's arms, while wrapped in the only thing she had of her mother: a satin shawl of Zakharan origin, imbued with powerful Nocturnal Magic that would protect the little baby from the scorching sun. .

I like to imagine that baby Asra sleeps more soundly when close to water sources, like streams and babbling brookes, and Halsin would always bring her there so that her naps are fully restful (he would be the most considerate of dads, I DO NOT ACCEPT ANY CONTRADICTIONS).

AND, BECAUSE I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF, YESTERDAY NIGHT I FOUND MYSELF IN NEED OF SKETCHING ADULT ASRA REALLY QUICK JUST TO SEE HOW SHE WOULD LOOK

MY DARLING ASRA SILVERBOUGH.

A fierce quick-tempered Druid of The Circle of Dreams, raised by Papa Halsin to love Nature and protect the equilibrium of the world around them! I like to imagine that she has her father's kind eyes and his great kindness.

WELL.

I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE THIS.

--Nemo

[gothiccharmschool]

I have a 16 almost 17 year old who wants to start dressing goth/punk, and I'm all for it, I just don't...know...how...to help? I'm not a fashion person, my fashion is funny tee shirts and jeans, and I want to help but I don't know HOW. Do you have sort of a ...starter list of shops or types of clothes or anything? TL;dr -- tee shirt Mom needs help pls

Firstly, you are an AWESOME mom.

Ask your kid what style of goth they're interested in; ask them for images, links, anything. Goth/punk fashion is a vast umbrella for all sorts of different things. No matter what they show you, remember that goth/punk fashion doesn't have to be from "subculture" stores - avoid places like Killstar, Dolls Kill (ESPECIALLY AVOID THEM), Shein, etc. A lot of the basics are things you can find at any big-box mainstream store (or Amazon); for speciality items, shops like Foxblood, Lively Ghosts, and Die With Your Boots On are great. And don't forget resale sites! eBay, Poshmark, Depop, etc. However, some recommendations for goth/punk basics:

Oversized black shirts - tshirts, button ups, tunics, whatever. All of these can be customized by cutting off collars, sleeves, adding slashes, adding safety pins, adding lace or ribbons ... you get the idea.

Black leggings.

A black duster. Lace, satin, velvet, cotton, rayon, whatever. You can find some amazing ones by searching for "black beach cover up" on Amazon.

Fishnet tights - cut off the feet, cut out the crotch, and boom! Instant fishnet shirt to wear under other things.

Belts. No matter the gender presentation, wearing an interesting belt will make the outfit more striking. There are all sorts of faux corset belts out there (which are my personal preference), but layering a bunch of different belts is also a great look.

Boots! While there are a LOT of specialty gothy boots out there, black boots in a style like the original Dr. Marten's boots are a classic for a reason.

With those things as a foundation, your teen can start enhancing and customizing their look with accessories - necklaces, bracelets, pins, (this is where thrift stores and mainstream mall stores can be helpful - layer on all the necklaces you can find from Ross or TJ Maxx!), or shawls, scarves, plain blazers they customize, etc. Antimony and Lace has great project tutorials. This Gothic Charm School articles that may also be useful:

Gothy DIY Tools - the Essentials

[thetravelerwrites]

Margaret and Rourke (Part 1)

Rating: Mature  Relationships: Female Human/Male Orc  Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Lovers, Interspecies Romance, Orcs, Older Man/Younger Woman Content Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Physical Violence, Mentions of Torture, References to Sexual Assault Resulting in Pregnancy  Series:  Part 18 of Shelter Forest: The Towns  Words: 4,238

The reader's mother from Akjan's fic and her orc hubby get their own fic! After her daughter is taken away from her to be married to an orc chieftain she's never met, Margaret worries she'll never see her again. An orc arrives with news of her daughter and promises to help them reunite. Please leave feedback!

Your daughter had been gone for two months already. The count had ripped her from your arms in an instant on the day of her eighteenth birthday and gave you little to no time to say goodbye. You could only hope that she was well and being treated properly wherever she was, but you had no way to know for sure. You were anxious constantly, unaware if she was healthy or fed properly or even alive, but the idea that she could be somewhere out there, safe and happy, was the only comfort you found in your day to day life.

You were in a lot of pain at the moment. Moving around was difficult, and you struggled to complete your normal tasks. The madam had whipped you mercilessly just the day before for the unspeakable crime of passing in front of her when she was in a bad mood. She’d always been unkind to you, but since she discovered that your daughter, Catherine, was indeed the child of the Count, she had become the human embodiment of cruelty, turning the typical punishments she doled out onto you into nothing short of torture. You had no friends to turn to, since everyone in the manor knew you were the Countess’s favorite punching bag, so they would earn themselves no favors by being kind to you. Without Catherine there to lean on anymore, it was becoming harder to endure the beatings. 

As you were working, you saw David, a butler that had been hired recently. His face fell in sympathy as soon as he saw you, likely due to the bruising on your face and the split lip you were sporting. He was one of the few that treated you kindly. 

“Margaret, I’m glad I caught you,” He said. “I need your help.” 

“My help?” You asked. “I’ll do my best. What can I help with?” 

“The master has given me a task in town, but I don’t know my way around quite yet. Could you help me find the…” He consulted a piece of paper in his hand. “The Periwinkle Florist? The master is having guests later this evening and wants new flowers for the foyer and receiving room. Do you know where it is?” 

“Oh, yes, I do,” You told him. “It’s quite far, though. I’m surprised Master wants us to go so far out of the way for fresh flowers.”

“You know how the master is,” David said, rolling his eyes. “He wants what he wants.” 

Margaret laughed nervously. “Yes. Should we go now? It’ll take us at least an hour to get there and an hour back.” 

“That would be best, if we want to return before nightfall,” David agreed. “Are you ready to go as you are?” 

“Oh, I just need to grab my shawl and we can go,” You replied, taking a step toward the servants’ quarters. 

“Best be quick,” He said. “I’ll wait by the rear door.”

Nodding, you quick-stepped back to your tiny closet and grabbed your crocheted shawl, old and repaired many times. Something felt off about the room, like something was missing, but you figured it was just because Catherine was no longer there, so it felt terribly empty. 

You met David, who was carrying a large produce bag, by the back door that led out to the back of the estate, where there were the stables on one side and the tool sheds on the other. Between them was a road used exclusively by the servants into and out of the estate. The two of you set off down it, heading toward the middle ring of the city, where most of the shops were located. 

David was pleasant company, engaging you in light small talk to pass the time. He asked about your daughter, which you were only too happy to talk about, and told you about his wife and son, to whom he was sending all of his money. Hearing him fondly describe his son as a “tiny terror” made you smile. 

Finally, you arrived, but instead of entering the shop, David directed you to the back of the building. Confused, you followed him. Standing there was an orc whittling a small block of wood. He had long, single-braided dark hair and bright eyes, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, and a rucksack was set against the wall next to him. He was more slender than most orcs you’d ever seen, though he was tall and had tight, strappy muscles on his arms. He looked up as you approached, though he paused momentarily when he saw you, staring and slack-jawed. His eyebrows drew down into a small frown briefly, gone instantly, though you weren’t sure what that was about. The sight of a man you’d never met before, a physically powerful one at that, filled you with no small amount of terror. Being alone with two men who could easily overpower you made you even less comfortable.

“Who…?” You asked, turning to David.

“Don’t be afraid, Ms. Margaret. This is an associate of mine, Rourke,” David said.

“I… I don’t… What are we doing here, David?” You asked him, becoming very worried and starting to back away.

The orc named Rourke approached the two of you slowly as if approaching a skittish animal. 

“Are you Ms. Margaret? Miss Catherine’s mother?” He asked you, and your heart jumped into your throat. Forgetting your fear momentarily, you reached out desperately to clutch his arm.

“Is she alright? Is she safe? Where is she?”  

“She’s fine,” Rourke said reassuringly. “She’s married to the chief of the Willowshield Stronghold and being given the respect she’s due as the chieftain’s wife, so you have no reason to worry. We’re here to take you to her.” 

“Take me… I…” You hesitated and looked backward in the general direction of the Count’s manor, though it wasn’t in view. “We’re leaving now?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Rourke said. “We have to move quickly. If we don’t leave now, we may not have another chance to leave without the Count knowing. I’m sure he’ll realize it sooner rather than later, but we can get a head start if we leave now.” 

Anxiety welled up in you, present at all times, but vastly more intense at the moment than normal. You’d never been outside of the city before and had no idea what to expect from the outside world, and you didn’t know these men at all nor have any reason to believe or trust them, but… your baby girl was out there. If there was any chance of seeing her again, you would have to place your trust in strangers.

“I didn’t bring my things,” You replied weakly. 

David reached into the large bag he’d brought with him and wrestled out a second smaller bag, which you recognized as your own carpet bag, where you kept your meager treasures. You had bought it ages ago when you first tried to leave the manor, but finding out you were with child had stopped you. As bad as the manor was, even though you were paid pennies, you were still paid. You were fed. There was a bed underneath you and a roof overhead. And… you didn’t know where else you could have gone, anyway. You had been there all your life.

Now… you had that chance. The chance to run. 

Looking up at the two men, tears of both fear and hope filling your eyes, and you nodded. 

“Alright.” 

The three of you managed to get out of the city wall before nightfall, but were forced to camp outside mere feet from it. The two men had set up a small but charming tent for you to use, though they themselves would be sleeping outside. As they went about setting up the camp, building the fire, and cooking an evening meal, you sat there for the first time with nothing in your hands, unsure of what to do. 

“Can I help with something?” You asked them. 

Rourke smiled at you kindly. “No, Ms. Margaret, we’ve got it well in hand. You rest your bones for a little while. We’ll take care of this.” 

Sitting still felt unnatural, but you sat and watched them bustle around. As David stirred the pot over the fire, Rourke retrieved a jar from his bags and came close. You resisted the urge to back away. 

“May I sit with you, Ms. Margaret?” He asked. When you nodded, he sat on an upturned log next to you. “This is an ointment our stronghold’s medicine woman made. It’s magic on bruises. Would you mind if I applied a little? That black eye looks nasty.”

“Oh,” You said, looking down to hide behind your hair a little. “Yes, alright.” 

“Look up for me, Ms. Margaret,” He said gently. 

Carefully, he pulled your hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ears. You looked up, surprised by how close he was. This close, you could see he had the prettiest deep brown eyes, glittering like stars in the flickering firelight. They were the same color as clean tilled earth, or savory soup that nourishes the body and soul, or a warm blanket of wool that keeps out the winter chill. They reminded you of every comforting thing you’d ever experienced in your lifetime. You found yourself blushing as those thoughts filled your head, trying to put them out of mind.

“I’m surprised you have a grown child, Ms. Margaret,” Rourke said. You assumed he was attempting to make small talk. 

“Why’s that?” 

“You look far too young. How old are you, if I might ask?” 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

“Is it?” He asked, tilting his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. That’s not something orc women care about. In fact, orc women like to brag about their age. Each year they live is a year they beat death. As much as we cherish the idea of dying honorably in battle, we also really like bragging.” 

You laughed. “I’m thirty-three.” 

“So young!” He said. “You were still just a girl when Mis Catherine was born, eh?” 

Your smile faded. “Fifteen, yes.” 

He clicked his tongue. “Far too young. I’m amazed you were able to raise a babe when you were hardly more than a babe yourself.” 

“Why, how old are you?” 

“Fifty-two.” 

You pulled back to look at his face. “You're one to talk about not looking one’s age! You barely look out of your thirties! I can’t believe you’re almost twenty years older than I am.” 

He laughed. “Well, thank you for the compliment. My daughter complains that we look much more like siblings than parent and child, but I don’t know if that’s a compliment for me or self-deprecation for her.” 

“You have a daughter?” 

“Oh, yes,” Rourke said. “Just about the same age as Miss Catherine, in fact. She’s my pride and joy. Lost her mother when she was young, so it’s just been me and her ever since then.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“It’s alright, Ms. Margaret. It was long ago now.” 

“Still. You have my sincerest sympathies.” 

“I appreciate it. This is pretty bad, by the way,” Rourke said, wincing in sympathy as he applied the ointment to your eye. “What happened?” 

“Oh, I…” You looked down and away, careful not to tilt your head out of his reach. “I… it… just happened.” 

He paused momentarily before continuing, regarding you soberly. 

“Does it ‘just happen’ often?” He asked softly.

“I… I’m a poor worker,” You said quietly. “I’m too slow and lazy, so… I require more… correction than the others do.”

He spread a little of the ointment on the split in your lip, his touch feather soft, before he sat back and gazed at you.

“I can’t claim you know you or your work ethic, Ms. Margaret,” He said. “But no one deserves this kind of punishment. That I do know.” 

You looked down and didn’t respond. 

Rourke sighed. “Do you know how to ride a horse?” 

You looked back up at him. “No.” 

“I thought so. We brought two horses with us, two of the fastest in the stronghold, but it seems like you’ll have to ride with one of us. Is that alright?” 

You nodded. “That’s fine. I just want to get back to my baby.” 

“She’s a lucky lady, to have a mother like you,” Rourke said with a smile. “She’ll be happy to see you. It’ll be a nice surprise.” 

“She doesn’t know I’m coming?” You asked. 

Rourke shook his head, his long ears waggling. “The Count tried to make Chief Akjan believe that Miss Catherine was a legitimate daughter of his, but Chief Akjan had a feeling there was more to the story than he was told, so he had us do some investigating.” He motioned at David. “David realized the true story from listening to the manor’s gossip. After observing you and sending word back, Akjan sent me to retrieve David and see if you were willing to make the journey with us. Although…” He glanced at your face again and sighed. “Seeing how bad things are, I shouldn’t have delayed so long. I should have been here sooner. I apologize for that.” Rourke took a bowl from David and handed it to you. “Here. David’s not a great cook, but it’ll be better than twigs, certainly.” 

“I cook better than you, you lout!” David said indignantly.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure it’s fine.” 

Well, he hadn’t been lying: the meal was a little rough, basically just jerky boiled in water, but it was filling enough and made you feel warm inside. 

“We should sleep early,” Rourke said, holding his hand out to help you stand. “We’ll be getting up before dawn to go pick up the horses and start toward the stronghold.” 

“You didn’t have to put up a tent for me, I can sleep on the ground,” You told him, looking inside. It was just a bedroll on top of a riding blanket, but it looked charming and comfortable. 

“Nonsense!” Rourke said. “I’d never made a lady sleep on the cold, hard ground! No, no, you get in there and get comfy, I’ll be right outside keeping watch. Get yourself some rest, Ms. Margaret. Goodnight.” 

Ducking into the tent, you laid your tired body down on the bed and covered yourself, the aches in your body intensifying as you tried to relax. Once he saw that you were in the bed and down for the night, Rourke stationed himself at the mouth of the tent, his back to you, having a muted conversation with David that you couldn’t make sense of. Despite being outside of the city walls for the first time in your life and headed toward an uncertain future, seeing Rourke’s back blocking out the dangers of the world made you feel a strange sense of security. Almost immediately, you fell asleep. 

They managed to make a trip that would normally take two weeks in a mere five days. They rode pretty hard for the first few days, though Margaret needed several breaks throughout the days in order to recover, since horse riding when you weren’t used to it could be quite punishing on the body. She was eternally grateful for that bruise ointment, which Rourke had gifted her.

Margaret rode with Rourke for most of the trip, since his horse was larger, but being in close proximity with men made her wildly uncomfortable. She simply had to swallow down her discomfort to make it to the end. 

For Catherine, She kept telling herself. I can do it for Catherine.

They eventually arrived in a town bustling with activity. It wasn’t anywhere close to being as busy as the city, but it was more lively and less noisy. Riding straight up the middle lane, they reached a tall wall made of wooden pikes and a large gate with sentries patrolling the top. 

“Here we are,” Rouke said. “Welcome to the Willowshield stronghold.” 

“Catherine is inside?” You asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rourke replied. “She’s just inside.” 

Hope and expectation welled up in your chest. “She’s just inside,” You repeated softly. 

Rourke chuckled a little, his breath stirring your hair. “Not long now.”

The doors of the gate opened slowly, and the interior of the stronghold revealed itself. There were cottages dotting the landscape, with two long bunkhouses to the left and right, a large building at the top of the hill, and in the very center right beyond the gates, a longhouse that seemed to serve as a town hall. The stronghold was just as bustling as the town outside, and despite being a closed community, it was far more inviting than any place you’d been yet. 

“We must report in to Chief Akjan,” Rourke said as he jumped down from the horse. He reached up to help you down, and then handed off the reins of the horse to a waiting horseboy. You were surprised that orcs had horseboys. “But you’ll be able to see your little girl right after.” 

You nodded and allowed Rourke to lead you into the longhouse. There, a large orc sat in the chair in the center of the room at the end of the fire trench. He wore a leather kilt, furs on his shoulders, and various leather straps. He was talking to David, who walked right up to an orc woman with a baby on her hip and gave her a long, deep kiss. You blushed.  

“Chief Akjan,” Rourke said. “She’s here.” 

“Ah, good,” Chief Akjan said, standing up and towering over you. Where Rourke was tall and lean as a whip, Chief Akjan was broad and massively muscled. “Are you Margaret?” 

You tried to answer, but your voice came out as a squeak. Clearing your throat, you replied, “Yes, I am.” 

Chief Akjan nodded. “Good. I’m glad you’re here. Catherine will be happy to see you.” 

“If you’ll pardon me, Sir,” You asked him shyly. “You’re the one married to Catherine, aren’t you?” 

Chief Akjan shrugged. “Yes and no,” He replied. “We have a contract, but it can be revoked at any moment. She’s under no obligation to stay with me, nor am I beholden to her. We may part ways as friends whenever we wish.” 

Your head rocked back in surprise; you’d never heard of an arrangement like that before. 

“Is she well?” 

“Better than she was at the Count’s estate, I’d wager,” He said, snorting, but upon seeing your anxious face, he answered more seriously. “She’s just fine, ma’am. We’ve been taking good care of her, I swear to you. Shall I fetch her for you?” 

“Oh, please do,” You begged. “I’m so anxious to see her.” 

“I’ll return shortly, then. Wait here.” 

Chief Akjan turned and exited through a side door, and you rung your hands in anticipation, resisting the urge to bounce on your heels like a child. 

“Excited?” Rourke asked, smiling. 

“I just want to be sure she’s alright,” You said. “I can endure anything if my child is happy.” 

Rourke’s smile widened in a fond way. “You’re a good mama.” 

You blushed and looked away. 

“Hopefully, you won’t have to endure anything from now on,” Rourke said, pointing. “Look alive.” 

“Mother!” 

You spun on your heel, elated. Catherine was standing there, looking healthier and brighter than you had ever seen her, wearing simple but well-made clothing, and every ounce of anxiety in your body evaporated. 

“My baby!” You exclaimed, running forward to throw your arms around her. “Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry!” 

She clutched you, quietly crying into your hair. Oh, you had missed her so.

“It’s alright, Mother. Are you alright?” She asked, pulling back to look at the fading bruises on your face. They were almost gone, but the presence of them surely made Catherine feel worried. You could see it on her face.

“I’m fine, honey, I’m just fine,” You insisted. “David and Rourke have been taking good care of me.”

She released you and looked at the men you had pointed to. “They have? What do you mean? How did you get here?”

“I sent them to collect her,” Akjan said, stepping forward. “I had a feeling there was more to the story that you and the Count hadn't told me, so I sent David to do some reconnaissance. It didn’t take long for the full story to reveal itself, so I sent Rourke to retrieve her. Problem solved.”

Catherine’s face showed worry, relief, and a little bit of disappointment. “Thank you, Akjan. I will be in your debt for as long as I live. Are you going to send us to Willowridge?”

He shook his head grimly, crossing his arms. “No. We know that the Count must be aware that your mother has disappeared by now and may have guessed the stronghold’s involvement. Our intelligence suggests he’s gathering soldiers to march on Willowshield to either get his horse deal or take you and your mother back. It’ll be safer for you and your mother to stay within the walls of the stronghold.”

Catherine’s hand went to her mouth in shock. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize the Count would cause this much trouble for you.”

Akjan shrugged, as though an invasion by a noble was no cause for concern.

“We’ve been attacked for far less. Don’t worry, it won’t be an issue.” He addressed you directly. “Welcome to Willowshield, madam.”

You bowed your head and nodded shyly. “Thank you very much, Chief Akjan.”

"Rourke, have the girls show Ms. Margaret to the bunkhouse."

Rourke nodded. “This way, Ms. Margaret. Miss Catherine will join you shortly. She and the Chief need to have a heart to heart.” He began guiding you toward the back door and outside.

“Is she in trouble?” You asked fretfully, allowing yourself to be led.

“Not at all! Just some husband and wife business, that’s all. Never you worry.” 

You weren’t sure about that, but you had no choice but to believe him. Rourke had been positively enthusiastic since the moment you met him, upfront and honest and the picture of gentlemanly chivalry. His open and friendly nature had gotten past your inner defenses, and you’d go so far as to consider him something of a friend. David was good natured and friendly as well, but you’d never felt as close to him as you ended up feeling to Rourke. There was just something about Rourke that wouldn’t allow you to ignore him.

Rourke led you to a communal pavilion where there were several women doing fiber arts, weaving and spinning and knitting. One of them, a tall woman in trousers, stood up and came close. 

“Ms. Margaret, this is Erin, Chief Akjan’s sister-in-law,” He said. “She’ll take care of you until Miss Catherine finishes up with the chief.” 

“Ah, you’re Miss Catherine’s mama!” Erin said, holding out her hand. “So good to meet you! We’ve been waiting for you.” 

You took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Erin.” 

“Oh, she’s just like Miss Catherine,” Erin said. “Shy and sweet. They’ll love you around here.” 

“Hey!” Rourke said in a warning tone. Erin raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t respond. Clearing his throat, Rourke turned to you. “I have to give a debrief to the chief and report to my superior now. If you should ever need me for anything, my normal job is as a gate guard, so if you go down to the gate and ask for me, I’ll be at your disposal. Any time. Alright?” 

You nodded. “Alright.” 

He seemed reluctant to leave, but he started walking backwards. 

“Until then.” 

You smiled. “Until then.” 

With a bright parting grin, he turned and trotted off, his long braid swinging back and forth. 

“My goodness,” Erin said. “You and Miss Catherine certainly have a way about you, don’t you?” 

You tilted your head in confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” 

Erin shook her head and laughed. “It’s nothing. Let’s get you set up with a bunk. Things are about to get… busy soon.” 

The way she phrased that made you feel a little tense, but she pulled you forward to meet the other women in the group, all of whom were welcoming and kind. Erin took you up to the bunkhouse, where you claimed two beds, one for you and one for Catherine. Erin informed you that, now that you had arrived and the Count had nothing to hold over her, Chief Akjan and Catherine no longer needed to keep up appearances and the marriage would be dissolved. Worried, you asked if that meant that she’d be kicked out, but Erin assured you that wasn’t the case. 

“The chief wouldn’t do that,” Erin said. She leaned in and whispered, “Between you and me, Akjan likes her too much to send her away. My prediction is that they won’t be apart for long.” 

“Oh,” You said, surprised. 

Erin laughed. “Come on, she’d be done with the chief now, let’s collect her and catch up. I’m sure she’s dying to tell you everything.” 

Allowing yourself to be dragged back to the pavilion, you saw Catherine standing there, looking around for you, and smiled. For the first time in your life, you felt like you were right where you were meant to be.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[makeitagood0neao3]

Weather Me To Nothing (2/4)

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,770

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

A/N: Thank you for still being here! Marry in the morning, earn your bitter father, It's easier to try not to eat.

Read Part 3

That evening, you entered the dimly lit dining hall without your guard. Opting for a lighter dress with a breathable material, you kept your shawl around your shoulders. The table is ridiculously long and the commander at the head of it positioned so his power wouldn’t be questioned. You are on Arrakis and, for the time being, that belonged to Vladimir Harkonnen. He didn’t rise when you entered, but opened his arms wide as you approached his left.

“The Princess returns. A visit from you has been long overdue!”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Vladimir.” You offer him a bow of your head as you approach. Unable to stand, he remains in his chair. Vladimir is like your father, often speaking indirectly and in political avoidance. Feyd-Rautha requires a firmer hand, a more direct approach, while this adversary is a longer play. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”

A large section of the table is full of large platters, filled with food. Too much for two people, even with his appetite. Most of it will go to waste, while the rest of the inhabitants on this planet starve. The distinction between wealth and poverty in this Empire has become staggeringly large. The divide is growing larger everyday. That has to be creating an unrest amongst the Fremen. How long can they continue to live like this?

“For the beloved daughter of the Emperor, we would spare no expense. And if it’s wealth you’re concerned about, we have an endless supply.” His greedy smile is enough for you to lose your appetite. Was that the last look Duke Leto saw?

You take your seat and as a pale, hairless girl fills your glass. Her onyx eyes are so large you can’t see anything surrounding them. You don’t want to drink, but her hand shakes as she pours so you offer her a reassuring smile, not interested in adding to whatever abuse she already receives. Your appetite has not returned from your first wave of spice ingestion.

“Your nephew explained that spice production has never been higher.”

“Yes, made possible with your father’s generous gifts. To House Carrino,” he says, raising his glass to cheers yours. Before you can reply, the doors open once more, Vladimir’s attention stolen from you.

“Uncle, we have secured the location for tomorrow.”

“This is a dinner without business. Sit, you’re late.” Vladimir’s command to his loyal dog is instant. Feyd-Rautha takes his seat across from you, in his rightful place as Vladimir’s right hand man. He’s had access to you much more than you’re comfortable with.

“Where?” You ask Feyd the moment he sits. He looks to Vladimir for permission to proceed and gets it.

“At the top of some rock formation an hour south.”

“You don’t sound familiar with this location. How do you know it isn’t swarming with Fremen?” You asking, tilting your head in disbelief.

“We have killed hundreds of Fremen since re-taking Arrakis, my lady. There aren’t many left.” Vladimir’s tone shifts on lady, as if he soothing a child.

“Why can’t he come here? Arraken is the safest place.”

Feyd looks to his uncle in an ‘I told you she’d make this difficult’ way that makes you want to throw something at him. They are offering you up to the desert like a lamb to the slaughter.

“We will have Sardaukar on the ground the entire time. It’s best to let the young Duke believe he is in control. Your safety is our priority.” Vladimir offers what he probably thinks is a smile, but comes across as cold. You open your mouth to retort, to show him this is flawed when the impatient Feyd cuts you off.

“We need him to die in the desert.” Feyd’s expression is a sneer. His deep set black eyes hold no remorse, no compassion for the soon to be death of Paul. You feel that he has given you a clue. Something obvious you’re missing in the puzzle.

“The disposal of the Atreides family was… sloppy.” Vladimir’s sneer toward Feyd-Rautha is unmistakable, no doubt regretting putting Rabban in charge of that. “It drew attention from the surrounding Houses. Houses that favored the Duke and didn’t take his removal lightly. They have been talking, asking questions.”

“What sort of questions?”

Vladimir ignores you and keeps one forearm resting on the table while the other moves, gathering more food for his large plate. It’s clear the effort it takes for him to move just one arm. In the years it’s been since you’ve dined with him, he has also aged. The weight of his enormous body catching up to him.

“Will the Emperor kill their families if they answer his call, too? Or are the Harkonnen’s assassins for hire now? What’s stopping any one of them from taking over Arrakis and reaping the rewards?” Vladimir doesn’t seem bothered with this questioning.

“They could never be successful here. We have been here for generations,” Feyd-Rautha’s lip curls at the audacity that any other family could rule here.

“And finishing off the remaining family will stop the chatter?”

“It will show them what we do to those who try to come between us and the dune,” Feyd spits out. His uncle has programmed his rage expertly. “It will show them how savage the Fremen really are.”

Your eyes narrow, fork placed back onto the plate as you realize what you should have seen all along. The final piece falling into place.

“You want the other Houses to think the Fremen killed Paul.” If the Fremen are willing to kill their savior, the one they’ve waited generations for, then they have no loyalty. It’d be a betrayal equal to what your father did to the loyalty of Duke Leto. It shows the galaxy they do not answer to anyone and if they don’t stand for good, then they will not gain the support of any House to rise up against the Harkonnens. It isolates them in their seitches. It makes them vulnerable. The only thing stopping him from blowing up parts of the planet is the humanitarians in the galaxy who forbid it.

“Perhaps you have the gift of sight, after all.” Vladimir sees your mind churning over this information, running the data, evaluating the casualties. You don’t even dare to consider the death toll.

You must give credit where it is due. Feyd-Rautha may be the one coordinating this plan, but the conception is all Vladimir. Feyd has never been the face of the family, only the next in line to inherit it. He’s still too primal, too unpredictable without the direction of his uncle. He is a pawn in this game, as are you, under the thumb of Vladimir. The lengths he will go to grow his wealth is staggering. Left unchecked, he could become more fierce, gaining followers to hunt down the Fremen simply by instilling fear.

“And what happens after?” You keep your tone unbothered, as if the thought of killing someone wouldn’t tear you apart, wouldn’t ignite the extinction of an entire people. This bargain you have made is suddenly much more complicated than originally predicted.

“The plan is for you to leave for your father’s ship immediately following Paul’s death. It will be too dangerous for you once the Fremen find their savior dead,” Vladimir says between chews. “As the new widow to the last heir of Atreides, who barely escaped with her life and saved by the Baron, the safest place for you while we subdue the Fremen is with your father.”

“Your evacuation is my responsibility.” Feyd’s voice is low, his eyes watching you like the griffin of his family crest. Eyes of a hawk, patience of a lion, and the claws to keep you in his clutches. You won’t let that happen.

“I think that’s best. My father will want to settle his side of this arrangement with me once I return.” You keep your voice casual, trying to gage how determined Feyd is to keep you close. If you leave for another planet, it will take him too long to gain access to it and in turn, you.

Feyd smiles at this, gazing at his uncle. Vladimir’s eyes are set upon you, the finality in his stare tells you everything you need to know that this will not be leaving your father’s Flagship. He leans over towards you, his imposing size too close for your comfort. He is intimidating, but you are the daughter of the Emperor and will be damned if this man sees your fear.

“House Harkonnen is risking intergalactic war against the Empire for not only the execution of Duke Leto, but also his son. Do you think your father would just reward us with new harvesters and a permanent residence on Arrakis?”

“He would let me pick any one of his daughters. And Rabban, too.” You stare Feyd down, noticing the twitch in his eye. He isn’t used to verbal combat and he’s met his match. He showed his hand too quickly, but it still catches you off guard.

“The youngest two aren’t old enough.” Your sisters will never be married to anyone in House Harkonnen. They are vile, cruel. Your sisters are soft, kind and too young. They will always be too inexperienced for men more than a decade older than yourself.

“We can wait. A long term payment plan.” He thinks he’s clever, but he has you in a corner. “Rabban is unaware of this possibility.” So there’s time. You may not have much of it, but your sisters have their whole lives and you will ensure they get it.

As much as you hate him, you could never allow your sweet sisters to be subjected to this family. Your father's leash on you has only tightened since your first sentence here, but you would take the choke chain around your throat instead of your sisters.

“What is the price of clearing my father’s debt to you for this… act of loyalty?”

“Feyd-Rautha has been very patient, Y/N. Your father and I believe the match will not disappoint.” It’s the first time either of them have said your name or really acknowledged you as a woman independent of the Emperor. Vladimir is a master manipulator, waiting until this moment to appeal to you in the way you’ve always wanted to be. To be the one to have a decision in your fate.

You nod your head, nausea burning through your stomach. They are unaware of your infertility, or at least Feyd is. He will be rewarded for being a good dog, but won’t get the chance to become out of control if he has children. Children of Feyd would destroy an entire planet.

In turn, your father transfers his ownership of you to the one person with a heavier hand than himself. Marrying you off the man who ‘saved’ you after your husband was murdered is exactly the way he would gain the positivity of the Empire. The Harkonnen maniac who instills fear in all, the savior of a daughter to the people’s most beloved Empress. May she rest in peace.

You won’t get away with sending anonymous messages to other Houses. You will end up on one of two of your most hated planets in the known universe. The Geidi Prime or Arrakis. And who knows what his reaction will be when you he realizes you are infertile. But if it protects your sisters, if it pleases your father and buys them time, maybe they can choose their own path, too.

The whole plot is diabolical and you bought into it for the reward of peace. Of being left alone on a planet far away. You should have known that would never be allowed to happen.

“I accept the debt,” your voice is a rasp, your throat burning as you try to suppress the scream you want to release. The decision is heavy, but you feel numb. It must still be the effects of the spice. Vladimir raises his glass between you and Feyd-Rautha. He’s beat you, the studious strategist.

“Your father will be pleased!” It’s the most enthusiasm you’ve ever heard from Vladimir. Your assumption that past strategies translated over into the present was wrong. The rules are different when it’s man vs woman. You won’t be tricked again.

You summon your fiercest predator gaze and raise your glass to meet theirs in the air, the spread of food rotting before you.The air in your bedroom is warm, even though the sun set hours ago. You watched it set beyond the horizon before your guard ushered you inside, insisting that being out in the wind with your sensitivity to spice was not safe.

Unbearably warm, you’ve removed your dinner dress and are in a night slip that stops mid thigh, the satin doing little to cool your skin. The strap slithers off your shoulder, loose and tickles your skin. This is the heightened awareness you’ve always felt on Arrakis. The paranoia of the future preventing you from sleeping.

The bed you lie on rests inside the alcove carved into the dense stone. Its sharp angles and clean modern lines add to the sterile room too large for its purpose. Everything built by the Harkonnens is grand, taking up as much space as possible. For someone with your condition, you don’t mind how open it is.

Above your head, the plate of gold spanning the wall has elegant coy fish carved into it. If you unfocus your eyes, they appear to move. The light from the wall lamp catches the scales and reflects off it as if it were truly an image in water. Meticulously crafted, ornate and unique.

You’ve slept in this room before, when you stayed on this planet for an entire standard year. The bed is familiar, yet sleep will not take you. Not when you know this the bed your future husband spent his nights in before the attack. Your body is heavy, but your mind is relentless.

Mulling over the details of tomorrow brings you no peace. There isn’t a way out of this, at least not one you can see. If Paul doesn’t kill you on sight in revenge for his father, what will you say to him? From what you’ve been told about Paul, he is honorable, like the Atredies men before him. He’s observant and rumor has it he sensed a Hunter-seeker and destroyed it before he killed him. A rare feat.

Yesterday, you would have considered yourself honorable. There is honor in saving your sisters, but will there be any humanity left when you achieve it by means of murder? After the death of your mother, your life became your sisters and protected them from your father’s harsh expectations. You swore to never let any harm fall upon them and would rather drink what’s in the vial than subject them to knowledge of this arrangement you’ve agreed to.

Once Paul is dead, you could leverage the remainder of your soul to Vladimir to prevent unnecessary bloodshed of the Fremen. What he will want, you do not know. Perhaps he wants to elevate himself from a businessman to a political position. You could help him achieve a seat in the court.

Perhaps you are more similar to your father than you thought. Playing into this game, going all in with the risk of losing it all, is exactly what he would do. Allowing the death of one to get what you want, even if the intentions are not purely for you.

Your life as the wife of a Harkonnen will be greatly different. And a shudder runs through you at the thought of sharing a bed with the most detested creature. In this moment, you are grateful for your infertility, perhaps it will gain you sympathy. Harkonnen women are bred to be mothers and healers. If you cannot conceive, you have no doubt you will have the pity of the majority, seeing you as less than worthy of children. Being the daughter of the Emperor, you have never received the pity of anyone. You’re almost disgusted with yourself, stooping so low to manipulate people into feeling sorry for you after you murder one of the last innocent men in the galaxy.

There is a knock so faint you think you imagined it, until it comes again. Rolling over to face the door, it opens without waiting for your response. You are not in power here. You sit up, pulling the strap of the slip over your shoulder again.

The same hairless girl with large, black eyes stands in the doorway with a small metal tray in her hand. Her eyes are cast at the floor in fear and you know why. Behind her, Feyd-Rautha casts a shadow over her as he moves around her and enters your private room. At the sight of him, you pull the sheet higher up to cover your front.

Casual, he’s removed his bulky black armor and wears a matte black tunic over loose pants. He’s barefoot, which shocks you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him out of his armor. It’s unnerving to think the barriers between you both are crumbling, that one day soon you will see him this casual often. In your room, in your bed. He doesn’t even appear to have a single weapon on him, though he could tear a man apart with his bare hands.

“Your light is on,” he says, straight to the point. “I’ve brought you a sedative.” His eyes never leave you, but he motions for the girl to approach you with the tray. A small glass of water rests next to a single pill.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” you do your best to sound firm, but he knows there will be no punishment for this. This is his uncle’s home. You are in debt to them. Your guards, however, are not and you don't understand why they let him enter.

His eyes survey you, taking in every inch of the skin on your arms and across your chest. In the warm glow of the lamp, you must look ethereal to him, because he seems to be struggling for a retort. Finally, with the droop of his chin, he finds it.

“Superstition is for the groom the night before, but you are not my bride tomorrow.”

The girl reaches you and you note she is careful to not stand directly in front of you, but off to the side so he doesn’t lose sight of you. You don’t fault her for it, noticing the way her hand shakes slightly as she holds the water out to you. She may be more afraid of him than you are.

“Thank you for your concern, but I don’t take substances like that.” Not since your mother swallowed a handful of them.

“I can sit with you then, until you fall asleep.” You hold his stare, knowing he has the high ground as he towers in height just feet from your bed as he inches closer. You don’t miss the implication and disgusted, grab the pill from the tray before he can take another step closer. You swallow it without the water and nod in acknowledgment to the girl.

She bows and nearly runs past him before he tells her to leave the water in his native language. It comes out like a grunt, harsh and commanding. She places the water on the nightstand before shuffling out, the sound of her plastic dress swishing as she goes. Your eyes never leave him in a challenge, but cautious to push him when your guards are clearly confused about who they protect.

Slowly, he creeps closer to the bed, calmer than you’ve ever seen him.

“I know the last day has been a shock for you, but you will adjust. You’re resilient.” He reaches the bed and places one knee on it, leaning closer to you. “You’ll adjust to the effects of spice, too.” His hand reaches up and you’re too scared to pull back more than an inch or two. His finger traces the line of your strap hanging over your shoulder. He is so warm, hot even. “Please me in completing your task, and I’ll buy you the Atreides’ planet.” He means please him in murdering Paul and inciting a war against the Fremen.

“Caladan?” Your voice snaps him out of his trance over the plains of your exposed skin and he pulls his hand back.

“Consider it a gift to my bride.” He smirks then, cruel and knowingly, before he gets off the bed entirely. “You are soft and not made for Geidi Prime. It’s too harsh, industrial. I will ease you into life there when you are with child, but perhaps the oceans of Caladan will help you rest when I’m away.”

“Away?” You ask.

“I haven’t been named, but the Baron will make me his heir. That will require me to tend to business in his place.”

With that he bows slightly to you and leaves the room, closing the door behind you.

You’re not sure what to make of that, but agree that his home planet is less than appealing. Though he can’t be that oblivious to know that sending you the planet of the man you’re about to murder it a cruel form of torture. Every hall reminding you of the life you stole. Perhaps there are worse places than originally thought.

Enraged at the thought of continued torture over this crime against humanity you’re about to commit, you rip the covers off and storm to the door. Yanking the heavy thing open, your tormentor is gone and your guards are nowhere to be found. The halls are quiet and still, dimly lit in warm lamp light. Unable to hunt down your guards in a skimpy slip, you abandon the idea. If Feyd was going to do anything to you without them present, he would have. He’s toeing the line again, testing when you’ll act out.

You must refrain from impulsively reacting to him. Anything that displeases him now will be paid back to you when you are married. No longer can you hide behind your father’s power. Your safety. and the safety of your sisters, is in his hands.

Re-entering your room, you close the door and get back into the warm bed. Unable to keep your eyes open longer than a few moments you allow them to close, the light on the wall is still shining upon the fish mural behind your bed.

Read Part 3

[eyesxxyou]

Cybersex (Teaser)

★‧₊˚ 💋⋅ hobie brown x camgirl!reader

rating. m

word count. n/a

synopsis. hobie decides he needs a change in his career. that's where you come in, a camgirl he plans to make a sextape with.

🍓・．❕warnings. mentions of cocaine usage, mentions of making a sex tape, more to (cum)e

Hobie really fucked up according to his manager. If you asked him, he did nothing wrong. It was perfectly normal for a rockstar to be doing coke in the bathroom of a venue in his opinion but for some reason it had caused a lot of controversy. It’s not like he was addicted or anything, that time being only the second time he’s ever done it but his manager put out a statement that he would be taking a break from his tour in order to attend rehab. Which he did and it sucked. He was in for 2 months, “working on himself” supposedly.

“Why’d ya do it?” His manager asked him as they sat side by side in the back of his car, his driver taking him home from rehab after 2 of the longest months of his life. “I mean– you have all anyone could ever want. So why?”

It was such a stupid question that deserved the half-assed answer Hobie gave. He just shrugged and grunted. Why did he do it? To escape this fad of a life. This was never what he wanted, all of this. This expensive car, a designated driver, a manager. This was never what he fucking wanted. Somehow, in his pursuit for success, he lost everything that made him who he was, lost his initial values. He was nothing but a poser now.

He was done being a poser. He’d get back to his original self somehow, some way.

So the moment they got back to his boat, Hobie fired his manager as well as his chauffeur. “Take the car wit’cha.” It was the best decision he could have made for himself, for his dwindling career. He had to get back to his roots, just him making music on his boat with his guitar and his mates.

He needed something to reignite his career, to appeal to the crowd who once supported him for being a voice against authority and establishment. The coke incident had riled people up, weeded out the posers from the real deal. He needed something more.

That’s where you came in.

“So you need my help to get your career back on track…how exactly? By having sex with me?” You sat across from Hobie inside a bar you two agreed to meet at. You were a pretty girl, gorgeous actually, with make up that told him “I put in effort, just not for this” and a pretty, delicate, white dress, black shawl, platform, leather boots, and a long rosary around your neck, though something told him you weren’t catholic. It could be the extensive history of porn you have online.

You were a camgirl. And he was a fan. Turns out, you were a fan of his too.

Hobie bought you a drink and a couple shots for you to share. You teased a cherry between your faded glossed lips and used your tongue to tie the stem into a knot. He liked you, liked you a lot. You were perfect for the job.

“By leakin’ mw own sex tape.” Hobie corrected you. “‘M jus’ tryna stir the pot. Drum up some interest, y’know?” You of all people would know better than the rest. Your entire career was built on this. You were a master at it. He was right to come to you.

“Bu’, Ion wan ya to think ya haf’ to. The offer’s on the table.”

“I know I don’ have to do anything.” He liked your attitude, the twang of your accent in your pretty voice. He understood why you had so many fans, you were borderline perfect, pretty lips, pretty eyes. He’s watched some of your videos, with partners and alone, you’re so captivating. He was an instant fan. “I just want to make sure I understand before I agree to anything.”

You leaned in with your chin resting upon your hand with your elbow on the splintering wood of the bar counter. “I’ll do it, just ‘cause I think you’re pretty.” You stood up, even while sitting down, his abnormally tall body towered over your. “I’ve got rules though, strict rules, not even a pretty boy like you can pass them.” Your hands were on his thighs as you looked up at him. He could kiss you now if he wanted to, but he waited to hear these rules of yours.

“You have to use a condom.”

“Done, already got one.” Hobie assured you. He always carried one with him just in case.

You chuckled a bit, “Good for you. We also have to do it at a hotel, you pay. I don’t wanna be at your place and I don’t want you at mine.” Hobie also liked how serious you were, how you didn’t play about your business. He appreciated it, found it a little hot too. How in the world was he supposed to keep his hands off of you until then? “FIne by me.”

“FInally, no catching feelings.”

Hobie began to laugh, a snarky grin growing across his full, pierced lips. “Confident, are ya? You don’ haf’ta worry about nothin’ like tha’, luv. I’m just attracted to you.” He reached out and pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. He leaned in close, his breath fanning your lips until he touched his lips with yours and kissed you softly. You didn’t kiss him back.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Brown but I’m not with it. Text me the details when you get them.” You pulled away from him with a scoff and tapped his cheek softly with your hand before grabbing a shot, tossing it back down your throat before walking off to take your leave.

Full Version

[queen-haq]

Fic: Never You (Penelope x Colin) - Part 5

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV show)

Spoilers: S3 released scenes.

Summary: They may have been friends once but his callous words decimated their relationship. Determined not to have anything to do with him, Penelope is ready to move on. But Colin isn’t giving up, not at all. Friends or not, they are connected for life - and he intends to remind her of that.

Excerpt:

“You would hate me for not wanting to court you. You would be that selfish?”

“Of course you would think that.”

“What else is this if not punishment?”

Masterlist (contains links to previous parts and my other stories)

Part 5

“Open the door this instant, Penelope!”

Hearing the banging on her door and her mama’s voice yelling from the other side, Penelope quickly put away her writing materials. The newest Lady Whistledown column sheet was almost ready. She had planned to complete it while Prudence and Portia were busy entertaining callers this afternoon only to be interrupted repeatedly. Irritated, she walked to the door and opened it, allowing Portia Featherington to barge in.

In her mother’s hands was a lovely bouquet of lilies which Portia placed on the nearby desk.

“The Bridgerton boy is here.” There was no mirth on Portia’s face, her striking eyes gleaming as she confronted Pen.

“Is he?”

“Which, I know, you’re already aware of because Mrs. Varley came up here to inform you.”

Pen kept her mouth shut.

“Is there a reason you turned down his invitation for a promenade?”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Not good enough, Penelope! When a gentleman comes to call on you, you must always say yes!”

“Even on our deathbeds,” Pen muttered under her breath.

“Yes, even then,” Portia retaliated. “Martha!” She screamed, calling for Penelope’s maid. “Wear something suitable for your walk with that boy. There will be others who see you in the park.”

“I thought he left?”

“Fortunately, he did not.”

“Mama, he’s not courting me. We’re just friends. You know that, right?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s a Bridgerton. Where he leads, others will follow and that is the only thing working in your favour in your advanced age.”

And with that statement Portia stormed out, leaving Pen alone with Martha in her chamber.

“These flowers are beautiful, Miss. I’ll put them in water.”

Pen watched as Martha busied herself with the vibrant, varying colors of the bouquet. In one of their letters she had mentioned to Colin about her newfound appreciation of lilies, and apparently he had kept that in mind.

“Shall I fetch the orange dress for you, Miss?” Martha asked, returning to her.

“No, the pale green one please. And the matching shawl.”

As Martha scurried about, Pen took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

***

Penelope exited her home and headed down the stairs, Martha following behind her. Her mother was watching them through the window, taking note of everything going on, and Pen didn’t want to give her mama anything new to harp about. Colin, of course, was using her reticence to his full advantage. He stood on the sidewalk, a wicked smirk on his face, looking more handsome than any gentleman had a right to. Pen ignored the flutter of butterflies in her stomach, reminding herself how angry she was at him. What she wanted to do was take him to task for calling on her when she repeatedly asked him not to. Instead, she was forced to greet him with a stiff smile.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she said coldly, stopping in front of him.

His smirk transitioned into a full smile. “Pen,” he said with a deliberate languid drawl, trying to goad her no doubt.

“Mama is at the window.”

“I’m aware.” Colin’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Shall we promenade?”

Penelope glanced over her shoulder and found her mother watching her like a hawk. She turned back to Colin. “Forcing me into this wasn’t very gentlemanly of you.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Perhaps I’m no longer a gentleman.”

“Maybe you never were.”

She wanted to offend him but he seemed impervious to her taunts, instead offering her his arm for their walk together. Aggravated, she ignored him and started down the path by herself. Within seconds he was next to her, his long strides now matching her own pace, with Martha following behind them.   

“Did you like the lilies?” Colin asked.

“I did not.”

He simply smiled. “That’s unfortunate. Maybe I’ll bring roses in the future.”

“Absolutely not!” she huffed. “Mama will get the wrong idea.”

“We are friends, Penelope,” he reminded her. “Friends give each other gifts. We’ve exchanged them in the past.”

“Never in front of Mama!”

“And I’ve visited you before,” he insisted.

“No, you haven’t. We’ve always only spoken at your home or social gatherings. In fact the only other time you came with flowers was to call on Marina.” The grimace on his face made her heart squeeze with envy. Even after all this time simply saying her cousin’s name evoked such a strong reaction in him. But as much as the idea of him still harboring feelings for Marina hurt, she wasn’t going to let pain distract from her focus. “I can’t have you encouraging foolish ideas in Mama’s head.”

He clenched his jaw, agitated. “Is this really about Lady Portia or are you worried your mystery suitor will get jealous?”

She stopped midstride, turning to level him with a hostile glare. “He knows there’s nothing between you and me.”

Colin took a step towards her. The blues of his eyes darkened, blazing with emotion. “Even after last night?” His voice was a throaty murmur, his words only meant for her ears.

Her heart quickened, His gaze drifted down to her lips, pausing momentarily, as if he was remembering touching her, the feel of his hot mouth on her skin. And then his sight travelled lower, to where he licked and kissed her chest, and the lovebites he left on her breasts that she had to scrupulously hide behind a scarf this morning lest her mother noticed. The way he was looking at her set her body on fire, she felt it intimately between her legs.

They were surrounded by people, yet it felt like it was only the two of them. As she found herself drowning in the depth of his eyes, the world ceased to exist.

And then the image of his panic-stricken expression flashed through her mind, reminding her of how horrified he was after kissing her.

Instantly she pulled away, turning away from him. She started walking faster, trying to regain her composure in the few short seconds it took for Colin to catch up to her.

“You can’t pretend it didn’t happen, Pen.”

“You’re right, I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ll allow a moment of foolishness to sway me from what’s important.”

“I know you. You wouldn’t have kissed me that way if you really loved someone else.”.

It was the conceit in his words that infuriated her. “Is that so, Colin?” She turned to confront him. “Didn’t you proudly claim to have flirted with half the women in London? I’m sure you’ kissed many of them. Will you stand there and tell me you cared for all of them? That all those ladies held a special place in your heart? Or will you be honest and admit a kiss can just be a kiss without it meaning anything?”

His eyes narrowed onto her. “Do you expect me to believe our kiss meant nothing to you?”

“Don’t treat me like a naïve debutante, Colin. I’m fully aware passion can exist without love.”

“But that wouldn’t be true for us, would it?” He didn’t move, yet it felt like his body swayed closer, encroaching on her personal space, making it impossible for her to think. Even breathe. “Because there is love between us. There always has been.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. For so long she’d yearned for his love, ached for it. Over the years there were so many times she thought herself a fool for even thinking he could love her. But then he would seek her out in a crowd to dance with her, they would talk about things they dare not discuss with others, and the hope in her heart would bloom despite her insecurities. Just like it did now. “Speak clearly, Colin. Do you love me?”

“Of course I love you. I’ve loved you since we were children. You’re my dearest friend.”

“But are you in love with me?”

“Are you?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. There were children playing in the park, families around them talking and laughing. Yet all she felt was Colin’s piercing gaze tear through her, the air thick with tension as the minutes ticked by. “Yes. Even though I desperately wish I wasn’t.”

His face ran the whole gamut of emotions, from utter shock to panic to fear. “I… Pen…”

“You’re not in love with me,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“No.”

His response didn’t come as a surprise, she had always known the truth. And despite the pain that wracked through her, she felt relief. Because she would no longer have to wonder. Now there was certainty and it brought with it a strong desire to move on.

There was much trepidation in his voice as he spoke next. “I’m sorry if I-”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Her voice was calm, steady. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” She glanced behind him, her eyes absently taking in the view behind. “We can’t help who we love.” There was a numbness that slowly spread through her, enveloping her heart, her very being.

“I care for you, Pen. And I know you, you’re kind and sweet and want to see the best in people. Which is why I’m worried-.”

“You don’t know me,” she replied, snapping out of her daze.  His face came back into focus, along with the rest of the world. “Not really. You’ve only seen certain facets, parts that I’ve chosen to show. I’ve always been so worried about what others would think, of being palatable to my family, to you and Eloise, to society… and for what? What was even the point?” She started pacing, her mind reeling.

As much as she aspired to be good, she could never fully commit to it. Lady Whistledown was borne from the part of her that wanted retribution against the ton for always ignoring her. In the clear light of day she was voiceless and unwanted, but in the shadows was where she thrived, where her words meant something and she had value and control. There was a time when she used to think the different parts of her could coexist and she could still be more good than bad, but Eloise’s words during their last argument proved otherwise.

“What are you talking about?” He blocked her path, forcing her to look up at him. A confused expression marked his beautiful face. ”I’ve always known who you are.”

She peered up at him. Everything he said about her – kind and sweet and only seeing the best in people – was actually true of Colin himself. He deserved someone who was equally beautiful and kind, and that would never be her.   “You’ve been a good friend, to me and my family. And I appreciate your concern but I can look out for myself. Arthur is a good man-”

“Arthur?” The sudden vitriol in Colin’s voice was sharp. “Arthur what?”

“That’s not important,” she said dismissively. “What matters is you no longer have to worry about me, Colin. I absolve you of that responsibility.”

“You do, do you?” Anger laced his voice, his eyes growing dark with contempt. “Because of this Arthur?” He took a step forward, crowding her, the proximity between them so close that she could feel his breath humming her skin, could almost feel the touch of his fingers against her gloves. “Tell me, Penelope, does he know you?  Did you show him all the parts of you that you claim to have kept hidden from the rest of us?”

Irritation surged through her at his mocking tone, but she reminded herself to be patient. “He understands me better than most.”

“A man you’ve known for mere months?” Colin’s eyes glistened with fury. “Why does he get that privilege? What has he done to earn your trust so easily?”

The hate in his voice took her by surprise. “Why are you behaving this way, Colin? I thought you would be happy for me.”

Jaw clenched, anger masking his features, his eyes roamed over her face. “You expect me to live a life without you in it and be happy about it?”

“So what should I do, be a spinster for the rest of my life to appease you? Do you not see how selfish that is?”

“I don’t give a damn!”

Penelope noticed the glances thrown in their direction, the look of concern in Martha’s face. Even though Colin hadn’t raised his voice, the tension on his face made it clear they were having an argument. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm him down. “This isn’t who you are, Colin.”

“Isn’t it? Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know me.” He dipped his head lower, his eyes smoldering with rage. “Maybe I’ve always been unreasonable and selfish. Maybe I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people who matter to me.”

She didn’t know if the threat in his voice was deliberately meant to scare her but it elicited the opposite reaction, provoking her anger. “You’re not my guardian or my protector. I’m not your responsibility. I don’t need anything from you.”

Instead of backing off, his voice grew more determined. “You don’t have a choice in this matter, Penelope. I will not lose you.”

“Except I’m not yours to lose. I do not belong to you. You don’t get to make demands on me when you don’t even love me,” she reminded him coldly. “I will marry the man I choose and live the life I want. And it’s you who has no say in that matter.”

Feeling strongly in her resolve, she turned and walked away.

To be continued...

A/N - Thank you for reading. If you have the time, I'd love to read your feedback!

[jinchuls]

ᡣ𐭩 suna rintarou x reader (royal au)

notes 𝜗𝜚 another repost from my og blog bc i forgot i had an ao3 and thought i lost this forever until 20 minutes ago bc sometimes i write straight into tumblr and don’t backup my fics

divider by @/cafekitsune

Watching the sun rise slowly, the sky burns a beautiful orange before the blue begins to settle, a picturesque moment you wish you could capture forever—or, at least, share with the man that intended to be here before you. It’s far too early for you to be awake and even more so for you to be sat in a tucked away garden with a shawl wrapped around your shoulders to keep you warm in the chilling breeze that hit you. But the cold, the wait, the anticipation. It’s worth it knowing he will be beside you; there’s no way more perfect to start your morning.

The soft hue of the sun bores onto the horizon, illuminating the view of the town you were always amazed by: there’s enough beauty in the sight that one day will be in the hands of a Miya—a fearful thought—but it’s the same sight you’ve committed to memory waiting for him each morning.

There’s a quiet sound behind you, much louder in the silence of the nature that surrounds you, and it alerts you that he’s finally here. Turning quickly, a smile plastered on your face in an instant as the familiar grin of the man that stole your heart meets your eye. You call his name quietly, finding yourself in a rush to be beside him, although you’d seen each other only the night before.

You embrace him tightly, relishing in his hold as he wraps his arms around your waist keeping you as close to him as possible. He’d been as excited as you to see you again in a situation that didn’t involve staying away from you and keeping his affection, that burns for you in private, hidden from your mothers, and your protective family, when all he ever wishes to do is hold you close and drown you in the love you deserve.

The glow of the streaming light falls on him as you reluctantly loosen your grip on him. It shines perfectly on every feature, illuminating his eyes; every inch of his face is displayed to you like a painting. each stroke made with precision and care to create the beauty that stares back at you; you’re lost in that very beauty glistening radiant gold under the rising sun.

“I missed you.” you admit quietly, taking his hand and leading him back to where you had been stood for the two of you to bask in the stunning view you shared. He’s grinning widely at your comment; he wants to tease you that it’s only been a few hours since the last time you were together, but he feels the same. His arm rests gently on your back as his eyes glance from the view to you. the lingering gazes you shared the night before. The meal he ate sat opposite you while your families spoke business. It wasn’t enough when he could stand beside you like he is now.

Being close to you, holding you and not having to act as though he wasn't hopelessly in love with you was much easier than the act he performed every time he was amongst your family or your peers. He’s itching for the day he doesn’t have to; for the day he wears the ring that tells everyone he’s spoken for.

In his mind, it couldn’t come soon enough.

You’re happily, and quietly, talking between the two of you, once again telling the other about the dreams you had and wanted to share, he can be heard before he’s seen, the usual scenario that comes hand in hand with Miya Atsumu. He’s stumbling into sight, tripping over stones and branches littered across the makeshift path or, more likely, over his own feet; he’s just as shocked to see the two of you together as you are to see him wandering away from his daily responsibilities at the crack of dawn.

“Your Highness.” you splutter out in your immediate shock, taking a fast step away from Suna. It’s too late; Atsumu had already seen the way Suna’s fingers gently stroked the small of your back. He’d seen the glance Suna sent your way when you were looking down to see the last few minutes of the sunrise before the day truly began.

“You.” he points and stares, eyes dancing between the two of you trying to figure out what he can say in this situation; what he can say. “What-”

“Atsumu,” Suna addresses the prince in a manner most would never, though their long-term friendship allowed for it in the lack of authority present. “Should you not be-”

“Your secret affair is much more important.” the blonde laughs, making his way closer. “Good morning, My Lady.” he addresses you with a smile; you greet him officially with a small bow of your head. “It’s a beautiful day for a rendezvous.”

His words have your face turning red; you’re quick to hide your expression in Suna’s chest. There’s a moment where you think it’s not appropriate, not in front of the prince, but there’s solace in the way his chest shakes as he tries to keep his own laughter at minimum, for your benefit.

“I’ll leave you be,” he says softly, “it would look unfortunate for me if the duke’s son were to find the prince avoiding his duties.”

“The prince should stop running the moment he wakes to do exactly that.” Suna retorts, you turn your head to Atsumu again, watching as a brighter, more mischievous, smile crosses his face. Although you know no bad outcome will come of this, there’s some worry that loiters in your mind.

He bids his farewells, leaving the two of you and returning to the palace where he’ll be rushed into lessons on ruling the kingdom alongside his brother, except now he’s more excited to be sat beside the man who’s clueless to his closest confidante’s morning activities.

“We’re going to be the next talk of the town.” you joke, watching as the man turns away from you with a secret you know he won’t keep to himself. First, Osamu will know–he’s not one to keep secrets from his brother–then Kita. he’ll keep it to himself, he’s not one for the rumours that were thrown around the town, but the twins will continue to share. It’ll find its way to Bokuto and Hinata, the knights closest to the boisterous twin, and then the news will spread to everyone.

It wouldn’t be long before your mothers knew. The women that had grown up together; who’d always dreamt their children would grow up to be wed and now, unbeknownst to them, the two of you shared the same dream.

“Let them talk.” Suna quips, an arm coming to bring you into a comfortable embrace; warming you more than the layers of clothes ever would, “It will be known one day.” Leaving a lingering kiss on your temple, he whispers in your ear, “I want to announce to the world that I am yours.”

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 12 - You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be

He wanted to help. Was desperate to help. The need to be close, to pull her out of the depression she was drowning in, was slowly killing him. Azriel could think of nothing else except her. Nothing except the pain she was in.

He swung like a pendulum between pleading at the door or hammering on it when his frustrations overwhelmed his sense. No matter how wrong he felt each time, Azriel could not stop himself. The desire to rescue her from her perceived nightmare plagued him. There would be moments of clarity where Azriel would realise that he was too intense, that his care would overwhelm her, and he’d pull back. He’d sit on the roof, circle the house in flight, then return slightly calmer.  

Although she did leave the bedroom, somehow Nesta evaded him. Night after night, she slipped past him as easy as a wraith.

Nesta would not allow him to see her, but she accepted some care. Even if she did not know it was from him. The clothes that Mor had scavenged for the sisters were completely wrong. Mor’s cast-offs wouldn’t suit either sister, and he doubted Nesta’s chest would fit in them. He had spent a painfully long-time in Velaris’ boutiques. In his five-hundred years of life, they were places that he had strode past without ever sparing a glance to the interior. Azriel had not known there were so many options from necklines to sleeves to hems to buttons to ribbons. He agonised over material, colours, and patterns in an attempt to match the sorts of gowns Nesta had worn in the mortal lands. For Elain, he was far less picky. Still, both females had a basket of clothing left outside of their door. As well as gowns, Azriel had found undergarments, shawls, and lighter, summer dresses. Shoes were more difficult so he’d purchased a range of sizes and styles, hoping at least one pair would be suitable.

Sure enough, on the night that he left them by the door, they were gone by the morning.

It was not just clothes either. His speciality was camp slops, but for Nesta, Azriel tried to cook something more substantial – or at least edible. Cerridwen and Nuala flitted around him, offering conflicting advice. One called for more garlic, the other claimed there was already too much. They helped him to produce meals that he left in the kitchen ready to be heated.

The food in the kitchen was nibbled at. The level of the soup went downwards. It was never a massive amount of food gone, but something at least. So, then he began flying to the bakery and amassing a variety of sweet foods too. He’d rather that they ate even if it was all sugar and cream.

And Azriel still could not understand how the hell she was slipping past him every night.

Because he was a stubborn bastard, he’d stayed awake during the nights as if to catch her when she emerged. But she didn’t emerge. When he conceded defeat and sleep stole him from this realm, he’d wake to find that Nesta had crept out while he slept. It did not matter if it was night or noon, Nesta always seemed to know the instant that he fell asleep. She’d creep around at night, at day, always avoiding him, always slipping past him.

‘Are you doing this?’

The shadows that had been fighting each other beside him on the floor outside of Nesta’s room froze.

‘Are you helping her?’

They swarmed to him, brushing against his skin with their cool touch as if to say that he was their only master. Azriel had not sent his shadows in to spy on them although they had tried. He had been the one to pull them back and ban it. It was tempting. If there had been no signs of life, Azriel would have kicked down the door, but since Nesta did not appear to be in immediate danger, he would wait. He would wait and wait and wait until she was ready.

The bond tugged painfully at his ribs. How much of his devotion was due to that? Would he still be here day after day if the bond did not summon him to her side?

The others had appeared – except Cassian who was not able to fly yet – to do a cursory check. They were surprised to find him there, holding his vigil. Azriel said nothing of it. They knew him well enough to know that the guilt for not protecting the sisters was his reason to be there, but not the only one. A mate was a sacred thing that Azriel had never dreamed of having. Never did he think the Mother would choose him for another. And now that he had a mate, he did not want to think of the bond at all. Nesta needed to love him for his character, not because the Cauldron forced her. If she knew the same creation that had warped her into something she hated had paired them together, she would reject him. Azriel was desperate to prove to her that he could be somebody to love, somebody who would care for her, that he was not rotten and broken inside.

‘Please,’ he whispered, not knowing who his plea was for.

He was mindful not to ever make a lot of noise. If the sisters could hear noise at such an amplified level then they were likely able to hear even his heart beat.

Azriel stopped in his tracks.

That absolute madam. That clever, wonderful madam.

Now, Azriel knew exactly how Nesta was seemingly moving in synchronisation with his sleep. She could hear his heart, could identify the change in his consciousness to know the exact moment that he fell asleep. It was so cunning that Azriel was proud of Nesta. He was also kicking himself that it had taken eight days for him to work it out.

All those hours that he’d sat straight-backed pushing away fatigue thinking that he’d catch her the instant that she emerged. It had been a game of cat and mouse – but the mouse had outwitted him. How many times had Nesta tip-toed over his slumbering form to get to the kitchen?

His delight that he had figured out her scheme soon shifted to panic. Azriel functioned on minimal sleep; it was the way he had always been. It was not healthy for Nesta to stay awake until dawn was creeping in the sky.

Azriel sat on the roof, staring out across the city. The spring day meant that even the Illyrian Mountains were visible on the horizon. Their snow-capped peaks called to him. However bruised his heart was when it came to his people, Illyria - the land itself – always summoned him home. For once, Azriel dreamed of being there, in a quiet corner of paradise, where Nesta could exist in peace. The thought burrowed into his chest making the tug of the bond ease slightly. It was a promise of a future that he was desperate to have for his own.

Nesta would not let him in. Azriel could continue to tread softly, leaving packages beside her door in exchange for dirty laundry, preparing meals for her in the kitchen, but she was stubborn and hurting. Locking herself in the rooms would do no good.

He pressed his lips together, wondering how to manages this. If Azriel pushed too far, he risked her snapping. Without pushing, they’d be stuck in this loop until Feyre returned.

No, it was time for Azriel to do what was necessary. As her mate, he knew what Nesta needed.

***

Once again, a soup had been prepared in the kitchen. The bread was improving too; this one had seeds kneaded into it.

If only Elain would eat more than a couple of spoons.

Nesta perched on a chair pulled close to the edge of the bed. This room had been assigned to Elain, but Nesta would not leave her alone.

‘Please, another spoon, Elain.’

Elain’s eyes shuttered closed again as if that would block Nesta’s voice.

‘You need to eat.’

That had pushed too far. It did not take much these days to force Elain over the edge. She rolled over, pulling the blankets up past her head to hide from the world.

Nesta held back her tears until the bathroom where she could cry undisturbed – not that Elain ever stirred. Her sleeps came often and deeply, not waking for anything unless she decided to.

She returned to the bedroom where she forced herself to eat the rest of the now-cold vegetable soup.

What a life that had landed in her lap. Had the village discovered their absence? Were they worried over them? Nesta wondered if word had been sent to her father in Niva that all three of his daughters had irrevocably changed into something worse.

Part of her wanted to break out of the room to demand answers, but the fear of what she was trapped her in this wretched place.

After sitting beside Elain and stroking her brown locks as she slept – all she did was sleep – Nesta returned to the bathroom to wash out her bowl.

At the sound of the door handle rattling, she stilled for a moment. Nobody had tried to do that in a few days, but Nesta was militant at double-checking the lock when she returned to the bedroom.

She turned back to the tap, poised to twist the brass handle when her blood stilled. The unmistakable sound of the key scraping against the lock had Nesta abandoning the bowl in the sink and racing towards the bedroom door.

Shadows wrapped themselves around the thin key. Those traitorous, little bastards.

The door flew open and Nesta flung herself at the wood, both hands outstretched.

A foot shot out, blocking the door from shutting.

Nesta pressed herself against it, ramming the door with all of her strength.

An arm pushed itself through the gap, gripping the edge of the door.

Her feet skidded along the floor as Azriel forced his way into Elain’s bedroom.

‘Get out!’

More of his body pushed through.

She spat the same words at him again and again to no avail.

When Azriel stood in the bedroom, it snapped something in her. Nesta hit at his chest until her palms stung from the effort.

He seized her wrists in an attempt to subdue her, but she booted his shins. The fight that had deserted her on the worst night of her life finally ignited. There was a tussle where Nesta used any free limbs to attack Azriel while he let her.

Then he span her around and crushed his body to hers, knocking the wind from her chest. His heart throbbed against her back. Nesta tried to break free of his hold but the man was too strong. Her arms were clamped at her side, his locked around her.

‘Get out,’ she hissed again.

Nesta lurched forwards, hoping to throw him off. Azriel remained curved against her, following her movements. She was acutely aware of his strong body pressing into hers and his heavy exhales against her ear.

‘This is a tomb.’

One hand locked onto her chin to turn her head towards the window. Nesta had drawn the heavy, velvet curtains on that first night and had not opened them since. It was too bright for Elain.

He forced her to look at the bedsheets covering the large vanity. It was too painful to see what she had become. Nesta was all gangly limbs and pointed ears. It made her sick.

She managed to land another hit as Azriel adjusted his hold on her. A scarred hand yanked open one curtain so that a harsh beam of light streamed in from the faerie world that she wanted no part of. Then he pulled the sheet away from the mirror.

‘Open your eyes.’

His breath curled on her cheek but Nesta kept her eyes screwed shut.

‘You think you’re stubborn, but you haven’t met me,’ he said. ‘I will stay here holding you until only the poets remember our names.’

A hand stroked against her cheek. ‘There is no spell to reverse what happened. You are high fae.  I cannot change that, Nesta, but I can help you accept it and move forwards. I want to help you.’

The tip of his nose pressed into her temple. No man had ever put his hands on her this way, so consuming and intimate.

‘Look in the mirror.’

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Nesta could have wept at what she saw. The face wasn’t hers. It was crueller, harder on the edges. Her grey eyes had turned silver like molten metal. All of her felt wrong – looked wrong. She had been broken then put back together the wrong way.

Nesta could not look away. As much as she despised what she had become, she could not stop herself from staring. It was a stranger staring back at her. Then her body trembled, wracked with heaving sobs.

Azriel turned her, crushing Nesta to his chest. His arms tightened around her then his wings cradled them both in a cocoon.

This could not be her life. This could not be what she had become. All of her choices had been stolen from her.

‘Where were you? You were supposed to save us. Where were you?’

She felt his breath shudder. ‘I failed you.’

Nesta broke away which was only because he had permitted it. His own expression was anguished. He reached out a hand for her either to touch her or hold her again, Nesta did not know. She did not want it. Would never want anything from these faeries again.

‘No, you have ruined my life. You, Feyre, all of you who forced yourselves into our home and dragged us into a world we wanted no part of. You have ruined our lives. Now, get out.’

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 1: A Platter of Grapes (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 1: A Platter of Grapes 

The Red Keep is graced by an old, familiar presence. 

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: Extremely, and I mean extreme slow burn lol, Daemon and Y/N both being little shits who cannot stand each other, I have a blood feud with the HOTD costuming department for Rhaenyra and thus I go into extreme (probably historical inaccurate) detail about the clothes of the characters, Rhaenicent hints so faint that if you blink you’d miss it 

Word Count: 3.3k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out! 

A/N: A special thanks to all those who have reblogged my ‘Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia’ related posts 💗 your support is truly appreciated and has been the source of my smiles over the past few days 

lovely dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics​ !

105 years after Aegon’s Conquest

Queen Aemma’s chambers was a busy hive of activity, as usual. The queen’s serving girls, ladies-in-waiting, and Grand Maester Mellos went in and out of the Queen’s apartments in a constant rotation, fussing over the heavily pregnant Aemma’s every need or discomfort. Aemma herself was exhausted at the constant fussing and prodding, but Viserys was deeply concerned about the babe in Aemma’s womb - which he insisted with vehement conviction was a son, and therefore must be treated with the utmost level of care, and after five failed attempts at producing an heir, Aemma had learnt over the years that to be overcautious was not necessarily a bad thing. 

Aemma sat sprawled on her lounge, occasionally grimacing when a sharp ache rippled through her body should she choose to adjust herself. Clad in a simple white linen shift and an intricately embroidered rose pink robe of Myrish silk and lace, she felt beads of sweat beginning to form at her temples once more. Her pregnancy had cursed her to endure bout after bout of severe sweating, despite the fact that it was nigh autumn and the ladies of the court had taken to long sleeves and wrapping shawls around their shoulders. Closing her eyes and dabbing at her forehead wearily, she sincerely hoped that the babe in her belly would be the boy Viserys had so longed for, if it meant that she would stop being plagued with the labours of pregnancy.

Her tired expression fell in an instant, replaced by a radiant smile as a woman dressed in a light green linen gown with long bell sleeves walked into her view, nodding politely to the exiting Grand Maester. “You finally came back,” Aemma joked lightly, watching the woman take a seat on the cushioned stool next to Aemma’s recliner. “I was afraid you got sidetracked and forgot about my grapes.” 

The woman’s (Y/E/C) eyes flickered with amusement. “I could never dare forget about you, my queen. You would have me beheaded and my head placed on a spike if I did.” Aemma let out a laugh as she reached over to pluck a grape from the bowl in Y/N’s hands. Y/N shook her head at the queen’s lack of dining decorum, but offered up the much awaited platter of grapes to Aemma’s eager hands regardless. “And pray tell, what shall I do if I had executed my favourite and most competent lady-in-waiting, hmm?” Aemma jested, shoving three grapes into her mouth. It was definitely not something a queen should be doing, but Y/N had been Aemma’s lady-in-waiting for nearly two years, and her friend for far longer. Decorum was not a concept that existed between the two of them. 

“You flatter me, Your Grace. And slow down, the grapes will not fly away.” I chided gently, as Aemma continued shoving three grapes at a time into her mouth. “The grapes won’t, although I’m afraid Rhaenyra will. Didn’t she say she would come to see me at first light? It’s nearly midday.” Just then, like clockwork, a commotion could be heard near the entrance to the Queen’s apartments. Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower’s voice could be heard laughing together among the subservient voices of the servants greeting the two of them. “Speak ill of the Stranger,” I laughed, as Rhaenyra and Alicent appeared in view, smiling with their arms linked. 

Rhaenyra was wearing a silk gown of soft gold, with butterfly sleeves. The bodice had a ribbed triangular corset that was cinched at the waist, and the skirt parted at the middle to reveal a layer of dark crimson brocade, with faint scrollwork detailing in tiny golden threads. A similarly coloured velvet shawl patterned with gold-threaded dragons was draped over her shoulders, to protect her from the chill. Meanwhile Alicent was clad in a gown of light blue worsted yarn, with bell sleeves going to just above her wrists. A thin layer of cream muslin peeked out of her sleeves and ruffles of the same material covered her collarbones modestly. Blue roses were sewn around her waistline, and olive leaves were embroidered around the neckline of her dress. I suppressed a smile when I noticed a garden violet tucked between Alicent’s reddish brown locks, and a similar one nestled in the princess’ white-blonde tresses. 

Rhaenyra immediately went over to Aemma, Alicent staying a respectful distance away. “Your Grace,” Alicent smiled and curtsied politely to Aemma, and Aemma greeted her warmly, “Good morrow, Lady Alicent.” “Mother, Y/N”, Rhaenyra crouched down next to Aemma, holding out a hand to stop me when I stood up to offer her my seat. 

Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose when she noticed her mother clad in such thin clothes, and started detangling her shawl from her shoulders, but Aemma only shook her head with an affectionate smile and stilled Rhaenyra’s motions by cupping her cheek with one hand. “It has been quite long since first light, has it not? You have forgotten about your poor royal mother, Rhaenyra.” 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, though her voice was tender. “Forgive me, Mother. But the weather was far too lovely for me not to take Syrax out for a flight. She has been growing lazy as of late.” Aemma snorted softly, adjusting a braid that had loosened from Rhaenyra’s hairdo. “Now that explains the dragon stench overwhelming my apartments then. You are lucky that Y/N was kind enough to accompany me during your absence.” “Is it not my duty, my Queen?” I teased, “Unless you find my company repulsive, of course.” Aemma pursed her lips thoughtfully, although her eyes were filled with mischief as she said, “Your company is delightful as always, although the waiting time for my food to be brought up is quite outrageous.” “Then I shall pray to the Seven that they might bestow on me the power of flight to serve you better, your Grace.”

“Seven hells!” Rhaenyra cursed, fumbling in her pockets. “Rhaenyra! Language,” Aemma scolded. “What is it?” I asked, concerned. Rhaenyra groaned in frustration, “I had a present for Mother, but I must have dropped it in the throne room when I was showing it to father yesterday.” “How careless,” Aemma chided, although her tone was soft as Rhaenyra bit her lip and hung her head slightly. She must’ve really wanted to give the present to Aemma. 

“Why don’t I go retrieve it?” I offered, standing up and smoothing my dress. “The kitchens are but a stone’s throw away from the throne room, and I am certain Your Grace’s appetite for grapes has not yet been sated.” 

Rhaenyra’s eyes shone with gratitude, “Yes please! Thank you, Y/N.” “Tis nothing, princess. What does it look like?” “It’s a necklace, with a ruby falcon pendant, ” Rhaenyra described, “I got it to remind Mother of home.” “Oh Rhaenyra,” Aemma murmured softly, a soft look of love flooding her face. Rhaenyra held her hand tightly, “There was a sapphire one, but I thought the ruby one would be fitting. For both your Arryn and Targaryen roots.” Aemma squeezed her daughter’s hand, “I will cherish it fiercely forever, as I do with all your gifts.” My face took on a wistful expression as I watched mother and daughter interact and I spoke softly, “Worry not, princess, I will find it and bring it here.” 

I retreated out of the room, returning Alicent’s smile with one of my own as I passed her on my way out of the room, but not before Aemma called out to me, “Make sure you make haste! Your queen desires for more grapes!” “Of course, my Queen!” I called back, grinning. 

The throne room was blissfully unguarded, which signified the absence of the King, and by extension, any nosy courtiers who might frown upon me fumbling around the throne room like a sneaking rat. ‘Perfect, no need for awkward pleasantries then.’ I opened the double doors leading to the throne room, shutting the doors with a heavy thunk. My eyes took a while to adjust to the gloom of the throne room, but I nearly let out a shriek when I saw a shadowy figure sitting on the throne room. Was that the king? And if so, why in the Seven Hells was he sitting in a darkened throne room? 

“Byka zaldrīzes,” an all too familiar voice called out. My heart thumped furiously in my chest as my mouth dropped open in disbelief.

No. No way. He was somewhere floating around in Lys, if court gossip was to be believed. It couldn’t be him. 

“Won’t you come closer? It’s only been 8 years since we last saw each other. Surely you haven’t forgotten me.” 

Daemon Targaryen. Second son of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, younger brother of king Viserys, and the most annoying royal pain in my ass. 

His petulance and near unnatural ability to be able to get on every single nerve in my body had caused me to become a devoted practitioner of self-restraint, given how badly I longed to throttle him or slit his throat with a dagger whenever he was near me. But much to my consternation, societal propriety rendered me unable to challenge him in a duel or even brawl with him, like most boys would do to sort out their differences. But even so, it was not in my nature to silently endure the countless pranks and jests he tormented me with, and thus I often paid him back tenfold for every misdeed he committed against me. My mother was chagrined, while Prince Baelon and Viserys merely laughed and observed our antics with much amusement, along with the rest of the court. 

My lips twisted in a frown, and my heart still beating fast from the initial shock, I walked closer to the Iron Throne. “As much as I’d like to, your memory still leaves an unwanted stain in my mind.” The figure sitting languidly on the throne leaned forward as I approached, making me finally catch a glimpse of the boy whom I used to detest with every fibre of my being. Although he certainly bore no resemblance to the annoying brat I detested. 

Gone was the lankier frame of his youth. In his stead, it was a man, of tall stature and strong muscular frame, honed by years of intense sword training and puberty. His hair had lengthened considerably since the last time I saw it, and my lips twitched in amusement as I remembered how I had once cut it off when we were children as retribution for him dousing me with a bucket of Arbor Gold while he and I were sneaking around the Red keep late at night, him claiming that he had something interesting to show me. I treasured the memory of that deliciously girlish scream he let out when he realised I had dared cut his precious white-blonde locks. His face had lost its roundness over the years as well, becoming lean and chiselled, lending a harsher quality to his expression, but it only seemed to accentuate his daring and dangerous beauty, or at least, if you listened to the giggles of the twittering ladies of court. His eyes, still filled with that same mischievous glint, watched me as I stood in front of the throne, raking over me shamelessly. I rolled my eyes at that, at least some things never changed. 

“Ah, but you remember me nonetheless.” 

“The emphasis was on the word ‘unwanted’, your Grace.” 

He laughed, leaning back against the throne leisurely as he stared at Y/N. ‘It was a sheer marvel his body was not littered with a thousand cuts by now,’ Y/N thought, a scowl on her face. 

“I see the years have finally taught you some manners. I couldn’t remember the last time you addressed me formally. You always had some rather…colourful turn of phrases up your sleeves, however. Maybe the years of looking for a prospective marriage match have taught you some decorum.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him, the vein in my neck beginning to tick in annoyance, as it always did around him. “You know they say, people age slower when they get married. You are living proof that the saying is false.” He let out a throaty laugh, crossing his legs as his voice took on a mocking tone. “I see your lack of marriage prospects have turned you from sour to bitter, byka zaldrizes.” 

I bristled, “Stop calling me that. Why are you here?” “I heard there was a tournament being held in my honour. I should be in attendance since all this heraldry was made on my account, should I not?” “The tournament is for the King’s heir.” Daemon learned forward again, his tone edged with menace, and defiance. “Precisely as I said.” 

I shook my head, duly unimpressed. “There is no need for you to be sitting on the Iron Throne though. Tis not your place.” Daemon scoffed, “And who are you to command me? I am a Targaryen prince, I sit where I please.” “The King would disagree with that if he were here.” I fired back. 

Suddenly, I remembered I was here on an errand, not for idle chat, so in a huff of frustration, I turned away from the offending prince and began to search the halls for a glint of red anywhere. “Running away, byka zaldrīzes?” I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to punch him in his smug face. Calm down, Y/N, you already did that once, and by the Seven Hells, the consequences were absolutely not worth it. “Unfortunately, I am here on an errand, not for childish bickering, your Grace.” I heard a faint sound of footsteps behind me, but I ignored them as I continued to pace around the vast empty room. No sign of any necklace at all. I groaned internally. Perhaps I should’ve asked Rhaenyra for more instructions before taking on the task. 

“Could the errand be this?” I whirled around, finding the Prince in far too close a proximity for my liking, a smirk on his lips and a necklace with a ruby falcon dangling from his raised right hand. My eyes widened, chest sagging in relief as I beheld the necklace. “Yes. Oh thank the Seven,” I reached out to grab the necklace, but Daemon only snatched it back. I let out a strangled noise of frustration, “Hey!” 

Daemon leaned in closer, pressing me against a pillar uncomfortably. “Thank the Seven? I think that they shouldn’t be the one you’re directing your thanks to,” he murmured softly. Goosebumps broke out on my skin, as I glared into his eyes. His infuriatingly, inhumanely beautiful purple eyes. Damn him. “Back up.” I hissed. Daemon seemed to take it as an invitation to lean in closer, his face was mere centimetres from mine now. My breathing became more uneven, feeling a mix of frustration and another strange feeling I couldn't place. “Are you going to punch me again if I don’t?” he whispered softly, his eyes sparkling with deviousness and mischief. “Yes,” I hissed. 

“However, if you take a step back, I might find it in me to thank you for your nosiness in picking up things that do not belong to you.” “Yet if it were not for me, you might have needed to scour the whole of King’s Landing to find this little trinket.” He withdrew from me with a smirk, and I huffed, glaring at him. “Well? I’m impatiently awaiting your gratitude, byka zaldrizes.” Gritting my teeth, I finally bit out, “Thank you, Your Grace. Will you please return me the necklace now? The princess is in need of it.” 

A rough laugh escaped him. “Now that’s more like it. You’re very welcome, my lady.” He dropped the necklace into my waiting hand, eyes watching me as I clasped the falcon pendant in my hand and internally praised the Seven for being able to find it, although through an unconventional method. “You changed a lot, you know,” he said, his eyes still studying my face. “That’s to be expected. It’s been 8 years. You have changed too.” “You’re quieter,” he observed. “Well, I can hardly scream at you now that we’re both adults, can I? I have a reputation to maintain.” 

The prince scoffed at that, “Reputation. Lady Primrose always stressed about that. I didn’t think you’d take her lessons to heart.” “She was my mother, Your Grace. And she is correct about the importance of reputation, especially as I am chief lady-in-waiting to the queen now.” I chided him. He chuckled darkly, “The topic of reputation is not one I much care for. You should know that better than anyone, my lady.” I raised my eyebrows, “Is that why you came back to court without Lady Royce then?” Daemon rolled his eyes, “That boring cunt is the least of my worries. Court is already dreadfully dull. Should I need to suffer in her presence for any longer, I might just mount my own head on a spike.” “I always thought you a warrior, but it seems you are a coward in the face of marriage.” I mocked. I could see Daemon’s face scrunch up with anger at my claim, and I smirked, relishing in how he still had the same sore spots he did when we were children. Classic Daemon. 

Daemon felt fury bubble up in him, like a kettle dangerously close to boiling point. Seeing her smirk however, made him forgo his initial angry outburst and settle for a sharper, more hurtful one. “Bold words for someone who keeps rejecting marriage proposals. If there’s anyone who is a coward, I would say it’s you, my lady.” The vein in my neck was probably protruding to the high heavens by now. I longed to yell at him, like I always did back in my girlhood, but I couldn’t, because he was right. Yelling would only prove his point and allow him the pleasure of gloating. I was not about to rise up to his bait. Turning away from him, I walked out of the hall briskly. “It was a pleasure seeing you, your Grace, but I’m afraid I must be off. I hope we never have the misfortune to cross paths again.” 

My hand was on the brass door handle when I heard him call my name once more. “Y/N?” Rolling my eyes, I kept my back turned away from him. “Yes, your Grace?” 

“I was sorry to hear about Lady Primrose’s passing.” I stiffened at his unexpected condolences. I hadn’t thought about my mother in a very long time. “She was as much of a mother to me as she was to you” I tilted my head downward, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “It has been 7 years since she passed. There is no need to offer your condolences…but I appreciate it nonetheless.” 

Daemon heard the doors to the throne room slam shut. His eyes still cast on the door Y/N had just left from, he tilted his head slightly. A soft chuckle resonated through the throne room. ‘Same old Y/N’, he thought to himself, a smile curling at his lips, ‘but…different somehow.’ Oddly enough, he felt his heart twinge for some reason at her sudden departure. He had not realised how silent these past 8 years have been, not until today.

Queen Aemma was delighted with her daughter’s present, although a bit put out that her lady-in-waiting had arrived back at her chambers with no grapes in sight. But observing the mildly murderous glint in Y/N’s eyes, Aemma wisely kept her mouth shut. She wondered what had happened to make Y/N so annoyed, but then she let slip an amused chuckle as realisation dawned on her. 

Daemon.

translation: byka zaldrīzes: little dragon

And that’s the first chapter! If you loved it so far, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) Thank you for reading! Chapter 2 should be out in the next week or so! Let me know if you wished to be added to a taglist in the comments or through this form 

[startenthousand]

Finished projects of 2023

Self-designed socks, started in 2012.

Gilbert Baker pride flag, started sometime in the 2018-2019 school year.

Leafy doily, circa 2021

Handspun shawl from the end of 2022

Instant gratification project to get me through February

Meeting knitting: socks for me

Meeting knitting: socks for a friend

Rubber-duck-sized hats for coworkers' debugging ducks