#the return of the ladyship

[wildchildvdm]

Hey to the bitch I had a beef about Regal coming back to the WWE to work with his son.

BITCH I FUCKING TOLD YOU AND DON’T DISRESPECT WILLIAM REGAL EVER AGAIN!

[xkuja]

@her-enlightened-ladyship​ sent: Hilda had taken to decorating his palace in Yule trimmings - evergreen sprigs, holly, ivy, and mistletoe. Even enchanted crystals seemed to have been used as decorative lighting. How did she obtain such supplies? Ah. A lady never tells.

|| ||      His flat stare grew even flatter upon paying a glance toward Valia Pira-- Even his prized security system had been subjected to her... treatment, a festive wreath hanging from its prongs. His tail flicked at a nearby bauble.

      “Pray tell...” Alas, not knowing quite how to posit this argument, he trailed off there and gestured about the merry mess she had made of the place. “???!!?!!!?”

[summervale]

「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words:  2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!”  She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

 "Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could. 

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

[plussizefantasia]

Don't Cry over Spilled Lemonade pt.2

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: A little bit of dread on the reader's part but mostly it's fluff and yearning, just the way I like it.

A/N: hahaha I finally finished it!!!! Thanks for all the love on part one it really made me so happy to see so many people liking the little story that I wrote half asleep <3

Anthony wrestled with his thoughts for the rest of the evening. He hated himself deeply for hurting you and even more for not remembering it. Knowing himself though, he knew that his actions were probably fueled by a desire to leave the gathering and visit Siena, she had been his refuge in the years before and during Daphne’s debut. 

He would never forgive himself if the reason you would not ever stand to be in the same room with him was his naive infatuation with the opera singer. Especially given the fact that as soon as he met you all thoughts of her flew from his eyes and he never thought of her in that way again. Deep down he knew that his heart now belonged to you although that thought was much too terrifying to dwell on for more than a minute.

You on the other hand were reeling with the new information. You had vowed to hate Anthony Bridgerton until your dying day but his pleas for forgiveness had shaken your will. You still held a deep anger towards him, one that you didn’t think would go away any time soon. But it was becoming harder and harder for you to find the detestation in yours that had once been bubbling at the surface.

You didn't know what to expect from the Viscount anymore, you had always had a pretty clear picture of the man in your mind, and in one fell swoop he had shattered it like glass. Seeing him playing with his younger siblings in the park the day after your conversation in the hallway certainly didn’t help settle your mind.

If there was one thing you knew about Anthony Bridgerton it was that he loved his family. Sometimes he goes about it in the wrong way but you could tell that he does everything he does for them, even getting grass stains on his trousers because Hyancithy and Gregory are insistent that he plays tag with them in the great park.

It is their laughter that draws your attention first followed shortly by a sharp shout and even more giggles. You are fortunate enough to catch sight of the Viscount tripping and landing on his backside, his hands falling to the side of him and right into what looks to be some freshly planted flower beds. His head hangs and he takes a heaving sigh before pushing himself back up. You can’t help but laugh at the sight.

Anthony would be able to recognize your laugh anywhere, he hears it flowing through the halls of his home enough that it’s become ingrained in his mind. His head turns to where you are and your eyes meet. He is taken aback by the warmth he finds in them. How long has it been since you’ve looked at home with anything but detached coldness?

It is Hyancinth who bridged the gap between the two of you, with a shout of your name she comes bounding across the green and practically leaps into your open arms. 

“Hello sweet girl, having fun are we?” Your hand runs down the back of her head and you smile down at her.

“We were playing a game of tag, would you like to join us.” Sometimes you forget how innocent the young girl is. Her smile is contagious as it spreads across your own face.

“On any other day my darling but I’ve only cut through the park on my way to visit with Lady Danbury and you know how she is about punctuality.”

“Oh.” Her face falls and your heart follows.

“How about this? Once I am done calling upon her ladyship I shall stop by and you can finally show me the new dresses you got for dolly Molly okay?”

Her smile returns full force and she squeezes you a little tighter before conjuring up a mask of faux indifference.

“I suppose I can accept that.” 

“You’re starting to sound like Viscount grumpypants over there.” You tickle at her side.

“I heard that,” Anthony calls from a ways away, Greg held under his arm.

“I was not trying to keep quiet my Lord.” Your eyes meet his once again and Anthony cannot help the little bubbling of hope that builds inside his chest when he sees the lightheartedness contained in your gaze.

“That’s Lord Grumpypants to you.” He shoots back and delights in the way your smile widens. 

“Very well Lord Grumpypants, I must be off but I’ll see you all later.” You say the last words down at the young lady still wrapped up in your arms. You give her one final squeeze before releasing her and bowing your head slightly at her older brother. You try not to dwell too much on how much you enjoy the viscount’s smile.

Anthony takes the day in the park as a sign, one that shows him all hope is not lost. All he needs to do is fix his mistake. He craved you, that much he knew. He craved your smile and your laugh, he yearned for your kind eyes and the way you seemed to float when you walked. He has never considered himself a particularly creative man but the images his mind conjures of the two of you make him second-guess himself.

He did not have time to imagine for very long, however, as Colin was due to return today for the start of the season and Eloise seemed to need constant supervision lest she run away the first chance she got. The Danbury ball could not come soon enough.

The Danbury ball was one of legend, the older woman’s opening ball was not one to be missed as it set the tone for the rest of the season. Young women not lucky enough to gain the Queen’s favor had a second chance at the Danbury ball, a chance to show themselves off to the ton once more in the hopes of catching the eye of an eligible young man. 

You were no different than those young ladies, primping and preening all day long with the hopes that you would be able to secure a match this season before you become too old to do so. Your mother was adamant that this season had to be spectacular, you had to look and act your best always. She was weary and weeping, moaning about how you’d be letting down the family if you were unable to secure a match.

It was interesting you thought, how quickly she changed her tune. During your debut season, she had spoken dreamingly about a love match and finding happiness and now you were sure that she would shove you off to whoever if it meant that you would be married. It seemed your Mama’s greatest fear was you becoming a spinster. 

You obliged her whims, after all, you did wish to find a match. You had always dreamed of a love match. With every year that passed by the candle of hope held within your heart flickered, it was small now, but you had to admit that it still burned. You still soothed your restless nights with dreams of a husband and children, a loving home full of laughter and joy. That is the future you want, that is the future you will fight for.

Tonight you aim to make an entrance, any attention at this point is better than being snubbed. You wore a gown of deep red, with golden lace around the bodice and black and gold beading around the waistline and down the back. Your maid pulled and twisted your hair, piling it upon your head and creating a bold and dramatic look. You were going to pull attention, you had to.

And pull attention you did, from the moment you entered the ballroom all eyes were on you. Ladies whispered and hid behind their fans. Men stood in circles with their peers but you caught the glance of more than one bachelor. And yet, nobody had approached you. You were beginning to feel the flash in your cheeks. Perhaps this was too much, such boldness was offputting and you should have stuck to the known. Dressed in soft pinks and whites, proclaiming purity and softness. 

Anthony was beside himself. You were the most ethereal creature he had ever had the privilege of laying his gaze on and he wished to spend the whole night by your side; catching up on all the lost time. He knew though, that you would never allow that, and he would rather die than hurt you again. 

So he watched and watched and watched. As time ticked on those cowards kept you waiting. Dances began and ended, people arrived and left and all the while you were stood, bathed in candlelight and alone. 

The sun had long since set and you were done. No longer would you endure this embarrassment. You had followed your gut and put yourself out there and it had failed. You were destined to be alone you suppose.

Just as you were getting ready to turn away and retreat back to the safety of your family home a hand entered your sight. Palm up and inviting, your eyes traced slowly up the arm and towards the face of the gentleman who had finally put you out of your misery.

Anthony Bridgerton stood before you, arm outstretched and a small smile on his face. “A lady as beautiful as yourself does not deserve to spend the whole night without a single dance.” 

“Are you offering?” You looked him in the eye and raised a brow. This was the first time since your conversation in the hallways that Anthony had approached you without one of his siblings present to be a buffer.

“I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“And what might that be?” You tilted your head to the side and watched as a smirk slowly spread across his face.

“You have a choice, right here and right now. Either grasp my hand and we dance the rest of the night away, opinions be damned. Or you snub me, snub me like I snubbed you that night, and get your revenge.”

You exhale a laugh and look at him. His face held a smile but also a certain seriousness that belayed his intention. This was him making it up to you. He would accept rejection if that is what you wanted. 

Here he was, the man who had hurt you and who you still held a flame for offering himself up to like a lamb to slaughter. 

You must’ve been taking a long time to answer because the Viscount began shifting on his feet. He looked around the room at the other couples who began to take to the dancefloor.

“I do not mean to rush you my lady, but the dance will be starting soon.”

“Anthony you must promise me.”

“Anything, name it and it’s yours.” 

“Promise me that you will never hurt me again, I don’t think my heart could take it.” You took his hand. And let your lips curve into a gentle smile.

He pulled your hand wrapped within his own close to his heart, and vowed, “I will do everything in my power to protect you for the rest of my days, even if the one I am protecting you from is myself.”

“I don’t need protection Anthony,” you looked deeply into his eyes, “I just need your love, honest and true.”

“Then you shall have it.” 

Anthony pulled you to the dancefloor and led you in far too many dances to be appropriate that night. And every night for the rest of the season. And neither of you cared about what the rest of the ton had to say. You had each other, finally, and neither of you was letting go anytime soon. 

taglist: @ilikestuffs-stuff @cat-lockwood @wolf-phoenix-lover

@tenshis-cake @bridkesby @divergentalwaysandforever-blog @lillysfrogsandbogs @unholyhuntress

[asvtrials]

Hate that I want you

Hate that i want you      masterlist

part one      next part idea: @floydsfae tags: @ilovejeansosomuch. @spikedfearn (inspired by) summary: Parting ways with a friend group was always hard, somehow trying to rejoin that group was even harder. Especially when a particular quick-tempered someone is rather bitter about your choices. warnings/tags: lots of swearing. friends to enemies to lovers. Bjorn is a bitter and jealous shit. angst a/n: I'm not very familiar with the Alien franchise so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies. This is my first Tumblr post and I'm not used to writing in the second-person narrative so sadly this is not my best work but I still hope you like it. English is not my first language so please be nice. word count: 2394

“Fuck no.” That was your only answer before you covered yourself with your blanket and sank even deeper into your messy bed.

“Come on, Y/n!.” The muffled voice of your friend, Kay reached your ears under the blanket before she started to pull it away from you.

“Leave me alone.” You whined while trying to hold onto the covers until eventually Kay gave up

She sighed and sat next to you on the bed. “This is gonna be good for us.” She tried to reason. “You think that idiot was your way out? This is the way out.! She shook you a bit under the covers to make sure you were actually listening.

You rolled over, unsure if she actually believed in this nonsense or was that desperate to leave Jackson’s Star. You wouldn’t blame her if she was.

You stared at her for a long moment, brows furrowed. “Who had this idea in the first place?” You asked, surprised that anyone would think this would work.

“Tyler and Navarro. They said they pick-”

“Tyler and Navarro? Damn, they are really getting desperate.” You cut her off with a scoff.

“So, are you,” Kay added.

You couldn’t deny it.

You were tired. Tired of living the same day over and over again. Wake up at 6 am to the same darkness that followed you the entire day, get ready by 6:30 am, and begin your walk to the bus station to take the overcrowded bus that drove all of the workers to the mines.

Thankfully you were able to be transferred to the kitchen, away from the cramped caves. And as sad as it sounded, that was the only good thing that happened to you in a while.

You didn’t know if it was that or the resentful feeling of your fresh breakup but you let Kay pull you out of your bed and push you into the shower. You just knew you wanted to change this overwhelming routine of the past two months.

As soon as you got dressed, the girl led you through the busy, dimply-lit streets and toward an alleyway where the rest of the crew would wait for you.

You didn't know how to feel about this reunion. You haven't really seen them in a while, spending most of your time with your now ex-boyfriend. You were surprised they even included you in this ‘mission’. You figured it was probably Kay and Tyler, possibly Navarro too.

You turned around and were greeted by the figures of your old friends, Tyler and Bjorn.

When they met your nervous stare, you noticed Tyler’s expression mirrored yours even if it was for a split second. He quickly concealed his uncertainty with a smile that reached his eyes.

“Hey, Y/n. How have you been?” Tyler chuckled and pulled you into a hug, startling you a bit but soon enough you returned the affection

“Fine, I guess—” You began but before you could continue a different voice echoed in the empty alleyway, accent thick and tone dripping with accusation.

“We weren’t sure if you'd bless us with your ladyship.”

Of course, it was no other than Bjorn who would make a comment like this. He earned a glare from Tyler but he just shrugged s as if he was just making conversation.

An annoyed smile tugged at your lips as you spoke “Seems like you didn't change. Like at all.”

Bjorn ignored your comment and turned to Kay. “If she's all caught up, we should go.”

You raised your eyebrow at the way he brushed you off but you decided to let it go. “What about Navarro, Rain, and Andy?” You asked.

“Navarro’s fixing some other parts of the ship and Rain is—” Tyler paused for a moment, sending a glance at his half-sister. You followed his eyes but Kay just smiled at you “Busy with her job,” Tyler ended up saying.

“Is Rain all right?” You asked, chuckling a bit at their failed attempt to cover the truth.

“You’d know if you weren’t too busy snogging your boyfriend every chance you got,” Bjorn remarked with a smug smirk. You could feel your blood boiling at the mention of your ex.

“Bjorn! We talked about this.” Tyler warned the boy but he just scoffed.

“What? She was gone for two months and now acts all worried! That’s a load of bollocks!” He argued, gesturing towards you with a huff.

“Oh, fuck off, Bjorn!” You raised your voice over Tyler who was about to cuss his cousin out. This was already hard enough but having Bjorn act like a massive asshole wasn’t something you were going to sit through.

You did abandon them. You were a bitch, and a bad friend, and whatever this asshat wanted to call you but you didn’t need to hear it, especially from Bjorn out of all people.

You just wanted to have a better life, at least as good as it could get in this shitty colony. A future to look forward to and Noa made it look possible. He had ambition and connections and could easily get a better job than most of the Jackson Star residents. At the time you were stupid enough to believe that he wouldn’t drop you. Yet, as soon as he bagged a job in the ‘Office of Colony Affairs’ he dumped you because, in his words, you had ‘different life goals.’

Fuck. And fuck him, and Bjorn and whoever dared to call you a whore or an opportunist. All of you had the same life goals, get the fuck out of here. That’s why you were here. As crazy as this plan sounded, at least you would be doing something to get away from this place.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting something better for myself!” You snapped.

Bjorn ran his tongue over his teeth, letting out a low chuckle to hide his irritation “So you dropped everyone to get that.” He stated before he met your eyes once more. You didn’t know what you saw in his gaze but it wasn’t simply anger.

“I didn’t drop any of you!” You began, throwing your hands in frustration. “I kept in touch with Kay and Navarro. I asked about all of you! If you weren’t such a dick you’d realize that you made it difficult to talk to you!”

Bjorn remained quiet as if he was trying to come up with a comeback. He tore his gaze away from you when he turned around and mumbled “Whatever.”

“We should really get going now,” Kay spoke nervously, more to Tyler than anyone else.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Tyler agreed noticeably glad that the fight would come to an end, for now at least.

You sent Bjorn one last glare before following Kay and Tyler, but he didn't look all that affected.

The walk to the abandoned warehouse was rather long. A couple of years ago it was busy with workers and clients, mostly to buy components for mining haulers and gear. But right now it was collecting dust and vines so it was the perfect place to get some forgotten parts and tools.

Tyler helped Kay jump over the tall fence while you and Bjorn were already on the other side. You smiled at the sweet moment between the siblings trying to ignore the panging feeling in your chest.

You tried to ignore the intense need you had to glance at the boy next to you but you couldn’t help it. His gaze was fixated on the tall building, holding the cigarette between his fingers. You tried to push away the bitter feeling that cursed through you.

It wasn’t that long ago that he helped you the same way, finding any excuse to feel your skin under his fingertips.

But that was just a childish game you two developed. Flirting jokingly, touching a bit more than necessary to see the other’s cheeks redden and hear your friends groan in disgust. Both of you comfortably balanced on the rope between friendly banter and romantic curiosity.

When both Kay and Tyler landed on the other side of the fence, you began walking toward the building.

You stepped inside and an aerie breeze hit you, from the way Kay started to rub her shoulders you guessed the rest felt the same.

“Bloody hell…” Bjorn mumbled as he walked to the front desk which was covered in dust and some dead bugs.

“Yeah, that’s nasty.” Kay agreed, keeping close to you and Tyler.

“I’ll go check the first floor, someone should check the second,” Tyler announced the plan, staring at the sketch of the parts Novarro drew him.

The group was surrounded by silence, the four of you looking at each other awkwardly until Kay decided to make it easier for all of you. “I can go with Bjorn.” She said cheerily trying to ignore the tension.

“Good, Y/n we’ll go together” Tyler nodded toward you and started walking up the stairs.

Bjorn's loud voice stopped both of you in your tracks. Bjorn tried to sound uninterested even amused as he spoke “I see, you act all tough yet can’t even spend five minutes alone with me. Scared I’ll hurt your feelings, innit?” The way those last words fell out of his lips in such a pitying manner really struck a nerve.

You knew what he was doing. He was baiting you. You saw him do it to everyone, although you weren’t sure if Andy even could understand that he did it just to annoy him.

Still, you weren’t one to give him the satisfaction. You let out a dry chuckle as you rolled your eyes. “Bjorn and I are going to check the second floor” You declared, not bothering to turn around.

“I can go with Y/n?” Kay tried to intervene but neither you nor Bjorn listened as you walked up the stairs.

“Remember, in and out! Be quick.” You heard Tyler’s voice bounce off the walls as you continue your path to the second floor, Bjorn hot in your trail.

You entered a room as soon as you reached the second floor. By the numerous boxes and shelves filled with dirty items, this was clearly one of the storage rooms

“You search the right side, I'll search the left side,” You said when you noticed Bjorn still walking behind you.

“Don’t tell me what to do” He quickly retorted.

You let out an exasperated sigh and walked to the right side instead, ignoring his snarkiness.

Neither of you talked for a long while, putting equipment that seemed useful in your bags or simply looking through the dusty machinery.

Bjorn was the first to break the uncomfortable silence “So how are things with your boyfriend.” You didn’t miss the way his tone changed to a mocking one at the word ‘boyfriend’ but you chose to ignore it.

You stayed quiet for a moment, not sure if you wanted to answer. “We don’t have to talk.”

“Come on, I’m trying to be nice.” He spoke over the loud noise of his hand rummaging through some drawers and you could practically hear his smirk.

A groan managed to slip past your lips before you said “We broke up.”

You heard Bjorn’s movements come to a halt momentarily followed by a breathy laugh. “Can’t say I'm surprised you dumped that twat.”

You remained silent once again only saying a drawn-out “Yeah”

“Wait a fucking minute.” Bjorn laughed, walking closer to you, a smug smirk spreading on his face “He dumped you!”

The amusement in his voice made your anger flare up once again causing your face to contort in irritation but you tried to ignore it and just get the job done, practically slamming the drawer shut.

“Why did he dump you? Did he find someone that matched his status? He did get promoted to a whole-ass desk job” He snorted.

You tried to be calm, you really did but all of it was so recent “Can you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?” You exploded, making his eyes leave the shelves and focus on you. “Is it really so funny that I was dumped?”

Bjorn stared at you for a long moment, before turning to continue searching. Obviously not without a sarcastic comment. “It’s funny that he dumped you but sorry, didn’t know you were so in love.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose to try and keep your cool. “As if you know what love is?” You tried to keep your voice from shaking with anger.

Bjorn met your scowl once again but to your surprise, his expression didn’t match yours. Unlike yours, his eyes didn’t hold any rage but something that made you unable to look away as he moved closer to you, looming above you.

“I know you two weren’t.” The low tone in his voice had you breathless for a moment.

Does it even matter if you loved Noa? Falling in love was never the point.

“You don’t know anything” You spat out, your voice as intense.

He raised his eyebrow at your words, staring down into your eyes “Really?” He dragged out the word. “You were in love with that asshat? You really want me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe, that’s none of your fucking business.” You bit back, taking a step closer. You wanted to remain unbothered by how the corner plush lips tugged up but the warmth that spread through your cheeks was impossible to ignore.

“You’re not answering my question.” The almost gentleness in his voice quickly disappeared as he laughed, his breath hitting your face. His fingers slowly reached up to flick a strand of your hair mockingly.

You were about to slap away his hand when you heard Kay’s voice from the corridor.

“Guys, where are you?” She shouted.

“Uh—we’re here Kay” You yelled back, stepping back from Bjorn. You really didn’t notice how close you two were standing.

Soon enough Kay’s figure appeared in the doorframe.

“Glad to see you didn’t kill each other” She joked. “We found the thing Navarro needed, we can go.” She announced.

You hated how your eyes met Bjorn’s even if it was for a second, and you hated the feeling that erupted in your stomach even more.

[frost-queen]

Travel fevers (Reader x Colin Bridgerton)

Requested by anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex–awesome–22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m, @erikasurfer

Summary: Colin and reader meet on his travels to Spain. Your father having brought you along to his travels so many times when you were young. Colin and you started to bond more, falling deeply in love. When you return to Mayfair, he introduces you to his family with the intention to make you his.

“Those barrels go in the back.” – you said pointing with your pencil in the direction. Scribbling down on the paper you were holding as the man pushed the barrel further up the ship. Another man came up the plank from the port with a barrel. – “Spices Senorita.” – he said tipping his head at you. You nodded writing down on your paper, redirecting him to a corner of the ship.

Turning slightly around to the deck of the ship, you started counting to make sure your calculations were correct. – “That’s three barrels of salt.” – you said out loud to one of the workmen by your side. – “Four barrels of pickled fish. Two with peppers and twelve boxes of oranges.” – you finished looking at him if you were correct.

“Ay senorita.” – he answered taking his hat off to you. – “Wonderful. Go take a bottle of rum, Miguel.”  - you patted him on the bac. Miguel bowed at you before taking his leave. Another one of the worker approached you, needing a signature from you. You happily signed it, gaze falling down on a man standing to stare below on the port.

“Seeing anything you like?” – you called out, catching him off guard. – “I’m… I’m sorry but did you just…” – he began running up the plank, grabbing onto the railing to get closer to you. – “Is this your ship?” – he questioned making sure he didn’t violate your property by remaining on the plank. – “Yes.” – you replied seeing him gape with curiosity at you. – “Never seen a woman own anything?” – you asked moving your hands to your hip.

The man quickly shook his head. – “No, no I didn’t mean it like that.” – he corrected himself. – “It is just admiring.” – he spoke. – “A woman doing business?” – you teased, quirking your eyebrow up. The man chuckled amusingly. – “A woman traveling the world.” – he answered making you laugh loud.

He dropped to a bow, introducing himself. – “Lord Colin Bridgerton.” – he addressed himself. You dropped into a curtsy. – “Countess Y/n Y/l/n.” – you introduced yourself. – “Would my lord be interested in the invitation of welcoming on my ship?” – you asked, gesturing behind you. – “I will gladly accept, your ladyship.”

You moved aside for Colin to step on the deck. Guiding him to a spot on the deck near the masts. Using barrels as seating. Miguel approached, placing two glasses down. – “Apologies that it is not as comfortable as you are used to, my lord.” – you said while Miguel poured the drinks. Colin smiled politely. – “Part of the experience.” – he answered making you smile. Colin and you rose your glass before drinking.

You set your glass down, admiring the man for a moment. – “What brings you to Spain?” – you asked curious what an English lord was doing so far from home. – “The culture.” – he answered, setting his glass down as well. – “I needed to spread my wings a bit before returning home.” – he added. – “I see. The women must be interesting then.” – you responded making him nearly choke on his drink.

“I…I…” – he started, trying to hide his laugh, waving his hand across. – “Oh goodness did I make you blush?” – you teased looking mischievous at him. Colin set his glass back down, clearing his throat. Throwing you flirtatious glance back. – “Is there a lord Y/l/n?” – he wanted to know, being very curious.

You shook your head. Colin looked all smug, gleaming with your response. Placing his hand on the barrel in front of him, he was intrigued to know more about you. – “What makes a countess like yourself travel so far from England as well?” – he said. You leaned your elbows on the barrel, chin resting on your hands. – “My father used to bring me along to his travels ever since I was a young child.” – you told him. – “Travelling is in my blood.” – you finished.

“My father cared so much to be present with the imports. My mother died when I was very young, so he had no other choice than to take me along. He’d rather travel the world with me around then return after so long and having missed seeing me grow up.” – you explained, leaning back to gaze at the horizon for a moment.

“Your father sounds like a remarkable man.” – Colin answered. – “He is.” – you sighed out. – “Is he…?” – Colin was curious. – “Gods no.” – you called out half in shock. – “He is simply enjoying retirement. The longs trips take a toll on his body. He is back at home managing from afar.”

Colin hummed loud. He rose his glass once more. – “To your father.” – he said to toast. You brought your glass up as well, letting it touch with his. – “To travelling.” – you replied before taking a sip. – “What is your next destination?” – Colin asked pointing at the last barrels that were loaded on deck. – “Portugal.” – you told him. –“Then it is a trip back home.” – finishing. Colin glanced teasingly your way.

You leaned closer to him. – “Care to join or does my lord have other obligations?” – you flashed your gaze down to his lips before locking them on his eyes once more. Colin came leaning in as well, arm resting on the barrel. – “I have no other obligations my ladyship than to come with you.” – he answered, eyeing your lips as well.

If he were still in England, he didn’t know if he would be so bold. But something about being away from the ton and restrictions made him act more freely. Perhaps it was also the culture not being so stiff as England that he adored.

You poured him another glass, chatting a bit more till it was time to leave the port. Taking the long journey to Portugal. Colin has been on a ship before, yet this one felt special. You had invited him that night to dine with him. Something instantly clicking. Colin and you kept throwing glances at each other from across the table. His head spinning as he felt himself go feral for you. The way you were teasing him by just being present.

The ladies in Spain were pleasant, but you were on a different level. Perhaps it was the wine or the rockiness of the waves that made him act so out of control. Colin got up going round the table to you. You blinked surprised when he pressed his hands against your cheeks. Guiding you upwards as you rose from your seat. Eyes locked on each other with the most lovable expression.

“Forgive me your ladyship.” – he breathed against your skin before smacking his lips to yours. You felt the deepness of his kiss, holding him. Retrieving your lips, you turned round, swiping your hands over the table to clear the way. Colin smirked as you hopped onto the table. Grabbing him by his shirt, you pulled him close, wanting his lips on yours once more.

It took around a month to arrive at the harbour of Portugal. Colin and you deeply falling in love with each other. You were arranging the supplies as Colin was watching you from afar. Smiling admirable at you. Feeling himself lucky that he found you on his travels. Your gaze locked briefly on him, smiling. Colin walked over, feeling as if it was his cue to come closer to you. He approached you, taking your hand to kiss it.

It made you chuckle, giving him a playful shove. – “It is nice to see husband and wife travelling together.” – a worker said with a thick accent as he helped some crates board the ship. – “Oh we aren’t…” – You told him, waving your hand across. – “Not yet.” – Colin interrupted, making you gape at him. He took your hand once more, smiling.

“For I intend to make you mine once we return home, Y/n.” – he said leaving another kiss on your hand. It made you bashful. – “I’ll be holding you onto that dearest Colin.” – you replied giving him a playful shove. Colin assisted you in the business, recounting the supplies to be extra certain. You finished up the paperwork, paying the dockworkers from Portugal.

They were preparing the ship to sail out as you stood by the railing. Colin came over, moving his arms around your waist. – “Now another month of sailing before we are on English soil.” – you informed him as he left a kiss on your shoulder. – “The only reason I am looking forward to getting back home is to make you my wife.” – he breathed out leaving another kiss on your shoulder.

It tickled making you move your shoulder up. – “What will your family say?” – you turned around in his embrace to face him. – “Leaving to travel Europe and return with a girl whom you wish to marry.” – you said teasingly. Colin smiled keeping his hands against your cheeks. – “Not just any girl. My beautiful, beautiful Y/n.” – he responded before kissing you. A month passed as the ship was on English ground. The shipment send out to other businesses as you received payment for them.

Colin and you got into a carriage, riding for him home. You were very nervous as you wondered what his family might think. Colin holding your hand gave you some comfort. The trip was long with several stops, but you were glad to make it to the mainland. Mayfair. The hometown of Colin Bridgerton. The carriage came to a stop before the house. Colin getting out, holding his hand out to you. You accepted it, getting out as well.

The doorman opened the door. Colin held his finger up to you, wanting you to wait just a moment. He entered the drawing room as you heard lots of loud voices and screams of happiness. Stroking any last wrinkles out of your dress, you prepared yourself to meet his family. Colin reappeared, holding his hand out to you. You took it as he lead you into the drawing room. – “Mother, brothers, sisters I want you to meet my betrothed Countess Y/n Y/l/n.” – Colin introduced you as you curtsied deep for them.

Violet looked with surprise at her son. – “Countess?” – Anthony said to Benedict, surprised that his brother had aimed so high. – “It is a pleasure meeting you, Viscountess Bridgerton.” – you said, curtsying once more. – “She’s pretty.” – Hyacinth said to Francesca.

Violet smiled delightful, coming over to give you a hug. – “Oh look at you.” – she said holding her hand under your chin. Smiling, she held her hand, looking back at her own children. That was their cue as Hyacinth rushed over to you. She wrapped her arms around you, hugging you tight.

“I have a new sister.” – she said squeezing you in her embrace. Colin tapped her on the shoulder, to let go. – “I have brought gifts for you all from my travels.” – you told them. You handed Hyacinth her gift as she gasped loud. You then gave everyone else their gift as they were obsessed with how wonderful it was. Colin smiled back at you, kissing your hand.

Proud that his family had accepted you and seen just how wonderful you are. Colin and you waited till the appropriate time after the social season to get married. Forever binding to each other. Travelling Europe together for business whenever it was needed. A life Colin couldn’t say goodbye to anymore.

-----------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[shalotttower]

The Art of Disappearing (part 1)

Title: The Art of Disappearing Fandom: Resident Evil Village Characters: Lady Dimitrescu x Reader (female) Summary: Lady Dimitrescu enjoys wine; you enjoy living. You pray to god those don't overlap. Word count: 1800+ Notes: mentions of death, implied torture and violence, NSFWish, WINE Part 2

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here.

Melt seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains until you're indistinguishable from them. Become wallpaper with eyes that stare and mouths that don't open, and arms that only pick, and pass, and scrub, and fold.

You're not the girl who was locked in the cellar last week.

You're not the girl who dropped a plate yesterday.

You're not the girl whose blood got so deep into the dining room rug that it's better off being burned.

You want to say that you won't be that girl, but you can't promise anything anymore except that dinner is at 6 o'clock every evening unless stated otherwise by Lady Dimitrescu. Your schedule revolves around hers entirely, like planets rotating around their dying sun, even if it's not your shift. There's no such thing as a day off in the castle.

But there're such things as a quiet day, or a normal day, or a bad one.

Today is a bad one.

Lady Dimitrescu's favourite lipstick is missing.

It's a very rare, expensive shade, like the red shell of a ladybug, or the last breath of a maiden. Your ears pick up the word being murmured from one maid to another — 'if anyone sees the item, return it to the Lady's vanity immediately'.

You hope that someone finds it soon. Nobody here is dumb enough to steal, so it's probably forgotten somewhere. But you don't say it of course, because Her Ladyship doesn't forget anything and you still need your tongue intact.

---

Lady Dimitrescu likes wine; you enjoy living.

You pray that the two never overlap.

So far luck has been on your side — for six months now you've been working in the castle. You've cleaned stains from carpets and floors without asking what they are (because it was clear even without questions); polished silverware until you could see yourself reflected in them and arranged flowers countless times to learn which ones Lady favors over others.

You were a mouth that didn't speak and eyes that saw nothing. A piece of furniture with legs and arms.

As long as you do your job and keep a low profile, you're safe. Humans thrive in delusion, and so do you. It keeps you sane, what an oxymoron that is.

---

At three in the afternoon, you clean the bathrooms.

Bela is the neatest among the three, and Cassandra leaves everything scattered around for maids like you to collect and place where it's supposed to be. Daniela is... unique. You're not sure how she manages to get stains and fingerprints on such random surfaces. Sometimes you wonder if she does it on purpose.

Daniela loves fun surprises.

Like sneaking up on you when you're on your knees, scrubbing the tub. She pokes your shoulder. "Hiya."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"Lady Daniela," you greet while trying not to let your hands shake under the apron.

She's smiling sweetly today, like she didn't just scare ten years out of you. You're not fooled and know better than to trust that expression. Nothing in this castle is innocent and saccharine and nice. Especially not the daughters.

"Can I help you with anything, my lady?"

Please say "no" and leave.

Daniela rocks on her heels then leans forward, inspecting your work.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

She's bored, you realize. Great. Bored means unpredictable behavior, and unpredictable behavior means trouble for everyone else who isn't Daniela herself. You wait for whatever she wants — entertainment? food? — patiently despite the churning in your gut.

"I'm bored," she announces.

"Yes, my lady."

"Let's play a game. Hide and seek, like little ones."

Six months have yet to make the instinctive urge to flee within you die out whenever one of them wants something from you directly. You'd think that this whole time might've increased your chances of survival, but humans thrive in delusion. In reality, everything is a gamble here. An embroidery of chance and circumstances that determines if you will live another day, that's all.

"I would be honored, my lady."

The bathrooms must be finished by five, and it's almost four. You're not going to make it on time.

"Who is going to hide first?" You ask after a moment.

Daniela claps. "Well you, of course, silly!"

Of course.

---

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here. Melting seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains.

But you're not a vase or a coat rack. You're just a girl who's been in the castle for a while and has gotten good at being invisible. You can't hide your heart beat. Your scent and the warmth of your skin are impossible to erase.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Daniela's sing-song voice carries from the other end of the west wing, and then fades.

She didn't count to ten. You know because you've been counting along, just to have an idea of how much time there's left until she finds you. There're no harbored hopes about the opposite happening. Hide and seek is one of Daniela's favourite games, and she dedicates herself to it thoroughly, with great interest.

It's not about winning the game — that much you realized early on when she played against other maids, plucking one out and chasing her around the castle before dissolving into flies with a cackle.

It's about the entertainment good enough to satiate her.

You're not the most agile, not the fastest. Even after six months your knowledge of the castle's layout is patchy, but you try to think logically. What places will she check last? What will Daniela expect you to choose?

Closets are off limits. So is the library, unless you want Bela on your tail as well.

Your mind wanders.

There're so many rooms in this castle that you haven't seen once during all of your shifts. You're always cleaning hallways, sometimes the daughters' parlors, and nothing more.

Down the stairs, past the servant quarters, is a place where rumors are born. Of thick barrels stacked to the ceiling like dominoes and wine in various stages of production. It smells sour-sweet down there — like fruit rotting in August.

Wine that never runs out in Dimitrescu castle as long as there're maids.

That's what others say, at least. Nobody has come back to confirm.

Would she look in the cellar? Would anyone?

It's the last place you'd search if you were looking for someone insignificant and replaceable.

You take off your shoes so that your steps don't echo in the expanse of marble and stairs.

---

There're all kinds of things down here. Broken furniture that's been tossed aside for disposal, boxes and crates of unidentified items, old paintings of people you don't recognize.

And wine.

A lot of it in barrels and bottles, some of which are labeled, some aren't. You walk past them, following the corridors of dusty brick. The air smells like mold and fermentation, damp. It reminds you of the lakeside by your grandmother's cottage in summertime and you feel strangely nostalgic.

You miss home.

The thought is dangerous and you quickly push it away, back to where it belongs — in your memories. Home doesn't exist anymore.

Time passes. Minutes go by without the sounds of buzzing swarms or doors creaking open somewhere nearby. No voices either, except for your own breathing and heartbeat that fill up every corner of silence. You find a nook between the stacked barrels and settle there with your knees pulled to your chest.

The place is colder, uncomfortably so. Cool ground sends its chill through your stockings.

You've done everything you could. Found a good hiding spot, a perfect one, and it's out of your control from here on.

The art of disappearing is simple: be nothing and wait until time decides if you're worth staying like that or not.

---

Daniela finds you after your legs start to numb from sitting.

"Found you," she grins from ear to ear.

Her flies settle as she solidifies into flesh with a giggle, girlish and mischievous. It could be cute if not the bloody smudges around her mouth and chin. She crouches down in front of you, close enough for you to see the specks of gold in her eyes.

"Congratulations, Lady Daniela."

Your fingers dig into your skirts.

Daniela tilts her head; a fly crawls on her cheek before taking off. "I win! I get my prize now."

You didn't know you were playing for a prize. But nobody tells you anything in this castle until it's too late, like that you're not supposed to open windows in winter, or that you can't touch Daniela's books because she has them organized alphabetically.

"What would you like, my lady?"

Another fly lands on your lips, a thick creature with translucent wings and little fuzzy legs. They tickle but you resist the urge to make a face lest she takes it as an insult. At your question her expression turns impish, one of those you never fail to associate with trouble.

She reaches into your apron's pocket... and pulls out a lipstick.

You stare at it — a simple elegant tube with a golden cap.

"Look what I found!" Daniela waves it in front of your face like it's a toy.

Your blood freezes over. How did it end up there? You've been working for hours today yet you don't recall ever picking it up off anywhere. Where-

"My lady, I didn't take it!" you blurt out in horror, when it dawns on you. "I swear, I wouldn't! I would never-"

Daniela blinks owlishly and then breaks into laughter, clutching her stomach. Her smile is so wide that you can see her gums stained with coagulated blood which makes your stomach turn. The flies swarm and dissipate around you both, disturbed by her unrestrained mirth.

"Silly," she interrupts your stammering. "I know! You should've seen your face!"

Oh thank god.

You're so relieved that for a second all air leaves your lungs.

"...you tricked me?" you ask quietly after a moment, a bit more composed now when the accusation of theft doesn't hang over your head.

"Mhm," Daniela nods and wipes tears from her eyes, still giggling.

You're not sure if it was funny to anyone except her.

Her smile lessens gradually and eventually vanishes from her lips altogether when the initial amusement wears off. Something coy appears in her demeanor, sheepish even, as she fiddles with the lipstick in silence.

"Can you put it back in mother's vanity?" she grabs your hand suddenly and places it into your palm.

That's when you realize that you never even once questioned where she got it from. But Daniela gives you a pout with a warning look, like she's able to tell exactly what you're thinking. All questions die instantly on your tongue; you nod.

"Yes, my lady. Of course."

"Good," she pats your knee. "Don't forget! Or I'll eat you."

Flies descend onto your skirt, buzzing around Daniela's fingers until she disappears into dozens of black insects.

You know that she meant every word.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Admiring from afar

Geta, Caracalla, Marcus x fem!reader

warning : fluff, kissing, holding hands, no use of Y/n

summary : The Colosseum fights after the victory for Great Rome were a true spectacle. But three men had their eyes set on something quite different from the bloody fights, something much more interesting that they had long hoped to see again and to make a first move before the others.

info: The second trailer is beautiful as always and the scenes of the three of us are just omg so good. So have fun with it and see you next time :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcus

The sounds of battle could be heard, the screaming and shouting of the crowd who enjoyed the games, the fighters who were better than the others would end in bloody victories.

He had heard all of this himself all his life, he had thought he had only a battlefield around him, nothing but fighting… until he had seen her.

His eyes had fallen on her when she had shown him his armour, pure gold, the finest craftsmanship, a woman with such talent, an indescribable beauty.

She had simply not let go of him and he had prayed to the gods to be able to return to her in Rome. Now he was here with her. Sitting in the tribune with the two emperors, senators and her among the guests of honour.

A few coins and his influence had earned her a place. While he followed the brothers' speech only half-heartedly, his brown eyes wandered to her, seeing the stole that fell down her, the golden bracelets that nestled on her arm.

Marcus felt the desire to finally hear her voice, to be with her, and his gaze reached hers. She suddenly looked at him, and he saw how she gave him a smile, a small mischievous wink with her fingers.

He felt a surge of excitement when he saw her gaze wander over him, lingering a little longer on his muscular arms and firm hands before she turned her attention to the gladiators.

But there was something between them - the looks, the conversations in his tent away from the battlefield, her fascination with his actions and his admiration for her art - it seemed to be a confusion in a world that saw her only as a warrior and a woman.

After the first fighters had begun, not yet the most popular of the newcomers who would show what they could do, the tribune slowly began to move and the gentlemen began to enjoy themselves as Marcus rose from his chair and made his way to the tables of food and drink.

Two gilded plates laden with fruit and sweet sugars for them to eat together I hope you still like sugared berries he thought, remembering the foggy evening when she had given him his armor and he had served her berries from the region with sugar and honey. Her look as she sat next to him and her delighted laughter at the sweet taste as she had fed him the berries had warmed his heart.

As he went to her with the plates, he saw her trying to get up too, apparently to follow him, when Caracalla stood in her way and engaged her in conversation.

The leader didn't have much use for the two brothers, but this childish behavior could quickly end in irrational actions, ,,Emperor Caracalla a pleasure that you seem to enjoy yourselves so much with the fights, a real amusement,” Marcus began and saw how the blond seemed surprised at first and then smiled at him.

The shorter one obviously admired him but the balance of power was completely different, ,,I wanted to take the lady to the front the fights with the trident are particularly exciting” he chuckled and put his hand over hers as she gave him an apologetic look and Marcus read her tense body language, pressing a plate into her hand Marcus put his hand on the younger one's shoulder with a certain pressure.

,,I won't deny you that…nevertheless, my necklace of the cloak would need an enhancement, I'll bring the ladyship back to you at once" he said more calmly to the blond and even if he seemed to be snapped for a moment, the respect for such a war was greater and with a dismissive wave of his hand Carcalla went back to his brother in defeat.

He could just hear her exhale and the ,,Thank you Acacius” before she walked next to him to the back where it was a little quieter and you could rest for a few minutes without being disturbed, the two of them sat down on one of the couches and he heard her giggle.

,,What amuses you? “ he asked and took a bite of the grapes as he looked at her her beauty had not faded for a moment ,,My warrior has not changed still strong and willing” she returned and took one of the berries before bringing it to his lips the same sweetness the same beautiful moment as he tasted the berry and sighed.

She took from the berry herself a pleasant sigh also came from her before he let his hand wander over hers, rough hands over gentle strokes, up her arm and he stopped at her golden bangle when he saw the engraved swords and stroked it, feeling the handiwork.

,,I made it last summer when you were away, a reminder of you” she said more quietly suddenly almost sentimental and he put his hand to her cheek gently stroking it seeing her lean against it ,,I'm not leaving you again I'm staying with you" he told her before they came closer and she finally felt his lips on hers again, the kiss she had been longing for and could finally have again.

He heard her voice again, felt her softness and finally could have her love with him again, even if they could only admire each other from a distance, it was the most lovely thing they could finally have here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geta

The palace was his home, the sun illuminating him through the corridors and windows seemed to give him the power of gods as his servants dressed him in his new toga, the golden rings on his fingers new creations just for the festivities held.

Festivities he had organized with his brother who was already running around again, looking for amusement, but Geta, even if the younger one, was looking for something completely different at this party, looking for someone he had once met.

In his position he was constantly surrounded by people from men, women, whores, merchants and others but none of them he paid attention to as much as her, this pretty estall who had appeared in the palace as a painter for the royal royal chambers and shrines.

It was a craft that could have been done by anyone else, but when he looked at her there was this expression of confidence and strength… Geta had quickly realized that he wanted this expression for himself, this strength at his side.

Which is why he had sent her a personal message that she should come to the Colloseum presentation, even if she was not a noblewoman, she was his honored guest and this was something no one could refuse the Emperor.

He was all the more excited when he stepped out onto the stage with Caracalla and cheers awaited her, his dark eyes searching darkly for her in the shadows of the stage and the flower almost trying to hide.

She had no golden toga, no dark red one it was a simple white with a few yellowish accents and you could almost have mistaken her for a servant if it wasn't for a pair of golden rings on her fingers with precious stones sticking out I knew you would wear them it went through his mind as his gaze met hers and she gave a brief smile of praise before he stood next to his brother and let his voice introduce the spectacle.

But even though the first few fights still piqued some of his interest, he soon found himself turning around to look at her as she seemed rather bored by the spectacle and didn't care for the brutality, but she hid it in an interested hold of her hands playing with the rings and he smirked as she looked to him, probably feeling caught in the reassurance.

Geta took advantage of this as he rose from his chair, ignoring the questioning look from his brother who seemed to want to continue enjoying himself, ,,It's a pleasure that you accepted my invitation and that you're wearing such a pretty ring,” he said to her as he stood in front of her, looking down at her and she rose hastily.

They had hardly exchanged words in the last few days, it had been mostly sarcastic and short answers but underneath that façade there seemed to be more between them as if he was fighting his own battle over a lone flower, ,,Pretty gems they are thank you my Emperor” she replied and awkwardly took his hand feeling her warmth as he led her beside him away from the guests.

To the back where he hoped to find some peace and quiet or at least where he could look at her for himself, just have her to himself, ,,I ask that such an artist may simply call me Geta but only you” he insisted and took one of the sweet lemon tarts and held it in front of her as she held one she had never really eaten such deliciousness before she took a bite and he laughed contentedly looking at her as she tasted it and she smiled and looked at him happily.

His hand was just about to touch her when the tent flaps were torn open and he heard a familiar voice, ,,Brother! The rhinoceros should be here any minute!” Caracalla shouted and reached for his brother, whose nerves were almost at the end again, as much as he appreciated Caracalla as a brother, he hated him at the same time. Turning to him, he pulled him towards the entrance of the tent-

,,I'll take care of my lady a personal matter go see the damn rhino alone Caracalla" he snarled calmly his gaze full of annoyance and even though he knew they could have watched it together he wanted to have her to himself.

He knew his brother well enough that the older one had also looked at the painter several times and it wasn't looks of admiration, it was looks of the same hidden kindness, ,,Go now,” he said the last words and closed the tent to turn back to her seeing how she didn't quite know whether to laugh or be confused.

Grabbing a lemon tartlet himself and taking a bite, he was still feeling angry with himself and his brother when he suddenly felt her hand on his and looked at her and saw the strength in her eyes, ,,Such a strong leader for Rome the pictures and mosaics in your chamber let your actions speak,” she admitted and grabbed his tartlet from his hand to take a bite.

His surprise quickly turned to excitement as his hand went to hers, he brought the rings to his lips and blew a few kisses on them before taking her side and pulling her into a surprise kiss.

Feeling her tense up a little overwhelmed at first, but not letting go of the strength she finally had, she relaxed against him and returned the kiss as the muffled fighting and screaming didn't reach the couple as they finally had a moment alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caracalla

There was no greater amusement for the older of the two emperors than amusement; a life without pleasure and amusement is something he did not want, which is why the bigger the celebration, the bigger the victory and the bigger the fights in the Colosseum would be, which were held for everyone so that everyone could finally enjoy themselves.

Caracalla, however bored he sometimes was, was so grateful to his brother for always seemingly planning something new, a plan that was better than the last and a worship that was only surpassed by Marcus Acacius, a man the blond hoped to see today to show him his admiration and hope to hear about the war stories.

But most of all she would be with Marcus, his personal servant, not a whore or even a wife. Caracalla had put too much trust in his own palace spies. It seemed to be a purely friendly relationship, and yet he was the emperor. Whatever he wanted for his pleasure should and would not be denied him.

Nobody would take what he wanted from him, not even a war hero and military leader like Acacius. Which is why he was all the more nervous and excited when the fighting almost started, standing next to his younger, better brother, who just gave him a sidelong glance, ,,It's going to be fun,” Caracall heard himself giggle to himself.

He was too excited to the armbands clicking and felt the brief pressure on his shoulder as Geta tried to calm his brother for the appearance of the two deities.

It helped a little before they finally stepped out onto the stage, dressed in golden robes that distinguished them both. But as he walked down the aisle, he saw her standing in a corner behind her 'master's' seat.

She was carrying a gold tray with a pair of drinks on it, but at the moment Caracalla had no choice but to give her only a fleeting glance and hope that she had seen him, which she surely had, he hoped.

Delivering his own speech, imitating his brother's gestures before they both sat down on their thrones and let the games begin, he forgot his worries for a moment as he got involved in what was happening in front of him.

His grin and laughter could be heard and seen. The amusement finally returned when he cheered with him, clung to his armrest and cheered at victories and defeats until he saw the gold flashing again in the corner of his eye, took his gaze away from the spectacle in front of him for a moment and looked behind him.

She was standing there, dressed in simple clothes, without gold and without the amusement. And yet he felt the need to talk to her, knew that she had something that did him good, that she could calm him down and take him away from all the thinking.

Even if it was only once when they were invited to a ceremony at Marcus' house, a simple meal, he had seen her and his hasty manner had once again caused him more trouble than he wanted, but she was the only one who hadn't laughed at him when Geta took over the conversation again to spare his brother further shame… she was the only one who took him seriously.

Rising and ignoring the questioning look of Geta, Caracalla went over to her, who was about to refill the goblets, and was startled when he appeared next to her. ,,Don't be, it's me, my dear,” he said, chuckling as he held the almost-tipped-over carafe and put it back in place, took the took the tray from her and took over her task.

,,Concentrating is good…even if you scared me, my Emperor,” she spoke softly and seemed to relax a little, at least when she was with him, when they could both just relax without someone always wanting something from her.

Focusing on pouring, he saw out of the corner of his eye how she smiled at him, let her fingers glide over his skin, warmth meeting warmth, and she said calmly, ,,You may address me by my name,” and gave her a wink before he put the last cup back on the table, saw how flattered she was by this and how the two of them were just about to in a discussion when he saw Marcus get up and come over to them.

,,If you don't mind, my Emperor Caracalla, I would like my servant back" caracalla saw how her gaze took hold of the tray and she returned to Acacius' place with a slight bow. This time, however, the blonde would not admit defeat. He would demonstrate his own power in front of the greatest general and his brother.

,,I do mind, Acacius, very much, I am the emperor and I can do whatever I want and not even you can deny me her!,” he said loudly and tapped the gilded armor of the older man with his fingers, which at first seemed to confuse him, then annoyed him, and then puzzled him.

Before he pushed past Marcus and gave him a warning look, and went to her, ,,Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. His tone, however, was gentle.

His anger and She picked herself up from the floor and went over to Marcus, who probably gave her a look that made Caracalla follow her before she put down the tray and hastily took his hand, squeezing it, and he gave her a brief hug. He suddenly kissed her on the cheek and giggled nervously before pulling her with him to his seat.

The small throne was large enough for two and he sat down next to her.

,,My guest of honor!” he announced and held out his hand to her. He tried to make her as comfortable as possible when he finally heard her laugh and enjoy herself and she wrapped her arms around him.

,,Thank you… Caracalla,” she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she leaned lightly against him and the blonde put his arm around her and at his side the two of them could finally enjoy themselves together without anyone ruining it and the Colosseum was the amusement they would finally enjoy together for all time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@sweetpascal , @parvanovel , @mystickittytaco , @potatoesenpaii

[mdianasims]

He has traveled around the worlds and collected many memories and keepsakes. He made many friends along the way while he did both mundane and epic heroic things. And in every town there was another lover (or two) to be left behind.

You all know we're talking about Icarus Ibarra, Iker for friends (and he has many - one cheerful introduction and you're BFFs). His recent adventures made him realise that it might be time to settle down. And that doesn't mean he won't be going from world to world anymore. He will, he'd just prefer to do it with that one special someone by his side. And what better way than to find that someone in style?

Watcher Studios Inc presents...

SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED More info under the cut.

We probably don't really need to introduce our bachelor, but here's a quick recap:

Full name: Icarus Nicodemo Ibarra Reyes Age: 28 (young adult) Traits: Romantic, Music Lover, Bro, Active, High Metabolism Aspirations: Party Animal, Romantic Explorer Likes: Activities - Dancing, Fitness, Gardening Guitar, Handiness, Mixology, Photography, Snowboarding Colour - Blue, Green, Yellow Music - Alternative, Latin, Latin Pop, METAL, Singer Songwriter We're not sharing compatibility likes/dislikes or turn-on/turn-offs (TOTOs), because that would take the fun out of the challenge.

In case you're not entirely up to speed on Iker's previous adventures, you can find them here.

Still interested? Good. If you want to apply, these are the essentials:

Read the rest of this post carefully. If you still want to enter your Sim after reading, then comment that you want to submit a sim.

I've made another post that further specifies some choices you have. I'm asking you to prepare this before submitting your Sim. That will make it easier for me to play it out when it comes up in my game. I know it looks like a lot, but all you need to do is make a Sim, dress them nicely and make a few choices. Then I'll do the hard work.

This is The Grand Scheme. Save the link, it'll be handy when you create your Sim. And even if you do not intend to submit a contestant, I don't mind sharing my nefarious plans ;)

There's a maximum of 12 participants (and a minimum of 7 or it'll mess up the schedule), first come, first served. One of these spots has been reserved for @zosa95. Because, if I hadn't submitted Iker's sister Neia to Branson's Bachelor Challenge, I would not have had Iker. It seemed only fair to do this in return.

Practical considerations:

No CC (minor exceptions: x and x)

I have all packs except Batuu. As for CAS Kits, I only have Simtimates and Moonlight Chic.

You will need Growing Together and Lovestruck for the personality likes and TOTOs. If you do not have these packs, you can still participate. You just need to let me know how you want to fill these and I can set them for you once your Sim is in my game.

1. Requirements:

Age: Young adult (give a 'real life' age if you like, anything from 18 to 30 is acceptable).

Gender: Male or Female.

Pronouns: No custom pronouns that are intended to be silly (such as 'His Evil Highness' or 'Her Colourful Ladyship' or whatever you would use to refer to your favourite pet (or Sim)). This is basically to prevent me from making mistakes while posting. Too many different pronouns and it's gonna go wrong at some point. Please use something short (and easy to remember).

Sexual Orientation: Must be romantically attracted to and interested in woohoo with men (whatever else you check, is your choice).

Romantic Boundaries: Set them as you like, Iker's player trait should overrule it (if not, I'll set everything to no jealousy).

Occult: Human preferred. No Werewolves, Vampires or Aliens (Iker is still processing the Moonwood adventure, which also made him hate vampires. After StrangerVille, though unfounded, aliens are bit of a touchy subject too).

Traits: Bro and Unflirty are not allowed (there's a rule about bros, and unflirty will just make it incredibly hard for your Sim).

Likes/dislikes:

No more than 2 music likes (because those still dominate wants).

Decor and Fashion are optional (i.e.: Dream Home Decorator and High School Years are not required).

Conversation Topics and Sim Characteristics are required to be set.

TOTOs:

Way of Life and Characteristics are required to be set.

Romance styles: 2 turn ons and 1 turn off, the other 2 will be neutral (I'll do this for Iker too, for a more interesting experience).

Hair Colour: Black hair turn on is advised.

Outfit colour/Fashion categories are optional.

Your Sim can be CAS created or born in game, skills are allowed, there won't be skill based challenges. They can have additional self-discovery traits if you've played them. However: the romance skill and hidden woohoo skill are banned (Iker doesn't have those either, yet) and charisma is capped off at lvl 3.

Fame is not allowed - I'll just keep all Sims out of the spotlight.

2. Outfits:

There will be lots of themed parties, outings and dates, so I've got an entire outfit scheme set up. To give you a chance to express your Sim's personality through their outfit choices (and get creative with NoCC CAS).

First, look up the outfits on The Grand Scheme. Then choose one of the following:

Easy Street: Set your Sim's standard oufit for each category, copy it to all listed slots. Then adjust the two mandatory second outfits.

The Middle Road: Do as above, adjust any other oufits you like.

All the Way: Set all oufits as requested.

Know that not all of these outfits will be used if your Sim is eliminated early on. But hey, at least you'll get a nice NoCC lookbook from it! Another thing to keep in mind (though entirely optional), the show (mostly) takes place in Ciudad Enamorada and Oasis Springs in Spring and Summer. So, big fluffy sweaters might look a bit out of place. If you accidentally use an item from a Kit that I do not have, I will try to replace it with something similar. If you do not set outfits for the themed activities, I will dress your Sim as I see fit.

3. Dates:

For three of the dates, there's a choice to be made by the contestant. Look this up in The Grand Scheme and let me know through DM what your Sim would choose for their perfect date(s).

4. One Final Question:

In case your Sim is eliminated, should they:

be returned to you (I'll save your Sim after elimination and upload the tray files and send you a private link);

live on in my save file;

be deleted;

remain in limbo forever (I'll store the tray files somewhere)?

Not answering this question defaults in the last option.

I know this is a lot. I hope you are not deterred by it. I just want to do something interesting with the new date system. And then this massive plan formed and now I'm stuck with it.

Anyway you have at least until 21 September 2024 to submit your Sim. If you need more time, or I'm not ready with the preparations, that date may move to somewhere in October.

Let me know in the comments and/or through DM if you want to submit a Sim. I'll put your name on the list. If I've added your name to the list and you no longer can/want to submit a Sim, let me know. There might be someone else who can take your place.

If you have any additional questions, do let me know. (if you think I've made any weird typos, let me know as well. I've checked the post a several times, but something might still have slipped).

Thanks for reading and I hope you're as excited about this as I am!

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part nine: in which the Doctor calls in sick and Her Ladyship graces your doorstep

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will not be romantic interests)

notes: slowburn, uh idek what to describe this as anymore!! introspection-heavy chapter, signora and dottore centric this time, Menaces Think About Feeling and Give Themselves a Headache

series masterlist

author's notes: *bleeding from an array of stab wounds varying in depth and size* h..hey everyone... sent in my college applications the other day and i've been feeling sick to my damn stomach every since. also graduated haha! salutatorian..! kill me! at least i got to give a speech and make my mum proud ig. anyway enjoy this chapter!

word count: 4902

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

Despite how dazzled Childe might have been by your passable archery, Dottore was decidedly unimpressed when your return to the lab was so overdue.

“And just where have you been?”

“I could ask you the same, Doctor,” you replied pointedly when you recovered from your start at his sudden question. He clicked his tongue, impatient.

“My dear student, this is far from a suitable day to challenge the status quo. Tell me where you were.”                                                                                                               

The Doctor was hardly one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and the barely-there edge to his voice would’ve escaped you if you weren’t so familiar with the careless tenor he usually adopted; paired with the slight raspiness it almost made it sound as if he was… sick?

“Have you fallen ill?” You asked with a frown, stepping forward and scrutinising what was visible of his face for any observable changes. He always looked deathly pale, though, so it was difficult to ascertain any physical symptoms.

“I don’t fall ill,” he hissed, turning away from you with a scowl. “Answer my question.”

Oh, well. Might as well let him interrogate you.

“The archery range.”

“The archery range,” he repeated, tone dripping with contempt. “Rather than contributing to scientific advancement, you chose to play with bows and arrows. Extraordinary.”

“Whoever usually spits in your coffee supplied extra effort today, I see,” you mused under your breath, heading back to your work station and tightening your gloves as you walked.

“The sheer cheek-”

“And there’s my proof that something’s amiss,” you smoothly interrupted, looking through the row of test tubes on your work bench. “I implicitly called you an imbecile earlier this week and you didn’t bat an eye, but now a little throwaway comment is so easily setting off your volatile temper?” You shot him a pointed look over the rim of your glasses. “No point in continuing yesterday’s experiment if you’re sick, Doctor. You’ll contaminate the Petri dishes beyond salvation.”

Dottore pinched the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh, pivoting on his heel and preventing you from taking a peek at what the rest of his face looked like with the mask slightly tilted up. You were insufferable, with your overly astute observations and your deceptively mild tone with the hint of sarcasm just strong enough to make him raise an eyebrow. You were maddening, all narrowed eyes and furrowed brows as you pored over what he assumed to be an anomalous result (you only ever hunched that closely over your work when something had gone wrong. He knew it was an old habit from before you’d started wearing glasses, when any mistakes could easily be fixed simply by eliminating the issue of poor visuals.) You were unbearable, intelligent enough to challenge him and prove him wrong, all without even raising your voice a single decibel. He wished your secrets were the kind that could be uncovered by a scalpel and a swipe or two of disinfectant.

“I do believe I’m the doctor, dear student. You’re hardly qualified to throw diagnoses around.”

“Well then, Doctor, I think you’d best go ahead and diagnose yourself with a common cold, and recommend yourself some bedrest while you’re at it.”

He grumbled incoherently under his breath, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Probably a fever, you thought with a touch of gratification. When he moved in the general direction of the incubator, you called out at his receding back.

“Do not touch my cultures. This is the fourth time I try to test this medium,” you added, mostly to yourself.

“Worry not,” he replied, voice practically oozing sarcasm. “Your subpar agar plates couldn’t be further from the top of my list of priorities.” 

You rolled your eyes, stacking the sheets of paper you inevitably accumulated at the end of every lab session and resolving to leave the Doctor and his more-annoying-than-usual attitude to finish your work elsewhere.

“Stay,” he instructed without turning around when you headed to the door. “I’ve yet to hear the details of your thermodynamic stability tests.”

“I’ll have the complete report ready tomorrow,” you pointed out, continuing to make your way to the door.

“Stay,” he repeated, just barely more forceful. “I’d like to hear about it now.”

You stopped in your tracks, sighing internally. It would be senseless to put so much effort into making sure you didn’t anger the Harbingers only to directly disobey an order and let all your posturing go to waste, so you spent the next few hours chattering extensively about your experiment, perhaps being more long-winded and going into more detail than necessary as a form of petty revenge. Not that the Doctor seemed to mind, making the occasional noise of acknowledgement and asking questions that allowed you to delve deeper into the specifics of your methodology.

By the time you’d finished off your spiel with a cursory “and then I’ll recrystallise the product so there’s a pure sample ready for another round of testing”, it was well into the evening and you’d wound up in the inevitable position of sitting on one of the workbenches thanks to the utter lack of any chairs in the lab.

“It is a well-designed procedure,” the Doctor conceded, breaking your absent-minded train of thought about whether or not you could somehow drag a comfortable loveseat inside.

“You must really be under the weather if you’re offering me a compliment on a silver platter,” you replied with a raise of your eyebrows. “Not even a backhanded one. Truly astonishing.”

Dottore rolled his eyes behind the mask. “The only cause for astonishment is your inexcusably meagre supply of respect.”

“There’s the Doctor I know,” you said with a huff of laughter, pushing your glasses to the top of your head and rubbing your eyes. “…Don’t overwork tonight,” you added after a non-negligible period of deliberation. “I need another set of hands for tomorrow’s follow-up. So…” you gestured vaguely at him with your hand, hopping down from the workbench. “Rest, if only for an hour or two.”

You weren’t quite sure if the Doctor’s silence made you feel more or less awkward, but you brushed it off to the best of your ability and left with only with the vague sense of mortification you’d get from showing a little more kindness than usual to someone who was probably more accustomed to your scorn.

Dottore, on the other hand, was more confounded than he cared to admit. You’d always been careful not to say too much; every one of your words was precisely measured and deftly presented, with no room to spare for emotion. Which was sensible of you, all things considered; he was a Harbinger, and you were in alone in a foreign country working with an organisation that veered on the wrong edge of morality, where integrity was a politely dismissed formality at best and an openly mocked concept at worst. Impassiveness would help just as much as openness would hurt. The occasional times you slipped up, the only feeling that bled into your voice was annoyance; crisp and sharp and a sight to behold, especially for a scholar such as himself who toiled against the laws of nature countless times with innumerable different methods to procure something new, a tangible result.

He marvelled at himself for thinking of you as such, an immovable law, a force of nature, then he returned to the puzzling dilemma that was your parting statement. Rest, you’d told him. You never said anything that could belie concern, or worry or weakness, yet you’d expended an extra syllable or two for the simple word, directed at him. To every rule an exception, he thought with no small measure of satisfaction at finding a way to categorise your behaviour yet again, and filed the abnormally uncertain cadence that your voice had displayed, however briefly, in the corner of his mind.

The night was still young and many of the recruits you shared a wing with loitered in the corridors, talking and smoking and looking rather exhausted. One of them, a girl with red hair so bright it could’ve replaced the floating lanterns that littered the palace, offered you a cigarette as you walked past. You declined with a nod in her direction and continued on your way, the strap of your heavy leather satchel digging uncomfortably into your shoulder as you approached your dorm. After a moment of fumbling with the chain on your belt for the key, you all but collapsed inside with a yawn, running a hand through the stray hairs that had escaped throughout the day. The fire crackled in the hearth, definitely courtesy of Anya, and you gratefully warmed your hands in front of it before unclasping your cloak and hanging it in the wardrobe along with your bag.

“You’re late, sweetling,” came a voice that was becoming alarmingly familiar- ever so slightly gravelly, with an undercurrent that always left you guessing whether its owner was amused or displeased.

“Fashionably so, I hope,” you replied, turning to face Signora with a smile that veered on the wrong side of playful. You couldn’t help it; everything about her demanded obedience, and small defiances were the only thing preventing you from feeling like a well-trained pet with not an ounce of dignity to spare. Either way, she didn’t seem to mind, judging from the exaggerated, lenient eye roll she sent in your direction. You marvelled at the companionable silence as you unpacked. Lady Signora fit seamlessly into the puzzle that your everyday belongings shaped, yet commanded attention all the same; like a swath of unblemished silk draped over aging furniture. Her first few visits were an uncomfortable experience. It had felt more like an intrusion, really, being forced to entertain an unwanted guest with your limited capacity for small talk (mortifying) and a different tea blend every time served in teacups with a painted rim that matched her lipstick (because despite it all, a part of you still wanted to impress her).

You carried out the same routine, teapot, cups and saucers, and even went so far as to open a new tin of biscuits for Her Ladyship. The eyes of Her Ladyship in question remained focused on you, half-lidded yet nonetheless penetrating as ever, as you went through the motions of pouring the tea and handing her the cup.

“Chamomile? It’s quite unlike you to forego caffeine.”

You sighed, taking a seat across from her and melting into the dips of the chair. “The Doctor was in an awful mood. If it carries on until morning I’ll need every minute of sleep I can get to deal with him.”

She clicked her tongue, lifting the cup to her lips. “That man possesses no emotional stability whatsoever. It’s a wonder you’re both still alive, especially when your temper is hardly mild either.” This last remark she paired with a wink, and a smile spread over your face.

“Right as always, my lady. Too often a day spent in the lab feels like my last.”

“Ah, Tsaritsa forbid!” She waved a hand in your direction, the simple black rings on her fingers catching the low light. “You have to live until the gala at least, sweetheart. I won’t have you tragically perishing before then; you owe me a dance, after all.”

You dejectedly rubbed your brow. “I do wish you’d pardon my absence from that gala.”

“Absolutely not,” Signora declared, crossing one leg over the other with an air of unbearable gratification. “You wouldn’t break my heart so callously, now would you?”

“Anything but Her Ladyship’s heart,” you replied dryly.

After a moment of shared laughter, a comfortable quiet fell across the room, punctuated by the crackling fire and the muffled groan of the building as it settled for the night. Your eyelids grew heavy, and staying awake was rapidly looking like an unnecessary effort you had no interest in making. Signora watched you drift off with an oddly contemplative expression, her eyes unfocused yet present all the same, as if simultaneously observing you and something far beyond. You had become a frequent visitor in her dreams, instantly recognizable by that shrewd look in your eye and the stubborn line of your mouth, one she could never resist trying to coax into a smile; and sometimes when she succeeded and the light hit you just so, she could swear that she glimpsed Rostam’s face within the shadows of your own. Then she’d blink and the illusion would dissolve, leaving behind only your sharp eyes and stern mouth, so unlike the gentleness she so clearly remembered in his.

But now, with the fire casting wavering shadows every time your lashes fluttered, just barely asleep, and the muffled silence that always seemed to accompany snow calming her mind, Rosalyne found comfort in the fact that your face – the slope of your cheek, the curve of your nose, the crease of your eyes – was entirely your own.

Something banged against the door and you started awake, half-certain you were dreaming as your eyes struggled to focus in the dark. The noise came again, louder and more insistent, and you detangled yourself from a blanket you didn’t remember falling asleep in before stumbling off the couch and towards the door, rubbing your eyes and too tired to even question who would call on you at such an ungodly hour of the night.

Bang bang bang-

“Heavens above, would you stop-”

You forcefully yanked the door open, already preparing to fix whoever was on the other side with your most withering glare. Dottore peered back at you, almost glowing in the inky blackness of the corridor. You blinked, then groped blindly through your pockets for your glasses. Upon hastily shoving them onto your nose, it became clear that it wasn’t Dottore at all, rather one of his segments.

“Omega?” You squinted up at him, then scowled. “Bastard. What exactly are you hoping to accomplish by breaking my door down?”

“I’d break down much more than just a door if it meant having a chance to see you.”

“Shut the hell up,” you hissed, feeling more enraged by the second. “You have thirty – no, twenty seconds to explain what you’re doing here before I dismantle your logic core.”

He grinned, completely unconcerned. You hated to admit it, but his lack of reaction was probably justified; the Rudimentary Mechanics of Sentient Machines course you took in your second year left you ill-equipped to go through with your threat. That didn’t mean you couldn’t simply swing a hammer, though, and you silently communicated the fact to Omega with a glower that could probably light a torch.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Prime’s fallen unconscious.”

You levelled him with an unimpressed look. “I fail to see how that’s my problem. There are seven of you, all with highly developed medical faculties. You can handle a little oopsie-daisy.”

“Well, of course we can,” Omega replied with a barely restrained snort. “It isn’t a lack of skill on our part, that I can assure you of. Prime coded us all with a total inability to touch his person.”

There was a pause during which you picked out a rather distasteful array of words you would’ve liked to call the Doctor. “Archons above, that man is the most imbecilic genius this timeline had the displeasure of housing.” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, already half-resigned to your fate. “And I suppose any real doctors within the building are utterly forbidden from laying a hand on His Majesty’s body, too?”

“Nope. They haven’t been given explicit instructions not to do so, but they’re all too scared out of their wits to breathe within a five mile radius of him anyway,” he replied cheerfully.

“I’m going to mix all his blood samples together,” you muttered heatedly under your breath, turning to grab your cloak and pushing Omega out of your doorway before he could start looking through your dorm. “Move it, Omega.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, letting you shove him towards the barely-illuminated staircase.

The lab was just as, if not even more poorly lit than the corridors, with only a single lamp set to the dimmest possible glow; the feeble light was barely enough to see by, and you could make out the Doctor’s slumped-over form by the indistinct shadows it cast over the workbench. Despite the eeriness of the scene, you didn’t feel nervous; it was difficult not to feel at ease in a room you spent so many hours of the day in. You could probably navigate the lab blindfolded and drunk, so picking your way through the boxes, stacks of paper and books on the floor might as well have been a walk in the park. Still, you wondered why the floor was so cluttered in the first place; it was never so populated with scientific miscellany when you were working there.

Approaching the Doctor, you took note of how his mask had fallen slightly askew where his face rested against the marble, revealing a sliver of his cheek, flushed an unusual red, and the dark circles beneath one of his eyes. Your spine tingled with trepidation. Even while unconscious, the Doctor emanated danger, embodied peril; the simple act of reaching out to touch him felt like a surefire way to spell your own doom, but despite your wariness you slowly extended your hand towards his face to check his temperature.

You barely made it a few inches before he grabbed your wrist, snapping upright and staring straight at you.

“Oh,” he muttered hoarsely. “It’s you.” Then he went limp again, collapsing back onto the marble surface as you recovered from the start he’d given you.

“What in Teyvat is the matter with you?” You demanded in a whisper after a moment’s surprise. “Omega dragged me here saying you were unconscious. You can’t possibly keep denying that you’re sick, Doctor.”

“Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t deny,” came a muffled grumble in response. “Go away, dear. Omega is a meddling pest who needs his cerebrospinal fluid replaced at best and a full reformatting at worst. Nothing he says can be trusted.” His words slurred together in a most concerning manner, and you could hear the faintest Sumerian accent that wasn’t usually present in his voice from the way he rolled his r’s.

“Why would a robot need cerebrospinal- no, don’t answer that. Just”- you gestured at his hunched form, not that he could see- “Go to bed, please.”

“I can’t possibly waste time on something as useless as sleep,” he snapped, finally lifting his head. “I’m one concordant result away from a breakthrough, I swear it.”

“And I’m one stupid word from your mouth away from knocking you out properly,” you griped under your breath. “Doctor, please. I bet if I tried to take your temperature I’d lose a couple of fingers to third degree burns. Just rest, whatever breakthrough you think you’re on the verge of can wait.”

He let out a bark of wry laughter, turning to face you fully and lay the full weight of his piercing glare on you. “Aren’t we hypocritical? You once spent fifty-one and a half hours straight in the lab inhaling toxic fumes from a genetically modified mushroom’s spores because you were convinced the cure to Eleazar was within reach. You wouldn’t let a revolutionary advancement in your research wait either.”

“That is completely beside the point”- you blinked, processing his words. “How the hell do you know about that? I stopped researching Eleazar in my third year and I only have one publication on the topic.”

“I have my ways,” he replied, a self-assured grin stretching across his face.

“So you’re a stalker, too? Was the list of atrocities you’ve already committed not long enough to appease your wicked soul?”  You deadpanned.

“Stalking? I prefer to call it data collection.”

“Yes, of course you would,” you quipped, patience growing thinner by the second. “Get up, Doctor. You’re getting eight hours of sleep tonight whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t be so frivolous,” he scorned. “Three is already excessive.”

You were growing more and more aggravated by the second; if you scowled any harder the lines of your face would probably become permanently etched in that position. Steeling your nerves, you grabbed him by the sleeve and hauled him upwards. Surprisingly enough, he actually got up, although that was more likely because you caught him off-guard.

“I’m too tired to exchange witticisms with you all night. We both know you’re not going to make any more progress, and you’ll be useless in the lab if you can’t even discern silver from iron.”

You picked your way unsteadily through the mess on the floor, cursing Omega for disappearing when he could’ve made himself useful. Dottore let you pull him towards the door that led to the completely unused bedroom, still mostly out of surprise that you’d dared to lay a hand on him in the first place. He had to commend your bravery; anyone else would’ve been left with a broken wrist by now, if they were lucky. The reasoning behind your special treatment made the unpleasant pounding in his head quickly become unbearable, so he decided to drop that train of thought. For the time being.

You kicked open the door and shoved him inside the untouched bedroom. Just from taking a brief glance around you were immediately certain that no one had stepped foot in it since it had been furnished, let alone made use of it for sleep. Every surface from the dresser to the shelves mounted on the wall was completely empty save for a thick layer of dust, the bedsheets had become yellowed with age and the spider web cracks starting at the window and ending at one of the corners were tightly clustered with the tiny, jasmine-like flowers that littered the rest of the palace. The Doctor swayed slightly on his feet, and you quickly moved to catch him before he fell. A frown crossed his face. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about being so reliant on you all of a sudden. Whatever he felt about the matter, it couldn’t have been positive; every time you touched him his fever seemed to rise a few degrees.

“Well, isn’t this ironic,” you mused to yourself, guiding Dottore to the bed and pushing him down onto it. “The doctor becomes the patient and the apprentice becomes the master.”

“Do not flatter yourself so,” he bit back. “You’ve a long way to go before surpassing me, dear.”

“I see a little cold isn’t enough to knock some humility into you,” you sighed, busying yourself with trying to force the window, which hung ever so slightly ajar and let in gusts of freezing air, to fully close. Dottore watched you from the bed, wondering what you were thinking in that moment. As far as he was concerned, it was a miracle you’d managed to force him anywhere without snapping his incredibly fragile patience, and now you were even going so far as to trade jabs with him that were quite a few degrees of familiarity higher than the ones you usually let loose during the day. And you’d told him to rest earlier that night, advice he’d blatantly disregarded, but it had still been a deviance from what he’d come to expect from you. Overall, he decided, both of you were exhibiting remarkably odd behaviour, and as much as it pained him to admit it he was too tired to think further about the matter.

Upon finally forcing the window shut and sustaining a shallow nick in the palm of your hand as a result, you walked past him and back into the lab with a mumbled curse on your lips which quickly devolved into a wide yawn. Of course you’d be tired. He tended to forget, sometimes, how it felt to have a body that wasn’t modified to be as close to perfection as possible; but catching even a glimpse of your very much human exhaustion brought back distant memories of his own fatigue, before he had taken a scalpel to his own skin and remedied the limitations of his own body. Still, he mused, watching you return to the bedroom with a pot of steaming tea (where in Teyvat did you get that? Did you keep it in the lab?) with half-lidded eyes and a disgruntled frown on your lips, a part of him filled with satisfaction at the opportunity to analyse an expression of yours he hadn’t seen before. He studied you intently as you turned your attention to the tea, eagerly filing away every detail of your countenance as he always tended to do when you showed him a new side of yourself, whether intentionally or not. You bent over a little to pour the tea, and he took in the curve of your spine, normally held upright in an example of perfect posture. Your hair slipped and hid a portion of your face, and he marvelled at how soft it looked, how effectively you usually kept it tied back for it to never get in the way. You rubbed one of your eyes, dislodging your glasses, and he watched as you plucked them from your face and stowed them in the pocket of your coat, thoroughly wrinkled along with your blouse to the point where he suspected you’d fallen asleep in them. You’d never let yourself get in such a state of disarray otherwise. Your gloves remained on your hands, though, he noted. You silently offered him a cup of tea, and cast a curious, searching gaze, the one you adopted when tasked with a particularly tricky experiment or stubborn calculation, across his face. He’d long since acknowledged the sheer gratification that came with you regarding him like a puzzle to solve or a code to decipher, and now was no different. Dottore internally preened at being the subject of your curiosity.

“That mask can’t be comfortable,” you finally said, taking a sip from your cup. “Does it not impair your breathing at all?”

He stared down at the cup you’d given him, catching sight of his own reflection in the surface of the amber liquid. “Quite a poor attempt to convince me to remove it,” he remarked, sending you a bemused, slightly mocking smile.

You rolled your eyes, dragging a worn chair to the side of the bed and crumpling into it. Swirling your cup around thoughtfully, you continued to survey him through narrowed eyes. You probably couldn’t see him very well without your glasses, he realised with some amusement as he finally lifted the cup to his lips. He was pleasantly surprised; it seemed your unbelievable caffeine intake was justified, if every pot of tea you made was of such high quality.

“You’re going to get up and continue working the second I leave, aren’t you?” You said, breaking the silence. Dottore drained his teacup before answering. Some damn good tea right there.

“Unless you’ve spiked this tea with a sedative, yes.”

“Damn, I should’ve done that,” you muttered regretfully under your breath. Then, after eyeing him shrewdly for a moment, you conceded, “Well, at least you’re getting some rest now, if nothing else.”

Yet another thing about the whole situation that was confusing the hell out of him. Why didn’t he just disregard you and go back to what he was doing? Why was he sitting in this practically-antique bed in this practically-abandoned room, drinking tea and making conversation with you instead of finishing what he started? What in Teyvat was it about you that was so compelling he found it so easy to disregard the work he thought he’d choose over everything else? Not for the first time, he wished that your enigmatic nature was something he could decode like an ancient scripture or unravel like the tangle of ley lines that held the world together. So few things were a mystery to him anymore; there was so little he’d left undiscovered, yet you had managed to make it onto such a short list seemingly without effort. Even now, while you were completely still and silent, your unfocused eyes looking somewhere out the window, his full attention was captured by the way you rested your cheek on your fist, the way your eyelids fluttered periodically as you struggled to stay awake. Damn you.

You dozed off just then, teacup slipping from between your fingers. He caught it before it could shatter, then nearly crushed it to pieces himself when he realised his urgency in preventing it from hitting the floor was because he didn’t want to wake you. And that maybe you liked this particular teacup, and would mourn its loss. And fuck, why would such things cross his mind? Frustrated, he glanced back up at you as if your sleeping form would hold the answers to these infuriating questions that plagued him, and instead was left with an even greater sense of wonderment at how much the peacefulness of sleep softened the harsh lines of doubt and suspicion in your face.

He carefully set the cup down. If his grip tightened any more he’d break it in his fit of vexation. And despite not knowing the reason why, he didn’t want to upset you.

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧��˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

taglist (omg there's so many of you now i'm gonna cry):

@viridian-coffer, @vvzhyxx, @darifes, @whore-of-many-hot-men

@aenishas, @lovel3tter, @randomidk-123, @autistic-deer

@luvenus702, @zoriaisasimp, @ra404, @crownohomo

@diamondcookie45, @steadybreadbluebird, @reapersimps

@lockandkeys, @lacunaanonymoused, @tyt42, @blackcatpandora

to be added or removed please reply to the masterlist post, bold means i'm having trouble tagging you :(

[wildchildvdm]

HEAR ME OUT.

I need Charlie Dempsey to leave WWE

Go to NJPW

AND HAVE A FEUD WITH DAVID FINLAY.

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

Oh, Brave and Loyal Knight

○ fandom: fantasy high

○ main pairing: fabriz (fabian x riz)

○ characters: fabian | riz | penelope | dayne

○ genre/warnings: king + knight au

○ tags: King Arthur Vibes | But also The Goblin Emperor Motifs | King Fabian | Knight Riz | Court Politics | Mostly Fluff

○ word count: 2,654

→ summary: It's a lovely morning in Fallinel, and Riz is a horrible (yet loyal) knight.

○ note: based on a post by @/plumerii.

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Dude, your brave and loyal knight fucking bit me.”

King Fabian Seacaster pursed his lips as his gaze lazily drifted from Mr. Blayde’s bloodied hand to where the aforementioned loyal knight, Sir Riz, stood, licking the last of the young man's blood from his lips. Doing his best to hide a smirk, particularly at how the brief bout of pain had made Mr. Dayne Blayde's Solsian use of “Dude” slip through his halfway decent Elvish.

Fabian’s sure that in any other situation, his fianceé, Lady Everpetal, would admonish him for it. However, she was too busy glaring daggers at Fabian and his knight as she shielded Mr. Blayde’s thoroughly punctured hand with her own. Haughtily huffing so hard that they managed to echo in the vastness of the throne room as she did so.

By the third huff, Fabian decided that he’d made them squirm long enough to finally deign Mr. Blayde with a response. Especially with the way some of his other guards were eyeing him. Sighing, he sat back on his towering, ornate throne, caught the young merchant’s eye, and asked, “Well? Did you do something to provoke him?”

Indignation erupted on both Mr. Blayde's and Lady Everpetal’s faces. Blayde could only gape at Fabian, momentarily struck speechless, while Lady Everpetal’s pale complexion reddened as she cried out, “Did he—you can’t be—that little—”

“Oh, stop with the sputtering, your Ladyship. It’s beneath you. Here, look,” Fabian said, holding up a bejewelled hand. Tilting his head toward his knight, who caught his blasé look and returned it with one filled with mischief. “Sir Riz, why did you bite the good merchant’s hand?”

Making a point to deliberately lick the blood off his teeth before speaking, Sir Riz cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Blayde took a tone with his majesty that I didn’t like. Alluding to threats to your rightful reign that he is too cowardly to say plainly.” He turned his head toward an aghast Lady Everpetal with his ears pinned back and a sneer on his lips, hissing out, “Be happy that I chose his hand and not his eye.”

Sir Riz had wanted to say worse; Fabian could tell. Worse about the merchant punching above his status and far worse about the Lady with monarchal ambitions. Yet, he held his tongue, not wanting to show those cards lest the Everpetals wise up to their ruler knowing of their unabashed treachery and become more challenging to hinder.

Fabian’s quick ascension to the throne of Fallinel after the Elven Oracle (and best friend) had gifted him Fandrangour had left him in a position in want of allies and with a plethora of enemies. Yet, thankfully, his inner circle of confidantes had formed swiftly in the days preceding his coronation. And no one was more loyal to him than Riz Gukgak of Solace. A former detective Fabian had met during one of his many adventures across Spyre. Over the years of knowing each other, both had saved the other countless times and had grown closer than either of them had originally planned to. So, when the Court of Stars had backed him into a corner, demanding the ancient position of the King’s Nohecharei (a knight sworn to die than allow harm to befall the King) be filled, Fabian knew of the only person in the multiverse that he trusted enough to take up the mantle.

“I see. Sir Riz, refrain from biting next time. Use a dagger, far more sanitary.” Fabian said to his knight with a firmness that tried to mask the amusement at the situation underneath. In return, Riz bowed deeply and gave a quiet affirmative. Satisfied, Fabian turned back to the couple before him. Paying no mind to the steam coming out of Lady Everpetal’s ears, he told the dumbfounded Mr. Blayde, “One of the healers in the palace infirmary will see to your hand. I’d hurry before it gets infected. Now—”

“Your Majesty!” Leaving her fiancé behind, Lady Everpetal lifted the skirt of her flowy, green gown to rush closer to Fabian. Stopped only by a warning hiss from Sir Riz. She only spared Riz a single glare before softening her countenance to something sickeningly sweet as she turned to the King and said, “The Everpetals have been loyal to the Crown and the Court of Stars for eons.”

Don’t roll your eyes. Don’t roll your eyes. Kings don’t roll their eyes, Fabian!

“Yes, you’ve made that notion quite clear, my Lady,” Fabian said, arching one of his well-kept brows at her. “How that fact seems relevant enough to remind me every time we meet astounds me.”

“I only mean that, as my fiancé, Mr. Blayde should receive the same dignities as any else of my esteemed and ancient House,” Lady Everpetal said. Her expression strained to keep pleasant. Making it hard to tell whether her narrowed eyes were because of the raised cheeks of her smile or the fury burning within. Nevertheless, she let out a tittering laugh as she went on to spit out with barely concealed rage, “The fact that you're about to let that little—”

Fabian shot up on his throne. His hands gripped the armrests, threatening to scratch the golden embellishments, as he hissed, “Watch your tongue, Everpetal.”

“—knight—” She **quickly pivoted like the expert courtier she was, yet was still picking up steam.*“—*Of yours get away with injuring a soon-to-be member of your court i-is unconscionable!”

“Lady Everpetal—”

“Don't **you understand that you are throwing out centuries of noble tradition for a Goblin who was a peasant not a year ago?”

“Penelo—”

“Why must the Court of Stars have their way of life thrown to the wind all because of the arcane technicality that was your royal inheir—”

Fabian hadn’t realized how close Lady Everpetal was getting to him until Sir Riz swiftly imposed himself between them and slammed the tip of his Sword of Shadows into the marble of the dias.

CLANG!

The sound of sleek, sharp metal against stone echoed out into the great hall and drew everyone's eyes onto him—something his wasn’t want to do. Yet still, Sir Riz stood solidly, back straight, shoulders squared, and a tight grip on his blade. From behind, Fabian couldn’t tell what expression was on his beloved knight's face, but by the way, even Lady Everpetal had gone ashen and stumbled back toward Mr. Blayde; it was chilling.

“Yes or no?” Sir Riz began, his tone firm and fierce as the bright lights of the throne room dimmed at the sound of his voice ringing out. The newfound shadows clung to the knight’s blade, swirling around his hands and feet. “Does his Majesty not wield Fandrangour, The Sword of Elven Kings, Lady Everpetal?” He asked with a snarl. Mr. Blayde flinched. “Does the crown, enchanted only to let the true ruler of Fallinel wear it, not sit happily upon his head?” Lady Everpetal winced. “Did the Elven Oracle herself not foree his reign?” The shadows grew darker, grew in number, and grew in size as Sir Riz, despite his tiny form, also seemed to grow. His commanding presence filled the chamber as his voice, vexed and indignant, raised to almost a shout. “Does the Court of Stars move against him? Do you dare commit high treason?”

Sir Riz’s final question hung in the air for a few long moments.

No one dared even to breathe as perhaps the tentative peace Fallinel had might unravel before their eyes in the following moments. Fabian could feel every guard that lined the hall tense. None more pulled taut than Sir Riz, his tail still and his hackles still raised.

Mr. Blayde looked at a loss for words (then again, what else was new), while Lady Everpetal looked like she knew exactly what she wanted to say but kept her tongue still so as to respond to an accusation of high treason thoughtlessly.

Neither party dared to make another move, whether on the offence or defence. A moment so fragile a wrong single word might break it. Luckily, Fabian always considered himself a deft touch.

Fabian’s soft chuckles broke the silence of the throne room as he pushed himself to stand, gaining the hall’s attention in one easy movement. With a gentle hand on Sir Riz’s shoulder, the shadows receded, and the room's brightness returned as Fabian said, “Settle yourself, Sir Riz.” After a couple of extra moments, Sir Riz did what he was told and turned to acknowledge Fabian with a bow. Giving him a tiny, reassuring smile, Fabian looked out at the pair in front of him, his smile turning intimidating as he continued, “I’m certain that Lady Everpetal did not come here to list her grievances with my rightful reign before contesting me for the throne in an official capacity.”

Fabian certainly wasn’t in the mood for the trials and duels that come with the arduous process that was the Court of Stars’ official channels for contesting the ruling monarch for the Fallinese throne. And he’s sure Lady Everpetal wasn’t either.

Yes, yes, he was granting her a way to slither out of treason.

A way that would, he had no doubt, allow her to go back to plotting to overthrow him in secret. But it also got her to leave him alone for the next couple of days, or maybe, Gods willing, weeks. And that prospect of peace and quiet allured him deeply.

For her credit, Lady Everpetal took it immediately. Her too-sweet smile was back on her fair face as she bowed and said, “Of course not. Apologies, your majesty, for my outburst.”

“We all have our bad days, my Lady,” Fabian said back, ignoring the scoff that fell from Sir Riz’s lips. “Now, I do believe I’m quite finished taking audiences for the rest of the morning. Lady Everpetal, take your fianceé to the palace infirmary and see yourselves back to your fiefdom. Sir Durden, make sure they find their way there swiftly. Good day.”

And with that, Fabian swept out of the throne room, his silvery Elven robes fluttering behind him as he went. His steps were quick and filled with purpose, even if that purpose was to get back to the King’s—to his tower and collapse in a heap of rich, silky fabric and heavy opal and sapphire jewellery. He didn’t hear Sir Riz’s footfalls behind him in the same way he heard the clicks the heels of his own boots made, but then again, Fabian never did.

Riz was a damn good Rogue; moving silently through the halls of the palace was so second nature to him that he often unintentionally startled other members of the Court of Stars—even other spies. Fabian had heard many complaints about the phenomenon and fielded even more demands that Riz wear a bell. He waved them all off, noting that his nohecharei had never managed to frighten him. Leaving out the many times Riz had scared him at the beginning of their friendship and the years it took to hone his ability to notice Riz’s faint tells.

So, Fabian walked, head forward and held high, not needing footsteps to know that Riz was only a couple of steps behind. The way his claws tapped the hilt of his blade and the faint swish of his tail was enough.

It wasn’t until Fabian had reached his chambers within his tower—the Alcethmeret—and fell onto one of his couches that he got a good look at Sir Riz again. Turning to see him standing by the grand double doors, a soft smile on his face, he took a moment to enjoy the view.

Standing as tall as he could, a few inches shy of four feet, Riz’s slim frame was wrapped in only the finest dark leather armour over tawny brown robes. Far from the starched shirts and vests he wore in Solace. Sword of Shadows on his back. Arquebus at his hip. Fabian’s personal sigil embroidered onto his armour right over his heart. Same as the one he used to seal his letters and appeared on banners throughout the country. He’d never admit it, but the possessive part of him always preened at the sight of it. Physical proof of Riz’s connection to him. One that would protect him from all harm that might’ve befallen him as a lone Goblin in this den of High Elves.

His seal.

His knight.

His Goblin.

“You just had to bite him, didn’t you?” Fabian asked with a drawl and a wide smile.

Riz shrugged, his grin growing to match. “You told me I could bite whoever I wanted if you or the throne were in jeopardy.”

Fabian couldn’t help but roll his eyes, letting his head fall back onto the antique couch’s pillow. And apparently, he was the drama queen. “I wasn't in danger, The Ball.”

“If you allowed a foreign merchant to be so brazenly disrespectful—which Blayde was, threatening to stifle Solsian imports if you did not bend to his fianceé’s wishes—then the rest of the Court would start acting up.” “Besides, I thought you didn't mind my bites.”

Fabian’s head shot back up. Locking gazes with Riz, whose canny, amber eyes held a spark of defiant teasing. Narrowing his eye, Fabian crooked a finger at him and said, “Come hither, oh, Brave and Loyal Knight.”

Riz obeyed, striding from the door to bend a knee and kneel before him. Fabian immediately took advantage of their closeness to cup Riz’s cheek, running his thumb across a field of deep evergreen freckles. Riz's slitted pupils dilated at his touch, a catlike pur emanating from the ferocious knight as he leaned into it.

They stayed like this for a few long and peaceful minutes. There were no words between them, only sighs and grunts as Riz guided Fabian’s fingers to run through his greenblack curls. All was well until the palace clock tower rang, shattering their little personal bubble and bringing Fabian back to reality.

Still playing with the soft hairs at the back of Riz’s neck, Fabian pouted and quietly said, “Blayde and Everpetal are going to continue to be a problem.”

In a flash, Riz’s pupils go razor-thin once more. “I’ll handle them.”

Fabian's sure he would, but—“Word of her outburst will reach the ears of the other Houses and the rest of the country soon enough.”

“No other House will publically align with House Everpetal so soon after Penelope's stunt today,” Riz said with absolute certainty. “Neither will the rest of your subjects.”

“The Court of Stars could be moving against me,” Fabian shot back, feeling anything but certain about what their future held. “A coup could be on the way sooner than we think.”

“It’s not.”

“How are you sure?”

“Because,” Riz said slowly as he pulled away from Fabian’s hand so that he could take it in both of his. “I’ll squash its embers before it can catch,” he continued, staring into Fabian’s eye with the same conviction he had on the day he took his oath as a nohecharei. “Don’t worry about any of that. I’ve got your back, Fabes.”

“What would I do without you?” Fabian asked, his voice cracking and his chest full of warm, soft feelings as a sense of breathlessness overtook him. He knew the answer was collapse under all the weight and pressure of the life he never thought he’d have to live, though Riz would never say that.

Instead, Riz feigned thinking for a moment before he answered, “Die in a ditch thanks to a sabotaged carriage.” Fabian gasped in fake outrage. How so very dare he! Yet before he could complain, Riz pressed a kiss to Fabian’s ringed knuckles as he let out a laugh. “Not on my watch, though, my King.”

No, Fabian thought to himself, never on his Brave and Loyal knight’s watch.

[mamayan]

OK BUT what about sub Muzans daughter , Dom Genya..

Since I have so many requests for this…

Genya Shinazugawa x Muzan’s Daughter Reader!

cw: NSFW • Clichè Aphrodisiac Troupe • Consenting Blood Drinking • PIV Sex • Slightly Dom! Genya (more switch) • Dacryphilia (M) • Fem! Reader • Praise/Fluff • Oral (F) • Sugary Sweetness • Breeding Kink

“I expect nothing less than perfection. You’ve done well, child.”

“Thank you, my Lord, it is my honor and duty to uphold your expectations.”

Low.

You’re bowed low to the ground. Forehead nearly touching, so close it’s nearly indistinguishable from pressing your skin to the ground.

You don’t. Can’t. Even if death is threatened.

The aura surrounding him would make any lesser demon fawn and fall to their knees, but it only drove you wild. A call to your soul to destroy him and take his place. You hated him. The man who should’ve peacefully allowed you to marry off into a pristine family and be given a true chance as a human with happiness and children ruined when he turned you. Had you attacked and nearly slaughtered before acting as if he was bestowing a mercy and not a curse.

Your face betrays nothing. Sweet and serene as always because of your true emotions showed all your hard work would be for naught. You thought of your loyal servant Tamayo, her breakthrough and discovery which could change the tide of this cursed war. Then without your permission his face appeared.

You can’t think of him.

Despite not having a heart which worked as one should in a human, it still pained your chest to remember his face and the distance between you both.

Patience.

You must be patient and stay low, no matter how it irritated your pride like a nail in your soul.

You left, moving through the infinity castle with confidence none else beside yourself and Kokushibo possessed in this space. You kept Nakime in your peripheral, the disturbed demon not to your taste despite her blood art providing much assistance in your plans.

That woman cared little for loyalty. She just liked havoc.

“Ah~♡ The lovely lady is here? Akaza-dono, you didn’t tell me we’d be graced with her ladyships presence!” Your cool gaze slid over the upper rank two demon, Doma, who now stood before you and blocked your path. His dazzling rainbow eyes trained on you with a worship similar to how he looked at your father. You shared the same addicting blood after all.

“Lady,” Akaza was as formal as ever as he leapt from a high shifting platform, landing smoothly before you to bow slightly. You returned the polite gesture before looking back at Doma with a small smile.

“Doma-san,”

“Yes! My lady?”

“Do you like being beheaded? You must be a masochist I presume, since you continue to block my path.”

“Ah… right.” He swiftly moved, created a hole for you to move through, kimono dragging lightly on the ground as you passed with your smile in tact. The blonde male irritated you as well, his loyalty questionable a from all angles.

You left, being taken out to your previous location, a spacious estate given as a gift some thirty or so years ago.

Tomoya was present, her gentle smile and irritable little assistant all in tact which made you breathe an inner sigh of relief. Your father wants her dead, and you’re harboring her in secret. Your carefully placed house of leaves can be blown apart any moment, one wrong step could destroy you and all your plans.

It could destroy him.

“Ubuyashiki contacted me… mentioned a young slayer you’ve had… correspondence with is assigned a mission near the base of the mountains.” Tomoya was always soft spoken, gentle atmosphere a layer plastered to hide the true nature she kept swaddled. Her rage. She glance over as she works, a multitude more of glass beakers filled with liquids you didn’t question.

“Hn.”

“Not going?”

“No.”

“…May I ask why?”

“You may not.”

“I see.”

Your mouth twitched before you sighed, knowing she wouldn’t give up so easily. It was obvious how you doted on him, so there was little use pretending he meant nothing.

“I’ll check, nothing more.”

“Hn.” Her smile grew but you didn’t point it out, scoffing as you left in more of a hurry than you cared to think on.

He’s going to die.

This demon isn’t dying no matter how he blows its head off or slices it to pieces.

He’s been fighting for nearly two days straight, exhausted and fatigued to a point he may not survive if it continues any longer. He’s requested backup, but it may not come, and this demon’s blood is only making him more sluggish and it comes back for another swing at his jugular.

“Fucker—! Die!” He doesn’t stop though, because if he’s going to die then he’s taking this piece of shit out with him.

“Genya?!”

“Huh?” He turns at the wrong moment, and that’s his mistake.

He watches in amazement as you move swiftly, the demon he struggled to defeat lit to flames as if the sun was out and on it directly. His eyes look up, the sky covered by a thick blanket of clouds preventing even a tiny fraction of light through.

“Genya no!” He’s bleeding. Badly.

“Oh no, no it’s my fault, no sweet boy, look at me. Genya!” You look different. Less confident yet still beautiful. Are you crying? Can demons cry? He wonders briefly, eyes looking down but unable to move his body as you cradle him to your chest, blood is everywhere.

He’s going to die.

“No my love, look at me. Stay with me, okay?” He wants to speak, but his mouth feels wet and cemented shut.

You’re trembling. Or is it him?

“Okay. Let me think… okay, we’ll fix this, just stay with me alright?”

He wants to reassure you, tell you in all honesty he doesn’t regret dying in your arms, but his vision is getting fuzzy.

“I won’t let you die.”

He’s glad he gets to hear your voice in the end.

He’s burning.

Genya’s eyes shoot open, breathing picking up as he feels a building fire in his core, specifically his cock.

“Fuck—ah,” he groans, muscles twitching as he rolls to his side and looks around. He’s in an inn it appears, the silence thick as he surveys his body to check to for injuries.

None.

He’s still himself though, which means you must’ve fed him your flesh.

He’s never felt this before though, after consuming a demon.

“Good, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?” A cool hand on his forehead jolts him from his thoughts, dark purple eyes looking up to your face as you smile so sweetly down at him, and the disgusting thoughts swirling inside him begin to bubble over.

“You see feverish still.” You murmur, forehead wrinkling as you lean in closer and Genya has to breathe through his mouth when he catches a whiff of something floral and sweet on you.

“Master…” he’s dying in a different way now, mind fogging over as he looks up and sees you.

It’s been months. How could you be here? Why do you smell so good? He’s itching to run out of his own skin, teeth aching because he wants to sink them into you, eyes watering as he realizes he’s going out of control.

“Genya? Sweetheart you don’t seem alright, what’s going on—oh?” He knows you allow it, your strength and power nothing to dismiss for even the strongest demon or slayer, but still you allow him to grip your shoulders and pull you into a tight hug. He’s nearly sobbing when you hug him back, arms wrapping around him and pulling him impossibly closer.

“Ma-Master I need—please, I need—,” you’re nodding with understanding as you lean back, smile still so sweet and caring as you look him over with complete adoration. He’s melting for it, gritting his teeth because the moment feels ruined but his straining cock isn’t listening to anything right now.

“I knew there’d be some kind of side effect, I just didn’t imagine it’d affect you like this.” He’s not listening, head hazy and eyes clouding over as he leans forward and kisses you, soft lips desperate for entrance into your mouth which he’s gratefully granted.

His hands are everywhere now, shaky and jerky as he yanks awkwardly at your kimono and his own clothing, trying to tear it from you both as his hips hump the air at nothing.

He needs to taste you. Needs you on his tongue with desperation he’s never felt. He might truly perish this time if he’s denied.

You’re soft in his arms, and for the first time he realizes you’re smaller than he thought. Sweet and caring despite how you’ve fucked him senseless, and remembering only drives him more crazy.

“Please—fuck, let me taste you.” Tears are already welling up in his eyes, features languid as his reddened face struggles to stay still, even as he shakes and clutches onto your robes.

“Okay, sweet boy, whatever you want.”

Whatever you want—

He gives up on his disheveled clothing in favor of pushing up your kimono only halfway opened, burying his face in your crotch much like the dog you enjoy calling him, lips immediately seeking out your warm heat. He moans at your taste, hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer with the intention of suffocating himself as he dry humps the futon, pre-cum wetting and staining his yukata placed on him. His hot mouth open and tongue flicking at the hidden pearl which has you moaning.

Your noises drive him more wild, eating you like a man starved. His nails digging into the fat of your hips, only leaving marks for a second before you heal.

“So good, fuck—,” he’s delirious and gone to the heat and haze of your blood and slick. He’d happily die only consuming the two for the rest of his life. He’s chanting your name as he slurps and messily swallows your slick, and he groans low in his throat when you tangle your fingers into the soft tuft of hair atop his head and yank him closer to grind on his face.

“Such a good boy, yes—you’re going to make me cum.” Your words only push him to work harder, tongue lapping and lavishing your clit while your orgasm washes over you.

He only stops when you force his head up, slick covered red face almost offended it’d been stopped.

“Enough. Don’t you want to feel better? Come here Genya.”

“Y-yes—,” he’s nearly falling over himself as he sits up and crawls over you, clothes tangled awkwardly around his legs but it hardly mattered since his cock was free and ready.

He came the moment he felt his tip glide through your soaked folds, body nearly seizing up as he struggled to breathe through such an intense release.

“It’s alright, you’re doing so good.” He whines as you brush the sweat soaked hair off his forehead, blurry eyes only briefly focusing on you before dropping down to his still hard cock.

It hurt. He wanted to cry because it hurt to physically not be inside you. You seemed to know though, encouraging him with soft words and gentle hands guiding him forward as he finally pressed forward and felt the tip of his cock breach the tight ring of muscle to your pussy. “C-cuming—ah, fuck, please let me cum, please—,”

“Cum for me sweet boy,” you kiss him.

He comes again, but you gasp in pleasure and delight when he merely surges forward to completely fill you, Genya’s fucked out expression lewdly on display as he ruts into you with an unset rhythm. His libido won’t tire it appeared.

He moans loudly when you clamp down around him, tightening up to watch his eyes roll back and drool slide down his chin. He cries though when you try to slow him, shush him quiet as he pumps his poor meat rod into your gummy walls with a more coordinated roll of his hips. Pretty tears glistening in his eyes despite the animalistic way he’s pounding into your body, trying to mold your inner walls into the shape of him.

“I l-love you—,” he’s not even in his right mind but he’s confessing. It amuses and warms you, only making you draw him in closer as he pants and whines losing himself inside you.

“You feel so good, Master, Y/N, I’m going crazy,” he’s slurring his speech, mindlessly fucking you until he’s begging to fill you again and again.

If you were human it might’ve been too much.

You aren’t though, and he’s still hard despite it all, only making a frothy mess of cum continuously being pumped into your pussy and spilling out over the sides when he stretches you out again.

“Go crazy then, fuck me harder.” He does, pressing forward and folding you up into a mating press where he pounds straight against your womb which he babbles about filling, panting and moaning like a dog in heat as he makes you cum before painting your insides once again.

He wakes the next morning with something akin to a headache, but alive nonetheless.

His eyes widen though when they catch you, naked beside him and gazing at him fondly.

“Did you have fun, pet?”

He feels something ominous in your words but he can’t quite pick it out.

“Y-yes…?”

“That’s good, because I’m very curious of the biological response you had to my blood. I’d like to run some more tests.”

Despite the almost polite way you spoke, he knew you weren’t really asking.

Dividers/@cafekitsune

[kingsanddragonsandgods]

⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024

[cyborg-squid]

I just read Hell Screen in preparation for Ryoshu's Canto:

1) Wow, it is really good, I can see why the foreword said "If only one work of his [Ryonosuke Akutagawa] were to survive, this should be it." Nice and compact length too.

2) It's also this amazing exercise in narration; not exactly an 'unreliable' narrator, but a very clearly biased one. I concert with this narration style is the fact that no character besides Yoshihide (and the monkey named after him) has a name, it's all Yoshihide's Daughter, His Lordship, His Ladyship, His Reverence, Assorted Apprentices, etc... It really reinforces the fact that this story is all about Yoshihide and, the unnamed narrator would have you believe, illustrates Yoshihide's own arrogance and self-centered nature...

...which we see isn't entirely true, the narrator is forced to relent that Yoshihide very much cares for his daughter, and vice-versa. He repeatedly asks for her return from His Lordship's manor, and is refused, and his acceptance of the Hell Screen commission is likely to try and earn her back through his work.

So it's in that light that Yoshihide's actions are cast in a very different light, the servant narrator would have us believe in the unimpeachability of His Lordship's character, but the reader can catch on real early that, oh, this lord really wants Yoshihide's daughter, and Yoshihide wanting her back isn't a father's protectiveness, it's him wanting to get her out of a very bad situation, and is willing to do anything to accomplish that.

And even then, despite chaining that one apprentice and attacking another with an owl, it's not even Yoshihide that crosses the final line; he initially only requests to see a carriage set aflame, it is His Lordship who adds in a woman to be burnt, and derives such a perverse pleasure in having and seeing the daughter (who struggled against his advances) burned alive. It's fascinating, His Lordship is described as panting like a beast and frothing at the mouth watching this, the 'beast' comparison being levied against Yoshihide earlier in the story for his red lips and giving him the 'Monkeyhide' nickname. And then the monkey itself, given the name Yoshihide, ends up being more human than His Lordship and even the original Yoshihide; the reader sees the moneky's human mannerisms in his tugging trousers to get attention and kowtowing in thanks, and his ultimate humanity comes at the end when the monkey Yoshihide is able to do what the human one is not: to die alongside his daughter, to at least be with her. And yeah, one can't really fault Yoshihide the man for not being able to do anything in the face of such a sight, but the monkey is able to something, even if said thing is to just die alongside her.

3) A wikipedia summary or the like really doesn't do this story justice, I went in expecting Yoshihide to be the 'Mad Artist' type, and for some shades of Pickman's Model-esque 'horrible scene actually witnessed', but Yoshihide isn't nearly as mad as I first thought and is really quite interesting; very fitting then that he is the only character with a name. So I'm really excited to see what Limbus Company will do with him+her!

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

What do you think Sansa ending will be like?

I was thinking she could do something artsy or creative.

That's a very interesting question!

First of all, let me say that I believe that Sansa will survive the series and have a happy ending.

With that being said, I don't mean a fairy tale like ending where she gets everything she ever wanted as a kid because a. Sansa has moved from her childhood dreams, when once she was dreaming to marry a handsome prince and become his queen one day, she now dreams of her home and what it represents (aka unconditional familial love, safety etc) and b. I doubt that Martin will give any character - even his most important ones - a fairy tale ending where they will get everything they even wanted.

I have many different predictions on where she could end up with, and since there are only speculations on my end I could totally be wrong.

Could she marry Harry the Heir ( if/once her marriage with Tyrion gets annulled) and become Lady of Eyrie? It fits her arc and her anti-parallels the previous Lady of Eyrie, who was also a Tully woman - remember all Stark kids are half Tully from their mama- and she in would be a Lady of an Important House like her Mother - with whom she shares some great parallels - once was. And not any castle, but the place her father spend many years . Thus a place that connects to both her Stark and Tully heritage. The only negative in this theory is that Harry currently seems an arse and I don't want her after everything she had to endure with an asshole. Maybe he's actually not that bad? Who knows we have two more books to find out, assuming that Harry survives them.

Another option would be for her to remain married to Tyrion. And I don't mean for them to suddenly have a great passionate romance but a mutual understanding that their union could benefit them both. They get to be the Lord and Lady of Castelry Rock and visit/or even stay at Kings Landing as I can imagine Tyrion will be heavily involved in politics and probably have a place in the small council of whoever gets to become the next ruler of Seven Kingdoms. I don't think that Tyrion would have a problem with his wife following her arty talents, and Sansa could continue hosting parties - like the one in Eyrie- and be an important influential Lady popular among the other nobles- especially if she is the wife of the Hand of the King/Queen/ whoever sits on the Iron Throne. That could even help elevate her husband popularity and in return Tyrion could offer her security and freedom to pursue her talents and hobbies. It's not the ideal fairy tale marriage but it's better than most arranged marriages in Westeros- her own parents started their union with even less and they managed to be happy together.

Or she could eventually marry a Northern Lord and live close to her childhood home and visit Bran and Rickon ( and anyone else reciting at Winterfell) more often than most ladies of her status visited their family.

Speaking of Winterfell, I personally believe - and as I said before since those are only speculations I could be totally wrong- that the younger Starks ( Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon) at the end of the series need to spend some futher time on their home before they consider moving out due to marrying. Because they are still very young and I believe that they would all benefit by being close to each other.

Sure not of them is an adult and therefore they can't act as the guardians of the younger ones - Maybe their older brother Jon who is adult could temporary do that?- but they can still help each other. Like for example, Sansa who learned how to act like the sort of Lady of Eyrie - while posing as Littlefinger's daughter - could help her brother, Bran, with the ladyship duties until he's old enough to pick a wife to fill that role. And more importantly than usefulness in managing to rule Winterfell, these kids are all traumatized and they deserve to spend some time to their home in order to heal. And to get to reconnect as a family - and least those who are still alive :/.

In Winterfell, I believe that Sansa could also purse her artistic talents because I can't imagine Bran, who is not only the sweetest kid according to his family but also very observant and empathetic, stopping his sister from doing something that gives her pleasure.

And I wasn't supposed to write so much but I was carried away bc I like speculating about characters I've interested at.

( And if you noticed the lack of mentioning Sandor as Sansa's possible endgame isn't because I don't believe that Martin has given them romantic undertones. It's because I unfortunately don't see him surviving the end of the books - again my personal prediction, feel free to disagree- so anything that happens between them I believe it won't be at the epilogue of the series).