#unhinged maiden�� my beloved

[lepusrufus]

Every once in a while I just like to doodle a cranky Nicole at work

[lilbunnis]

❛ ♡. header credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲. ❜

★ ⎯⎯ aemond targaryen has always wanted someone as his own; and with him already having claimed his vicious mount vhagar, the queen of dragons herself--- what is there to stop him from claiming you, too?

author’s note᛬ heey! 🍓 so……this is my second time posting this particular story--- however, it was a long time ago & someone anonymously requested to read it again. happily, i offered to repost it for them (with the exception that i re-edit it since my style of writing has changed / improved!) … anyways, reblogs & comments are deeply appreciated. ♡ + both aemond & reader are equally unhinged. <3 mwuah !

warnings᛬ mdni! smut, dubcon [kind of… but trust me, it’s wanted], dark!aemond, profanity, she/her pronouns, afab reader, innocence kink, corruption kink, coercion, manipulation, pussy whipped!aemond, breeding kink, cunnilingus, fingering, obsessive & possessive behavior, pet names, romance, fluff. any grammatical errors are my own--- in advance, i sincerely apologize.

word count᛬ 2.5k

𝐎𝐇, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼, 𝐈’��� 𝐃𝐎 𝑨𝑵𝒀𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮.

aemond targaryen has always thought of her as his--- his to protect, his to care for, his to love; ever since he’d met her, he surrounded himself in her feminine presence, around her sweetness and innocence, keeping her close by and never letting her trail very far out of his sight.

unless, of course, it was absolutely necessary, and even then, he’d have one of his most trustworthy guards (loyal only to him) follow her around all day--- discreetly, of course.

however, during their short time apart, the one-eyed prince would be on constant edge; irritable and in a foul mood throughout the time that they were apart, not being able to trust anyone to truly protect his lady the way he knew he could.

oh, how he missed his dearly beloved so--- so much so, that the wayward prince was known for his brutal lashings and merciless beheadings (all a gift to his love) to all of those who merely breathed the wrong way in his proximity.

or simply, sweet gifts of pretty, sparkling sapphires and pearls.

still, he knew that she thought his temper and rage was charming, as she had once told him in that sweet, gentle little voice of hers, soothing his fiery temper as if she were the maiden reborn.

like his own little angel, so delicate, tender-hearted and mine, aemond thought.

sometimes, most of the time, aemond would just simply gaze at her, at her beauty, longingly; like she was the center of the universe and held all of the twinkling stars in the night sky.

most people wouldn’t dare to believe such a thing, but aemond thought it was cute when she learned something new in philosophy, excitedly wanting to share the new knowledge she’d learned from her septa with him--- even if he already knew, just to be able to listen to her sweet, angelic voice.

oh, and on those simple days, content to just listen to her babbling on about whichever subject she deemed of interest; he would lovingly hand feed her fresh strawberries, one by one; the ripest, juiciest and sweetest ones, listening as she breathily moaned in content as each one entered her pouty mouth.

meanwhile, as his little darling continued on about whichever subject interested her at the moment; the one-eyed prince watched in delight as the red juices dribbled down her chin, allowing him to quickly swoop in and kiss it delicately away, causing him to hum in content at the sweet taste.

whether it be from the strawberries themselves or the sweet taste of her skin, it mattered not to the prince--- because the next moment, he would drop to his knees and feast on her delicious, drooling cunt; burying himself right beneath her fluffy skirts as he heard her girlishly moan and whimper for him, as he continued enjoying the taste of her maidenhood.

on lazy days, the prince will sit with her in his lap, one of his strong, lean arms wrapped snugly around her waist, most protectively; meanwhile, his free hand would slip beneath her fluffy skirts and play with her virgin, soaking cunt, teasingly stroking his long, calloused fingers through her wet, puffy folds.

seven above, and the sounds of her soft, breathy little moans, almost luring him to bend her right over the wooden table in the back of the library and rut into her like some wild, depraved beast, claiming her maidenhead as his.

‘twas almost too much to bear for the prince, knowing she was already his in body, mind, heart and soul.

he always imagined what she must taste like that day, right before he would feast on her cunny, almost to tease himself--- like freshly baked sweet tarts, spoonfuls of honey, strawberries…

late at night, while in the privacy of his own chambers, he’d furiously fuck his fist to the thought of burying his face between her smooth thighs once again, wanting nothing more than to taste and fuck her cunt with his tongue greedily; before he’d come so fucking hard in his hand, his seed coating the skin of his taut abdomen and dripping down his fingers--- sticky and messy and entirely spent.

sighing heavily, aemond would barely resist the temptation to exit his chambers and go straight to hers, knowing she’d welcome him with an open heart and open legs.

…fuck, what a waste of his seed, he thinks, for he could’ve pumped her empty womb full of his seed; fuck load after load inside of her, and come by morning, she would already be carrying his son in her belly.

rightfully so; she’s be so beautiful, so fragile, so obedient, a perfect little wife she’d be for him, indeed.

meanwhile, back in the library, aemond would continue teasing her little cunny, occasionally dipping the very tips of his fingertips into her little virgin fuck-hole, feeling how fucking tight she was for him, causing him to harden almost painfully inside of his leather breeches, right below her squirming, little ass.

like his very own wanton, silk street whore.

she continued to moan and whimper repeatedly; making him gently shush her with delicate kisses across her neck, spreading her dripping arousal all around her swollen bud, hearing her mewl his name like a prayer and grip the polished library table forcibly, watching her blissed-out face until she came all over his fingers.

when he made her come so hard with just playing with her little bundle of nerves, he had to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries of pleasure and whisper sweet praises into her ear, knowing how sensitive and needy she was in his arms, just after coming down from her peak and making her come so hard on his fingers.

of course, the more time he spent with her, the harder it was to resist her--- and so, most nights, when aemond could no longer resist being away from her; the need to see her being just too much for him to bear any longer, he’d eagerly seek her out, knowing she’d be in her chambers, awaiting his arrival.

just as eager and wanton as he was, it seemed.

smirking, aemond chuckled softly, embracing her; “my sweetest, my darling, my little love--- fuck, i have missed you.”

he couldn’t control himself anymore, he needed to see her, to be with her, to have her.

always.

specifically, in the late hours of the night, wanting to be as close to her as physically possible; fuck, he loved her so much, he didn’t ever want her to doubt his love for her--- he stripped them both of their evening clothes, his amethyst eye dilated and wild at the sight of her nude form.

during those private evenings, aemond had convinced her for him to claim her as his… fully, in the ways only a man could claim a woman.

with his persuasion, his silver tongue easily convinced her into saying yes; causing him to release a purr and claim her body multiple times that night, until she was a shaking, sobbing and sweaty mess beneath him, full of loads of his seed, while he held her tightly against him in his arms--- possessively.

uncaringly, the prince left all sorts of love marks all across her skin, kissing every inch of her soft, glistening skin that he could reach, suckling on her swollen, puffy nipples, knowing her plush breasts would soon grow heavy with milk for their many babes that’d come someday soon.

selfishly, just maybe; he could persuade his little darling for a taste for himself--- fucking hells, he couldn’t wait for her to grow round and fat with his sons!

insatiably, he would fuck his already hardening, leaking cock back inside of her sopping cunt, his and her own moans of pure love and ecstasy echoing off of the walls of her chambers.

however, even with all of the bliss and pleasure and love; still came her doubts and worries.

his sweet lady, his precious love, his only girl--- was utterly terrified of someone finding out about their affair.

however, the fearsome, bloodthirsty dragon prince would always reassure her; whispering sweet words of his love and devotion into her ears, calming her by kissing her love-marked skin before he would fuck her squelching cunt once again with his cock, ploughing into her mercilessly, filling her with another load of his seed, until tears would stream down her blushy cheeks.

unable to stop herself, she’d let out the most feminine moans for him, not being able to control her sweet mewls from escaping her kiss-swollen lips, sobbing out deliriously as he continuously fucked her ruthlessly, uncaring of who heard them; for the one-eyed prince was too addicted to the taste of her and the pretty, precious sounds she made just for him.

it wouldn’t matter anyway, if anyone were to find out about their love affair--- aemond genuinely honestly couldn’t give a fuck if someone were to tell her lord father that her maidenhead was claimed by him anyone.

if anyone would dare to question his lady’s virtue or purity, he would cut out their tongues, before mercilessly killing them and feed their mutilated corpse to his mighty beast, vhagar.

aemond had always been a possessive man, especially when it concerned his sweet little lady, to the point that most of the noble lords and ladies of the court started to take notice; however, the fearsome prince paid them little attention--- nowadays, his only concern in life was his darling little bride.

some days, when the weather was warm enough and the sun was shining brightly, aemond would take his lady on long walks around the red keep’s royal gardens, right after he finished his morning training session with ser criston.

as always, it was just the two of them, together; and while he watched her instead of admiring the pretty flowers that she seemed so smitten by, he couldn’t stop the tiny grin from spreading across his face at just the mere sight of her.

her, her, her.

his--- his lady, his woman, his wife.

there was a secret, hidden alcove surrounded by various cherry trees and gorgeous pink peonies, which aemond would often bring her to visit; it was almost as if it was their special spot.

then, without warning, aemond would gently press her back up against one of the trunks of the pretty, blossoming cherry trees, kissing her so sweetly, so passionately, so tenderly; it made her swoon and see constellations on the backs of her fluttering eyelids.

“marry me.”

suddenly, she felt as if her heart had suddenly stopped beating and she felt rather faint--- for a moment, her heart felt as if it had skipped several beats, because surely… her sweet aemond did not just ask the impossible of her?

again, aemond spoke.

“marry me,” he murmured against her soft, perfumed skin (that smelled of the lavender oils they’d previously bathed in that morning together) trailing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive neck, causing a breathy whimper to escape her pretty, pouty lips.

instantly, aemond’s ears had perked up to the sound of her breathing that was quickening, his large hands roaming and grasping at her sides as if to soothe her sudden panic, enjoying the feeling of her womanly curves against his big hands, even through the silk fabric of her pretty, sapphire colored dress.

“hmm…no,” she drawled lazily, though her sweet voice was teasing, “—my father is suspicious enough already about all of the rumors going on about us…he doesn't ask, of course; i’m afraid it’s because he is too frightened of you,” she giggled softly, batting her long eyelashes up at the handsome prince.

aemond smirked, amused by his little darling.

“besides,” she continued softly, her usual sweetened voice saddened and aemond watched as his lady’s heart was visibly breaking right before his own eye, “—my father… he will arrange a betrothal for me soon and i must do my duty, as is expected of me,” she whispered, while gently twirling a few strands of her lover’s long silvery hair around one of her fingers, her face sullen--- like a little girl having her favorite treat taken away from her.

aemond hummed; a soft, dangerous sound as his face remained stoic, not displaying a single emotion that he was currently feeling--- his natural-born eye on the other hand…was a raging storm of a dark, angry violet, screaming promises of fire and blood.

“that'll never happen,” aemond murmured softly, his voice a raspy baritone, completely unbothered, “—if your father even dares to try and take you away from me, he'll suffer a most painful death; i assure you, my sweet lady.”

her heart fluttered, both of her cheeks heating up and her head began to feel fuzzy, a dreamy expression forming on her pretty face; though she wasn’t sure if it was from the warm weather or by his loving, murderous words.

“you're so sweet,” she cooed dreamily, smiling up at him as she wrapped both of her arms around his neck loosely, her fingers gently brushing through more of his long silvery hair, feeling how silky-smooth the strands were--- curtsey of the queen, his darling mother; a sweet gift of scented oils she had gotten for her favorite son all the way from pentos.

“only for you, my beloved,” the prince promised, tenderly brushing his knuckles along one of her rosy cheeks, bending down towards her shorter height and capturing her rouge-stained lips in a sweet, deeply passionate kiss--- a deep, throaty sound of lust escaping from him.

ah, she tastes of the sweetest of innocence and strawberries.

his favorite.

‘twas as if the prince could never get enough of her taste, of her.

sweetly, she releases a little whine, high-pitched and so needy for him; the sweetness of a poisonous kiss--- oh, how he wants to love her forever and bathe in all of the glorious love she had to offer him.

gods, he loved her… only, only, only her.

“my angel, so soft and pure, so innocent; and your precious heart… it is mine,” he growled, deepening the kiss against her lips--- his large, warm and calloused hands began trailing down to cup her sweet, little ass through her skirts, bundling the silky, sapphire colored fabric in his greedy hands to fondle and squeeze the soft flesh of her asscheeks; pinching and clutching possessively.

grinning wolfishly, aemond trailed his open-mouthed kisses down her delicate neck, suckling freshly new love marks into her fading, bruised skin--- all across her neck, jawline, collarbones and the very tops of her soft, perky breasts.

“marry me,” he asked once again, sounding impatient, though he wouldn’t mind begging, if it only meant claiming her for himself.

she wrapped her arms around his neck more snugly, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him sweetly, all across his chin and the corners of his mouth, feeling his hands roam freely all over her once more before settling still, giving her backside a loving squeeze.

“be my wife,” he pleads once more, his tone of voice more desperate than ever before, sweet as sugar and the burning flesh of corpses.

she released a small sigh, moving closer just slightly so that she could brush her saliva-coated lips softly against his own, “yes,” she breathed lovingly, feeling as he visibly shuddered against her just from her mere acceptance of his begging proposal.

“i’ve always been yours.”

fin.

[liminalpebble]

🎄🕯An Unhinged Yuletide Gathering🕯🎄

My darlings! 💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️

It's time for a festive unhinged gathering! Arrive in your loveliest ball gowns and with your thottiest thots and feel free to share away! The more, the merrier! I'm thrilled to have every single one of you here. This time, I invite you all to a lavish Scandinavian manor house.

We can watch the snow and the northern lights from the lovely art nouveau observatory of the highest tower. Throughout the evening, the roaring hearths, lush decorations, and golden glow of luxurious interiors will keep us very content. There will be decedant warm beverages aplenty, a scrumptious dinner, and spread after spread of desserts.

The company is, of course, also a mouthwatering collection of our exquisite fictional men.

Jonathan Pine is in a brand new and very smart three piece suit, welcoming you with an incandescent smile as he guides you in. He smells deliciously of expensive cologne and the single festive red rose pinned to his lapel. Before he takes his leave, he holds your hand in both of his and makes some very intense eye contact, saying, "and Miss, if there's anything at all I can do for you, please don't hesitate to find me."

You barely catch your breath as you move further past polished oak doors into the large glimmering ballroom where Loki is lounging on a velvet couch, some elaborate mixed drink balanced in his lovely ivory hand. He charms us all with tale after tale as our cheeks get warm and we take turns feeding him teasing little bites of cake.

Thomas Sharpe stands brooding in his finest tuxedo, desperately waiting for his chance at a waltz with you as you look so lovely this evening.

Eddie...delicous, sweet, snarky Eddie Munson snuck in with the caterers. His big chocolate button eyes scan the crowd of lovely ladies, and he gives a big dimpled grin. With no regard at all for the job he signed up for, he shrugs off the uniform top, smooths out the Iron Maiden shirt beneath it, and swaggers over.

"Welllllll, hello lovely ladies!", he declares as he plops on the couch next to Loki, even daring to cross his legs over the god's lap and steal a sip of his drink. Loki stares at this bushy-haired miscreant with a leathal glare that cracks delightfully into a big euphoric grin. One trickster obviously appreciates the charisma of another.

Adam keeps to himself, playing the most beautiful piece of music on an antique lute. He feels a rare flicker of joy as he anticipates candlelit ghost stories on Christmas night (a sweet revival of a Victorian tradition). The faintest twitch of a smile moves his lips as he thinks of all this...delcious...company he'll have the pleasure of experiencing it with.

Hux sits alone, reading in a quiet parlor. The general's lovely hands stroke his beloved ginger cat, Millicent, as he plays out chess games within his powerful mind. His lovely green eyes flick towards you as he hears your footsteps, and he smiles wickedly. You're the only distraction he allows here, afterall...and what an enjoyable one you are.

Thank you for joining the party, my loves. Who else do you see? What does the evening have in store for us? Have you brought something interesting? Oh, do tell. *wink*

Welcome and happy holidays! 💃 🎄

Peb 💜

@acidcasualties @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @holdmytesseract @infinitystoner @smolvenger @tripleyeeet @take-everything-you-can @leelei1980 @unlucky-number-13 @unfocused81 @sweetsigyn @veemoon @loz-3 @little-wormwood @littlespaceyelf @glitchquake @viv-annelore @peachyjinx @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @marcotheflychair @mochie85 @muddyorbs @sailorholly @holymultiplefandomsbatman @thedistractedagglomeration @hellfirenacht @thenerdyoldersister @alexakeyloveloki @lemongingerart @eddiethehunted @fanfic-collection @girl-next-door-writes @fictive-sl0th @mischiefmaker615 @icytrickster17 @ladyofthestayingpower @goblingirlsarah @chokeanddagger @loopsisloops @slutty-thevampireslayer @coldnique @eddies-house @fairyysoup @jennyggggrrr @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @elegantkoalapaper

[tema-makes-art-sometimes]

Oh dear beloved Red Maiden of Fate

We plea to thee to spare us

from out twisted fate.

deliver us from the cruel hands of fate

deliver us from the cruel hands of fate

deliver us from the cruel hands of fate

---

Anyway I'm a little late but Happy Halloween, have a Romano from an AU I'm brainstorming. I just want a little unhinged Romano in my life. Normal Version below the cut.

[ultimatebottom69]

[i-did-not-mean-to]

hey would you be interested in writing about Fëanor and Nerdanel in their younger years?

It's Irene by the way, told you I'll be back 😈

Dear Irene...This is for you...

Another big thank you to the SWG server for helping me figure out where and when everyone was (I hope it's correct).

Also, Fëfë is far from good, but I also don't bash him needlessly. Please let me know if you think that the balance between 'unhinged' and 'loving' has struck you as off.

This is my first time writing this pairing, so...I don't know...

Words: 3k

Characters: Fëanor / Nerdanel

Warnings: It's Fëanor...so...no, should be okay. No blood, no awful things.

Nerdanel grunted upon seeing the man kneeling by the surface of the lake she had been trekking towards tirelessly; annoyance rippled through her like his hands paddled – stupidly, in her opinion – through the water.

Her plan had been to observe and sketch the delicate spectacle of the light wind moving the surface in intricate patterns but that was hardly possible now with that oaf of an Elf splashing around in so undignified a manner; his breeches bore dark stains, she discovered as she drew closer, and the sleeves of his fine coat were soaked. Careless!

“This is not how you wash, my Lord,” she said in a deceivingly sweet tone before even greeting him and almost stumbled back a step when he trained startingly intense eyes on her furiously blushing face, but she stood firm, her stubborn chin stuck out defiantly.

A shiver – simultaneously scorching and ice-cold – ran down her straight spine; he struck her as dangerous and bewitching akin to great heights and dark places that invited one to do something recklessly foolish but undeniably exhilarating.

“Dear maiden,” he replied – his voice smooth as her father’s creations and just as unyielding – with but a hint of a smile, “were I to wash, I would be in a state of undress quite inappropriate for a place where one might be interrupted by curious girls.”

Her cheeks puffed out in an unvoluntary admission of dismay; she resented the implication that it was she who was foiling any monumentally important plans of his when – according to the impatient zeal burning in her chest – it was he who was entirely superfluous and irritatingly disruptive. His very presence – and what an overwhelming one it was – made her skin tingle with emotions she could not quite disentangle while still under the spell of those luminous, unmoving eyes.

“If you are not engaged in a ritual of hygiene,” she snarled, “I would be most grateful to be left alone.”

A long-fingered, elegant hand was indolently waved at the path she had just left to cross over to the pristine body of water.

“I wish you pleasant travels,” the stranger said in a cheery tone drenched in mockery, “may the Valar keep you safe.”

“I need the lake,” Nerdanel shot back, knowing that – had this encounter taken place during her younger, wilder years – she would have loved to shove that impressive frame, uncoiling like the metal her father bent to his will, into the lake without qualms. 

The thought of that venerated and skilful smith dampened her fury somewhat though; Mahtan had tempered her – his beloved daughter – with as much devoted patience as he applied to all his works. Nonetheless, just like the metals transforming beneath his strong fingers, Nerdanel remembered the fire and the raw power that had been hammered into another shape without ever being lost.

“And you shall try to take it away with you?” the man asked, his jeering now unveiled and infused with a sense of absurd self-importance, “May I witness this? I am a scholar of all things new and seemingly impossible.”

“Fool,” she muttered under her breath, but he had at least withdrawn his hands from the water and was now drying them off rather unceremoniously on his rich robes, “I am Nerdanel and I desire to study the naturalmovements of the lake’s surface.”

“The smith Mathan’s girl?” The eager surprise made him look suddenly younger and Nerdanel couldn’t deny that he had a fair face – well-balanced and beautifully angled – to look upon.

“I am not a girl,” she replied with vehemence, “but I claim my heritage proudly. Yes, he is my father.”

“I am Finwë’s son,” he then declared pompously.

Thinking aloud, she dismissed the two younger princes for the creature – now standing to his full height – glowering at her struck her as neither wise nor noble, and she did not hesitate to let him share these private musings.

“I am the skilled one,” he ground out, “the smart one.”

Whether he was as he described himself, she could not yet tell, but – as a sculptress and an artist – Nerdanel could no longer deny that the way his brows furrowed into an expression halfway between disdain and bleak anger made the lake’s minute undulations lose all its charm and lure.

Her fingers twitched impatiently; unlike her father who – using pincers and hammers – put his works into the fire to cow them to his will, Nerdanel needed to feel the heat pool in her palms and flow along her fingers. In Mahtan’s world, the flames licked on the outside of his creations, but – to her – it always came from within; she yearned to free it, to get – by carving and moulding – as close to that destructive and creative power as she possibly could.

“Fëanáro,” the man introduced himself and – when her palm met his – she could feel the heat shoot up her veins; there were peril and doom concentrated in his voice, in his smile, in his touch, and she flinched back in instinctive self-preservation.

Trying to perfect the illusion of life in her sculptures, she spent long hours watching things and people in movement to commit that one moment in which they were perfectly still to memory in order to try and emulate the magical intake of breath before accomplishing exceptional feats. This Fëanáro – his mother-name, which in itself was an interesting choice – was fiercely alive, and she was dying to try and recreate that watchful, slightly teasing, but ultimately breath-taking intensity in stone and clay despite the warning thrills echoing in her mind. 

She’d never shied away from taking risks where her art was concerned, and she would not be cowed by the air of fatality that surrounded this man like the bittersweet stench of a flower he could not wash off. Maybe it would fade, she thought, and maybe she’d just grow used to it.

His eyes rested on her supplies – sketchbooks and small balls of clay – that she had already taken out of her pack and nodded, apparently finding himself to be exceedingly gracious as he said: “I see you have creative endeavours of your own; I shall content myself with theoretical calculations then.”

She was grateful, not only for the lake that no longer held any sway over her mind and that she felt herself forcedto watch idly now, but also – or especially – for the fact that he did not leave but settled by her side and started scribbling meticulous notes she could not decipher into a worn notebook.

To her surprise, Fëanáro turned out to be a good companion; occasionally, he would draw her attention to a particularly interesting pattern or – leaning over confidently – correct her approximate rendition with bold strokes on the paper in her lap. He had a good eye and a keen understanding; at some point, he volunteered the information that he had also come to study the movements – underwater currents rather than surface ripples – of the water in an endeavour that was more academic than artistic in nature.

Nerdanel shrugged – still a tad vexed and dimly aware of how inappropriate this complicity might have been – but it seemed that Fëanáro was indeed aware of how much she enjoyed his company; they worked well together and – for the first time ever – the abstract thought of having, for more than a few hours, someone other than her father to work with caressed her burgeoning, fertile mind.

Creation was what mattered most to her, it was the very essence of her soul, and this imperious, self-enamoured, cocky Elf not only seemed to understand this, nay, he clearly agreed with her and granted her the respect she had ever suspected she was owed for the strength of her imagination and the scope of her talent.

From that first chance encounter on, she would see him often; they’d explore the Mountains of the Pelóri and Oromë’s forest together, him questing for the roots and origins of all things and her entranced by all the moving parts. He seemed keen on changing the immutable while she attempted to capture and immobilise the fleeting; they were opposites and yet two halves that fit together almost too well not to startle her usually so rational and reliable wisdom into prudence and wariness.

Between their squabbles – for he was at times so haughty and impatient that she felt like throwing stones at him – they thus complemented each other perfectly in ways that would make the good people of Tirion pale. Nerdanel had never been a great beauty who would compete with the golden ladies lounging languidly on superb settees and it felt indescribably vindicating to roam through the wilderness at the side of a prince who challenged her to climb higher and dare more, never minding whether their garments were muddied and torn in the process.

“You’re a wild one,” he called up to her as she lay across a dangerously swaying branch to sketch the exact shadows cast by the wispy leaves only just unravelling; it sounded like a compliment from his lips, and Nerdanel smiled.  She smiled a lot these days. Until he disappeared.

“Daughter, meet my new apprentice.”

She froze as if stricken by sudden illness. Had he only indulged her to gain access to her father’s genius? Betrayal sent smouldering tendrils of bare flame racing through her body, and Nerdanel was sure that she must have resembled her own statues so much in this moment that it was little wonder people talked to them, believing them to be alive and merely lost in thought. 

Her father’s next words – blurry and vague – ran like rivulets of rainwater down the impassive, impenetrable marble her whole body had petrified into, but then the cursed apprentice spoke, and the shell shattered like ceramic under too much heat. 

“Nerdanel,” he greeted, “I’ll try not to neglect our outings henceforth. What a joy to see you though, is your workshop near?”

He seemed earnest enough, but her tongue felt leaden and numb, so she simply jabbed a vague thumb into the direction in which her atelier lay – nestled within her mother’s luscious garden – and wondered whether he’d be interested in seeing it. 

No, she thought in a flash of panic, he must never glimpse the bust hidden under sheets stiff and worn with age and use; ever since that first meeting, she had endeavoured to ban his likeness and its haunting charm into the lifeless, controllable medium of wet clay. Unfortunately, her hands had never known the shape of his brows and her fingers had never traced the curve of his lips, so how could she expect them to reproduce those exquisite lines from fantasy alone?

The first few days, she avoided both the loathsome, treacherous intruder and her father’s forge as much as possible, going so far as to lock herself into her own little realm to distract herself by chipping away at stone in hopes that it would lessen the weight pressing down on her own heart as well.

As the silver light of Telperion fell onto her bared shoulders like a caress one evening though, she slipped out of her sanctuary and into her father’s forge, thinking herself safe and alone after having seen everybody leave; Mahtan had casually let her know that he had finished the new set of chisels she had been dreaming about and she merely wanted to dip in and out of his workspace quickly before she returned to that infuriating complexion that haunted her every waking moment by now.

Not a romantic, silly kind of girl, Nerdanel did not question her obsession with Fëanáro – believing it to be purely aesthetical in nature – even though she found herself more inspired and more irritated than ever before by the way his objectively gorgeous frame and visage were animated with an essence so incandescent and unpredictable it took her breath away and made her stomach clench in apprehension of threats unknown.

Now though, as she looked upon his unclothed torso – the very situation he had jokingly referenced that first day – she realised that a bust would never do; he was broad-shouldered and of impressive stature, and she knew that she was indecent for not averting her eyes but the artist in her couldn’t bear foregoing the chance of studying such an example of excellent composition and pristine alignment of limbs. 

The light of the dying forge fire mingling with the sheen of the tree falling through the open door turned him into a painting of flaming gold and cool silver; she had never seen anything quite like it and she would never be able to forget this sight.

He looked up at her and the expression of grim focus drained suddenly as his brows lifted in friendly interest.

“Nerdanel, have you come to chase me once more or am I tolerated by your side as I once was?” The smile melting and glowing on his handsome face like the metal they poured and stretched all day long in this place made her heart skip a beat; had it been cocky and arrogant, she would have rebuffed him mercilessly, but the open, almost boyish quality of it mellowed her instantly.

“I am just retrieving the tools my father says he’s made for me,” she replied slowly, hearing how her own words trickled sluggishly from her prickling lips, and tried to lick away the specks of pure heat that danced on them and drove treacherous colour into her high cheeks. 

“Ah yes,” he grinned and bent down – granting her a surprisingly fascinating view on his backside – to retrieve the small bundle Mahtan had put aside for her; it was tucked away in their usual spot that they’d used ever since she had been barely big enough to open the heavy door to the forge by herself. When he had learned that his daughter had a creative mind too, he had put a small crate under one of the workbenches and henceforth, they’d exchange small tokens of their crafts by leaving them in it for the other one to find. It was their tradition and now his hands were all over that tender secret.

“I have taken the liberty of adding a few of my own design,” Fëanáro commented lightly when she frowned at the weight of the package he handed to her; untying the knots securing it, Nerdanel found a few interesting chisels – so unexpectedly delicate and expertly crafted that she gasped under her breath – that were, obviously, signed boldly as the work of the prince of the Noldor.

“Thank you,” she muttered and made to leave but a hand – hot and rough with metal flakes, ashes, and dust – wrapped around her wrist before she could take the first step.

“I love learning from your father,” Fëanáro hummed under his breath, “but I could have studied anywhere, you know that.”

“He’s the best,” she replied icily, “you’ve made a good choice.”

“He was the only choice!”

“For his skills.” “For his daughter!”

Her eyes widened; she knew herself to be ruddy and – despite not being entirely devoid of charm and beauty – hardly the kind of woman the first-born son of King Finwë should be wooing, hence, she could only conclude that he was mocking her cruelly.

“You’re a pretty girl,” Fëanáro complimented her with that easy grace that was more dangerous than his worst bursts of anger because it was so utterly winning, “but aren’t they all?”

He gave a short, mirthless burst of hacked-off laughter, expressing his bored disinterest in things that were purely decorative.

“You are useful,” he went on, that burning passion, that was so unmistakeably his, back with a vengeance, “you are fertile.”

And while any other lady of her acquaintance would have been insulted by his words, Nerdanel understood.

“What glorious beauty we could create,” he went on, unbridled force flashing hypnotically in his eyes, “you are one of a kind. So am I. Let those others be wise, noble, and so boring they lull themselves to sleep.”

Before she could answer, his lips were on hers and his hand – dirty as it was – tangled into her dark auburn hair, steering her with as much self-assured calm as he displayed when commanding his pen, his tools, and his whole body. 

The groan she gave in lieu of an answer or appropriate reaction was as feral and hungry as her soul; her father’s daughter to the end, she’d plunge into the flames fearlessly to see what shape this ruthless genius would bend her into and – in turn – she’d run her hands over him until she could feel the fire burning deep within lick at her fingertips.

Not long after that, Fëanáro revealed his upcoming betrothal to his tutor’s daughter, and – even though there were many things they could never have foreseen at that moment – they were proven right in one thing, beyond the shadow of a doubt: the things they made together were of unparalleled beauty and charm. 

“Nelyafinwë,” Fëanáro declared upon holding his first-born who – despite being perfect – would not stem the tide of rolling fire within his chest.

“Maitimo,” Nerdanel replied, exhausted but happy, staunchly convinced that the miracle they had put forth by strength of mind and through resilience of flesh would herald an eternity of bliss.

How little she had known then and how long she’d regret her naïve faith after she learned that fire and wrath – if not quelled or quenched – could reduce marble and clay to a dust so fine and stubborn, it stayed stuck, ever grinding and irritating, under swollen lids, making her eyes water forevermore.

I have no idea why everything is in bold, but I didn't dare change it for fear that the italics disappear haha...

Dear Irene, I hope you liked this...I am sorry it grew so long (as a reply to "would you be interested"...lol)

Lots of love from me ❤️❤️

@sorisooyaa maybe I can change your mind hahaha

[moonchildsaurora]

La Valse de L’éternité

✤ prince!Seonghwa x fem!reader ✤ genre: royal!AU // bittersweet (of fluff to angst) ✤ t/w: sfw, slight mentions of death might need some tissues for the end?, rated PG  ✤ count: 1.8k+

a/n - sorry this is late, but coming out of my hermit cave to finally write an actual one-shot for @daybreakx��writing challenge #3. What started out as a mini scenario turned into a mini story instead, and now I just need to lie on the floor for a week (guess that’s what happens when you dive back right into writing after years of hiatus). I hope you guys enjoy it and please feel free to give feedback 💙  

“Hello my love.”

The timbre of his voice weaved in harmony with the orchestral symphony that filled the magnificent ballroom.

“Well don’t you look dashing, my prince.”

The hand that held your own was as gentle as the adoring gaze he had on you. “The night has only just begun and already you’re enticing me with such flattery.” Before bowing slightly, full lips gracing the back of your hand peppering the surface with soft kisses.

“Were my own words back then so profound that you just had to re-use them?” you replied with a teasing counter-attack and a chaste peck on his cheek.

“In all honesty though, you’d put Aphrodite to shame.”

“And you accuse me of using flattery, have you no shame Seonghwa?”

Pulling you flush against his chest by your waist, “For you I’d risk dignity and all,” he murmured and took a moment to lean his forehead against yours. Then and there, you both allowed yourselves to get lost in each other.  

Only when the sounds of strings and woodwinds along with echoes of conversations from below floated back up to your ears did Seonghwa prompt, “Shall we?”     

This wasn’t the first time he guided you down the Grand Staircase and still, the view never cease to leave you in awe. Stoic marble columns stood tall with regal history carved into them, holding up the masterpiece of a ceiling above where the paintings were witnesses to the happenings on the white gold marble floors. Crystal chandeliers and torchères bathed the room with a delicate glow.

You noticed the balustrades were adorned with lush flower arrangements of varying colours. The last time you saw such extravagant decorations was for your royal engagement to Seonghwa.

The floral aroma was prominent and filled your senses pleasantly. Yet there was a faint underlying scent that seemed slightly out of place. 

Before you could put any further thought into it, an announcement was made to alert the guests of your presence. Already parting a way to the centre of the ballroom, Seonghwa and you turned to greet them as you both walked by.

Oddly enough there weren’t any familiar faces amongst the crowd. “Were our parents not attending the ball tonight?”

“They are probably at the tables already, discussing plans for our ceremony which will most likely be sprung upon us by tomorrow morning. You know how exuberant my mother is when it comes to weddings.”      

A soft laugh left your lips at the sweet reminder; in exactly two weeks you’d be walking down a very different kind of aisle. Your eyes glanced down at the blue sapphire that sits proudly on your ring finger. The same shade of blue that your gown of fine chiffon silk was made in and the trims that complemented Seonghwa’s royal ivory suit. 

“Will you do me the honour of having this dance with me, milady?”

Sheer willpower prevented you from rolling your eyes at his youthful playfulness, after all it’s a charming point of his. Instead deciding to indulge your prince by playing along.

With a dramatic curtsy, you accepted.

The maestro gave two loud taps of his baton and a new waltz begun.

Seonghwa and you glided across the floor, letting your feet step in duet with the melody. You’ve felt like you have heard this tune before, but once again your mind cannot seem to settle on a precise answer.

Don’t go looking, please.

“Pardon?”

“Something the matter, love?” asked Seonghwa, brows slightly furrowing at your sudden question.

“Oh, I thought you said something just then.”

Spinning out and coming back in to Seonghwa’s arms, the skirt of your gown billowing effortlessly as it followed your movement. You tilted your head slightly as you looked up to Seonghwa, awaiting for a reply.

“Are you sure you weren’t eavesdropping on our guests?”

“How dare-!”

Another spin and with a careful dip, he bent forward to kiss on the hollow of your neck. “I know, I was jesting.”     

You shivered with delight and brought a hand up to caress the side of his face. Naturally, Seonghwa turned towards your touch. Eyes closing with content and letting a subtle nuzzle into the palm of your hand. Not minding one bit that his arms’ strength was being tested for holding you securely in that dip.

“You are awfully affectionate tonight,” you said in a hushed tone.

“Can’t a prince openly cherish his beloved in front of others?”

When he brought you back up, your hand reached up further to brush his dark fringe out of his eyes. Smiling tenderly back at him, you continued on with the dance.

It wasn’t until your priority shifted to those decadent couverture truffles sitting so innocently on one of many banquet stands that you managed to convince Seonghwa to take a break.   

You could hear him chuckling behind as you hurriedly led him over, not wanting to miss out on your favourite treats.

“I’ll be right back, there’s been talk that the new batch of spring wine goes exceptionally well with sweets. Please try to save some for me!” he said giving your hand a light squeeze before walking off.

“No promises!”      

Making sure that you picked a few of the strawberry truffles, just for him, you couldn’t help but sneak a bite first. What you didn’t expect was the harsh taste of ash to hit the back of your throat. It drew out a coughing fit, causing you to drop the plate.

The scent from before wafted back with vengeance. Smoke. That was what clashed with the comforting florals and now, it stung overwhelmingly.  

You desperately tried to speak but the coughs were relentless. Did any of the guests nearby even notice your distress?

Seonghwa, you needed him.   

Come back, come back.

Trying not to fall into further panic, you blindingly reached out to grab onto anything to help get your bearings. Your arms painfully knocked against cold marble. Turning to look, you were faced with one of the exquisite torchère. It wasn’t the sculptured maiden that your eyes were drawn to, but rather the candles she held up.

The air around you started to feel suffocating and the candles’ flickering flames beckoned an uneasiness from the depths of your mind. A sudden flash came across your vision, causing you to wince and shut your eyes tight.

Your Highness, you can’t–    

Let me go through!

That voice, you know that voice. But why does he sound like that?  

–it’s too dangerous! You’d suffocate from the smoke…

A searing pain cut through your entire being.   

I will not abandon–

–still in there! I have to save–

The fire would’ve kil–

Anguish. Pure raw anguish. It hurt, to hear Seonghwa screaming your name over and over with such hopelessness. You forced your eyes to open with a gasp, acutely aware of how hot your surroundings had become. What had been small flames before, now was an inferno blazing all around. The stairs were burnt ruins and the flowers were no more.

A nightmare – this all had to be a nightmare. “Seonghwa!” your voice cracking as you called out for him, feet stumbling away from the scorching heat.

“Seonghwa, where are y– “ 

Arms encircled and turned you around with haste. “Look at me, I’m right here, look…” fingers brushing away tears that you didn’t know were falling until now.

“W-What’s happening? Why…I don’t understand”

Seonghwa’s presence have always been a safe haven, a constant calm. The moment he held your trembling frame close, it eased the chaos both inside and out that little bit more. You could still feel the firestorm against your back but he didn’t allow your eyes to waver from him. There were conflicting emotions running across him as he looked right at you; as if you would disappear if he were to even blink.

The way he spoke your name next crushed your heart. Your head was tucked into the crook of his neck and all you could hear was the same repeated phrase against your ear.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

You tried to move your arms to wrap around him, wanting nothing more than to comfort your dearest prince and cry out that there was nothing to forgive him about. So many questions left unanswered.

“Seonghwa, my dear Seonghwa, what is going on?”

His grip tightened around you, a deep breath drawn in and then exhaled. Holding your face with his hands, he pressed his forehead against yours just like before. “Always remember…” he said so softly, for these words were only for you to hear.

“…no matter how many lifetimes we have, even if they were short-lived, I will love you and will never stop loving you.”

Coldness came, spreading throughout from the inside. Your mind coming unhinged as fractured memories poured in all at once. Memories that weren’t meant to be remembered, for now you know that Seonghwa had lost you before. To burning smoke and ash.

“You are my eternity.”

He brought your lips together and all you felt was the touch of his sweet warmth before the darkness claimed you in the inevitable fall.

Each step you took echoed the hallways, your velvet slipper-clad feet sprinted across the granite marble floor whilst you fiddled to secure the blue sapphire on your finger. Cursing under your breath, thankfully your mother wasn’t around to tell you off, for waking up late. You had plans with your betrothed today, starting with your morning garden walk that you’ve never once missed. It was a special routine between you both, before duty called.  

As you rushed down the first flight of the Grand Staircase, you almost missed the figure standing in the middle of the landing. Dressed in your favourite colour shade, he was faced in the opposite direction. From your viewpoint you couldn’t really see what he was doing or whether he was simply awaiting for your arrival and checking his watch.

“Seonghwa, I’m so sorry for my tardiness, my prince!” your heart beating a tad faster as you approached him.

Had you paid closer attention, you might have noticed how rigid his body went for a split second upon hearing your voice or how swiftly he brought his hand up to wipe away stray tears from his eyes. In blissful ignorance, you knew not of the way he clutched the pieces of himself together. Silently begging that perhaps this time, you will remain for a while longer in this sanctuary that he’s created for you.

The mark that engraved over where his heart was, a symbol of what he willingly gave just so your soul wouldn’t have to drift through limbo alone, stayed hidden. 

Turning around to greet you with a genuine smile and adoration, he held out his hands for you to take so he could once again guide you down those same stairs.

“Hello my love.”

[lepusrufus]

Ah my beloved unhinged corpses enthusiast how I've missed you

[lepusrufus]

I headcanon that your last drawing is the aftermath of an experiment gone wrong in the dungeons, and now all that left of Cassandra is one little very worried bug

Even the gremlin trio try to avoid certain death, or at the very least an agonizingly boring existence until their bodies heal from extensive damage.

HOWEVER Cassandra is the most macabre nerd you'll ever meet and the fact that she has a continuous supply of.. ahem subjects to try ideas on certainly fuels that. She's just happy to have found her nerd soulmate to drag into wacky experiments which usually end up something like:

[lepusrufus]

Pov: you're an unbothered maiden™ that ran from her family and decided ah fuck it if I die I may as well go in style so a job at the castle it is! Then the family sadist took an interest in you

Since a lot of you liked my freaky maiden post, I wanted to expand the idea a little. I'm still not sure in what direction to go with it ngl but mayyybe I'd like to write a little reader insert with her as the protag left vague enough so ppl can actually put themselves in her shoes? Idk I'm still at the baby steps phase with writing but I feel like that would be a fun challenge. Also still gotta.. ya know figure out who's maiden she is exactly. The whole idea is pretty scrambled so if anyone has any brilliant ideas feel free to make suggestions (key word suggestions bc I absolutely can't promise anything)

[lepusrufus]

Ayyy it's Halloween at castle Dimitrescu. We have Nicole and Dani being idiots and swaping outfits, Cassandra and Anita going with the classics and having a toast in honor of their wives being morons, Bela and Laura as the stereotipical vampire and maiden... but with a twist, and Esteria and Alcina just being wholesome as Morticia and Gomez.

[lepusrufus]

I'm having too much fun with my unhinged maiden and I'll make it everyone else's problem

Maiden: *seeing the dungeons for the first time, utterly disgusted*

Cassandra: HA! I knew this would finally scare you

Maiden: this is all so unsanitary

--

Maiden: Cassandra are you...performing an autopsy?

Cassandra: yeah?

Maiden: the air of mystery is kinda ruined by the fact that your sickle is literally embedded in his skull.

--

Maiden: *shaking a severed arm ready to be served* DO YOU EVEN TEST THESE FUCKERS FOR HIV

--

Lady Dimitrescu: so what was it you wanted to talk about?

Maiden: here's a list of things needed to improve the sanitary conditions in the dungeons because if I see one more body left around to bleed in a WOODEN bucket I'll go bonkers and you NEED A WALK IN FREEZER

Lady Dimitrescu: *slowly grabs list* alright...

--

Maiden: *drunk laughing* do you...do you ever think about mother Miranda. How she can't fly!

Bela: ...excuse me?

Maiden: her wingspan! It's too small for her body! *maniac cackling*

Daniela: this is the most fun I've had since learning how to gut people

[lepusrufus]

Nicole "this but a scratch" Dimitrescu

Have a really quick sketch of my fave cranky lil' doctor while i reassemble the bits of my brain

[lepusrufus]

Going off of previous nonnie, a graphic demonstration of Cassie's muscles? For poor little Nicole's eyes only... And the crackhead audience behind the screen. We The world would greatly benefit from it...

Sluts (affectionately)

[lepusrufus]

Nicole and Cassandra, but dressed casually and looking like the epitome of "you can't sit with us". Plus a smol doodle of Anita in a huge hoodie because we all need that in our lives.

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.1

It's here fellas, the mutation sequel that I've mercilessly teased you with!

Content warnings: gore, torture, blood (like... lots), just a bunch of puking up blood, Miranda being her usual mad scientist self, torture in the name of science, Nicole be sick af (both literally and of crow mommy's bullshit), a little bit of blood drinking as a treat, medical procedures.

////

Tic toc tic toc

God that clock is so annoying.

Nicole wasn’t nervous. No. She chose this, at least for the most part. She had a long conversation with all her family, Alcina and Esteria both assuring her that it would work. It’s been years since the beginning of the experiments and by this point the process was almost perfected.

Miranda knew what she was doing.

That mattered little to her nerves though.

She instinctively pushed herself further into Cassandra’s side, who’s grip around her waist tightened ever so slightly.

The waiting was downright tortuous.

She, along with Cassandra and her two sisters were in her infirmary. The room mixed the ancient decor of the castle with modern medical equipment in a beautiful way. Not that anything less would be acceptable. Not that the familiarity of her workspace brought her any comfort either.

All their eyes snapped in the direction of the door when a heavy set of footsteps, with two lighter ones, were heard down the hallway outside. Soon the door opened with a barely audible creak and the two matriarchs entered, followed suit by Mother Miranda. Her presence alone was enough to make Nicole’s breath get lost somewhere in her throat, on its way to an exhale. The black wings, even partially folded as they were, did their job of making her look so much more intimidating than she was. Not that she needed them to begin with, a look from those icy gray eyes more than enough to send anyone to their knees.

Mother Miranda was, in all ways that mattered, a goddess.

A goddess that was about to infect her with the same thing that failed countless times in the past. The same thing that made the crawling mindless beasts used as guard dogs in the undergrounds. Or that made all the lycans.

Nicole gulped, a gesture gone thankfully unnoticed to anyone other than her painfully dry mouth.

But Miranda didn’t spare her a glance. She simply busied herself with some tools she had brought on one of the metal tables. With each clink the room seemed to close in on her slightly more, until Nicole felt as if she somehow ended up in one of Heisenberg's death traps. Spikes moving closer and closer until they would pierce her body and leave her in a messy pool of blood and entrails.

She shook her head and took a long inhale. No. This was going to work. She was not about to lose her family over a pesky thing such as mortality. She was not about to lose Cassandra. If getting infected by the Cadou was what it took to spend eternity with her lover then so be it. Possible side effects be damned.

Mother Miranda finally seemed to have finished, a now empty flask labeled Cadou sitting on the desk behind her while the parasite was writhing in her hand, thin whip-like tentacles extending frantically around itself. She called her over with a nod, and with a deep breath and a parting hand squeeze from Cassandra, Nicole forced her legs to take her across the room. Her steps didn't waver, she'd be damned if she'd show any hesitancy in front of this.

"Shall we begin."

It wasn't a question really, merely veiled impatience. Miranda did not like her, plain and simple. The fact that she was there to begin with was already a miracle. Miracle that wouldn't have happened were it not for the Ladies themselves asking for it.

"Yes of c-"

Before her words even had time to completely slip out of her mouth, golden talons plunged into the base of her sternum.

"Hopefully this can teach you that I don't like people going behind my back."

Nicole let out a choked gasp, hands instinctively wrapping around Miranda's arm, weakly grabbing at black robes. Ironically enough, those very talons were keeping her upright and, when they were removed from her flesh with a disgusting squelch of blood, Nicole curled in on herself, falling to her knees.

"Wha-... cking ki-... -er!"

Cassandra's voice reached her ears broken up, barely passing through the deafening ringing. Miranda also gave a reply and then seemed to address someone else but her much calmer tone meant that it only sounded like a vague mumble.

Not that Nicole particularly cared at the moment.

She curled into a ball, her hands almost clawing at her chest trying to find some sort of relief. It seemed as if vicious tendrils were making their way into every vein and muscle, tearing their way through any tissue they found. Her chest felt as if it had a hot iron pressed directly onto the skin, searing pain radiating in a cruel pulse matching her frantic heartbeat. By that point she was either sobbing or heaving, something that involved shallow breaths for sure. Her lungs were protesting fiercely, emptying of oxygen and then refusing to refill if not with great strain.

To make everything worse, the pain seemed to shift, now engulfing her spine and sending jolts that made her head spin and want to throw up despite her jaws being clenched shut so tightly that she was sure she'd start to taste copper soon.

She was only vaguely aware of hands shifting her body and soothing words that fell on deaf ears. She was now on a softer surface, but that did nothing to alleviate the assault on each of her senses. Probably she had thrown up at a certain point as her sinuses felt like being scraped by sandpaper with each shuddering breath. Her mouth too had a lingering taste of both bile and blood that made her stomach turn all over again. She would give anything for her body to finally shut down.

Why was she still awake and conscious god damn it. There was only so much her body was supposed to take before the brain shut down and she was reaching her limit of how much agony she could endure at a moment.

Please please please just pass out please.

She didn't though. Her body seemingly deciding to feel every single bit of the infection process, complete with the unending waves of pain and nausea that hit her more than she wanted to count. Any bit of sanity left in her would've probably disappeared had she tried.

---

It took two days for the agonizing pain to subside. Another two for Nicole to be able to form any kind of coherent sentence. Cassandra's soothing voice was of immense comfort, always there to tell her how well she was doing and how it would all be better soon.

God she hoped.

On the fifth day, her stomach still lurched at any movement too sudden. Her lungs seemed to fill with blood, courtesy of the still gaping wound at the bottom of her sternum, with any inhale too deep. The fact that she got used to the coppery taste rising up in her throat was disgusting in and of itself. At least there weren't jolts of pain shooting through every nerve and muscle in waves anymore though. That was something.

The fog in her brain was still clearing. It was hard to focus on anything, and each time Cassandra, or anyone else, asked her a question they would have to repeat it at least three times. It was beyond frustrating, the mind that got her through med school drunk half the time was failing the insurmountable task of saying whether or not she'd like some water. Glorious.

A faint knock on the door reached her ears. A redundant gesture really, as she didn't exactly have the clarity of mind to answer. Besides it was hard to catch her in a more compromising state than curled up in the fetal position, covered in sweat and most likely blood clots stuck to her lips.

Esteria came in, her one blue eye that wasn't covered looking at her with all the gentleness neither of her parents had ever offered her. Or it was just the cruel trick of a delirious brain. Either way, light barefoot steps took the Mistress to her bed. She sat in the chair adjacent to it and, with taloned fingers brushing strands of auburn hair out of Nicole's face, she spoke softly.

"How are you feeling today?"

Her voice was just as melodious as ever. It was the voice one imagines they would hear from an ancient being found deep in the forest. It made Nicole just a tad guilty when the only answer she could give was a pathetic whine.

Esteria simply hummed, talons running through the long messy locks of hair sprawled on the sheets.

"Would you like me to braid this for you dear?"

Nicole frowned. The Mistress was an expert at braiding, quick fingers able to make beautiful designs, both simple and complex. Comes with having floor length hair, her hazy mind guessed. On any normal day, Nicole would've accepted without a second thought. But now? Now she was painfully aware of the state she was currently in.

"It's filthy," she croaked, her voice raw and like stones in her mouth.

And it was. Her hair was waist length and right now it was slowly becoming a curse. It was greasy and sweaty thanks to barely being able to move a limb for nearly a week, which meant no showers. Not to mention how she lost count of the times she bent down to empty the contents of her stomach into a bucket, only to have some rebel locks fall in her face and get subsequently dirty. God she felt awful.

Esteria didn't seem to care too much though, as she simply helped Nicole shift slightly and talons started to work at some pesky mats. In no time, her hair was in a comfortable braid that started relatively high, keeping the locks away from her nape which meant just a tad less overheating. Not to mention it kept it in place and away from her mouth that she didn't trust in the slightest right now.

"Thanks," she actually managed to not let her voice crack this time.

"Oh it's no problem. Also," there seemed to be an odd strain in her voice, "Mother Miranda is coming this evening. She said something about an examination."

Nicole couldn't help but openly wince and curl in on herself a little more at the mere mention of the woman. Her chest seemed to pulsate painfully at the memory of the golden talons embedded deep in her flesh. Right now she wanted those hands anywhere away from her.

"What time is it?"

Esteria looked at the clock placed somewhere on the wall behind them. "About twelve. Still got time."

How hard would it be to drag herself to the adjacent bathroom for a quick shower? The only way her situation could get worse was if none other than Mother Miranda came in to see her in that state. She took a deep breath that her lungs protested against and pushed herself onto her elbows. At Esteria's skeptical expression she tried to sound less horrible than she felt.

"I need a shower."

Esteria pursed her lips. "Sorry dear but I don't believe for one second that you can stand for more than a minute. I'll ask a maid to draw you a bath."

Nicole only nodded weakly and let herself fall back into the cushion.

---

It took far longer than Nicole would ever admit to get herself fully clean. Her muscles were sore and protesting at every pass of the soapy sponge. Her hair was a whole other battle and she had to bite down on her pride and ask the maid positioned outside her door for help. It was a tortuous fifteen minutes until the poor girl managed to detangle the long locks enough to be shampooed and washed.

After she was content with the level of cleanliness of her body and the maid was dismissed, she stood there preparing herself to get out of the basin. In the meantime she looked down at the wound at the bottom of her sternum. Maybe wound wasn't the right word. It looked more like a gray and black scar with vein-like tendrils spreading across pale skin. It looked downright gruesome. Miranda really did not try to do a clean job in the slightest. Didn't even think to use anesthesia, like she had with most other experiments, according to Alcina.

She sighed and finally pushed herself out of the water with shaky arms.

By the time Mother Miranda arrived she was feeling slightly better. Why she came personally was still a mystery to Nicole. Maybe some sick sense of satisfaction in seeing her in pain.

Either way, by the time their so-called goddess came into the infirmary and told Nicole to lay down on one of the tables, she managed to shuffle her way over without her body protesting too much. Cassandra also quietly made her way on the opposite side of Miranda, gaining herself a glare.

"Must you hover over her like that?" Miranda's tone was as even as ever, but her eyes betrayed annoyance.

"Does it hinder you?"

Cassandra was not an idiot, the growl she wanted to add into her question was instead replaced by a tone not too dissimilar to Miranda's own, who simply tugged her lips into a grimace.

"Very well."

At first they went through a normal examination. Pupil dilation, reflexes, all things a normal doctor would do. Then Miranda told her to unbutton her blouse so she could take a look at the infection scar.

Nicole couldn't help flinching when thankfully gloved fingers would poke and prod at the sensitive flesh there. Her cold digits felt like hot coals were spread on her chest and nails dragged uselessly on the metal underneath her body for some sort of distraction.

Mother Miranda decided to get a tissue sample and that's when Nicole decided that maybe she would rather spend eternity as a ghost. She squeezed her eyes shut when a scalpel was brought to the overly sensitive skin. It took her back to when she would do autopsies, years ago. Tissue samples were always an integral part of her work. How ironic that she found herself on the other side of things.

It's fine.

She winced when the blade cut into flesh and sent a jolt of pain through her chest. Nicole couldn't help but think of the long days she spent agonizing while her chest felt like it was burning her alive and hoping that it wouldn't repeat. A sigh of pure relief slipped past her lips when whatever fake deity there was besides this woman, listened to her and the sensation died out quickly. She dared to open her eyes, only to see Mother Miranda frowning down at the small vial in hand.

It was quickly given to an assistant and she unceremoniously grabbed Nicole's wrist, dragging the blade across the length of her forearm.

Nicole gasped at the sudden sharp pain, and even Cassandra dropped a few choice words in romanian due to the surprise. No. No no no. What the hell-

Any questions, or less dignified reaction, died in everyone's throats as they watched the skin stitch itself back together. The repairing muscles gave a tingling sensation but soon the only proof that a cut had been there were thin trails of blood.

Mother Miranda chuckled and wrote down something in the notebook she brought with her. "Accelerated healing. That can be of use."

Nicole couldn't help but throw a glance at Alcina, who was sitting in one of the many chairs with Esteria by her side. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of conflicting emotions flashing in her eyes like rapid lightning. She would've tried to decipher their matriarch's probable thoughts were it not for the smell that was starting to assault her senses.

"Ugh what's that…blood… "

Coherent sentences were still not something her brain wanted to do apparently, but judging by how her nose scrunched up in a grimace, Cassandra got the gist of what she meant.

"Um… your arm," she pointed to the still fresh blood slowly dripping from her skin.

Right. Dumbass.

"Or damaged sinuses. Should go away soon," Miranda added from where she was noting something down and giving instructions to her assistant.

Also fair.

She sighed and tried to ignore it. Her sinuses still felt like sandpaper all the way to the back of her throat. Every time she swallowed, it felt like needles scraping the inside of her neck down to her stomach.

Ugh.

Thankfully, Mother Miranda did not linger for much longer. She wrapped up any samples and was out of the room soon after with her assistant in tow. Then, Nicole could finally go back to laying down in bed and feeling miserable.

And miserable she felt. Her body seemed to have decided to rewire itself into its new mutation. It didn't have any effect on her physical appearance, but the insides seemed to want to liquefy only to be mended back together. It was another week of basically living with a bucket in her lap and throwing up blood clots that seemed to invade her lungs and organs. How she didn't straight up asphyxiate was a mystery that she didn't think she wanted solved.

And to top it off, she was starting to think that humidity from some leaky pipe somewhere in the castle was causing a slight mold problem. Almost everywhere she went, there was this faint moldy scent lingering in the air and it was mixing horribly with the coppery feeling inside her still offended throat and sinuses. Nobody seemed bothered by it though, so maybe it was simply a side effect of the infection that was yet to go away. It wasn’t nicknamed the Mold for nothing, after all.