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deakyjoe · 1 year

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Somebody’s Watching Me Part 2

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (she/her pronouns used, reader is implied British and given backstory)

Category: I still don’t know but it’s coming together

Summary: On a night out with your friends, you’re pleasantly surprised to run into your secret observer.

Warnings: flirting (Ghost and reader getting some action, they deserve it), mentions of war/death, talks of scars, alcohol consumption, Ghost being normal AND weird, the mask is off again, Ghost doing domestic things almost (socialisation in a pub), sexual references, family issues, reader’s friends are intense, British terminology/slang, swearing/cursing, dialogue heavy, minute Soap slander (I love him but couldn’t resist)

Word Count: 5.5k (longer than part 1)

A/N: After the love I got for part 1, I decided to continue so Simon is still my babygirl. Please remember that if Simon feels out of character, that’s the point of this story. It’s him when he’s not being Ghost but being forced to mix aspects of his life at home and his life at work - the work aspects being reader. Also he’s going out of his comfort zone to please the sergeant (you) because he likes you but just hasn’t really realised it yet. Not entirely sure I’m as pleased with this part as I was with the first but we��re posting anyway!

Part 1 available here.

Part 3 available here.

It took weeks before your friends finally managed to convince you to join them on a night out. You'd been putting it off for a number of reasons. One being that the thought of socialising in a crowded environment had you wanting to gouge your eyes out as you'd grown used to little to no company. Another being that you genuinely thought it'd be overwhelming and you might have a panic attack.

But after they'd assured you that they'd look after you and you could all leave if it got to be too much, you relented and organised a time and place with them. Just your local pub on a Wednesday night. You'd decided on a Wednesday as you hoped it wouldn't be too crowded and that your friends might need a pick-me-up in the middle of their work weeks. They agreed quickly with the idea.

And honestly it'd been nice for the most part. You'd arrived early, you swear active duty had made you so time efficient that you spent almost no time at all getting ready, and sat down at a table in the corner, out of sights of the most of the rest of the pub. The only thing in direct eye line was the bar itself which would come in handy when you needed to go up and order drinks.

Your friends all slowly arrived, none of them being too late, and gave you big greetings as they hadn't seen you in "forever" they claimed. You returned hugs and kisses and prepared yourself for a night of bombarding questions and retelling of war stories.

A couple of your girlfriends were bought drinks by guys at the bar and you watched on in amusement as they giggled about it together. They assured you that someone would probably buy you a drink if you asked but you waved them off saying you didn't care, which you didn't.

You listened intently as they all told you what was happening with their lives - work, significant others, kids, families, pets, parties, weddings, funerals, birthdays, anything and everything you could possibly imagine. A note of envy settled in your stomach at one point but it went away quickly when you told yourself you were being silly.

Telling them about your life was slightly more complicated. You had to skirt around some of the details of your job as it was classified and would probably horrify them if they knew what you truly did. You gushed about some of the amazing people you'd met and mentioned casually that you'd actually bumped into your lieutenant in the supermarket. They all absorbed it with wide eyes of wonder and amazement, each of them having at least one question to ask.

"So, wait, you can actually shoot a gun?"

"Does it bother you having to bunk with a bunch of blokes?"

“What’s said country like?”

"Are any of them fit?"

"Isn't it tiring?"

"How long until you go back?"

"Met anyone you fancy?"

"Hang on, you have to share a communal bathroom?"

Yes, it's alright, not really, they're okay, very, not sure, oh my god, yeah.

They never really seemed satisfied with your answers and always wanted you to elaborate. Which you did if possible.

Overall, it was nice. There was no sense of impending doom or a weird feeling in your stomach about the whole thing. You let your guard down just enough for once to attempt to have a good time. Which you did. You laughed, you chatted, you drank, it was good.

Until the bar tender came over with a drink that looked exactly like what you usually ordered.

And when he placed it in front of you, you wanted to throw up.

"Fella at the bar bought this for you."

This was it. The moment in the night that you looked forward to the least and the moment your friends had been encouraging the most. They insisted that you needed to "put yourself out there more" and “try to get laid at some point”. You were "too uptight" as they put it. Little did they know that you weren't really interested in a quick shag or even a relationship with anyone at the moment. And rejecting someone was always awful. Every time they asked why and having to explain that your job made romantic entanglements extremely hard made things awkward.

"Ooh, this is so exciting!" One of your friends squealed beside you, frantically searching the bar for the culprit. "Which one?"

“Blond one.”

Oh.

"Tall."

My.

"Scars on his face."

God.

Your eyes shot towards the bar and immediately landed on him. Of course he was already looking your way with his drink raised to you.

"Shit." You cursed, silently letting out a sigh of relief that it wasn't someone you'd have to reject but all the more anxious because it was him. A part of you was very excited to see him though.

"What is it? Do you know him?" Another friend asked you.

"He's my lieutenant. Fuck." You stood from your seat, grabbing the drink.

"The one from the shops?"

"Yeah. I'll be back in a minute, guys. I'm just gonna go say hi." You explained, slowly making your way towards Ghost.

"Take your time!"

You hadn't seen your lieutenant since he'd gone over to your place for tea. It was a weird experience. Weirder than the shops. You'd had a couple cups of tea each, shared his packet of chocolate digestive biscuits, which he'd kindly offered to you, chatted a little more and then he'd left. You didn't exchange phone numbers or even offer to see each other again. He didn't because he probably didn't want to and you didn't because you thought he probably wouldn't want to. So you'd gone your separate ways and that was that.

As you got closer to him, you wished you hadn't had so much to drink. You weren't drunk but you weren’t sober either. Kind of just bordering the edges between being buzzed and tipsy.

"Simon."

He turned so his body was facing yours, his large frame consumed the stool he was sitting on. Intimidating and alluring all at once. "Sergeant."

"You really should start calling me by my name." You sighed, stopping to stand in front of him.

"I like calling you sergeant."

"And I liked calling you lieutenant." You shot back, taking a sip of your drink despite your head screaming at you not to.

"Bet you like calling me Simon more."

Your eyes widened at his statement. He wasn't wrong but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "Thanks for the drink, by the way."

"It's no problem. Thought I owed you for the bourbon."

You hummed in agreement but said nothing.

"Friends of yours?" He nodded towards your table where all of them were watching the two of you interact intently.

"Uh, yeah. First night out since being home so..." You shrugged.

"Having fun?"

"I was." You regretted your words immediately, knowing that you’d been insensitive.

"Ruined it, did I?" He asked but it wasn't malicious.

"No. Just... unexpected."

He nodded. "So, which one's your boyfriend?"

You were surprised at the question. Last time he'd enquired about your personal life it hadn't gone so well.

"You live alone?"

"Yeah. Used to have a hamster but he died a few months back."

He blinked at you and said nothing so you rushed off to make tea, desperately trying to come up with a new topic to talk about when you got back to him.

"That's presumptuous of you, lieutenant."

"Just making conversation with you, sergeant." The return of dropping rank had you tingling inside. Might have just been the alcohol though.

You huffed. "None of them."

"Girlfriend then?"

You shook your head. "Nope."

"Sorry soul you're torturing with your affection couldn't make it then? What a shame." His eyes narrowed, you presumed he was joking.

"I'll ignore that insult. I'm single." Setting your drink on the surface of the bar, you leant your hip against the side but not before taking a step closer to him.

"Lucky for the world then that you're not burdening anyone with yourself."

"Jesus, Simon." You laughed out of shock, struck with his bluntness.

"Had to be said."

"Huh, you really are a charmer." You flashed him a glimpse of your teeth in a small smile, brows raising on the last word of your sentence.

"I try my best.” Pause. “Why are you single?"

"Because my affection is a burden apparently." Repeating his own words back to him seemed better than explaining your depressing void of no romance in your life because of your job. But maybe he’d understand.

"I'm serious."

"Why do you care?"

Simon didn’t strike you as the kind of person who gave a shit about the love lives of people he worked with. So why did he seem so interested in yours?

He didn't answer straight away and when he did, it seemed rehearsed. "You're my sergeant, part of my team. It's my role to care."

"To make sure I stay alive. Not to inquire about my love life." You were properly frowning at him now.

Ghost raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry I asked."

With a sigh, you relented. "The job."

"Go on…"

"Makes it difficult. The job makes it difficult to date. Especially civilians." You added the last bit on with clenched teeth. It didn’t really matter. Civilians were not on your romantic radar.

"Would you want to date a civilian?"

He saw straight through you.

"No, not really."

"Hmm."

You wanted to avoid discussing the topic any further so asked a question to change the subject. "What're you drinking?"

"Scotch that Soap recommended."

"And?"

He swished the glass around, the ice clinking against the side. "Utter shite."

"Figures." You took a long look at his drink. “You drink it on the rocks.”

“Tastes better cold. Less shit.”

“That your second glass?”

"Monitoring my alcohol intake, sergeant?” He asked and you shook your head as he looked you up and down. “You gonna take a seat or just stand there all day?"

"I'm supposed to be going back to my friends." You gestured weakly over your shoulder with your thumb, kind of forgetting they’d still been there until that moment.

His eyes flickered between the table and you. "Think we both know that isn't happening any time soon."

You hated how he saw straight through you. "Do we?"

"We do. Take a seat, sergeant." He nodded towards the stool next to him.

You stood up straighter, making a point to look directly into his eyes. "I like being eye level with you."

His foot hooked around the back of your legs and tugged you closer to him. "Think you'll find that I've still got a couple inches on you."

Your skin flushed hot, he was so close to you. You reached out and tapped his chest a couple times before realising what you were doing and removed your hand. "Think you'll find that you've had a bit too much to drink, sir."

"Simon. Thought we'd established that you can call me Simon." He leant back a little bit, relaxing in his seat. “And thought we agreed that you weren’t monitoring my alcohol intake.”

"Sorry." You squeaked.

"Sorry who?"

With a smile, you looked up at him through your lashes. You already knew what you were going to say. "Sorry... Lieutenant Riley."

He smiled. Actually smiled. It was small but it was unmistakable. "Brat."

He was beautiful when he smiled. He was always beautiful but when Simon Riley smiled… he was radiant.

You lit up at the smile but glowered at the insult. "Simon!"

"It's true." He shrugged, taking another mouthful of his drink and wincing at the taste.

"I'm stubborn. Not a brat."

"Believe me, I know you're stubborn. You've almost died like twelve times because you're stubborn. Had to save you every time." He shook his head as if it were a grievance to him.

"Could've left me behind."

"Couldn't do that. I'm your lieutenant, remember? My role is to keep you alive."

"I'm sure Price would let it slide if you had good enough reason." You thought about your Captain and wondered if he'd let you die for a good enough cause. Probably. But you held no resentment towards that fact.

Simon's head tilted to the side as he watched you think. "Don't think he'd accept brat as a reason, hm?"

You raised a finger to correct him. "Stubborn. Not a brat."

"Definitely a brat."

"Stop calling me that." You whined.

"That was the brattiest thing you've ever said. In the brattiest voice." He glared down at you. "You whined."

"You're such a dickhead, Simon." You scoffed but it was clear you were holding back a smile.

"And you're a brat. Guess we're even."

"Okay, I'm going back to my friends. To get away from this targeted attack." You paused. "Unless you want to join."

"I'll pass."

"I guessed. Do you have any friends? Maybe you could use the socialisation." You offered, wondering whether the man ever spoke to anyone when he was home or if he completely isolated himself from the rest of the world.

"Don't have friends for a reason."

That answered that for you.

"And what's that?"

"Ask too many personal questions."

He had a valid point. People did ask too many personal questions and you could understand why someone like Simon wouldn't like that.

"They wouldn't. My friends. They know we tend to be... private."

"You're a sergeant and I'm a lieutenant. Neither of us are privates." He paused to let the joke settle in. "A little army humour."

"I got it. That was good." You beamed at him, eyes crinkling in the corners at his quip.

"How much do they know of what we do?" He nodded in the direction of your friends.

You thought it over for a moment. "Very little. They know more about my teammates than anything else. Even that is limited."

He stiffened at that. "What do they know of me?"

"My quiet lieutenant with no face. Until recently." You let your eyes roam his features, taking all of him in. He was remarkable to look at really. But you'd never voice that to him.

"Hmm."

"There's more but I won't divulge with you." It was a partial joke to mess with him a little. There was some truth behind it however. You may or may not have gushed about your lieutenant to your friends. But that was nothing really. Just friendly appreciation for the man who outranked you.

"That makes me nervous."

Playing with him was too easy and too fun. "You should be."

"I'm reconsidering sitting with you and your friends now." He frowned but wasn't completely serious.

That surprised you. "You were going to?"

"Maybe." He drank more of the Scotch and trembled. "Christ, this stuff is fucking disgusting."

"Order a bourbon, something you know you actually like." You sighed. "Please do. If they're too much we can leave."

"We?" He was always questioning we.

You rolled your eyes at him. "It's always we. Teammates, y'know?"

A level of unsureness settled over his face. "I know."

"Get used to a lot of we then."

"Don't plan on seeing you again after this." The admittance stung but you weren't going to let that stop you.

"I'm sure you thought that last time as well. But here we are. Are you stalking me?" There was a hint of genuineness in the question. There was no way this second chance encounter was pure coincidence.

He shook his head, waving the bar tender over and ordering a bourbon like you'd suggested. "You're too boring for that."

"You have such a way with words. Really know how to make a lady feel special." You said dryly.

"It's a gift." He scratched at the side of his nose, absentmindedly trailing a finger over one of his scars in the process.

"They wouldn't say anything, y'know? Or stare. If you're worried about that. I've come home with my fair share of scars over the years. They understand." You pulled the neckline of your shirt to the side to show off an old bullet wound that had scarred over on your collar bone.

Simon's eyes lingered on the mark on your skin but you couldn't quite read his expression. "People always stare."

"I don't."

"No, you don't." He hesitated. "Okay then."

"Wait, really?" You perked up.

"Yes, really. Quickly. Before I change my mind, sergeant." He rose from his seat, grabbing his drink and gesturing for you to go first.

You gazed up at him. It really was easy to forget just how big he was. "Quick question first?"

He didn't seem keen. "Go ahead."

"How long were you here watching me before you sent the drink over?" You really needed to know, to see how out of it you were.

"Not long." Lie.

Your brow furrowed. "How long, Simon?"

"About forty minutes."

Your eyes widened. You didn't expect it to have been that long. "Fort- Jesus. And I didn't notice you?"

He brushed you off with a small shrug. "You were having fun. Guard was down."

"Still."

"Don't dwell on it. I was just going to leave and not let you know I was here." His eyes moved away from you, the opposite side of his eye contact problem showing.

You ducked to the side to meet his gaze again. "Why didn't you?"

He shrugged again.

You offered him a small slip of affection, just the tiniest thing. "I'm glad you didn't."

He grunted in reply, which was more than you were expecting. So, you just gestured for him to follow you towards the table of your friends where you stopped short a couple feet away. You sent a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure that Simon was still, in fact, there and hadn't pulled a Ghost and disappeared. But he was still standing there watching you when you checked. Which meant it was time for introductions... which you sucked at.

"Everybody, this is Simon. My lieutenant. Simon this is... everybody." You frowned at the crowded table in front of you. "You'll pick up names. It's alright that he joins us, yeah?"

“Of course.”

"Yeah."

"Oh, my god, yes."

"Take a seat, mate."

"Where you from, Simon?"

"Manchester."

"Ugh, he's a Manc! Moving on!"

You laughed as you squeezed into the booth with Simon next to you, trying not to touch him too much. "What did I miss? What are we talking about?"

"My husband is cheating on me." One of your friends announced dramatically.

Your eyes widened at the confession. "What? Really?"

"I suspect he is." She pouted, slumping forward onto the table.

"As if. He worships the ground you walk on. As he should. What makes you think he's cheating?" You debated whether this was a good topic to be talking about with your lieutenant sat right there. But then you figured that Simon needed some friends. And what was a better way to make friends than through some old-fashioned gossip?

"Late nights as work. Going to the gym a lot. He's not getting any fitter either."

You winced. "Ah, well that is quite damning."

"Yeah. I'm trying to build up the courage to just ask him about it."

"Yeah, confront him. If he's cheating then come to me. I know how to use a gun and hide a body." You winked at her.

"Sergeant." Simon's warning tone came from beside you.

"I'm kidding, lieutenant." You looked to your friend again and mouthed. "I'm not."

Another one of your friends spoke up, leaning on the table on his elbows. "God, you guys are so formal. Even during leave."

"We don't have to be. He refuses to call me anything other than sergeant. I think it's because he secretly doesn't know my name." You nudged Simon with your elbow and then, realising what you'd done, pulled back quickly. Maybe taking a break from the drink would be a good idea for a while.

"Not true." Ghost shook his head slowly.

"So you claim. Yet you've yet to refer to me as anything other than sergeant."

"It's fun watching you squirm thinking you have to be on your best behaviour all the time." He sent you a sly smirk, his eyes squinting just the tiniest bit.

Your jaw dropped. "I'm asking Price to reassign me. This is bullying."

"Wouldn't let Price do it." He countered, leaning in dangerously close.

"Who's Price?"

The both of you pulled back at the question and answered simultaneously. "Captain."

"Ah, okay. The one with the mutton chops, right?" One friend offered.

You nodded. "Right."

Simon huffed. "That's what you told them about Price?"

"It's his best feature."

"Christ, woman." He groaned, rubbing a hand across his face.

"Ooh, woman's a new one."

A friend volunteered in your defence. "To be fair, she's not allowed to tell us much. She usually gives us one identifying feature of every person she tells us about. So we can keep up."

"I'm assuming Soap is the fact that he's Scottish."

"Scottish with Mohawk. He gets two."

"What's Gaz?"

"Baby of the team."

"Fitting. Me?"

You stayed silent.

"What is it?"

You shook your head. "Can't say. Classified."

"Sergeant." His voice was harsh, demanding.

But you weren’t going to give in. "Lieutenant."

"I won't be insulted." His voice dropped to its familiar bored tone, as if trying to force the idea that it wouldn’t bother him.

That’s not what concerned you however. "Don't think you would be."

"Then why can't you tell me?”

"Just can't." Stellar reasoning, well done.

"I could ask them." He tilted his head in the direction of your friends, who were all watching you completely enraptured.

You didn’t back down, stare hardening at him. "Go ahead."

"Fine." He turned to the table. "What's my identifying feature?"

There was a moment of silence before someone gave in and admitted it. Traitors. "You don't have one."

There was a split second of delay before he replied. "She doesn't talk about me then?"

"Quite the opposite actually." One of your friends giggled.

Another stepped in. "Talks about you sooo much that you don't need an identifying feature. Just know who her lieutenant is."

"Besides, apparently you usually wear a mask. You have no features."

A raised finger of a counterpoint. "Arguably, the mask is the feature."

Ghost turned to you, almost smug. "You talk about me, sergeant?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Simon. You're good at what you do. I can appreciate that." You sniffed, rolling your shoulders back to force yourself to relax.

"Out loud? With your friends?"

You shot him an irritated look. "Get over yourself."

"Didn't say anything."

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "I know what you're thinking."

"I'm sure you do." He exhaled deeply, glancing away from you towards his drink.

Your own gaze moved back towards everyone else around the table. "Moving on! What else is happening with you guys?"

"Saw your parents a couple days ago. They said they didn't know you were home."

Well, that wasn’t the jollier topic you hoped to move on to.

A fake smile automatically set itself on your face at the mention of your family. "Fuck. What did you say?"

"Lied for you and said you only just got back. Might want to call them."

"I will do that. At some point.” Lie, lie, lie.

"Mhm, your sister had another baby as well. That's what? The fourth niece or nephew you haven't met?" There was a note of condescension in your friend’s voice.

You shrugged, knowing you had a decent enough reason. If your job counted as decent. "I've been busy. And it's only the second."

"We're not judging. Your parents might be though."

"Well, that's lovely to know." You slouched down in your seat. The relationship with your parents was… touchy, to say the least. Desperately seeking their approval for years had left the bond with them strained. And you being away from home so often definitely hadn’t helped the rockiness of it all.

"Also they seem convinced that you've met a military man and are going to come home engaged or married..."

Your face scrunched in disgust. "Oh, ew. What the fuck?"

Simon elbowed you harshly in the ribs. "We're not that bad."

"Share a bunk with Soap and come back to me on that." You snapped back. Your fellow sergeant was a snorer who regularly farted in his sleep. He was like your brother but man did you hate having to sleep in close proximity to him.

"Fair point.” He grumbled back to you. “But why are they under that impression?"

"They know I don't date civilians."

"Or anyone." One of your friends mumbled in her drink.

"Thank you.” You sent her a sarcastic smile. “So they think I'm after a man in uniform."

"Aren't you?" The same friend asked.

You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw. "In... theory."

"Not in practice though." She carried on, loving the way you were squirming.

"We know not in practice, okay? Doesn't need to be said aloud.” You spared a glance at the man beside you before adding a harsh whisper. “Especially in front of my lieutenant."

"I'm sure Simon is loving this."

"It comes with the job. Family troubles and no love life." He offered some of your words back to you from earlier, shrugging. You were glad of the support from him, even if it was only your own thoughts.

"You got any friends for her Simon? Anyone on the team you think she'd be good with?"

He shook his head. "Nah, not good enough for her."

Wait, what? Not good enough? For you? Since when did he have such a high opinion of you?

A friend of yours cooed. "That's sweet. If it helps, she's great in the sack."

You choked on the mouthful of drink you were taking, slamming your glass back down. "And how exactly would you know that?!"

"I shared a house with you in uni, babes. I remember all those guys coming out of your room with dazed smiles looking as if they'd just had the time of their life." She grinned at you slyly.

Eyes wide. Jaw dropped. Heart racing. "Oh, my god. Please shut up."

"You asked."

"I didn't need such a detailed answer!” You were ignored.

"Although you may be quite rusty at the moment. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

You covered your face with your hands. "For the love of everything that is good in this world, please be quiet."

"I'm just saying. We're all friends here, aren't we?" She laughed, mainly gesturing towards your higher up.

"He's my lieutenant!"

"Wait, Simon, are you single?"

You cut in before it could go any further. "Nope! Okay! So... sister? Baby. Parents? Delusional. What else?"

Everyone around the table chuckled at your reaction but moved on anyway, much to your relief.

"They're hoping you’re home for Christmas this year."

Your hand tightened around your drink. "I hope I'm not."

"Thought you'd say that."

Paying little attention to what your friend actually said, you mumbled to yourself. "That's fucking ridiculous of them. What the actual fuck?"

"We said the same." Mumbled loud enough for them to overhear apparently.

Simon looked confused. "What's the issue there?"

You failed to answer so someone else did for you. "They uninvited her to Christmas three years ago. Hasn't been back since."

"Why would they do that?"

"Didn't approve of her lifestyle."

He turned to you. "Your... lifestyle?"

"Murderer daughter." You bit back, bitterly.

His body tightened with tension. "You're not a murderer."

"Tell them that." You snorted. "Why do they want me home now?"

"Beats us.” Your friends said in weird unison.

"Wish they'd make their mind up over whether they want to disown me or not. It's exhausting trying to keep up."

The table laughed at that. Simon did not. But did he laugh at anything?

“I’m gonna get another drink. Want one?” He looked down at you, pointing vaguely at your almost empty glass.

“Uhh… sure. Thanks.” You smiled at him, which he obviously didn’t return. After briefly asking everyone else if they wanted anything, which they declined, he stalked off in the direction of the bar.

Once he was a few paces away, one of your friends practically launched herself halfway across the table and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. "He's gorgeous, babes."

You decided to play coy. "You think?"

"You don't?" Her brow was raised in disbelieving accusation.

The coy act was dropped pretty quickly. "Oh, I know he is. Just didn't think you would."

"Well, I do. And he’s definitely your type, absolutely perfect for you. Plus he so likes you."

You scoffed. "No, he doesn't."

"He fancies the pants off of you!" She insisted.

You didn’t buy it. "I can guarantee that he does not."

"He can't take his eyes off you!"

"He has a staring problem." You shrugged, it was true.

"Yeah, the problem is that he can't stop staring at you."

You thought about it. Yeah, he stared at you a lot. But he stared at everything. Didn't mean he stared at you with... feelings or whatever your friends were implying. Just that he had a staring problem.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley does not like me." It was a finalised statement, one that you believed wholeheartedly.

"Open your eyes, babes. He likes you."

"Do you like him?"

Avoid answering. "Not allowed to like him. He's my lieutenant."

"That doesn't answer our question."

Shit.

"Maybe a little." You pinched your fingers together, there was no point lying to them, and shook your head. "Doesn't matter anyway."

"Why?"

"Because, say he did like me, he'd never admit it. And I'm not going to push him into anything. I'm just glad he's talking to me and accepting my attempt at us being friends." That was true. You were loving how he wasn’t completely rejecting your friendship. He maybe wasn’t embracing it but he wasn’t pushing you away either.

"That's so sad, babes."

"Cheers.” You deadpanned. “It can't happen anyway."

"Why not?"

"Relationships aren't allowed. Makes us a liability. My captain would reassign one of us as soon as he caught wind of it. And it would be me." The thought of Price reassigning you was horrid. You loved your team more than anything.

"Simon said he wouldn't let your captain reassign you."

That was true, he did. "He was joking... I think."

"I don't think he was. That man stares at you like he's ready to eat you. It's like listening to Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen in real life!"

Groan. "You watched Dirty Dancing again, didn't you?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. The point is that Simon looks at you with hungry eyes. And don't judge my love for Dirty Dancing." Two of your friends nodded in agreement with her.

"I'm not. I'm judging your favourite song choice when Love Is Strange by Mickey and Sylvia is clearly the superior song on the soundtrack." You said as you downed the last bit of your drink, thankful Simon was bringing you another one. Your mouth was dry and the initial buzz was wearing off. You’d need more alcohol if this interrogation was going to continue despite it probably not being the best idea.

"Blasphemy!” She declared before quietening herself. “Oop, we gotta be quiet now because he's coming back over. Simon!"

He froze in his tracks, a glass clasped in each large hand. "Yes?"

"Can you settle a debate for us?"

You froze too, wide-eyed. They weren't going to ask about him staring at you, were they?

"Sure...?"

You smiled at his unsure tone. Big, scary man who got shot at for a living was terrified of answering a little question.

"You've seen Dirty Dancing, yeah?"

You relaxed.

"I have."

Surprising.

"Which is a better song? Hungry Eyes or Love Is Strange?"

"Oh, I... uh-"

"Leave the poor man alone." You laughed despite being a little curious about his music taste.

"I always liked She's Like the Wind."

That shocked you to your core. "Patrick Swayze fan?"

"Used to have a mullet just like his." He placed your drink in front of you. "Here you go. You look surprised."

"I always am when you don't disappear. And when you admit to being a Patrick Swayze fan." You snorted, taking the drink from him.

"Learn to have a little faith, Sarge." He sighed as he sat down next to you again, an inch closer than before you were sure.

A burning feeling settled in your chest at the nickname. Sure, it was only a shortened version of your rank, and a common one at that, but it was something. Not sergeant. Not woman. Sarge. You decided to let it slide to see if he’d ever do it again of his own accord.

"Your name's Ghost for a reason." You sing-songed, the image of his mask flashing through your mind.

"I'll give you that. But remember, Simon here."

"Still weird."

"Still Simon."

You chewed the inside of your bottom lip before asking your next question. "Patrick Swayze?"

"He was blond."

"Like you, you mean?"

Hesitation. "Yeah."

You hummed and thought about him with a mullet. What an odd thing to admit to you. But you’d never complain. If Simon was willing to offer you little tidbits of silly information about himself, then you were going to absorb every single one and treasure them forever.

A/N: Simon with a mullet as a teen because he wanted to be Patrick Swayze when he grew up is canon to me now.

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lovedreamer11 · 25 days

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What kind of love affair are we talking about between Daemon and Nettles?

This man has a type. Think about the main women in Daemon's life. Hot in her youth Mysaria from Lys, Valyrian hot beauty Laena, Realm's Delight - Rhaenyra. Thin, dark-haired with crooked teeth and a scar on her nose, foul-mouthed Nettles, who grew up on the streets, did not know how to wash herself properly and how to use a comb, is somehow very different from the women listed above.

And besides, Daemon is GRRM's favorite Targaryen. He strives to give his favorite character the best. Daemon got an epic death, he was a legend, his children lived, his sons and grandsons were kings. GRRM also gave Daemon the most beautiful women. I would believe in a romance between Daemon and Nettles if Nettles was described as some kind of unrealistically beautiful demigoddess. I feel like if GRRM wanted to give Daemon a young lover, he would have created someone like Shiera Seastar rather than Nettles.

And why does young Nettles need a fifty-year-old married man who has daughters just a couple of years younger than Nettles herself?

I'm not sure that Daemon and Nettles were in a romantic relationship and that what was written in the chronicles was true. People often tried to describe Rhaenyra as worse than she actually was. Rhaenyra was constantly being followed, watching what she eats, who she communicates with, how she dresses, Septon Eustace tried to count how many times Rhaenyra had sex with Laenor, and Mushroom told everyone his sexual fantasies about Rhaenyra and assured that it was true. Rhaenyra was gossiped about and slandered in everything: her appearance, the sexual preferences of her first husband, the circumstances of the birth of her children. During the war, all possible gossip began to be created about her second marriage.

Then no. I definitely don't believe Daemon and Nettles were in love with each other.

#daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemyra #nettles #team black #asoiaf #fire and blood #i mean only the book #not hotd

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corazondebeskar-reads · 4 months

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live to rise - chapter one

live to rise series

one: they'll find you, burn you

series masterlist | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: The Last of the Mandalorians have fallen; their Mand'alor captured. Stripped of his armor, his weapons, his people. Din rises to fight another day, grasping onto the hope that his son still lives.

No fighter has won their freedom from the Empire's arena before. With the help of a servant girl, can he hope to break free?

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, prisoner of war, indentured servitude, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide, discussions of war, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, gore, brutality, religious themes, fictional religion, mand'alor!Din Djarin, major character deaths, many minor character deaths, Din has hearing loss, angst by the bucket, Din Djarin takes the helmet off (kind of)

Please heed the warnings. There will be major & minor character deaths in almost every chapter. This is not a happy story, but I hope you find it worthwhile anyway.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s morning when the news breaks.

By lunch, datapads are discarded in favor of gossip. It’s as useless as the Imperial rags parading as official broadcasts—all speculation and slander.

While the details of the Mandalorians’ final stand for their homeworld circulate above, the stiff air of the lower complex is thick with the question: to whose barracks will the fallen king be assigned?

You know the answer. Your datapad had pinged early, much before your day should have begun. Much before the news went live across the galaxy.

Cell C-5 had been scrubbed clean on your perennially bruised knees the day before when Dup, a young Gungan whose face was bruised as if he’d already gone a round, had failed to return from the arena.

He had been brought in late the previous night, shaking and weeping and not speaking a lick of Basic. Those were the hardest. There was no comfort, no preparation, no honor you could give them.

He didn’t return after his first battle.

It was the way of things. Many never saw a second sunrise.

As caretaker for Barrack Cresh, whether your fighters eat, drink, bathe, get medical attention and fresh clothing, or, well, anything, falls on you.

So you stocked C-5 with the basics, but the Mandalorian King’s file is barren when your clearance arrives. You bristle at the lack of biodata. How are you supposed to provide proper clothing or order his dinner?

It becomes obvious when he arrives that evening.

You’re not.

It’s past curfew when they bring him in, and normally, you’d be in bed. But one of yours had come back a few minutes earlier from the medbay and you know the state they usually return in, so you’re in C-2 with the door shut.

The ex-Rebel pilot, Gino, doesn’t argue as you dab the shallow cuts on his face with an alcohol swab, but he does flinch when you tug the split skin on his calf together like a stubborn bedsheet to apply suture tape. They had used just enough bacta for his serious injuries and left the rest to bleed.

“Sorry,” you hiss, but it’s lost in the pneumatics of the door.

Gino is on his feet immediately, shushing you with a finger to his lips. You can’t risk being seen through the little window, so he minds your space as you flatten to the ground and peek through the delivery slot.

At first, all you can see are boots. So many boots. And among the shiny black rubber is the oddest pair of worn brown leather. It’s been so long since you saw anyone in shoes but the guards; your stomach churns with fear.

Gino taps at your head, and you let him help you up to peek once they’re past the cell.

It’s the Mandalorian. There are five of the Moff’s personal guards in their black kits restraining him, and they still have to jab him with an electrostave in order to shut the cell door fast enough.

He’s snarling, the modulator of his helmet warping and crackling the terrible cacophony. He’s also huge, and the strip of lights shines off his dark armor like someone took a handful of the night sky and smudged it across the wall of the cell.

You brush away the errant question of how much of his bulk is the armor and how much he comes by naturally. You’ll find out tomorrow, like everyone else.

The hype alone ensures a sold-out arena. The officers and their simpering spouses and sycophants are salivating for the battle—or at least for the profits.

The headlines fill seats to a swarming mass, everyone vying to see the latest and shiniest trophy.

He won’t be shiny for long.

Not after they strip away the beskar that protects one of—if not the last of—the “galaxy’s greatest warriors” and see if he’s worth anything underneath.

They don’t expect him to survive. They don’t want him to, really. They want to crush the will of any who would still defy the Empire. A very public, humiliating execution is the Moff’s wet dream.

The Mandalorian is gone before your morning rounds, dragged up to the arena’s cage to watch his fate play out on the faces of others. Either end is the same, really.

And if he survives, it won’t matter. Sure, prisoners can earn their freedom through a percentage of the money they bring in from wagers, or they can die trying.

But no fighter has made it out alive. Not even close.

You’re close, though. Not that you’re in an arena contract. But you’re nearing the end of the third year in a five-year indentured servitude sentence, and it carries a lower fatality rate.

Which isn’t saying much, really. It would be hard to have a higher fatality rate than the fighters.

There are twelve of you and ten barracks, not counting the fluctuating number of sponsored champions who have private accommodations.

Sixty standard fighters, never more or less as the sun rises.

Sometimes, you return to six empty cells.

Only once have you found your flock all home. You fell to your knees and cried right then, bringing acrid dread to a boil as you knew it would never, ever happen again.

Just three days ago, Din Djarin had stood in the grand hall at Keldabe, knowing it would be the last time.

It was still. Silent. Not yet in the chaos of war, but just on the edge, as when rainfall is a distant specter and the uneasiness cloisters in your lungs.

He takes in the art behind the throne with quiet reverence, eyes following the sharp lines and bold colors, the stories of their ancestors dutifully and beautifully eternalized.

The shame creeps up his neck again, but he shrugs it off. It will work. He’s known for his tight and effective strategy, and his advisors had agreed to the plan.

He only hoped the Ka’ra would accept his soul into the Manda all the same. That the blood of his brethren wouldn’t deny him the peace that he ached for.

He thinks once more of Grogu, breathes through the pain, and then clears his mind.

Turning from the throne, he strides to the grand windows—to Paz. With hands clasped behind his back, he follows his general’s focus to the TIE fighters breaking through the atmosphere.

Troopers are within the walls. The Destroyers won’t be long, now.

“Vod,” Din begins, angling toward Paz.

“Do not deal me the insult of an out,” Paz snaps.

“I would never,” Din says, throat cinching around the words. “It’s an honor to have you at my side.”

Paz dips his head. “It’s been an honor to serve with you, ner Mand’alor.”

Din knows he speaks true. Though they may not have always gotten along, they were still vod. Still loyal, until death.

Death they now stood on the brink of.

Outside, the fleet falls fast. Din grimaces as their ships careen to the surface and crush the city into crumbs. Fire spreads, and he has to pretend the homes are empty. That everyone got out in time.

The Empire assumes each Kom’rk-class fighter is full of Mandalorians waiting to drop into battle. They target them with glee, thinking they’ve devastated the sky and ground teams in one fell swoop.

But each ship has only a pilot. A pilot who climbed into the cockpit knowing they would certainly die. Willing to take the place of their vod.

Mando’ad draar digu. They will live on in him until he draws his last. More importantly, they will live on in their families, who—if he’s done anything right—will live far beyond him.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Din says.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Paz echoes.

They are to be the last words spoken to one another.

Inside the palace, the fight leaves no breath for such things. Not that they need it; their movements are fluid and equal.

It takes half the platoon to take Paz down and the other to take Din.

Unlike his vod, they do not grant him a warrior’s death.

In the arena, they’ve left him in the armor as he paces the cage. Every moment with it spurns the barb deeper in his gut, the terror turning terrifying as his rage becomes a tsunami.

The fights are nothing. The Imps who thought he’d be intimidated by them have clearly never seen an average Mandalorian brawl. These ended with a little more finality and a little less bickering over the winner, but the actual fighting? Mostly pathetic.

He doesn’t look upon them with scorn, though. These are beings stripped of all dignity, underfed, and devoid of hope. The Empire has ground them into the dirt beneath their glossy boots, and he expects that for many, death is a kindness.

In the end, he lets them take the beskar’gam from his bound body. They hold him, scanners at the ready, the whole of the galaxy waiting to witness his final defeat in real time. The giddy grins tell him what he already knows—they are certain this will break him.

He holds eye contact with Gideon just to see the shock that strikes him at Din’s defiance. He aches to smirk or snarl or sink his teeth into the man, but he won’t give him the satisfaction.

They don’t give them weapons for this fight. At least they’re being honest about their intentions.

Hand-to-hand combat with a Wookie should be a death sentence. Should be, for a lesser being. But the Mand’alor is far sharper than their blades could ever hope to be, and he wields his mind and body as expertly as he would a blaster.

Din doesn’t speak Shyriiwook. He wishes he did, for when he asks his opponent for their name, he fails to capture the response. It slips from his grasp, slick as his hands are from the Wookie’s blood.

Bare hands that have rarely dealt such tangible death. Dust stirred up from the struggle sticks to the thick, hot carnage. He’ll feel the give of the Wookie’s eyeballs under his thumbnails for days. The crack of his skull under Din’s knee, driven like a wedge into the soft cartilage, is at least slightly more familiar.

It’s not a long fight. After all, Din has something of which his opponent has long been deprived: something to live for.

The Mandalorian isn’t back by dinner drop-off, but your captain sent the cart loaded with a tray for him, so you dutifully set it on his cot atop the folded blanket.

There’s been no clean-up call, and the roster is empty. But you don’t have to wonder over his whereabouts for long.

In the servants' barracks—which are actually barracks and not a soft word for cellblocks—the reports are already underway.

Some of the attendants get to watch the fights. Or, rather, they have to, bound as they are to a single combatant. The mandated proximity is unforgiving, and no one likes to watch.

After all, there’s very little difference between you and the fighters. Instead, the attendants take on the solemn duty of letting the rest of you know how your residents fared or fell.

“He was a berserker,” Hali says in hushed whispers. “They took all that armor off, and he just looked like a man. A pretty man, but… just a man. But when it started, he moved so fast. It was over in, like, two minutes.”

“Shut up,” says Eli, your bunkmate. “He did not take down a Wookie in two minutes.”

“No, he really kriffing did,” hissed one of the new attendants whose name you hadn’t caught. “It was brutal. The whole arena went quiet. And he just stood there, covered in blood, looking at the crowd.”

“Okay, whose block is he in?” Eli demands. “Someone needs to spill now.”

“Mine,” you say quietly.

“You haven’t said a kriffing word this whole time? What’s he like?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I only saw when they brought him in last night. He was still armored. And terrifying.”

“I saw him,” Hali says. “He was in the lounge.”

“They took him to the lounge after his first fight?” you say, jaw hanging open. The after-party was a grotesque performance, with sponsored fighters forced to smile pretty and play nice with their benefactors after a victory.

“No,” Hali’s face is grave. “They displayed him. They’ve chained him up next to his armor.”

You cover your mouth to stem the nausea. “No,” you hiss through your fingers. The disrespect hurts, raking through like a nexu claw to the chest, and you don’t even know the man.

Eli sets a hand on your knee from where he sits cross-legged beside you on the bottom bunk. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I know,” you say. But he knows you, sees it written between your brows, and hears it in the crack of your voice.

It’s a weakness; you know it. It had been a strength back home. Every single being that passes through your barrack doesn’t have long. The small hall of cells is a port, and you are the ferryman. Knowing each of them for the last scant moments has only made you love harder and faster.

To try and ease a soul’s journey is a burden you have always chosen to bear.

Come morning, sure as the stars, your cells are full. The Mandalorian is not the only new face—there’s a humanoid woman in C-1, too. The Klatoonian had been gone before the noon bell prior, and his cell cleaned by your hands within the hour after. Ovesu had survived four battles over ten days, but no trace of him remains now.

You start with her, Reen Sala of Drall. She’s on the roster for early afternoon, and you want to make sure she’s got food in her.

You tell her as much.

“Today? Already?” She wraps her fingers around the window bars, peering at you.

“Yes,” you say solemnly, sliding the tray through the slit at the bottom of the door. “Eat quickly. They’ll be coming to get you any minute. They’re going to take you up and prepare you and make you watch the day’s first battles.”

She has a steadiness to her eyes and stock to her build, just enough to have a chance. When she begins to eat, her hands only shake slightly.

“Are you a farmer?” you ask, watching her broken, stubby fingernails wrap around the metal cup of water.

She nods, gulping down quickly to add, “Mostly grains. Eggs. Basics.”

You give her a wan smile, the image of her in a sun-soaked field behind your eyes. It would have to be enough. If she held on, maybe she could fill in the picture.

“Thought so. Me too. My parents have a grove on Hetzal,” you say.

You chat for a few minutes, exchanging tales of her chasing tipyip and you sneaking honeyfruit and shuula during harvest.

“Good luck,” you murmur when you finally step away.

You don’t linger with Disdraa, the Twi’lek in C-3. She took a nasty blow to the head yesterday, so you slide her tray in as quietly as possible, hoping she’ll steal some extra rest.

Which brings you to the Mandalorian. He has no other name in your database. A mistake, you wonder, or an erasure?

When you knock on his door, you keep your eyes downcast. The decision you made in the lift was impulsive, but clear. He will have this respect here, if nowhere else.

“Good morning,” you say.

It’s silent.

You slide the tray under the door. “Do you need anything?”

Nothing.

“Okay, I’ll be back this evening if you think of something.”

Din rolls his eyes in the dark room. Does the quiet, simpering little act really work on the other prisoners? He vaguely considers rejecting the tray just to irritate you.

But he’s a Mandalorian. He doesn’t give in to petty spite when survival is on the line. He has battles to win and to do so, he must eat.

The food is bland but nutritionally complex, so if he keeps up a routine, he should be able to maintain his strength. He’s already run through and decided the optimal calisthenics and body weight routines he can do in the confines of his quarters.

He’s not stupid enough to think all the fights will be so quick or easy. The only benefit, and he’s unwilling to call it that, of not having his armor is that he’s so much faster.

He’ll get out.

He has a promise to keep.

When the Death Star fell three years ago, it took nearly the entire Rebel Alliance with it. The rest were scattered in the ash. And when the Empire barely flinched, the Mandalorians knew their time was running out.

With one loss notched on their belt already, they would have to strike swift and sure.

And so Din’s life as the rebel liaison began.

When he went to Gideon’s cruiser, he had no backup. Technically, no one even knew where he was. But espionage and false diplomacy took too long, purged time they did not have. And he wasn’t going to get another chance to try.

He lost the intel in the skirmish but gained a sword he knew not how to wield, a title he knew not how to bear, and a son he knew not how to raise.

The guards come for Reen, forcing you to finish your deliveries in a tense, silent two minutes.

She doesn’t come back. You paint her picture that night while her soft face and sun-streaked sangria widow’s peak are still fresh in your mind. It, as with most of your books, is stained with errant tears.

Eli had convinced you to keep the ones you ruined with grief, when you first began, desperate not to forget.

“It’s just more proof they were alive if they were also mourned,” he said, flipping reverently through the pages.

It goes against the practice, but it’s not even the most egregious way you’ve had to compromise, so you let it go. This is not the Hall. You have no easels, no canvas, no priestess.

You wonder who’s taken over your space, who they plucked from the apprentices to take over the memorials.

The pictures are small, stacked across the page like a quilt. Most of them have a name, maybe an age, maybe a planet, inked into the corners.

It's certainly not the scale you’re accustomed to, and your colors are limited to the pigments you can press from your dinner, unblessed and unpurified, but you make do.

You never paint them while they still live, not wanting to tether their souls to the pages while they have a chance. But they are yours, and so you will take the burden of remembering from their souls.

“Tray, please,” you say after knocking on the Mandalorian’s door that evening. He’s slow to respond, but you don’t mind. It’ll be a bit before he gets accustomed to the routine, if he makes it that long.

Most don’t.

It grates against the floor when he kicks it out, and you exchange it for the full tray of dinner.

“Do you need anything?”

Silence.

“Okay, have a good night.”

You don’t have hurt feelings. It’s the way of things. Some of the beings who come through never speak a word to you. It doesn’t change your loyalty or your duties.

Din is determined to puzzle you out. Why the farce? Everyone else he’s encountered is open in their disgust and amusement. He’s a novelty, a prize, a disgrace. What purpose does your feigned care serve?

“—dining with us tonight?” calls the inmate to his right in C-3.

You make a show of rolling your eyes, taking the last two trays from the cart. You slide one to the Twi’lek who had spoken.

“Depends. Are you going to behave?” you say.

“I always behave,” the fighter lies.

You seem to laugh, just a silent huff of amusement, and sit down with your back against the wall between the two cells.

He can’t see you from here, but he can hear snippets of you making light conversation between bites.

Something you say gets a lighthearted rise from the Devaronian in C-4 across the hall.

“Old? You want to talk about being old?” he booms.

C-3 groans. “Don’t get him started, come on.”

You laugh. “—else to bitch about. I’m saving— trouble.”

“…that I should suffer your disrespect,” C-4 is trying to say over you.

“Yeah, yeah, Vrar, you’re a terrifying grumpy—,” you tease.

A pause. A murky mumble from C-2.

“—you, Mandalorian? How old—?” You ask, tearing a chunk off your bread roll and popping it in your mouth.

He doesn’t answer.

After you leave, it grows quiet. A few moments pass, as if he was just waiting for you to get out of hearing range, before Vrar speaks up.

“Mando. You holding up? Any injuries?”

Din sits silently on his cot, leaning against the wall.

“Alright, I get it. You don’t have to talk to me. But can you be more respectful to the girl?”

If it’s bait, it works. “I don’t make a habit of being respectful to my captors.”

To his surprise, Vrar barks a hearty laugh. “Is that what you think? She’s a slave, Mando, same as the rest of us.”

Din feels hot guilt rise in his throat. “My mistake. I’ll do better.”

Vrar grunts his approval, and that’s that.

The next morning, when you ask if he needs anything, he tells you, “No, thank you,” in a soft but sure tone.

You straighten a little abruptly and try not to look shocked. “Okay. Good luck today,” you say, and move on. You’re pretty sure if you draw attention to it, he’ll never speak again.

You aren’t privy to the way things operate up top. All you know is that they take your fighters randomly, with at least one day between as a rest. Sometimes, it’s longer between fights.

But not for Mando. For the next two weeks, it’s every other day like clockwork. They’re capitalizing on his novelty, you think, but also hoping to wear him down.

Rumors tell you he’s become a quick crowd favorite. It should mean he has a shot at earning his freedom, but rumors also tell you he has the highest price on record.

They don’t want him free, and they don’t want someone to buy him.

No, they want him to die in the arena.

next chapter

thank you so much for reading! i live for your feedback, and i'm not above begging so if you have any thoughts pls let me know

*title from "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fic #gladiator!din #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x you #fic: live to rise

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ladystarksneedle · 6 months

Text

Greedy

Summary: A lady at sea finds warmth amidst its endless waters.

Warnings: angst, mentions of voyeurism, infidelity, period typical sexism and misogyny, derogatory language, rumor mongering, slight canon divergence.

Word count: 7.5k

Dividers by @saradika

She clawed at the threads in her lap, entangling them for the third time as her husband droned on about the costs of war. There were ramparts, fortifications and more men needed at Tarth to stop the incursion of the Triarchy that he spoke of, agitating himself further as he paced before her, taking her absent minded humming in response to be borne out of interest. The “War of the Stepstones" as it had come to be known, was the newest point of conversation throughout the realm from the Blackwater to the Bay of Crabs, with every household eager to contribute their share of mockery, awe or support. The Valyrians, she thought, had always managed to entrench everyone in their affairs.

Sadly she hadn't found an inch of interest in the one before her.

She had been delivered to Claw Isle almost a year ago, packaged rather gaudily in fabrics of silk and gold, to be unwrapped by the lord of salty seas and misty air. He'd torn in rather clumsily, mistaking haste for pleasure, like a crab feasting at her shore, yet no tears came to her, all the salt had seemingly washed away before she'd entered Crackclaw point. The castle stood surprisingly tall, jutting out of the small island located to the south of Dragonstone, close enough to hear the roars of the beasts of long forgotten might and far enough to be sheltered from their unexpected wrath. She'd often look out her window, imagining what they'd look like, though a year had passed and she had yet to catch a glimpse of them. Some of the locals claimed they'd seen one, a “gray ghost” they'd called it, as elusive as the fog lining the seas, scaring away the fishermen trying to make their catch for the day. They were baseless rumors to her, all the same, recited idly at tea by the ladies of the Point, when they'd run out of their keepsake of slanders. Dragons to her were beasts of myth and true as they might be, posed no consequence to her life, until now.

“Prince Daemon has assembled an army of ten thousand men with Lord Corlys Velaryon. It would be folly to not join such an endeavor.”

“You mean to join the war?” she asked incredulously “We hardly have the numbers.”

“If those shipping lanes fall it affects us all dear wife or have you not been paying attention.”

“I have, husband” she huffed “But decisions made in haste cost dearly. Claw Isle boasts enough wealth to tide us through this predicament without meriting involvement, as you've proclaimed countless times yourself, why then should we waste our men and resources?”

“You're a woman Belinda and as witty as you might be, you do not understand the consequences of uninvolvement. Tarth may very well be under siege as we speak” he remarked.

“And what has the King to say for this expedition undertaken by his brother, I doubt it is with his full consent, ten thousand men seems quite less of a number for a royal army does it not?” she replied back “But yes you're right, I'm just a woman, what would I know about numbers when it is your forte dear husband. I shall leave you to your accounts in peace” she said as she left his chambers with a swift peck to his cheek, quick to evade his reply.

“You must learn when to keep your mouth shut daughter, the ability to do so shall last you long” her mother's words were tight around her neck, a noose waiting to throttle her should she stray too far and though she hadn't managed to keep her wayward tongue in check, she'd found out soon enough that scraps of affection meted out at opportune moments often did the trick.

Dinner proved to be less in her favor. Bartimos was ever eager in spirit, having invited the lords of the neighboring keeps to convene on pretext of merriment. While she sat drinking with the ladies whispering animatedly amongst themselves at the other end of the hall, she realized just how hard headed he could really be. Perhaps her mother was right and there was still more to learn.

“Have you heard the tales of Lady Swann? It is such a tragedy. I've heard she's been sold to a pillow house in Lys”

“She was always a wild one, I've heard. I'm sure she'll do just fine there” chirped Lady Crabb, ever the glutton at any such occasion.

“You have quite the tongue Lady Crabb, you must learn to hold it lest you earn the likeness of the Crabfeeder himself” snickered another.

“Perhaps he styles himself after your own lord husband” remarked Lady Brunes, her fellow at arms of wit.

“Jest all you want ladies, but there is some truth to it. My husband was knighted at the mere age of four and ten, how many of yours can claim such laurels. It will be him who'll bring glory back to Crackclaw point and you'll be all the fools for it” huffed Lady Crabb clawing at the pearls around her neck.

Being the youngest among them had its merits in times like these. Despite being the hostess she was seldom asked her opinions, merely considered to be in accordance with the consensus they reached as the wine dried up and their husbands returned to eagerly escort them back home. Feasts in the Crownlands often had one way of ending, with most of them on their backs. As the bed creaked below her, she realized her’s would be a happy one. Sweaty and sated, she lay next to him as he struggled to catch his breath, exhausting himself to fruition this once. Bartimos seemed to outperform whenever he had a point to make, in matters that required more convincing on his part. She only wished they were more in number and came more often.

“We shall leave for Driftmark in three days' time” he said as he turned to sleep, blowing off the candles near them. “It is a good thing Belinda, you'll come to realize soon enough. You'll even get to see those dragons you've been so curious about.”

“They do not interest me as much as you think” she thought “But if admitting to it makes you more amiable in bed I might as well go set up camp there, husband” she pondered as she drifted off to sleep dreaming of distant roars and crashing waves engrossed in a hazy tussle of their own.

Driftmark proved to be a much grander island. They'd sailed for a day to get there, bypassing Dragonstone on the way. The captain of their ship had pointed it out, a black speck of monstrous rock jutting out from the coast, with a multitude of deep rumbles reverberating through the masts, as they had sailed past. It felt ominous and rather insidious, intriguing enough for her to want to halt and explore for the first time since they'd left, but her husband wished for no time to be wasted and ordered them to sail ahead. High Tide shone bright under the sun as they'd arrived, its pale stone greeting them in a stark contrast to the home of their Valyrian overlords. The Castle was said to have been newly built by Lord Corlys with all the wealth he'd amassed on his nine voyages, its turrets gleaming haughtily at them with their beaten silver tops. They'd been ushered in shortly, with their infantry in tow to the “Hall of Nine” in attendance before him as he sat atop the Driftwood Throne.

“We welcome you to High Tide, Lord Bartimos. The support of the Celtigars, in these trying times is much appreciated” he boomed.

“Thank you for your graciousness Lord Corlys” he smiled as she fidgeted near him.

“Perhaps your lady wife would like to rest as we get to the matter at hand, the journey would have been quite tiring for those not accustomed to it” he said as she was ushered away to the depths of the Castle by one of the Velaryon ladies nearby.

“Princess Rhaenys shall receive you my lady, please follow me. I am Daena, cousin to Corlys in case you're wondering. We have assembled here to convene on our own council” she stated, leading her up the winding stairs to a hall overlooking the Bay. At its head sat none other than the lady of the manor, Rhaenys Targaryen, a tall woman with a welcoming smile in tow “Lady Celtigar so good of you to join us, welcome to High Tide.”

There were more than a dozen ladies in the room who turned to look at her, the Velaryons with their teal dresses and silver locks, a few from Crackclaw point that she recognised immediately, ladies Crabb and both the Brunes, of Dyre Den and Brownhollow, ladies Bar Emmon and Staunton and a few stromlanders judging by the intricate braids on their heads who greeted her in response. Lady Daena led her to her seat as they resumed speaking, each advocating for their preferred course of action. As she observed their leader at the head of the table listening intently to each prompt she wondered why a dragon rider such as her wasn't involved in the affairs of the main council. Noticing her inquisitive stare she turned to address them once again “We have dragons and they are more than sufficient to weed this Crabfeeder out of his cave. My son Laenor shall be joining Prince Daemon, leading from above though your support at both sea and ground is much appreciated. We shall soon be rid of this menace together” she spoke with pride. “We've hosted a feast tonight as an inauguration of our joint partnership. Please rest, explore and enjoy your stay before we meet again ” she concluded.

The beaches of Driftmark were a true wonder, she thought as she strolled along unbothered by the sand coating her stockings. They were unlike Claw Isle, with white sand stretching endlessly surrounded by pristine blue waters, secluded and picturesque. “Could wealth be used to acquire such beauty? Perhaps Lord Corlys’ expeditions had played a part in shaping the sea before her too” she considered enjoying her solitude. Her path soon led her to a hut, nestled away surrounded by a bed of grass, small enough to be overlooked, making her walk towards it, observing its peculiar vantage point overlooking the sea. As she passed through the rickety gate, she heard shuffling inside before coming across a man leaning against one of the posts. His eyes lit up as she came into view, trailing over her, before a smirk etched itself onto his face.

“Well Hello” he drawled lazily.

“Apologies my lord I didn't know someone was here” she replied hastily.

“Do you often walk into other's properties at will, my lady?” he inquired mockingly.

“I considered it abandoned” she flushed. “I was merely curious”

“Hmm” he said, appraising her “It is not safe to be wandering these waters alone, considering the threat that looms ahead”

“But I am not alone” she quipped back.

He chuckled as he made his way towards her.

“And what a sharp tongue you've got there. It would be a shame if that were the only weapon at your disposal”

“I don't think it wise for you to want to find out” she replied, standing her ground.

His smirk widened as he brushed past her, leaning down to whisper into the shell of her ear “Welcome to Driftmark my lady, your claws do you justice.”

Evening couldn't arrive fast enough. Her encounter with the man at the beach left her more shaken once she came to realize who he was. Bartimos spoke of the surprising absence of Prince Daemon from their war council, baffled as he dressed in haste. She merely shook her head in response, finding the lord or rather the prince she'd met, to be all the more intriguing. Dinner proved to be a lavish affair with an assortment of opulence. Dishes of roasted duck glazed with honey adorned the plates before them, along with sardines and roasted tomatoes coated with fennel and saffron. There were freshly picked cherries and apricots, apple and cinnamon pies and a heap of lemon cakes being passed around the hall, along with overflowing cups of Dornish red mocking the enemies they were to face. She sat next to known faces, taking comfort in familiarity amidst the novelty she'd found herself in, while Lady Crabb delighted in the feast before her, munching away wholly unbothered by her sullenness. Her husband was in better spirits after the toasts that had been made to their victory, conversing heartily with Lord Staunton as she looked about inquisitively.

Prince Daemon sat at the head of the table flanking Lord Corlys to the left looking disinterested as he sipped his wine, pretending to listen in to the conversation at hand. She smiled to herself at the glazed look in his eyes, present for a fleeting moment before wandering again to places far beyond her reach. One of the Velaryon lords next to Princess Rhaenys, Ser Vaemond, if she remembered correctly, said something which swiftly brought him back.

“Perhaps you'd like to find out for yourself Ser Vaemond, Caraxes would be all the more willing” he said smirking “A toast then” he spoke standing up as the chatter died down.“To our allies and their good health, may you weather the battle ahead well” he said as a few cheered in response. “And to our enemies, near and beyond, narrow be their deaths, narrow be their beds” he said looking around “To our appetite for war” he spoke at last, winking at him as the man below him gazed back in defiance “and more” he finished seemingly staring right at her. She squirmed with apprehension as the crowd erupted in cheers “Hear, hear” they chanted “To the Rogue Prince Daemon” , they continued, banging their cups on the spread in front.

She wondered if her husband realized what he partook in, as the celebrations continued, forever wanting for fame and glory begotten through company, only for her to be the unwitting recipient of the eye of the Dragon.

As the evening drew close and Bartimos drunkenly staggered through the halls supported by his peers, she fought back a scoff. He bade her goodnight, eager to continue his quest for companionship while she politely shut the door waiting to leave their chambers as soon as she felt the coast was clear. Drawing her robe close she snuck out to explore, excited at her newfound freedom, delighting in the sliver of opportunity she'd happened upon. High Tide was quiet as the waves lapped the shore in the distance, a peaceful contrast to the jeers of the evening. A few servants scurried about bowing as they passed by her without question, perhaps to tend to the many guests that the castle currently housed. It was relatively easy to navigate with its shiny walls of pale stone mixed with wood twisting to form an interesting maze. She passed by low chandeliers, banisters with carvings of sea creatures, walls of teal painted with murals of voyages at sea, retinues of Velaryon soldiers and seafarers shouting orders and rowing through storms, intricately decorating the hallways. Statues of oceanic figures greeted her, lining each corridor connecting together till she came upon one, wooden and endless, larger than the rest, with a small alcove at the end. Darting ahead at once to claim it for her own, she stopped as she heard an unfamiliar sound. A soft moan greeted her at the end followed by a series of grunts and the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against each other making her peer in. A maid lay bent over the edge, her dress ruched up to her waist as he pounded into her roughly muffling her sighs with his hand, her own clinging desperately to the railing ahead. “Quiet, I do not wish to hear you wench” he remarked, brutally thrusting into her as she whined. She watched, shocked and unable to move as he finished within her with a grunt, his silver hair falling over her shoulders, before turning around to face the door abruptly.

“It will never fail to amuse me how you find yourself in situations that do not concern you” her husband's voice rang through her ears as she ran out, only to find herself at the beach again. “You must learn your place wife and it isn't in every nook and corner of the castle” he'd remarked once, after her incessant interjections in an argument with his lord father. “The fool had some sense to what he'd said”, she thought, cursing herself loudly as she caught her breath. Admitting defeat had never felt so shameful, she sulked running her hands through her hair before turning around to find a voice addressing her.

“Couldn't sleep?”

“New waters, princess. I'm not used to change” she replied sheepishly.

“Hmm. You should have told Vanya, she's in charge of the guests. She'd have brewed you a nice tea, it works wonders for light sleepers”

“I presume you speak from experience” she ventured walking towards her.

“There is much to be thought of” she replied back as she welcomed her presence.

“You wish to join the war, contrary to what you spoke of at the council”

“What kind of dragon rider abandons their people in need. What am I, if not a warrior for a just cause”

“A ruler who knows when to step back” she countered.

“Those are flattering words, empty as they might be”

“I disagree, princess. Your children are young and you are needed here. Battles may not always be fought at sea or up in the air, the biggest ones often lie closer to home” she spoke, still unnerved by the night.

“You are wiser than your years Lady Celtigar”

“Many have called me rather impudent”

“And they always shall, anything otherwise would be to admit defeat” she scoffed.

“May I extend my impudence further tonight” she asked looking up at her in question “I think I know why you wish to join. Forgive my boldness but I feel a familiar reluctance in staying behind, with what has happened amidst those seas before”

She smiled ruefully in response. “Have you had the chance to see a dragon yet, Lady Belinda? Caraxes rests a few feet away from where we stand, slumbering in peace while his rider feasts for the night” she remarked causing her to turn abruptly “I fear I will not have peace till I fly to battle with him this once, a wish that was left unfulfilled years ago and a regret I hold with me still”

She looked around in unease before replying “It is not for me to advise you princess as I've often led myself off a cliff with my own words.”

“Do not fret he doesn't harm at will” she laughed sensing her distress. “Merely judges who he considers his prey”

“Like his rider” she wished to scream, smiling back at her instead.

“Sleep well my lady, I might require your impudence on the morrow after all,” she said before walking back to the Castle behind.

“There is no rest for the wicked” her mother used to say, scolding her when she acted out of impulse. “Your flights of fancy shall be the death of me” she'd scream as she chastised her for her conduct. The “morning after” drone on, just as painful to her as the throbbing in her husband's head, as he sat grumbling at breakfast.

“Seems like you had an interesting night” he remarked sullenly.

“What?”

“Princess Rhaenys was all praise for you at dawn.”

“Oh, it was nothing” she said as she tried to mask her raging thoughts, her mind wandering to a different head of silver that had caught her attention.

“Do not be so coy Belinda, it is good to see you putting yourself out there. Let them know what we stand for as a house” he said, sipping his tea.

“Your pride will be your downfall one day, husband, but I'm sure glad for it today” she thought, carefully evading the topic at hand.

The days that followed passed in a blur with her trying to make herself as scarce as possible and she'd found blending in with the decor a fine way of going about it. She'd attend meetings whenever she was called upon dressed in teals and blues, dine with her husband and their contemporaries adorned with silver, gossip idly with the ladies at sessions in sapphire, butting in more often, hoping to be included more but most of all she vowed never to stray out of company whenever she could, for she knew he was around, waiting to strike when she least expected it.

“There you are little trespasser” he'd caught her by the arm swinging her to the side on one such occasion, her burnished gold gown taunting her absurdity.

“Unhand me now or I'll scream”

“I doubt you would little mouse, I think you seem to take an undue amount of pleasure in depravities as such”

“I don't know what you mean”

“Don't play coy now, it doesn't suit you as much as you'd like it to” he retorted sharply

“I didn't mean to barge in on you, it was an accident”

“Hmm as are most instances you find yourself in, yes?”

“I am telling the truth,” she said, squirming in his grasp.

“Now what would your husband think, hmm, were he to find out, compromising yourself not once but twice” he whispered, twisting her towards him, pulling her flush against his chest.

“I have done nothing of that sort, you seem to mistake mischance for willingness”

“I am under no illusion my lady, but anyone in your current predicament would beg to differ” he said smirking as a few curious lords passed by them in the hallways whispering to themselves as they looked away abruptly.

“Walk with me and let me put you out of your misery” he replied, tugging her along, as he took her arm into the crook of his elbow, swiftly guiding them towards the other end of the hall.

“I want nothing more to do with you, my prince. Please leave me alone”

“Now where's the fun in that” he laughed humorlessly “Do not take me for a fool lady Celtigar, I’d prefer it if you'd play along”

She huffed as she followed him out onto familiar territory, the sandy soil welcoming her once again.

“You are married, what would your lady wife think if she found out” she said trying to dissuade him.

“I think she'll be all the more happier for my absence, something you and I might have in common” he retorted, eyes twinkling as he gazed down at her.

“I don't know what you mean” she said which earned her a click of his tongue in response.

“Bartimos is nothing but kind. He's faithful and just, I could ask for nothing more from a husband” she said after a pause.

“Perhaps you'd prefer a dog instead if that is what pleases you in a man” he huffed “Or was that your reason to linger last night?” She blushed furiously in response as he laughed at her silence.

“You presume too much”

“I only say what I think. Life is too short to hide behind false pleasantries.”

“One needs to be amiable enough to get by, not everyone has the veil of protection of a dragon rider”

“It is not Caraxes that speaks to you now, as much as you'd like, I am more myself when I say as I do.”

“And what exactly do you wish to achieve out of this” she asked, stopping as she stood before him.

“To unwind that needle you've stuck up yourself” he said “Your husband's brought you here all dolled up to decorate his empty promises, espousing might and support when all he has to his name is a house of Crabs with too few men. I do not need the likes of foolhardy lords who'll run the moment they come to face real danger.”

“What do you want then, my prince? We've come here with goodwill and whatever we have to offer” she said plainly

“I think you have far more to offer.”

“If you've come to ask me to bed you, I'd prefer it if you said so plainly”

“If I wanted to bed you I wouldn't need to ask and I don't mean taking you as an unwilling partner, as pretty as you might be”, he replied, turning a lock of her hair in his hands “You'd come to me willingly”

“Then it seems we are at an impasse” she replied. “I cannot give you what you want nor do you possess anything I seek”

“How do you know?”

“What”

“How do you know what it is that you wish to seek?” he asked “How does someone so sheltered know what they want if they haven't seen what life has to offer”

“What is it that you think I want then”

“A taste of the unknown,” he replied, looking towards the sea.

She stared after him for a moment choosing to continue beside him, the silence between them feeling akin to punishment as they made their way ahead. He stopped soon to pick up a tiny crab running across the shore.

“That is your husband,” he said, examining the creature.

“Come now, that is cruel”

He laughed before pointing towards it again “Look at its legs and tell me what you see”

“It has threads attached to it”

“They're not threads. They're remnants of flowers that thrive deep below

the seas, of colors so bright they'd put a Tyroshi head to shame” he said turning it around for her to look “Flowers like these cling to the crab, beautifying it, helping it forgae the sea weeding out prey, a perfect companion won't you say” he continued watching her swallow “Yet when this little soldier feels the need to return ashore he discards his companion to the solitude of the sea” he finished before tossing the crab aside.

“I am not a flower” she said lifting her head up in defiance “To be discarded so easily”

A broad grin lit up his face as he nodded at her continuing down his path.

Preparations for the war soon ramped up, prolonging her discomfort. She felt stifled putting up smiles, talking incessantly to fill the silence lest she be drawn back in, while he lingered on. She began seeing him more frequently, at most meals of the day. A few of the men had taken to dining with their ladies, mostly those of importance to the warfront and with Bartimos finally being offered a place at the table it was hard to refuse his advancement. She began sitting with them stiff as a board, his gaze burning into her across the spread before them, ashamed to be the cause of her husband's newfound happiness. Watching him drink and talk with pride oblivious to the danger that lay ahead of them both prompted her to consider the nagging thought in her head, perhaps she needed to be his sea flower at last.

He was relentless in his pursuit all the while, smirking with his head tilted to the side whenever she caught him looking, observing her with a heavy gaze waiting to strike again.

It came to a head finally, one sunny morning. She didn't know what possessed her to go to the council room, perhaps it was to seek out Bartimos, as a warning or with counsel itself, but she had opened those great oak doors only to find him inside. He sat alone at the head, with one foot propped up on the map before him, eyes looking out the window, disinterested and lost.

“Are you here to apologize again?” he asked, raising his eyebrow in question.

“I was looking for my husband. Since he's not here I shall leave you to it”

“Ever the dutiful wife, byka embar rūklon”

“Don't call me that”

“Hmm” he chuckled. “Given that he's occupied at the moment, what can I do for you, my lady?” he said standing up.

“Must we keep coming back to it” she replied back, exasperated.

“It is you who makes things difficult”

“Hardly. I've told you what I do not want, I think that should make things much easier for us both”

“You may speak all you want but it's the things left unsaid that matter the most” he continued, before they were interrupted by a servant. She turned to look at her in shock as she greeted him, striding forwards to fill his cup to the brim, privy to all their secrets. He grinned at her expression as he held up a hand

“Leave it and tidy up those scrolls like I taught you” he remarked dismissing her as she wordlessly turned her back to them.

“Now this must be a familiar sight to you” he chuckled, addressing her.

“Your cupbearer” she asked, switching to High Valyrian delighting in his pleased expression.

“Yes it is quite convenient. She knows when I'm full”

“How ingenious” she remarked dispassionately.

“Come on, it's fun”

“To see her each morn, when you're discussing matters of importance and know how you'll be having her at dusk? Was this the unknown you spoke ok?” she spat

“Stand up, let me show you something” he remarked suddenly as he led her to the window.

“To anyone who walks in now, I'm showing you how the sky melts into the sea, explaining to you the foreign territory we'll soon find ourselves in, ” he said, moving close to her.

“What concerns us, is how I've ordered her to tidy up everything. All the scrolls and there are a hundred of them, before she thinks of lifting her head up again” he whispered as she heaved at his proximity, her back flush against his chest.

“We could do whatever we want and she wouldn't move an inch” he hummed against her ear pulling her close. “No one would know, for the reward that awaits her at dusk”

“Obedience for pleasure” she sighed as he tilted her head up gazing into her eyes.

“Precisely” he grinned, grabbing her neck without warning.

“What will you choose, embar rūklon?” he said brushing his nose violently against hers. She bit his lip in response, delighted with his painfully grunt as she tasted him, metallic and raw, of blood and smoke.

“I think that suffices as an answer ” she responded breathlessly, crashing her lips against his.

As she walked out the door later, she noticed the neatly arranged scrolls in the corner with seven cups lined in order, ready for each member of the council to use. The dragon behind her grinned greedily, having found yet another conquest to his name.

Daemon Targaryen was more beast than man, she'd come to learn over the days that followed. As the time to leave finally drew close and tempers ran hot at council meetings, his thirst for flesh increased, seeking her out in shadowed corridors, grasping and rutting into her savagely. She'd be showered with equal affection later on masking the bruises marking her skin. Jewellery of pearl and rubies adorned her pulse points, bitten and sore from their heady encounters as she strutted around with unfaltering poise delighting in her newfound routine. She had come to enjoy their little game, often finding ways to excuse herself to explore another hideaway the castle had to offer, leaving it separately with the lingering smell of their sweat and arousal. Despite the intensity of their meetings it was the aftermath she had come to cherish the most, when he'd kiss the crown of her head after pulling her hair, or play with her wrists as he drew her close. The little trinkets that she hid among her dresses, made her heart beat faster whenever she sat looking out at sea smiling to herself as her company chatted on.

“I got you something”

“What is this?” she laughed “A bird of paper?”

“There is a technique they use in Yi-Ti, where they make creatures out of paper, style them as they like '' he said “This is a crane shown to me by a merchant in passing, as a token for the hefty purchase I made. They say if you make a thousand of these the Gods grant you anything you desire.”

“I thought you didn't believe in the Gods,” she mocked.

“I do not but there isn't a man more foolish than the one who doesn't appreciate beauty, in all forms” he smirked.

“There is a catch though” he said, pulling it away before she had the chance to grab it.

“There always is, isn't it”

“If and when you make a thousand of these you'll be granted but a single wish. I would choose one carefully embar rūklon”

She closed her eyes as she thought smiling to herself.

“Not now”

“Ah but what if I wish for something this very moment, what's to stop me”

“You play by my rules alone byka gevie, never forget” he said pulling her towards him delighting in her laughter.

As much as he'd claimed ownership of the people in his service Daemon had glossed over a singular fact common to all women alike, they preferred nothing more than a fresh rumor served cold. From the smallfolk to the ladies in their fine towers, each held a kinship to one another when it came to gossip, spreading it far and wide. Rumors of her entanglement with the dragon prince spread like wildfire, with fresh tongues wagging in her direction, holding her accountable with their judgy eyes and insolent mouths. His little cupbearer was the one responsible, she thought as she found herself cornered, how fitting it was to be felled by the keeper of his secrets.

The most disappointing though, was the reaction of the lady she'd lent her sympathy to days ago.

“I'd like to give you a piece of advice Lady Celtigar” she remarked one morning

“You are young and have many years ahead of you, do not waste it in pursuit of fleeting pleasure. I know what it's like to feel constrained and alone. When my husband went off on his travels across the world it was I who held fort here, braving it all, ensuring our legacy wouldn't be tarnished by even a wisp of bitterness. You will soon be put in a similar position and you won't weather it should you choose to continue as you are now” she said plainly. “A woman's reputation makes or breaks her family and her house. It is the most important tool you have in your arsenal and you must learn to weild it well.”

“I can take care of myself Princess. My impudence shall weather me through whatever storm awaits me yet, besides you have a dragon to protect you, I doubt it was your diplomacy that carried your legacy forwards”

“And now you've found yours” she remarked with distaste. “Heed my warning my lady, I have known my cousin long enough to realize he always does as he wants. He will not change no matter how much you wish for it to be so” she said as she left her in thought.

The storm at her horizon approached faster than she could have anticipated striking the pearls around her neck first, with an innocuous question posed at dinner.

“That is such a beautiful necklace my lady wherever did you get it”

“Oh it is one of the many treasures of our house” she countered “A little trinket, one of many the Celtigars boast. We have chests of ancestral rubies, Myrish carpets, Volantene glass, jeweled cups and more that await you at Claw Isle should you choose to visit” she remarked satisfied with turning the conversation at hand. If only it had been so easy.

“Where did you get that Belinda?” Bartimos asked cornering her when they were alone

“The necklace? It is one of the many you've given me”

“Do you take me for a fool” he scoffed

“I don't know what you mean, if not then it must belong to one of the chests back home”

“I know every gift that I've ever given you Belinda, your honeyed words fool no one” he said looking at her with contempt.

“Do you think I don't know what's been happening behind my back? Do you think I'm such a fool to not recognise how you've been whoring yourself while I have been away and for what” he asked, ripping them from her neck “Pretty trinkets that I'd buy you had you bothered to ask? Are you so starved for attention to be acting as such. Do you know what they call you? '' he screamed “They call you the Harlot of Driftmark! The Whore of High Tide who's been strutting around the Castle with her cheap keepsakes. Why must you act as such? Have I not given you enough?”

“You're one to talk, have you even bothered looking at me this once. Ever since we've stepped foot on this dreaded island you've done nothing but jest and play at your war never bothering to inquire how I've felt. Ever since I've married you, you've never made the effort. Do you think I want your wealth and all the treasures that you hoard with your claws, boasting at every opportune moment? It makes you look like the fool that you are Bartimos” she screamed “If you'd just asked me once, if you'd just listened to what I had to say, to what I've felt this past year, things would have been-”

“If I had listened to you then you wouldn't have fucked him, is that it then?”

“Why don't you love me?” she cried “Why is it always honor and virtue and claiming and parading myself as yours when I am anything but. I've never been yours because you haven't let me. Why don't you want me as I am”

“Neither does he. He doesn't see you as anything more than a vessel for his pleasure, ripe for taking and you are a fool for thinking otherwise, just as I am for thinking you'd ever want me” he said looking at her in pain.

“I shall leave on the morrow. You shall be escorted back shortly with Lady Crabb. Say your goodbyes as I have none for you”

The noose felt tight around her neck as she wiped the wetness staining her cheeks, the tears she'd wished for had come at last.

It was dawn when she ventured out again, awoken by the shrill roar of Caraxes taking flight. She rushed to his chambers barefoot with a robe covering her, only to find them empty. A wail left her throat as she collapsed near his bed clutching the sheets, sitting still on the floor gazing at his walls, lost and alone till the sun rose and her tears dried up. The time to lament was over. The mirror at the entrance caught her attention, alerting her to her haggard appearance. She looked at the bags under her eyes, puffy and glistening as she walked towards her reflection, noticing a cushion nestled beneath. On it lay a single paper crane greeting her solemnly.

“It is time for you to do your duty, embar rūklon just as it is time for mine. To the unknown you've been searching for”, she read through hazy eyes running her fingers over the scrawled words on its wings.

The journey back to Claw Isle proved to be an arduous one. She felt their eyes on her as she boarded the ship, when she stood on deck and when she took her meals in silence on board, their judgment never leaving her. She wished for nothing more than to be sequestered in her home once again, laughing to herself at the irony of it all. She had often heard the tale of the weary seafarer glad to return home after his travels, delighting in its familiarity and Claw Isle had never felt more welcoming than it did now. As she stepped onto the beach leading up to the Island, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. She spent the next few days in silent contemplation, barring visitors and well wishers alike. She went on long walks, worked on her embroidery, read whatever she could find in the castle library and kept herself as occupied as she could, though the thing about an idle mind was that it soon merited thought. The news of the warfront floating around crept up to her soon. The advancement of the Velaryon forces on Bloodstone with Prince Daemon and little Lord Laenor's assistance spread rapidly delighting noble and commoner alike, for a war involving dragons had been fought after so long and the gossip accompanying it proved even meatier. She heard it in passing as her maids whispered to themselves, mentions of herself with Prince Daemon graced the hallways as well as chuckles at Bartimos and his misfortune of being stuck with her. It was the twentieth day of the fifth moon when she decided to confront it all, bringing out and dismantling the object of her ire. The crane was easy to take apart, soggy from its travels at sea and as the wet parchment of paper stared at her she remembered why it was given to her in the first place. Over the next few moons she learnt how to make one, it was easy enough with no shortage of paper for anything to be considered amiss. Every night before she went to bed she crafted a little bird with her hands, closing her eyes and stuffing it away come morning. The war carried on as did her own effort at home.

Almost three years later when she had diligently made her last one she sat staring at it in silence, crying to herself as she closed her eyes, thinking her effort had perhaps all been in vain.

News of the war reached her a fortnight later, Prince Daemon had killed Craghas Drahar, slicing him from head to torso, styling his weapon into a crown, calling himself the “King of the narrow sea”. It had been a happy occasion for all of Crackclaw Point uplifting their spirits enough for her to invite the neighboring ladies to tea. They had all won and a celebration was to be hosted in their honor. As the castle was tidied up and the ornaments brought out, she noticed a giant red crab placed near the entrance welcoming the guests she was to host, on its back writhing and beautiful were a myriad of familiar coloured threads.

“What is that” she asked the Castellan as he caught her looking.

“Those are sea flowers my lady, nestled upon the great crab’s back. It is a beautiful relationship they share in harmony, uplifting one another. The flower beautifies the crab as well as helping it forage while being offered protection inturn. No other creature of the sea dare touch it's beauty as long as the crab stands vigil”

A looming sense of dread washed over her as she excused herself from the hall, rushing to find the old crane. As she sifted through her drawers desperate to find it among the thousand others she'd made she felt herself grow weary and tired, frustrated as she collapsed to the floor. Each crane she'd found was henceforth burned in the hearth before their bed, meticulously chucked into the fire as she watched them be swallowed by the flames. Her wish had finally been fulfilled.

Bartimos returned nearly four moons later to a full house and a happier wife. His apprehension at seeing her was soon eclipsed by her contagious demeanor. She apologized to him, with Rhaenys' advice fresh in her mind, wishing to make amends to which he acquiesced soon after a moon of coaxing. The rumors still reached them from time to time yet she had him, to weather them together. Prince Daemon's lady wife soon passed away. A hunting accident they'd called it followed by the scandal of the Jade tiara from Yi-Ti, his hefty purchase she'd assumed finally coming to fruition. The deflowering of his niece in the capital brothel followed soon, as her belly swelled and by the time he'd returned to wreak havoc on the royal wedding she had laughed at it all mirthlessly.

When he took a new bride five moons later in the form of Lady Laena Velaryon she took it well with a stiff lip, mind drawn to the Red Queen herself and as her confinement approached a few moons later and she lay in bed she found the old crane at last. Scrawled illegibly on one of its wings was part of the phrase her hazy eyes had missed moons ago

“To the unknown you've been searching for and for the one you've helped me find.”

She crumpled the weary crane in her lap clawing at it as her husband droned on recounting the accounts of the castle for the moon. The Valyrians, she thought, had always managed to entrench everyone in their affairs.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x oc #bartimos celtigar x oc #house celtigar imagine #daemon imagine #zae's fics #hotd imagine #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs #hotd fics

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ithinkinggenshin · 2 years

Note

Could I request for fem reader running away after a fight with (Miko, and Ei separated) but they both go searching for reader and make up-? ( you can add some spice if you want ;)

Make You Come Back

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Yae Miko, Ei

Pairings: Fem!Reader x ^above characters (separate)

Warnings: extremely vanilla smut (yae’s part), hurt/comfort

Word count: 1.4k

Synopsis: A shorter piece for this wonderful ask (that inspired another train wreck of a fic :)

Ei:

Typically, Ei prefers people who are independent and warriors. She only respects those who are willing to fight for what they believe in and those who are strong enough to pursue greater things. So the fact that she sees you as a pathetic, helpless, little thing, means that she won't budge from her role as your protector. You can't reason with her. One of the few times you hear her laugh is when you hold up a sword and challenge her to a duel.

She's never going to take you seriously.

"You are like a light that must be protected. A tiny candle that must be shielded from the storm."

Ironic that she'd say such a thing, when she is the one who commands them.

You sigh and shake your head. You miss going to the beach by yourself. Swimming and floating with the ocean waves. You can practically feel your muscles deteriorating from their lack of use over the past few months. But Ei's having none of it. And who are you to defy an archon?

Her words are starting to get to you.

Tiny.

Helpless.

Weak.

You can't endure much more of this slander. You've been patient for long enough. Her comments about your fragility used to only be occasional, but now she mentions it whenever you see her. It's accumulating to be something you listen to her say multiple times a day. And you hate that you prove her right by letting her shut down any arguments you make.

That has to stop.

This has to end.

You're so sick of it all.

The frustration festers inside of you until it morphs into anger, which in turn builds into resentment. Your anger quickly projects onto other people. You yell at people who don't deserve it. Scare a number of shopkeepers into giving you items for free. You watched Itto literally launch himself over a stack of crates to get out of your way as you headed up to the palace. The fog of war and anger covers your thoughts. Yelling at others isn't helping.

You want her to listen to you.

Sara does not take kindly to your back talk. You may be the shogun's special one, but you're still a citizen of Inazuma, she can still arrest you.

You dare her to do it.

She shakes her head and ignores your taunting.

You're a light. A small candle, but even a small flame is still powerful. It can grow into a violent thing. In fact, fire is inherently dangerous to begin with. What a tragic thing it is for people to need reminding of.

Ei takes your snappy quips and angry attitude even worse than her general. She hasn't done anything wrong.

She's never wrong.

You lose it when she says that. It's the final straw for you. You instantly start yelling at her. Ranting and going off about how she doesn't respect you, that she doesn't even see you as a person. You're just a helpless puppy that she has to protect. You're not anything but a charity case in her eyes. Someone weaker to compare herself to that will make her feel better about herself. Well fuck that. You're not going to listen to her insult you anymore. She can go find another starry eyed, delusional follower to do that. There's plenty of people she can pick from.

You feign and exaggerate your "respectful" goodbye and storm out of her room. You're not a fire. You're a flood. You're going back to the place that makes you feel free.

Ei stands there in shock after she watches you leave. She's never seen you in such a state. She's never heard you raise your voice unless it was to call someone out from afar. She didn't expect to feel so guilty after seeing you disappear after you closed the sliding screen door.

Perhaps she was too much. It's hard for humans to accept their weaknesses.

Perhaps it's that you're in a bad mood. Clearly you're angry.

Are you really... angry at… her?

Ei thinks about the situation, but she becomes more and more uncomfortable as she realizes that it's her fault that you're so upset. This tense feeling doesn't ease up, only morphs and grows. Now she feels uncomfortable and guilty and more than anything, worried.

Worried about you.

Worried about your relationship.

Worried that she's messed up in a way that means you won't forgive her.

She exits the palace and ignores the guards when they ask her where she's going or if she needs help.

That must've been how you wanted to do things.

Ei needs to find you right now.

She starts walking through the city. She can't feel your presence among the crowds. You're nowhere nearby. She follows the traces of electro from the special pendant she gave you a while back. Her heart clenches at the thought that despite your anger towards her, you kept the necklace on.

Dread washes over her.

Or maybe… you took it off, and the trail is only leading her away from you. Ei makes it out of the city, and surprises herself when she starts running. She's lost so much time. She can't afford to let you be angry at her for much longer.

She had to apologize.

Before it's too late.

She almost collapses when she finds the pendant on the beach, dumped on the sands.

Her heart sinks.

She vaguely hears the sloshing of water and soft steps on the beach, making their way towards her. She assumes it's some Nobushi lacky. She doesn't even bother to draw her weapon. Which is good for you, because your voice reaches her ears before you step too close for her to accidentally cuts you down.

Her head whips up towards you, and she reaches her hand out, regret written all over her face.

It's the first time you've seen her like this. She usually tries to cover her mistakes by resolving to do better. But right now, she's living in a moment where she can't do that.

You don't even have to ask what she's doing before she cuts in.

"I’m… sorry. I shouldn't have taken away your freedom. I want to protect you but not at the cost of your happiness."

"Ei," you shake your head, "I don't need you to protect me. I can take care of myself. I'm tougher than you think." You can tell she still doesn’t believe you. Words are cheap making such a claim. You take her by the wrist and raise her hand so it circles your throat.

You look her dead in the eyes. "Go on. Test me. You should see for yourself how resilient I am."

Ei's hand makes contact with your skin, and you can instantly feel your body tingling with the surge of power coming from her. You know you're inviting her to break you.

What a thrilling idea.

Yae Miko:

Yae Miko does not get jealous.

Others are jealous of her.

So don't even think for a second that the reason she's all over you now is because she was jealous of those other women, who were far too close and too touchy for her liking. She certainly wasn't jealous of that stupid little toy of yours that you cuddle at night instead of her. And she definitely isn't jealous of all the attention you give to that Kamisato girl, even when Yae is standing right next to you.

Yae Miko is never wrong either.

So when she decided it was your turn to be ignored by her, it was justified. It was justified for her to let you storm away after angrily yelling about how she hasn't even told you what's wrong or why she's suddenly ignoring you. And it was justified when she suddenly showed up at your house to reinsert herself back into your life.

She obviously wasn't here because she was apologizing. She was never wrong after all.

But you know the truth. You can always figure out her thoughts by her actions. Yae Miko can twist words all she likes, but the way she grips your thighs and bites at your flesh reveals her true intentions.

She's desperate. Pathetically so.

Yae Miko cannot live without you.

She needs your eyes to always be on her. She needs your hands on her skin. She needs your mouth to say her name.

Yes. Like that.

She thrusts into you.

Do it again.

Cry it out.

Scream so loud the whole island hears you.

Repeat it like a mantra, like a prayer.

Don't worry.

Yae Miko is here to save you.

#genshin imact x reader #genshin x reader #yae miko x reader #ei x reader #fem!reader #fem reader #genshin smut #yae miko smut #cw: smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #posted fic

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mirahuyooo · 1 year

Text

Your Grace | myg

[Min Yoongi as a Duke]

— Unseathe your sword, warrior. You are home. in which, once upon a time, there lived a duke of the north and his wife

word count: 1,216 pairing: min yoongi x reader content/s: fluff, romance, angst, mentions of trauma from war, hurt/comfort, implied smut 👀 ambigous place names bc i can’t think much rn lol, possible nobility hierarchy inaccuracies (dont come at me, come after the manhwas i read lol), min yoongi as a husband in aNY AU IS A WIN, Historical Fantasy AU, Marriage of Convenience AU

[masterlist] | more [reactions & headcannons] & [moodboards]

A/N: excuse me, i need something fluffy to get me through life rn 😭💖 also when people started calling these pics of yoongi as a duke, my brain went “haha, duke of the north male lead type of shii” and i just rolled with it lmAO AHWHAHHA i also thought to make some drabbles out of this AU! Let me know if y’all would like that?? Enjoy!

Also, send me ur headcannons for a duke min yoongi bc i’D LOVE to hear em 🤩💘✨

min yoongi, who is a young duke that took the title after his late father abdicates to travel the known world lol

min yoongi, who governs the coldest region of the kingdom (absolutely hates the climate, but loves his people)

min yoongi, who is a prodigy of the sword and one of the best swordmasters in the kingdom

min yoongi, who is renowned as a war hero that greatly contributed to winning the war against an enemy kingdom

min yoongi, who suffers from night terrors of the people he killed, of the people who betrayed him in battle, of all that blood and gore

min yoongi, whose hands shake whenever he has to hold his blade, but knows he has to get ahold of himself to do his duties

min yoongi, who hates politics and is known to have a tongue as sharp as his sword in slandering nonsensical members of the court

“Frankly, I think this whole proposal of yours, Lord Lee, is a sham that I’m wasting my precious time on.”

min yoongi, who is very close with the crown prince, and thus, much to his chagrin, is one of his most trusted advisors that’s involved with even more politics and shenanigans

“No, I’m not helping you sneak out, Taehyung. We’re here as a foreign delegation—”

min yoongi, who definitely complains about all of the paperwork he has to do, but does so anyways (he does a fantastical job with it, thank you very much)

min yoongi, who spends a lot of his free time either sleeping, or reading in his enormous library to digest knowledge (he's a curious cat sometimes ok)

min yoongi, who is very much fond of tangerines and imports it whenever its in season (his mother used to peel them for him as a child)

min yoongi, who plays the old piano in the east wing whenever he can’t sleep and learns different music from all around the world, but always tends to play his mother’s lullaby

min yoongi, who is pressured to take a wife and is constantly flocked by lords intending to sell their daughters to him

min yoongi, who, to the shock of the entire court, offers marriage to the eldest daughter of a count to a fairly small province that hosted him during the war—you

min yoongi, who swears it’s only because your family wouldn’t have enough power to interfere with his and definitely not also because you were pretty and nice and helped him through a panic attack all those years ago

“I don’t know much about being a husband, but I do know how to be a man of my word, and I swear no harm will come your way.”

min yoongi who marries you on a beautiful summer day, because he thought it'd be nice for you to have a warm and bright wedding in the capital since you'll be living with him in the north where it's constantly foggy and the winters are harsh

min yoongi, who promises to make the wedding night as comfortable and as quick as he can for your sake (but why can't he help but crave for more?)

min yoongi, who is a pretty chill and attentive husband, actually

min yoongi, who made sure to arrange you lessons that'll help you adjust to your title as duchess in the north and in the social circle as well

min yoongi, who always does his best to eat his meals with you (it’s awkward, maybe you should strike a conversation or two?)

“I, uh, heard repairments are to be done on the east wing?”

“Oh, yes, actually. There’s also a new wainscotting design I saw on the capital that I thought would suit the wall so I thought it’d be perfect to have it done as well—”

(great job! you hit the perfect topic!)

min yoongi, who asks you if you’d like something whenever he has to make a visit to the capital and if you say nothing, he'll come back with something he probably consulted someone with—a new dress? a necklace? a popular novel? (damn it, someone help him out here!)

“Here… I, uh, heard it’s popular among the ladies at the capital…”

{gives you a dress in the rest popular fashion so you stay “updated to the trends” as he says it — regrets it, because youlookbeautifulohno—}

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you shyly smile, “It’s beautiful.”

(dead. he’s dead.)

min yoongi, who becomes furious to hear about the gossip surrounding you and goes into a rant about the pretentious idiots at court

“You are Duchess Min of the north. Do not let them slander you like that. Do not hesitate to remind them of what you represent. I gave you the same power as I have when I married you.”

min yoongi who attends every ball from that season on with you by his side to rub it in their faces that the duke of the north does care for his wife, thanks : ]

min yoongi, who was pleasantly surprised when you brought him peeled tangerines to snack on while he was buried under paperwork

“Would you… would you like some?”

min yoongi, who now also peels tangerines for you whenever you two idly hang out together

min yoongi, who finds it easier to sleep with you by his side, especially after you insisted to stay by him when he had a night terror

min yoongi, who likes to take a nap with his head on your lap because you tend to play with his hair when you think he's asleep (he falls asleep right after because of it aww)

min yoongi, who keeps his hair longer than usual because you said it suits him, and absolutely refuses to let others point out or touch his hair lol

“Your hair’s gotten longer, hyung—”

“Don’t. Touch.”

min yoongi, who beams with pride every time he hears the servants praise how well the lady of the house treats them and manages the household (he's also so, so glad he doesn't have to worry about that anymore)

min yoongi, whose heart melts seeing his people love their duchess and shower you both with praises whenever you make visits to the town

min yoongi, who takes horse rides with you around his territory and will never say a word of complaint even if he’s freezing his ass off (pls make him something warm after you two go back to the castle lol)

min yoongi, who always makes sure you stay warm after he heard you go down with a fever (just how many layers do you gotta wear now? jeez)

“While I appreciate your concern, Yoongi. I don’t think I’d need a third fur coat…”

“But—”

min yoongi, who asks you one night if you, at all, regret marrying him and finds himself anxiously waiting for your response

“I find myself very fortunate to have married a man like you, Yoongi. I don’t think I’ll ever regret it.”

min yoongi, who is very relieved and enamored to hear you shyly say that (his gummy smile is unstoppable, o h n o)

min yoongi, whose heart flutters as he smiles down at your sleeping figure after your late-night talk together

Perhaps, this is a better arrangement than I thought…

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 : @mwitsmejk @dreamamubarak @unknownwalkingobject @bloodline1632

#i wrote most of these at 3 AM lol #im so soft rn #bts au #bts historical au #bts headcannons #bts writing #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #min yoongi x reader #bts moodboard #min yoongi imagines #min yoongi headcannons #min yoongi as a duke

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blueteller · 2 years

Text

TCF the Musical

Fic concept: Cale and his family watch a theater musical based on their adventures (much to Cale's horror and displeasure), "Ember Island Players" style

Raon hears about a theater play featuring Cale's group adventures. Cale really, REALLY doesn't wanna go and see it, but has little choice in the matter, once faced with the pleading faces of his children. Cale disguises himself of course, because he sure as hell doesn't wanna get recognized in the theater.

The play starts: Cale is introduced as a good-natured man, misunderstood and slandered by jealous folk (since people apparently decided that if Adin was the actual scum all along and his rep was a sham, why wouldn't the reverse be possible??) Apparently the musical decided that his past as a trash alcoholic never actually happened.

Choi Han is introduced, and the writers correctly investigated that he's from Harris Village and killed all the attackers, but was the only survivor. Cale is characterized as too righteous to let the matters be, and put this as his starting point to investigate Arm

Cale was portrayed to be humble and due to his bad rep, he wants to leave the Count's position to his brother Basen. (Real Cale is astonished, he doesn't want the position to be a SLACKER, not because of some self-sacrificial mindset!!!) But he requests to go to the capital to investigate more about Arm.

Choi Han comes along to investigate. On the way, they meet Mary. Cale isn't disgusted by her scars, and Mary promises to help the man in the future, should he ever need it.

In the capital, they're shown to meet badly disguised Rosalyn. The writers don't know about the assassination attempt, so they assume she went to investigate Arm, too. Apparently Rosalyn was credited in the musical for finding out about the mana bombs and dismantling them.

Cale and the Prince meet, and they have a whole number how instantly they recognized each other as kindred spirits. (Real Cale is dying on the inside watching this.)

Rosalyn stops the bombs in the background, and Cale stops the suicide bombers. The writers interpret Cale as having this power for a long time, but using it for the first time only in emergency, since he is a humble person who doesn't wish for glory.

Cale denies any rewards (completely untrue, Real Cale says to the kids, he took the Prince's money), and people of the Roan Kingdom start realizing just what a good person he is.

Cale goes to recover to the seashore, where he sees Toonka fighting some locals. (Those were the Whales, says Real Cale, not some mage thugs.) Cale breaks up the fight, and Toonka explains to Cale the situation in the Whipper Kingdom. Cale's idea of buying the magic tower doesn't come up here at all, and the scene makes a point that Cale and Toonka become friends.

The plot introduces us to the White Star, who is a completely crazy, power-hungry, cartoonish lunatic. Real Cale actually likes this representation a lot. He is plotting together with the Evil Imperial Prince, who is also cartoonishly evil. (Real Cale starts enjoying himself for the first time in the whole musical.)

To contrast the villains, the Just and Chivalrous Crown Prince Alberu has a number to drive the point how much he worries for his country, and the incoming wars. He thinks that perhaps with the help of Young Master Cale, they might be able to survive the incoming storms. (Real Cale is inwardly laughing hysterically, imagining Alberu's dumbfounded reaction to this scene, especially the part about Alberu's "unwavering trust in Cale's selfless heart".)

Meanwhile, Cale finished his recovery and goes to the Whipper Kingdom. His decision to buy the Magic Tower is shown to be a spur-of-a-moment thing, as the Whipper Kingdom needs money to continue fighting against the Empire, who the Crown Prince suspects is working with Arm. (Real Cale is disgusted how his very clever scam was turned into a selfless deed in this musical.) Toonka is indebted to Cale and loudly proclaims him his friend (since he does that in real life and the writers had sources)

Then Cale is shown to meet the Cat Children. Real Hong and On are irritated they came in so late. Raon is grumpy he isn't there at all. Real Cale comforts him that he had been hidden this whole time, of course they wouldn't know about him. The children say that the Queen of the Jungle is trapped in the Path of No Return, and Cale heroically helps rescue her. Cale uses his Water Ancient Power, which according to the writers, he found in the Ubarr shores during recovery. (Real Cale is surprised at the accidental accuracy.)

Cale saves the Jungle, and Litana has a number praising him. (Real Cale intentionally falls asleep to stop watching his character being portrayed as embarrassingly pure-hearted hero)

By the time he wakes up, the plot passed his "Heroic Actions" in the Empire and the war arc begins. Choi Han has a whole heroic solo number as he defeats Clopeh, who immediately is dazzled by the grace of his enemies, and joins them. (Real Cale is once again missed how completely off the mark the whole thing is, completely skipping Clopeh's torture and everything.)

We skip past various battles, and finally we arrive at the moment when the White Star shows up. He and Cale have a duet about destiny and all that jazz (mirroring the rumors started by the White Star's nonsense theory about Cale being "the messenger of the gods"). At this point, Real Cale has enough, and completely stops paying attention, to save his sanity.

Turns out, the kids didn't like it. It was much too inaccurate, and Raon wasn't in it. Cale comforts them that of course it was bad, because Raon wasn't in it. Raon decides he should start writing that biography with Mary, Clopeh and Dodori, much to Cale's horror.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of the count’s family #cale henituse #cale #tcf cale #tcf humor #humor #musical au #kinda?#reaction fic #kinda??#my wrtitng #tcf fic #yet another fic concept that I will probably never write lol

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qierxing · 1 year

Text

War Cry

Commissioned by the lovely Veritaventis Yan! Kaeya Alberich x OC

“Khaenri'ah, huh? You sure know a lot! The legacy of Khaenri'ah is long gone. The sinners are all that's left, and they're not worth mentioning.”

i. “Sacrifices must be made.”

Briony would like to say she’s lived to see many things.

Her life has long made its way through the wheel of fortune; and with each high and low she has always endured. Unfortunate deaths, nasty slander, betrayals from those she thought she could trust. What’s a little apocalypse on top of it all?

Where is her wheel pointing now?

She’s studied Khaenri’ah. Built by humans, for humans–she thought reading through all the old texts and inscriptions would have prepared her for–for something. A sign. A prophecy of some sorts. Anything that could have prepared her for fire, screaming, and terrible monsters heard only in stories. What good does being the leading expert on the topic do if it doesn’t help you?

It was like the gates to hell had opened: hilichurls, abyss mages, heralds, dark shadow knights, and all manners of monsters flooded the stone streets. The skies turned dark, ominous purple clouds shutting out the sun. The ground trembled as they marched amidst the screams of frightened citizens. They did not falter or stop, even as people ran this way and that.

She’s one of the luckier ones, she knows. At least she had a Vision. The abyss forces did not hold back their intimidation, whether that meant setting fire to innocent families’ houses or cutting down those who happened to be in their path. It was all she could do to pull people out of the way of monsters.

Last she was able to remember during the chaos, Razor and Fischl were trying to hold back abyss mages from the elder Adventure Guild members while Bennett was doing his best to evacuate them to safety. That was all she was able to catch before she was lifted away screaming and pounding on Kaeya’s back. That bastard. She thought nothing could phase her anymore after her adopted brother attempted to sabotage her career in the name of family. Evidently, she was proven wrong.

She sucks in a deep breath, knuckles taut around the kitchen counter. Focus. The ingredients sit in front of her tauntingly. Apples, beef, carrots…she’s made this stew too many times to count. At this point, she’s sure she could make the dish blind.

First, the vegetables and beef. The knife in her hands feels heavy as she chops the carrots and dice the apples. Did the soldiers who came through the gates feel the same with their blades? Even as people cried out, they did not blink as they slashed through flesh as they marched on. Those abyss heralds–how could they have been humans if they could so easily cut down their own?

Focus! She shakes her head violently. The meat and vegetables are done, so now it’s time to start caramelizing them along with the aromatics. The hiss of the butter and garlic clears her mind if only for a moment. Her hands drop in the carrots and onions automatically, moving the spoon to evenly distribute them across the bottom.

Bennet, Fischl, and Razor, were they okay? They were still so young–even if they were seasoned adventurers and fighters, they cannot take on a full legion of hilichurls and abyss mages by themselves. Archons, what if they–no, they wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t sink so low to harm mere children…would they?

Venti, where was he in the chaos? The steak sizzles as the air is filled with a hearty aroma as she makes sure to sear each side. The apples and potatoes follow after. Briony knows that Venti is more than the weak bard he presents himself as, but she worries nonetheless. Poetic ballads do not halt the hearts of tyrants and monsters.

Almost done. She pours in water, adding seasoning and herbs, before putting on the lid. Jean. Was she okay? She once again finds herself clutching the counter, staring off into nothing. If the mere townspeople were nothing more than cannon fodder to the troops that stormed through, then she can only imagine what has happened to the Knights of Favonius order, the protectors of Mondstadt.

“Smells good~” Warm air puffs into her ear and her world screeches to a stop.

The knife in her hands finds its way upon a defined jugular.

If there’s anything she knows, it’s that Kaeya loves his games. She swears it’s some way to stimulate the constantly active brain that he has. (If she had to make it into a thesis report, she bet she could write it in a day) So she knows that she shouldn’t give him the reactions he wants. But somehow, he just always knows how to get under her skin. Is it his inherent ability to be annoying? Or an acquired talent? Either way, it’s infuriating.

Kaeya grins, despite the blade pin pricking his skin and letting out beads of ruby red blood.

“Whoa there, honey. This is quite a greeting for you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be sneaking up on people in the first place.” She bites back.

“What can I say? You just make the cutest faces when you’re surprised.”

She scrunches her face in disgust, and he laughs heartily, as if he weren’t close to having his throat slit.

“What’s for dinner?” Kaeya tilts his head as she continues to glare. He opts to lean around to check the pot, and turns to her with a cat-like grin on his face.

“Let me guess. Northern Apple stew?”

She wants to smack that smug look off his face. As if he had any right to talk about how she turned to her comfort food to destress. She could write essays upon essays on Kaeya’s inordinate love of wine and all things alcoholic and how cause and effect from personality and trauma played into it.

“If you keep acting like that, I’m not letting you have any.” She brusquely replies, removing the pot from the stove and putting out the fire. Kaeya follows her to the quaint dining table as she sets down the pot.

He hums. “Why, you break my heart. You know I love your cooking more than anything.”

Not enough to keep your loyalty to Mondstadt, but she keeps her mouth shut. She’s so drained, she’s not sure she can play tonight’s round of psychological warfare. Instead, she watches as Kaeya sets out the cutlery and plates, waving at her to sit down.

Dinner is strangely quiet, however. She expects some kind of stupid quip as they cut into the beef and spear a fork through the potatoes. Or an exaggerated re-telling of his day of work; maybe even just a fantastical story of pirates and mermaids. But there’s none, and she finds the dead silence more unsettling than Kaeya’s smooth timber.

“You must hate me, huh?”

She pauses, fork halfway to her mouth. Putting it down, she ruminates on what she should say.

Yes, is the first thing that comes to her mind. No, is what follows after–because even after everything he’s done, he’s one of the few to see her for her without any rose filters or expectations. She can breathe around him, talk to him without fearing the weight of her words. After spending years in stifling academic seminars and upright noble balls, Kaeya was a person she could trust to be impartial and free.

“It’d be hard for me to say that I don’t hate you right now.” She manages evenly.

Kaeya observes her face then closes his eyes, no doubt thinking about her statement.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me,” he begins, “Just know that I had my own reasons. And this is the best outcome.”

Something in her snaps. From nerves, from anxiety, or just from being tired of having to deal with Kaeya for so long, she’s not sure.

“The best outcome is Mondstadt being burned down?” She slams her hands on the table, standing up. “Innocent people have been assaulted, ‘all for the best outcome’? Are you hearing yourself right now?”

Kaeya’s starry eye reflects her visage angry and out of breath, sending shudders down her spine.

“The townspeople have been mostly unharmed.” Her eyes widened at the casual statement. Then, the kids, they were okay? And even the Adventure Guild elders? Oh, thank the Seven–

“And the Knights have peacefully surrendered to cooperate with Khareni’ah.” Her heart drops to her stomach. Did Jean realize the price she had to pay when those monsters stormed in? Or was her hand forced against her will?

“Peacefully, huh?” She envisions the beef she’s stabbing is Kaeya’s flesh; if only for a bitter, violent moment.

“Would you rather have them forced into submission?”

Her blood runs cold at the empty expression Kaeya’s face adorns. There’s a glint in his eyes that she’s never seen before, not even when she saw him facing enemies. Her eyes narrow into dagger points.

Is this his true face?

–

ii. “Now cut me loose: I’ll show you the meaning of sacrifice.”

Kaeya knew the consequences of taking Khaenri’ah's hand.

"This is your chance. You are our last hope."

He could’ve forgotten his father’s words when his hands clasped around his shoulders that fateful night. Turned over a new leaf when Crepus found him soaked to the bone near the vineyard, hurrying him inside before he could die of hypothermia. When Varka knighted him, he could’ve moved on from the past and broken free from his father’s heavy expectations upon him.

And yet, even after Crepus died, he could not stop but think about how even the mighty fell.

So he resolves turning his back on Diluc's betrayed face, not just once, but twice. He puts aside what Jean had taught him in protecting Mondstadt, if only to crush the guilt that came with facing her as she is surrounded by abyss heralds. He knows Lisa would’ve wiped him off the map if they tried to do anything to Jean. And Amber, the young clever outrider who has always pointed at him anytime something suspicious happened. Now, she will no longer be wrong.

But he could not turn back now.

Khaenri’ah was his home. They were humans, just like the other nations. Even if the Heavenly Principles gave judgment upon his country, they are, and still, people at their core. And when his countrymen fell, what did the other Archons do?

They turned away and closed their eyes.

Still, even if Briony had tried, he knew she could not do the same. Not when she was forced to face him and his eyes. That is the one thing he always found endearing about her. It was hard to find someone like her who is able to care, and so fiercely and genuinely at that. Even as rumors swirled around him, she still smiled and invited him in for tea on a sunny afternoon.

But if he had to be honest, maybe what he enjoyed most, is when she gets mad.

The fire in her eyes burns brighter than even Diluc’s flames that scorched his right eye that fateful rainy night. Like the explosive burn of Death After Noon, Briony’s sharp rebuttals leave no one standing. Her words are no longer shrouded and censored by an internal review, but instead carry the blunt force of the knowledge she carries. He’s beginning to realize he’s developed quite the titillating taste for the finer things in life.

He waits for her heavy breaths to slow and regulate.

“The townspeople have been mostly unharmed.” He watches as Briony perks up at his sentence. He knows that her pride won’t allow her to ask him directly about the people she cares about. “And the Knights have peacefully surrendered to cooperate with Khaenri’ah.”

A flurry of emotions flit by on her face. Relief for a couple moments, then worry, and finally, anger, once again.

“Peacefully, huh?” She scoffs as she forcefully spears a fork into a piece of beef.

“Would you rather have them forced into submission?”

“Don’t be morbid.”

“I’m just saying,” he hums, amused at her pointed glare, “it could’ve turned out a lot worse than what the current situation is.”

Her knife makes a ugly screech as she pointedly drags it across the ceramic while cutting into the beef. “And there are situations where it shouldn’t be happening at all.”

He twirls the knife in his hands as he meets her eyes. “Riddle me this, O’ leading expert on Khaenri’ah. What do you think these forces are hoping to achieve from all this?”

It’s clear that she’s taken aback at his sudden question. Her face flickers between confusion and distrust, unsure of his intentions behind the words. There’s something captivating in the way her dark eyebrows and viridian eyes scrunch in deep thought, clever mind already turning wheels upon his question.

“The forces have been ruthless, but if you are to be trusted on your word, and if the townspeople and the Knights have been spared…” Ah, there it is. That lovely expression of realization dawning upon her mien. “Don’t tell me…”

He smiles and leans forward in a conspiratory manner. “Khaenri’ah is a country for the people, by the people. My countrymen may resent the people who love the Seven, but we know better to misdirect our anger.”

She’s left frozen, staring down at her plate in muted horror.

“We’re only asking for the Archons to help clean up the mess that they stood by on the sidelines for.” He leans back and shrugs. “Again, I’m not asking for your forgiveness. But I don’t want you to get hurt trying to do something foolish out there.”

That seems to melt her frozen stature. “Do something foolish? Like trying to make sure no one gets hurt?”

“There have been no casualties, despite the mayhem that happened.” He stands, picking up his cleared plate. “That, I will not lie to you about.”

She’s silent as he also takes her plate. As he turns around to head to the kitchen sink, a broken sigh has him stopping in place.

“Was everything we went through a lie?” Briony hunches over with a wobbly whisper. “Was it amusing, leading me around like some kind of ignorant dog?”

Diluc said something similar that cold rainy night. Just like Briony had her trembling hands clasped together, his adopted brother had to take his claymore with both hands instead of his usual one hand technique, due to them shaking so much. With anger or sorrow, he doesn’t know.

He’s silent for a moment. It would be all too easy to lie and smile it off, but he knows that would silently close another door that could never be opened again. And he could not have her cut him off, not when he has fallen in love so deeply and ardently. He doesn’t want to be left alone on that cold, dirt road anymore.

“If I said yes, would that make you feel better?” He places the dishes into the sink, the hollow clinks filling the void.

He only gets silence in response, and when he looks over, he flinches. Briony’s tears flow down her cheeks and drip onto the pine wood table. He purses his lips in hesitation before he kneels down to eye level with her.

Lifting her head gently, he stares into her glistening eyes as he wipes away the tears oh so gently with his thumbs. Foreheads pressed together, they both stare into each other's eyes.

“I love you.” The bold declaration opens his heart for only a moment. Glacial ice thawing under her pleading gaze. “And nothing will change that, sweetheart.”

If he could drink up all the despair and sorrow reflecting in those deep forest hues, he would be a staggering drunk outside Cat’s Tail. Is it cruel of him to think that Briony looks her most beautiful now? Broken down and hanging off his every word, she looks like a painting; gleaming tears like shining pearls upon her tawny complexion, dark mossy hair like swirling tree branches framing her face, all for his viewing.

“But I don’t love you.” His heart freezes over at the genuine response.

He smirks.

“It’s a good thing, then, that you don’t have a choice in that matter.” His voice carries no hostility as he abruptly removes his hands from her face, causing her to almost fall forward into air. She splutters as she looks up in dazed confusion.

“Prisoners of war don’t usually get to have a say in how their jail cell or warden is.” He cheekily adds, shrugging on his fur cloak. As he approaches the door, he takes a final look back at Briony sprawled haphazardly while gazing at him with an expression that he prays to be desperation. He closes his eyes and turns away. He’s losing his touch. Not many could get under his skin or the careful facade he wrapped around himself. And yet, she manages to do so without even batting an eye.

“And as your prison warden, you won’t be going anywhere.” He swings open the door with grim determination. Remember why you’re doing this. He had long steeled himself for this when he decided to knock upon Diluc’s door and confess his dark secrets of a mission that could not be heard by unknowing ears.

His Vision sends frigid air frothing around his shoulder and for a moment, he lets the cold envelope him once more.

The click of the door closing behind him syncs with the gongs of the bells in the Favonius Cathedral. How ironic, that the chimes that once brought hope into the hearts of others, Kaeya thinks, now strike fear of those in line for execution.

#yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere kaeya alberich #my works

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biblioklept-writes · 1 year

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The Foreign Queen, Part 3

A/N: This does not have much Aemond in it, but we see the reader bonding with Haelena. Also this does contain Daemon slander, if you don’t like this i'd recommend you skip this over. (This is NOT proofread, so please lmk of any spelling or grammatical errors, thanks!)

Word Count: 1.1 k

Summary: You find yourself with the beloved Queen Haelena, learning why the people loved her so dearly.

Series Masterlist | HOTD Masterlist

The air was tense, everyone in the Red Keep pulled taut as a string. Word of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s husband Daemon Targaryen plotting to usurp the Iron Throne was spreading faster than a wildfire. The Rogue Prince was infamous for his bloodlust and affinity for wars, and with the brief interaction she had shared with the blacks, she had decided that she did not like him.

Crass, wild, and entitled were the words your mind thought when you had met him. Other less than insulting words also came to her head, but you didn’t express them for the sake of court manners. Daemon Targaryen certainly had skill with his wicked sword and powerful dragons, but whatever skill he had in combat was diminished by his ability to jump to thoughtless conclusions and the less than flattering words he had expressed of you and your people.

Despite the gossip that had been filled in your ears about the Dowager Queen and her children, the Princess had found the Red Keep and its Royal residents far more welcoming than your previous hosts. Must have been your biassed mind, but thus far, all the rumours had been just that - rumours.

Presently you were sitting with the gentle-souled Haelena, embroidering a gold jhumka on the corner of a green kerchief. It was made of the finest silk you had got from home, embroidering something for the Queen herself. Haelena sat across you, lost in her own beautiful world, embroidering flowers the princess had never seen before. Later, you were expected to accompany the Queen as she toured King’s Landing to meet her people. From what you had observed, the smallfolk loved their Queen, for she was kind and patient to anyone and everyone.

“Mighty Queen braves the storm,” Haelena’s sweet, sweet voice muttered. “The dragon blazed it down, the King can only sit and watch,” she continued, “As the enemies turn to torch.”

“My Queen, do you see something?” You gently asked.

“Mighty Queen braves the storm,” Haelena repeated, smiling, seemingly oblivious to the ominous poem she just recited. Glancing down at the golden embroidery in her hand, the Queen said, “I find it quite lovely, the design you have sewn, what is this ring called, Princess?”

“It is a piece of Bharatiya jewellery. We wear it with our fancier clothes, or even otherwise.” You explained. “Would Your Grace like one?”

“I think Jaehara would love those.” Haelena examined the pattern, a serene smile on her face. “That looks really pretty, Princess.”

“I’ll have some personally delivered to you, Your Grace.” You said, bowing your head with a smile. “Now, pray tell, do you prefer gold or silver, My Queen?”

“Gold is like the sun - warm, ever-present, glaring.” She muttered, half to herself. “Silver is like the moon - serene, kind, gentle.” Haelena pondered for a moment and said, “I will have one of each, My Lady.”

“And I shall personally see to it, my Queen.” You smiled. No wonder the small folk loved their Queen (Queen-Consort, rather) even though they disliked the King. And there was the youngest Prince, Daeron the Daring, who was even adored by people who despised the Targaryen invaders. You were yet to make an acquaintance of the youngest prince, yet you had never heard ill of him.

Haelena thought you were nice, and brought her pet spider to see you. The creature’s wrinkly-black legs made you a bit queasy, but you had seen worse. You had even killed some of them with your slippers - you didn’t have it in your heart to break that news to the Queen. You didn’t imagine she’d be fond of you after revealing that. Either way, the spider had seemingly taken after Haelena and didn’t move anywhere from her palm, then calmly crawled back into the cage when the Queen commanded. Perhaps it knew that she was the Queen.

“Haelena-” the Dowager Queen Alicent called out to her daughter, stopping when she saw you seated beside the Queen. You promptly got up and curtseyed, then stood still with you back straight. “Princess, it’s good to see you here. I am most glad that Haelena has found a friend.” She glanced at you once over, taking in the silk saree that you had adorned for the occasion. “It is great that I found you here. I thought it would be great if you could join us for dinner tomorrow night. We will host a feast to celebrate this new alliance between Bharat and Westeros.”

“I made an alliance with your son, My Lady,” You decided to say. “I fear I am not loyal to Westeros, only to King Aegon and his family.”

“You speak dangerous words,” Alicent warned, but her big brown eyes swarmed with relief. “You might be tried for treason.”

“It is not treason if I am not betraying my land.” You simply said. “As for my words, I only speak the truth as it is. I am not a fan of coddling lies, My Lady.”

“Your boldness is refreshing and admirable, Princess Y/N” The King’s mother admitted, eyes filled with pride. “But people have been harmed for much less,”

“I must pick my company carefully then,” You smiled at the previous queen, who returned your gesture.

“Indeed,” Alicent agreed. “The hour is late, I must put my grandchildren to bed,”

The little blond twins followed their grandmother out, giggling about something. The two innocent souls seemed unaware of the war threatening to start, and you would prefer to keep it that way. These toddlers deserved to have a proper childhood, as did the thousands of others who lived. At least, you would try to push the war back until your civilians were safe back in Bharat.

“I should take my leave, Your Grace.” You said, curtseying in front of Haelena. “It was wonderful spending time with you… I will look forward to our next meeting.”

Haelena sweetly smiled at you as you turned to leave, her ominous words echoing in your mind, and the kind smile she sent your way. You didn’t want her to get caught up in the bubbling war, but there would be no way to stop it from reaching her if the war started. Such a serene woman did not have to see the horrors of war - yet, she would be the one to suffer the most - Queens and mothers see the most losses in a war, and Haelena Targaryen was both.

Had you stayed mere moments longer, you would have seen the Prince come to his sister’s chambers to fetch his nephew and niece, only to find them both gone with their grandmother and as sister with a peaceful smile on her face, admiring the golden embroidery of your jhumkas on the green silk. Lately, Haelena had always been troubled, plagued by nightmares and visions words couldn’t share.

Aemond was relieved to see her finally relax, yet his curiosity got the best of him. What could have transpired to finally calm Haelena down?

You didn’t see when Aemond held a calculating glint in his eye as his sister recited the words to him, didn’t see when his interest turned into determination, when the little embers that urged him to get to know you turned into dancing flames. For now, he stoked the fires, hiding them like he hid the sapphire in his eye socket. Fire always gives smoke, he knew that, but he had long since mastered to disguise the smoke.

“Mighty Queen braves the storm, The dragon blazed it down, the King can only sit and watch, As the enemies turn to torch.”

Tags: @km-ffluv

Do let me know if you want to be added in the tags

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x desi!reader #haelena targaryen #hotd #hotd x desi!reader

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bloopdydooooo · 9 months

Note

what's your doctor who wtnv crossover like? 👀

i am so glad you asked! (category 7 adhd event to follow)

so our doctor is cecil (no assigned number since i didnt want to cram the wtnv characters into a doctor who plot line when it would be so easy to make a new one special for them (though cecil does come from a welsh surname meaning sixth (among other things) so he could replace the 6th doctor? it doesn’t matter either way)) and while his name is, as always, just ‘the Doctor’, he lets carlos call him cecil as a treat cause they’re in looooooove <33 (he used cecil palmer like john smith when they met and carlos really like the name (it’s so i don’t have to completely erase either ‘the doctor’ or ‘cecil’ and i think i’m awfully clever) anyways he’s like doctor-weird plus cecil-weird, because they’re all so fucking bizarre (affectionate) he kicks off the fic adjusting to the new body and i felt the need to acknowledge the fact that cecil is usamerican while the doctors generally are Not (is a good fic if you don’t slander your own accent a little bit?)

i considered making carlos the doctor, because he’s. you know. a scientist and not a silly goofy gay who works in community radio, but since so much of cecil’s story revolves around him not being quite as person as the rest of the people around him, about him losing track of his age and everything he’s been through, of him canonically dying multiple times, about his relationships with family and parenthood (etc) i just felt like it would be such a waste to not make him the doctor, yk? (i also considered changing up what it meant to be the doctor to include cecil’s title of ‘the voice’ but that felt like too much so we have doctor!cecil now)

so that means carlos is the companion, he’s introduced while studying the phantom ocean which was actually just like. a big weird alien fish. then they go to the dog park and the desert otherworld and have a bunch of doctor who-ified wtnv adventures together (like lee marvin‘a birthdays, the whispering forest, the auction, etc… but make it dr who sci-fi)

i know most of the actual episodes are the doctor saves his companion and Others, but i’m such a sucker for ‘the doctor needs help’ that i wrote in four chapters of carlos saving doctor!cecil (technically could be six, depends how you count it)

and we finish off with a daleks confrontation which takes place during the blood space wars, because you have to have the daleks at least once, and it’s a good cap on a fic

i’ve made it 13 chapters long, cause all the new who seasons are well. 13 episodes long. and i’m considering doing a (not-)christmas (because even though doctor!cecil wouldn’t be jewish it would be incredibly ethically fucked up if i just. chucked a canon jewish character into a christmas landscape w/out acknowledging it) special afterwards as is customary, to follow the bbc’s standards

i am literally so invested in this fic i’ve written the first three chapters so far and they’re all like double my usual length and i’m considering making them longer because i think there’s still more i could add.

anyways thank you so much for asking i am in love with the world i have created. (would you like the link to the doc? (im so proud of this i want everyone to read it and i only want to post it when i know that i have enough of a buffer for regular updates, given how long the chapters are) (obviously it’s fine if you don’t want to read it no pressure))

here’s a drawing of doctor!cecil i made (though i changed the cape to a tailcoat because it felt Better)

[ID: a black and whit pencil drawing of cecil as the doctor. he’s got dark skin and graying black hair. he’s wearing a puffy-sleeved shirt under a vest and a loosely-done tie. he’s wearing a bunch of jewelry, cat-ear headphones, and star-shaped glasses with beads on his glasses chain. he has multiple chains and beads handing from his belt and is wearing back pants with white pockets. he has a cape tied around his neck and in one hand he’s holding the sonic screwdriver, which he’s looking at and smiling. beside him it says ‘the Doctor (a.k.a. cecil)’ End ID]

i did draw carlos but he’s just like. some guy and i’m honestly not proud enough of that to post it here.

ok i think that’s all (it’s not but you get it)

#ask tag #again. thank you for asking.#i’m insane over my own creation #foolishender #but really though do you want to read it (< rabid with desire to share)#(i’m on s5 e12 of new who btw so like. no spoilers please? just in case)#if anyone reading this wants the link they too can have it

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aristre · 1 year

Note

please assign songs to characters from guardians of the lamb.. i will listen to them <3

I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! dude i haven't read the updates in so long i bet moogil's gay ass is in the icu now. these songs are exclusively recent from my liked songs <3

songs + guardians of the lamb characters

yang hari

friction by cafune

i think some of the repeated metaphors in the song, falling asleep, running away from issues, really fit hari :)

[fold under / a deeper slumber / i left you with what didn't fit / i ran so far away from it] i feel like these lines work well with mideum as hari's way of escaping from her memories teehee

[i think we've waited long enough / i think we might be old enough / to face the things we've avoided] and this for the recent arc where my beautiful amazing gorgeous girl is confronting her past dude i need to catch up on guardians of the lamb.

lee moogil / gale

dan the dancer by mitski

i TOLD you. always a mitski song when katherine assigns songs. after going through a couple mitski songs i settled on this one bc it's about loving someone more than life itself but never letting the other person know. because moogil loves hari sooo much he's always getting beat up for her but he never tries to make her worry he's selfless about his love which is so unlike him which is why that genuine love he has for her is the bedroom dancer of the mitski song he really does love her he really does

[and when she'd ask to hold hands / he would smile and / let one of his hands go / his whole life in one hand] the titular dan the dancer of the mitski song is hanging from a cliff with both hands but willingly uses one hand for a kind but ultimately simple gesture for the one he loves. MOOGIL

[once back in his room / he'd return his waving hand / back to its cliff / he liked her more than life itself / i'm sure] once again he is self sacrificial in regards to his love for hari but its okay. happy ending please. please

ahn kangsoo

shrike by hozier

dude i've been listening to more hozier recently and this is one of them. i think i focused too hard on unrequited love (deserved tbh) and this ended up being the first one that fit! teehee

[i couldn't utter my love when it counted / ah, but i'm singing like a bird about it now / i couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted / ah, but I'm singing like a bird about it now] HE MISSED HIS DANG CHANCE WITH HARI!! good but still

[then when i met you, my virtues uncounted / all of my goodness is going with you now] also i feel like he tries sooo hard to be nice and good and the moral one of the love triangle but the truth is moogil loves her more. sorry for the slander mr kang

all of hari's friends bc i don't know the difference

#girlspkout by taeyeon & chanmina

yeah

[come on girls / this is our generation] they're girls generation

[girls speak it loud / speak it loud, speak it loud / come on, girls] you asking the hari friend mole to speak out loud who they are during that long long period of time LMFAO

evil cult people

runaway by varsity

i won't lie i couldn't actually find a song and the first verse of this mentions worship so here we go.

[idols in the air / vanish, then they disappear / how can i worship properly?] this is mideum disappearing i think.

[runaway / i don't even know your name / you're not going anywhere tonight] and this is them kidnapping hari i think.

uhhhhh mideum

seek and destroy by sza

this one is a reach cuz idk any songs about being miserable and jealous off the top of my head. she's just jealous she's not fun and beautiful and cool like hari so this is about her wanting to destroy hari. lol

[the art of war, goddamnit, i'm drained / now that i ruin everything, i cannot complain / now that I've ruined everything, i'm so fucking free] she makes attempts to take over the body or get moogil but they don't work except i guess she probs feels better. i guess

[all the pain i know / is used to fuel my soul / no control] she has no healthy coping mechanisms

#guardians of the lamb #to save yang hari #yang hari #lee moogil #ahn kangsoo

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writing-badger · 2 years

Text

Twitter Polls Make For The Bloodiest Battlefields - Chapter 2

There Aren't As Many Voice Actors As You Would Think

1 (Previous Chapter) • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 6.5

Pairing: Sakata Gintoki x Reigen

Summary: Anime Twitter was thrown into chaos. Thirty-two "DILFs" were thrown into a merciless battle to find out who truly encapsulated the title of Dad I'd Like to Fuck. Two competitors begin to wonder whether the battle is worth it and maybe, just maybe, they can overcome their differences to find a way out.

Word Count: 2,904

Warnings: Too many DILFs

Gintoki is under no illusion as to what a DILF is. After all, he is a man of culture, as a certain hair-cutting samurai would say. He keeps thinking about any possible reasons as to why he might have been chosen. He does have a rather impressive chest, although this is mostly because the animation staff started putting more budget into him rather than an effort on his part. He used to be more like a noodle, limp and unimpressive. Maybe his upgrade in appearance appealed to a certain demographic, but his personality should have been a major turn-off. Right? What sort of father would fight his daughter over who gets to eat the last piece of dog food?

But then again, in a DILF contest, does personality even matter?

If not, then he might actually stand a chance. With newfound confidence, he materialises into a white void that is almost completely empty save for a large figure a short distance away.

This confidence is immediately smashed into a thousand tiny, tiny pieces as he gets a closer look at the man. From just the bright red hair and daunting size, Gin immediately knows who he is looking at. How could he ever entertain the idea of being more fuckable than Shanks? Not that he would ever admit it out loud, but he used to re-read Shanks' chapters over and over again knowing that he wouldn't be seen for years on end.

Gintoki is completely frozen as he looks at one of the most fearsome and stunning pirates in manga, like a child meeting their hero. Meanwhile, Shanks is sitting on the floor, one leg stretched out and his back resting against an invisible wall. His head is lowered slightly as if he is sleeping, his hair swaying lightly as if being rustled by a breeze. His cloak covers most of his body, hiding the impressive sword that is always by his side.

You would think that, with his previous crossover experience, Gin would be handling this like a professional but he is absolutely not.

This situation is unlike anything he has ever done before. Usually, he was just being isekaied into a fantasy world, hijacking time-slots, or hiding in the background of films. Having the Red-Haired Shanks sitting in front of him is nothing like running around with those Sket Dance punks who tried to leech off of his popularity. And then their creator then had the audacity to slander Sorachi in a different manga. Gin-san may not like school festivals, but he did not let his youth go to waste. He was busy fighting wars against amanto and trying to tame his unstained hair. He swears that if he ever meets that obnoxious ogre, he’s going to give the loser a piece of his mind.

“You know,” a smooth voice suddenly rings out, drawing Gintoki’s gaze over to Shanks, “with such a sour look on your face, it would be easy to mistake you for an enemy.” From underneath his hair, Gin can see a single eye trained on him like a tiger waiting to attack. A shiver crawls up his spine as he quickly tries to look as defenceless as possible.

“Oh no, no,” Gin quickly says, waving his hands slightly to try and show he means no harm, “I’m just a big fan of yours and, well, you’re a lot more intimidating in real life than in the ma… um… on your wanted poster.”

At this, Shanks stands up and Gintoki has to strain to look up at him. For a moment, he wonders if this was how Takasugi felt all the time, but he quickly brushes the thought from his head. He really doesn't need those kinds of thoughts coming back right now. Instead, he focuses on the pirate's face, finding that it looks so much more defined and handsome than he remembered. The three iconic scars run over his left eye, only adding to his appearance. When he was younger, Gin had tried to convince Zura to give him similar wounds, although Shoyo immediately put a stop to it. For a second, he lowers his eyes as he tries to push the memory away, but he ends up being eye level with Shanks's tastefully exposed chest. The loose-fitting shirt leaving very little to the imagination. It takes a lot of willpower for Gin to tear his gaze away.

There is an icy silence as sweat begins to bead on Gin's forehead. All it would take is a single blast of Conqueror’s Haki for Gintoki to be knocked into oblivion and, if Shanks knew what Gin was thinking, he would probably never wake up again.

And then Shanks starts to laugh. It starts off as a rather light laugh but, within seconds, the sound is booming around the room as Shanks tries to calm himself down a little.

“Sorry about that,” Shanks says, “it’s just I’ve never seen someone looking so angry while barefoot.”

Gin quickly looks down at his feet, noticing that his shoes are missing, probably still back with Kagura and Shinpachi. He’s lucky that this is just a fanfic, otherwise, he would have to worry about his feet pictures being shared on some sketchy website. If people want his feet pic, then he is going to make a profit off of them. They are his feet after all.

“Oh,” he says as he wriggles his toes, almost as if he is surprised to see them.

“You didn’t even notice, huh?” Shanks says with a smile, his icy mood completely melting away. Gin, meanwhile, is thanking his Ketsuno Ana Zodiac Reading that he didn’t immediately make an enemy out of a fearsome pirate.

“Well, you know how it is with being teleported into a blank void and all that.”

“And it looks like we aren’t the only ones,” Shanks says as he gestures to something behind Gintoki.

Turning around, Gintoki spots a strange floating light that slowly morphs into the shape of a man. And then another, and another. It seems that whatever happened to them is quickly ramping up in scale. By the time the lights stop appearing there are thirty-one men, many of whom look extremely confused and wary.

Gin ends up recognising a lot of them, and for the most part, he appreciates the taste of whoever organised the competition. Kurosaki Isshin is often an overlooked hottie due to that loser Aizen and his stupid glasses reveal that still lives in Gin's mind rent-free.

A couple of the choices are odd for an Anime contest… Dracula, for example, is standing in the corner glaring at every single person that moves. Firstly, he's from a videogame, and if you wanted to push it, a Western animation. But neither of these things are technically anime. Not that he isn't hot, it's just that Gin would be a little bit annoyed if he won and it's not like the guy needs the money. He lives in a castle while Gin struggles to pay rent for his flat.

Some of the others haven’t even been in an anime yet, standing out with their strangely papery appearance, although he can't deny that it adds some charm to Kishibe. Not that Gin was paying particular attention to him or anything, he's not getting involved with any character that works with any government-sanctioned agency. He just knows how to respect and appreciate his elders… as long as they aren’t trying to squeeze rent out of him.

What stands out most to Gin is the fact that, of all the DILFs in anime, Ikari Gendo is standing there as if he is meant to be a part of this group. How could anyone who wears shades every second of the day think that they look cool? Worse still, Gin can’t even openly criticise his inclusion after what happened between him and Hasegawa. They are practically the same man with the only difference being their employment status. It makes Gin feel a little bit nauseous inside. If he ends up hearing Hasegawa’s voice coming out of Ikari’s body then he might just die on the spot. It also makes him wonder about all those other fathers that could have been chosen… like Oscar Vessalius or Joseph Joestar. How on earth did Joseph not make it? Sure his grandson is standing off to Gin’s left, but what about his grandfather with his striking good looks and perfect voice, huh?

Gin has to take a moment to calm himself down as he continues to keep an eye on the other competitors. Thankfully, for the most part, everyone seems calm, but there are a couple of loose canons that could cause an untold amount of damage if left unchecked. A loud buzzing sound rings through the space. A couple of the men look startled while others don't respond at all.

“Welcome, gentlemen, to the Ultimate Anime DILF Awards,” a robotic voice states, crispy static overlaying their words, “we are waiting for our final contestant and then the competition shall begin.” The static sound abruptly cuts off, leaving the room in silence. A couple of the men have gathered in groups, mostly based on people who they already know. Gin is still standing relatively close to Shanks, but tries to keep some distance so that he doesn’t make a complete fool out of himself.

As he is standing there, a man in a festival mask walks over to him, Gin immediately recognises him from Kimetsu no Yaiba but remains quiet. He can’t afford to have the others figure out that he knows who most of them are, it would be more than a little suspicious.

Hey guys, don’t worry. I'm from a parody anime and know who most of you are. Oh, by the way, a couple of you are going to die soon. I hope we all get along!

It took all the strength in his body to not go and warn Minato of what was coming his way when he first caught a glimpse of him. He doesn’t even know if it would change anything… like would it create a parallel reality where Naruto was raised by his father. Would he become fed up with his dad spending more time at work than with him, becoming bitter and desperate for attention? Would Naruto become like Boruto?

Gintoki shudders at the thought.

Someone really needs to say something and save Gin from the mental spiral that he is falling into as he begins to rewrite the entirety of Naruto in his head.

“You know,” a voice pipes up from the other side of the room, “I’m not sure how I got here. But I was on a space station about half an hour ago and I really need to get back.” The man who is talking is Ishigami Byakuya. He has all the makings for a strong leader, something that he has put into practice many times before and, out of all the people standing in the white void, he is probably one of the most traditionally qualified. But he is also completely out of his depth. “So does anyone know either where we are, or how we got here?”

“It appears that we are in a pocket reality,” Ryūken says after being nudged on the shoulder by Isshin, “I have no intention of playing along with this farce though, so stay out of my way.” He quickly adds this on while glaring at the bearded man next to him.

“Come on Ishida, we all want to go home,” Isshin reminds him, “I hope my two little princesses are doing alright. They must be so worried about their dad.”

“I’m sure they’re celebrating their newfound freedom.”

This immediately silences Isshin who has a look of horror spreading across his face. Clearly what the Quincy just said has stepped over a line, but at least it gets the group back on track rather than Isshin rambling on about his kids for the next twenty minutes.

“We should try and figure out who is behind this,” a different, yet similar voice says. Gintoki looks over at Minato who exudes an aura that most people would struggle to match. It’s a reasonable suggestion, but his point is completely ignored as Leorio quickly points out something that a couple of the other men have also noticed.

“Hey, why do you,” he says gesturing to Minato, “and him,” he gestures to Isshin, “sound exactly the same?” His insinuation is clear, he thinks that they could be working together or are some sort of contraption there to trick them. It’s not an unfounded assumption, but it is a categorically wrong one.

Gintoki quickly realises how this line of thinking could devolve into suspicion and anger, but there is no way he calm the situation down without being even more suspicious.

“Well, we could say the same about you and the astronaut,” an older voice says, “so we shouldn’t be pointing fingers.” Masaoka Tomomi may technically be an enforcer, but he was a detective before that; one who believed in looking beyond the simple black-and-white answers. Thankfully his more advanced age also seems to settle the nerves of the younger men, but not everyone is happy to go along with this.

“I don’t really care about what you monkeys do,” a smooth voice says, “but do not tell me what to do.” Getō Suguru is not the type of man you want to be stuck in a small space with at the best of times and, right now, the times are not looking good.

“Well aren't you just asking for a beating,” a different man states but he clearly recognises the jujutsu sorcerer. Gin nervously looks over to see a well-built monster of a man confidently walking towards the sorcerer. If Getō is a landmine, then Fushiguro Toji is going to be the foot that sets it off. “And since this is a contest, then surely a couple of people are going to die. So why not start with you?”

“Those are big words coming from someone who’s already d-“

Without thinking, Gintoki cuts into the argument; physically acting as a blockade while also causing Getō to stop talking out of surprise. Perhaps he wasn't expecting the barefooted man to be the one trying to act brave. Of all the people in the room, he is definitely on the weaker side, meaning has a lot to lose if the two start fighting.

“You really should listen to the detective,” he says; sweat dripping off his forehead as both men keep getting closer. “Fighting won’t get you anywhere.”

“The samurai’s right,” Shanks says as he backs Gintoki; his imposing aura making the two freeze in place. That and the large sword that is currently pointed at Getō’s throat stops him from being able to relax. On the other side, Minato has Fushiguro locked in place and unable to take a single step. A kunai is resting against the man's temple as a threat.

After a couple of minutes, the two begin to calm down. Or, at the very least, they stop staring at each other like wild animals. Minato puts his kunai back while Shanks sheaths his sword in a fluid motion. Gintoki, meanwhile, feels his legs nearly give out underneath him.

As he manages to shuffle off to the outer edge again, he finds Jotaro walking over to him with a slightly suspicious look on his face.

“You sound familiar,” Gintoki pauses for a moment. Of all the people that would recognise his voice, he didn’t expect it to be one that hasn’t technically heard him before.

“We haven’t met,” Gin says, trying to play it cool. Jotaro is a potential problem if he comes to believe that he’s trapped within an enemy stand. While Jotaro doesn’t seem to quite believe him, he lets the topic slide. Gin can’t help but briefly curse whoever cast Sugita in the role of Joseph Joester for making his life more difficult than it needs to be.

Feeling his mood beginning to slip again, he thinks of the positives that come with this situation. Like he can go and gloat to Shinpachi and Kagura that he met Jotaro and that the Red-Haired Shanks defended him. Of course, he would embellish a little to make it sound more impressive, and they wouldn’t really care. But just picturing their faces, eyes rolling back in annoyance, makes him feel a little bit better.

Gin is so distracted that he doesn't notice the final contestant arriving until the robotic voice informs the group that the competition has officially begun. As Gin's eyes jump around the room, trying to figure out who it is, they fall on a familiar man.

Reigen Arataka.

Gintoki would recognise him anywhere. How could he not? The so-called Greatest Psychic. The man stole Gin’s entire schtick of odd-jobber, and then somehow became more popular. His entire identity is just a cheap rip-off of everything that Gin worked hard to achieve. A man who wouldn't know fashion if it whacked him in the face with a baseball bat. The fraud even stole Gin’s birthday, one that he definitely didn’t steal from Naruto.

You know those things Gin said about not fighting, yeah? They are long gone as he glares at the golden-haired man. Gin is officially out for blood and he will see the supposed Twink Supreme obliterated.

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