#flowers. more about the Parts within the Whole than the whole itself. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jean0farc · 6 months

Text

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌. — !# :

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: Dark fantasy, yandere, smut.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! reader)

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: You and Griffith were the best of friends since childhood trying to get by in the kingdom of Midland. After a lack of communication for years due to a fight that cost you two your friendship, you and Griffith are invited to the same ball, where you two lock eyes together. Such a scenario is harmless, right? What could possibly go wrong?

𝖈𝖜: dubcon, mild sexual tension, implied stalking.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: I must admit this was rushed. However, I have no regrets writing this.

“Griffith…. I can’t do this. I can’t afford our friendship to transcend into something more. My parents don’t approve of our…relationship. It’s best if we just stop meeting each other, okay?”

Chandeliers filled the ceiling of the ballroom, illuminating bright enough to light up the whole venue. The windows were decorated with crimson red curtains and white roses, giving off that elegant feel one could ever ask for when stepping into the palace. The doors were made of gold, stainless steel, and intricate patterns that boasted the wealth Midland’s kingdom had over the nations.

This feeling was a dream come true, you thought, as you danced with your partner of the night. You weren’t beyond friends, but it was nice having someone to tag along when dancing to the rhythm of classical music that echoed through the halls.

You were beautifully adorned with a gown as black as ebony and a flower crown that gave emphasis to your crowning glory. There is indeed beauty in the smallest of things the moment you step foot into the ball, giving you a glimpse of what it feels to be in possession of the luxury you usually never had. Is this what it was like being a part of the elite and the royal family in Midland? Perhaps.

You swore to yourself that there was nothing that could get in the way of your amazing time at the ball. You had a handsome partner to dance with, appetizing food and drink you could turn to in moments of hunger and thirst, and your friends to accompany you as the time passed. Your parents trusted your friends enough to protect and be by your side in case things don’t turn out rough ….so far as to let you be invited with your friends to sleep at the guest rooms of the palace.

You were a close friend of Princess Charlotte, which granted you some privilege at least. She handed out invitations to you and your friends to join the feast as it was her birthday being the main focus of the celebration. But what bothered you is her friendship with someone you refused to speak of—a man with long, wavy, and flowing white hair and a pair of icy blue eyes. A man whose dream was to build his own kingdom and have people work for his rule. A man who once claimed you as someone he wanted to keep for as long as time stretches itself into the void. A man who was once your childhood friend, but was somehow separated from you because of your family disapproving of the relationship.

It didn’t take even a second. The moment you looked back, he was amongst the crowd, right behind you and your partner. Seeing him dancing with another woman felt almost strange to you, as he wasn’t one to mingle with other girls other than just you. Anyhow, you chose to move on. Your parents always had a disdain for him, claiming he was a dangerous, selfish young man who took pleasure in taking lives within the battlefield. They say it wasn’t a very smart decision to be friends with him, and the fact that he confessed his feelings for you enraged your family even further.

You dared not revisit the past, better yet, you’d rather not reminisce about your friendship with him. He was not good for you, end of story.

“Griffith, I’ve had it. Let’s just stop meeting here, okay? Our relationship serves ZERO benefits and I just can’t stand the sight of you anymore!”

“Then we’ll fix things one by one. What is it about me that you so despise, hm?”

“The bloodshed, the destruction, the violence you constantly put yourself in! Why would I, a diplomatic person advocating for peace within Midland, care enough to associate myself with a monster who takes innocent lives like you!”

“You know that I take lives for the money. It is a part of what I wanted, dear. A dream the both of us can indulge in, if you so desire. I cannot abandon my dream. I will never betray it. Causing bloodshed isn’t just a hobby, it’s a part of my DREAM. And I shall NOT abandon it over your will.”

“Griffith…..I-”

“I told you this a long time ago but you recall that I said it once, and I would say it over and over again. You belong to me. Not even your family would break the bond we two once shared, and not even their disapproval of our relationship would stop the lengths I’d go just to have you in my grasp.”

Those were the last words that came into mind the moment your eyes darted to the man you so despised. He had a charming exterior, yes, but his ambitions were something you didn’t want yourself to be associated with. After cutting ties with him for good, you saw him once again in this ball. What a shame. You tried keeping your eyes off him by looking away, but things were too late as his stare met yours. Griffith, the man himself, knew not to abandon his partner, but this time he felt the urge to do so.

He always recognized you, from your well-donned makeup to your stunning black gown and flower crown.

Griffith was left with no doubt that he was looking at his one and only childhood friend who abandoned him. His gaze wasn’t that of an innocent look, his icy blue eyes staring at you in anger from head to toe. His eyes undressed and penetrated into your very being, it almost gave you goosebumps. Your eyes darted elsewhere as you looked back at your partner.

“Is there something wrong?” your partner asked.

“No, nothing of the sort.” you responded. “It’s just that….I feel as though I am being watched.”

“That’s definitely not right, do you want to leave the ballroom this early? I’ll inform the guards of your willful departure.”

“No, no…I-I can handle it.” you stuttered. “Just leave me be. I won’t let someone ruin my stay at this wondrous celebration.”

“Hey there!” Princess Charlotte greeted you from afar. “Are you enjoying the ball so far?”

“Ah! Yes, yes I am. However….”

“Oh, what seems to be the matter? You can tell me anything that bothers you!”

“I feel as if someone is watching me….” you said, your voice slightly shaky. “It must be him….”

“You mean…Griffith?” Princess Charlotte asked. “I don’t know much about you two, but I do hear he’s up to something…..”

“What is that ‘something’ you speak of, Princess?” you asked.

“He’s up to sleeping with someone for the night. Who knows who it is, he’s always….sleeping around, that is…” Princess Charlotte laughed. “Are you alright?”

“Well, for some weird reason, I’m not surprised. Griffith has never been the type to stick around with one anyway. He’s better off without me.” you scoffed.

“Awwww….[Name], don’t say that! I’m sure this ball would pave an opportunity for you two to reconcile! And, you know….have the two of you become friends again!” Princess Charlotte replied. “So cheer up! Come on now, would you like a drink?”

“Sure!” you agreed.

After a few drinks, you were dazed and confused with what surrounded you in the ballroom. Your partner and friends were half drunk, and you couldn’t deny how you felt tipsy after seven shots of sweet champagne.

“[Name]!! Are you alright?” Princess Charlotte asked, concerningly.

“I’m alright, Princess. Thank you for asking. I…just had…a few drinks, perhaps…? Can I….go to my bedroom now, please?” you stammered, slightly dizzy and lightheaded from the alcohol you consumed for the night.

“Oh, sure thing! Guards! Kindly escort my dear friend to the guest rooms, please!” Princess Charlotte called out.

Princess Charlotte hosting a sleepover for some guests was something you didn’t expect off your bucket list. When you were invited to her birthday celebration, you were more than excited to spend the night with your friends and the Princess….what you did NOT expect was Griffith being invited as well.

You were escorted to the top floor of the palace. All walls in each guest room were soundproof to avoid unwanted noises from interrupting other guests who were fast asleep. You, on the other hand, had to leave the party early due to your slight drunkenness. While carrying you to bed, your belongings were also brought back to the room beside the bedpost. The guards left you on your own, leaving the door slightly open in case you needed assistance from the servants of the palace.

Hours passed, and you fell fast asleep after feeling quite tipsy at Princess Charlotte’s ballroom party. Things weren’t occurring out of the ordinary, up until the door creaked open. Things weren’t right. Someone entered the room.

You were startled by the door opening, only for it to be closed once again, the lock of the door being heard aloud. It was quite pitch black in the night, the only source of light being the lightning that struck every once in a while. You had no clue of who entered the room, but you were suddenly filled with fear once you came back to your senses. The intrusion was unexpected, and you made a guess on who entered your room in such an ungodly hour. You were right.

It was Griffith.

You were intimidated by the silhouette that appeared before you, but that didn’t give you a reason to cower in fear. In fact, this gave you an opportunity to call for the guards despite being slightly drunk.

“Are you not going to play dumb with me this time, [Name]?” he asked, his anger being quite apparent with his words.

You saw this coming. You recognized that voice—it was that of a commander’s, like he’s always been. Chills ran down through your spine, not because you were afraid of him, but because you were frightened of what was about to happen next.

You felt a sense of urgency it almost hurts to not speak up.

“Griffith? What do you think you’re doing here?! Get out before I call the guards!”

“Do you really want to leave our relationship this badly? Hm?” Griffith asked. “Here I am, asking for one chance to fix the scars of our past, and after all we’ve been through, this is how you repay me?”

“Our relationship was never beyond friendship, Griffith. If you think I’d come back to you for the sake of partaking in your sick, twisted idea of a dream…you are gravely mistaken.”

“You aren’t useful to me just for the sake of my dream. I want you, [Name]. I’ve been watching you all along since we parted ways right in that village. And this time is where I arrive to claim what’s rightfully mine.” Griffith announced, taking five steps closer to your bed as you stared at the door planning your escape route. In an attempt to put both hands on your shoulders, you pushed him away.

“I was never yours.” you replied, bravely. “I wasn’t yours and I’ll never be yours. Please cut me some slack and leave at once, or I’ll have to call the guards on you.”

“The walls are soundproof and the doors are locked. Looks like there’s no room left for you to hide, hm? Just surrender your freedom to me. By surrendering to me, you’ll find peace once we establish our own kingdom.”

“Ever since you found the Band of The Hawk, I’ve already been looking for ways to avoid your company. You just aren’t the one for me, Griffith. I’m better off not knowing you’d engage in such savage battles, having people die and kick the bucket for the sake of achieving your dream.”

“If I can’t have your freedom, then I have no other choice but to force it away from you. I want you in my arms. And I will do anything to make you a part of my dream.”

“No.” you stood up for yourself.

“Are you resisting me….this badly, [Name]?” Griffith asked, ready to pounce onto you. “No. You’re not resisting. You’re not leaving. I won’t allow it.”

“I AM leaving.” In an attempt to stand up and reach for the door outside the guest room, Griffith grabbed you by the wrist with a push strong enough to knock you out towards the queen-sized bed. While you ended up sitting, he took a huge step forward, leaning lower to match your eye level, and forcefully stripped you off by unraveling the straps of your sleeveless black gown. Before you could even utter a word and speak, he pressed his lips right onto yours.

You tried your very best not to kiss him back and show an ounce of enthusiasm in your actions. While his tongue explored you with utmost fervor, you tried to protest with your arms pushing him away and your feet kicking off every obstacle past you. Griffith’s touch, however, was far stronger than you could ever imagine. Your eyes were wide open in shock, trying to escape with all your might though you were already covered in his scent.

Since it was your first kiss, you made an attempt to kiss back in a disorderly fashion so as to piss Griffith off and let him walk away due to your inexperience. But this didn’t stop him. He kissed you in the most aggressive, yet practiced manner imaginable, so far as to render your tongue numb and submissive to his motions. His heavy breathing and humming didn’t help alleviate the situation you both were in either, and you refused to admit that your own childhood friend turned you on.

Griffith wasn’t being gentle around this time, you thought—he had to be straightforward with his motives when dealing with a fragile little thing like you.

You waited like hell for this moment to stop. When Griffith pulled away, you panted hard and set your eyes upon the door.

“Good…..still not taken. Your body is truly miraculous not to feel the touch of another man worthy of your gaze.” Griffith hummed in satisfaction. Forcing your chin to look up at him, he murmured. “Look at me.”

You made a slight effort to look into those eyes you once despised. Griffith’s stare pierced into your very being, you felt as if you were being undressed straight from the way he eyed you from head to toe.

“You will remember this moment from the time we part ways. I want you to dream of this.”

While you were sitting back, Griffith stood upright, taking off his top garment by garment. You thought to yourself that this was your chance—you stood up to walk briskly, only to be found out and pushed back to the bed once again.

“If you think you can escape just because I had other matters to attend to, you are gravely mistaken.” Griffith said.

“What….do you mean by that?” you asked.

“You should be grateful a friend has been willing to give you the attention you so desire. Had I not known you for years, you would have fallen into the arms of the wrong man.”

“Pffft. Talk about being a control freak.” you scoffed. “Let me go.”

“I don’t crave control. I just know what I want.” Griffith replied, undoing his pants to reveal his half-erect member before you.

“Now, suck.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play innocent with me now, dear.”

Griffith grabbed a fistful of your hair without warning, urging you to wrap your mouth around his cock much to your surprise and unwillingness.

“You must comply unless you want to be tossed around to the peasants of the land. Do this. Do this for my dream.”

“Mmmmhhh! Mmmmhhhh!!!”

Rendered unable to speak, your head was forced to bob up and down Griffith’s length as he moaned in satisfaction to your compliance. You tried to retreat, but his grip just strengthened itself as he forced himself down your throat. You tried your best not to let out a sputtering gag, his thrusts growing more animalistic as he was nearing his release.

You groaned in dissatisfaction as Griffith face-fucked you into oblivion while standing up, his frame bare and naked while you were halfway stripped off your gown. If it were not for the darkness that engulfed the palace’s rooms, you would have mistaken the scene to be that of a brothel’s interior.

Without Griffith’s assistance, you wouldn’t know what to do considering this was your first time pleasuring a man. He continued forcefully pushing your head inward and outward his cock with his powerful hand, so as to set the pace he wanted. He grunted as you let out a cough that signified your struggle against his member down your throat. But he didn’t stop right there. He was close to cumming.

It didn’t take long before Griffith pulled away, holding back his cum as he edged himself to save his release for later. Before you realized things, Griffith unzipped your gown, pushing it down and tossing the clothing elsewhere. He lifted you by putting one hand over your ass, and the other hand on your upper back.

Positioning you to lie down on the bed gave him an opportunity to lunge forward onto you, his face landing on your hard nipple. While he suckled on it gently, his two fingers traced its way to your clit, rubbing the nub fast in such a way that pleasured you. The sounds of his moaning, breathing, and humming did nothing more than to instill a feeling of guilt within you. You felt pleasure, yes, but your guilt for doing something sinful with the man you so despised made you want to hurl.

Griffith pulled away, still fingering you. “Mmmm….all the more to love. You seem to be slowly complying with my ways, dear. I like it.”

“Mmmmmhhhh~”

“Go on.”

After egging you on for a few minutes, Griffith edged you even more with his fingers exiting your entrance, earning a groan of frustration from you. Your eyes were closed and focused on his fingers’ rhythm, only to be interrupted by Griffith’s sudden departure from your clit.

“Gri…..ffith….”

“Hm?”

“Do it again…..please….”

Griffith chuckled. “Anything for my princess. Hmmm….I think you are ready to take me whole. But first, I will be needing this lovely cunt of yours to quench my thirst.”

“Ooooooooohhhh~”

Without a single warning, he slid himself between your inner thighs, spreading them wider. Griffith made an effort to raise your legs to rest just above his shoulders, assuming that of a position where he was about to eat you out.

He wasn’t joking. Griffith started to plant small kisses onto your clit, circling his tongue around as if he was French kissing it. His tongue explored every region of your small pearl, suctioning your most sensitive spot gently as to not accidentally hurt you. He used his two fingers to rub off the slick, prepping it before he finally re-inserted them right into your hole. You retaliated.

“Agh! It burns, help!” you protested.

“Bear it.” Griffith said, slightly frowning. “This will be crucial to prepping you way before you get to have me inside. Now, relax yourself, and do as I tell you.”

Griffith stopped talking at that very moment, seriously eyeing your pussy with great passion and dominion over your body. His face landed in between your labia, licking a strip off of your soaked cunt as he thrusted his fingers in and out of your wet entrance. You yelped, both out of burning pain and pleasure.

Then came Griffith’s proper response, he bobbed his head in a specific direction, eating you out like a crazed animal in heat. He spared no untouched region within your virginal depths, lathering his long tongue around your cunt’s sensitive brown/pink surface. Similar to sucking, he moaned while eating you out for his own selfish pleasure, which aroused you to a point of whispering each syllable of his name repeatedly, with a couple of “yes” that left your mouth.

Noises of whimpers and sloppy gobbling sounds filled the guest room, and since everything was soundproof, yelling out for help considering the party was pointless considering the party long ended and everyone invited were already asleep in their designated guest rooms.

Griffith sped up his pace, unleashing his inner freak as he licked and kissed every spot of your pussy’s semi-interior like a hungry wolf.

“Griffith…..I’m gonna….”

This was a sign that urged Griffith to pull away.

“Hold it off.” Griffith commanded.

Your pussy throbbed HARDER as he stopped eating you out in the middle of your incoming orgasm. This moment was truly not the time, you thought, and what you waited for was Griffith’s final goal—to take you in missionary.

“I’m going to take you nice and deep, and you’re going to be a good girl for me, yes?” Griffith asked, letting out a smirk.

You shook your head with all your might, denying that Griffith has been the reason you were soaked up in all this mess. Tears ran down your face, smothering your mascara all over your cheeks even though such wouldn’t be noticed by Griffith, since it was dark.

“Don’t lie to me.” Griffith said, his face strictly maintaining eye contact with you. “Your body tells me otherwise.” He grabbed you by the thighs which closed voluntarily, spreading your legs wider to gain access to your entrance once more. Before even entering you, Griffith teases your clit by rubbing the tip of his cock over it, earning a moan from you in return.

Then comes the hard part. Griffith inserts the head into your entrance, stretching it in a way where it feels like burning to you. He ignores your pleas, focusing on getting his cock to be buried into you in no time.

“Too tight, God be damned.” Griffith groaned. “Shhh, I got you. Shhhhh. You don’t have to worry anymore. I know what I’m doing.”

Griffith thrusted forward, ensuring that his length buried itself deep into your cunt. This earned a yelp from you, as you were not expecting his sudden intrusion into your guts.

“Griffith…..Why….are you doing this? I-”

“It’s because I’m the only one who can make you feel like the most special woman who has ever walked Midland’s ground. Apart from the hordes of men that want you, it is only I who promised to build my own kingdom for us to rule over the weak. You shall be my Queen, my Countess—and by achieving this dream, I would be able to fulfill my utmost duties as a citizen of Midland…..to weed out the poor and unfortunate from the ends of this world.”

“Huh? If that’s it, then I don’t want to-”

“Shut it.” Griffith scoffed. “You’ll take whatever’s been given to you, my love. From our childhood to where we currently are, I’ve always wanted to make you a part of my dream. And no one, not even your family, can stop us from doing anything to achieve it.”

Griffith began to slowly rock his hips in and out of you, the sensation of pain merging with a feeling far more pleasurable. Sounds of fast clapping filled the room, making it smell of sex all over. While doing the do, Griffith placed both his hands on your breasts, fondling and playing around with them as they bounced according to his rough motions.

Griffith set a faster pace this time, his thrusts growing more animalistic and primal. Fucking you felt good to him despite the tightness that clenched around his cock.

“Such a sweet, sweet girl dolled up just for me.” Griffith praised, his heavy breathing intensifying the scene. “I wonder how many men managed to take you in one night and if they’d ever compare to my abilities at present.”

“Ah! It….doesn’t…matter….!!!” you screamed. “Nnnnggghhh…..Griffith!!”

“….Well? What is it, my dear? Cat got your tongue?” Griffith laughed as he bucked his hips mercilessly onto your tight pussy. “Mmmmmm….I can’t wait to have this body all to myself, for the sake of….my dream…..!!!!”

“Griffith…..I can’t…..I can’t handle…..!!!”

“After all, you’re in my control now. So it’s best to surrender before I try anything else.” Griffith whispered as he leaned closer to your ear.

Griffith ruthlessly pressed his body against yours and forcefully kissed you once again, his hips pounding into you like a rabid dog. You couldn’t see him directly in the dark nor speak, since he took advantage of your open mouth to slide his tongue in and lap at every fluid your mouth had to offer. You could feel him getting close, and as much as you would like to protest your way out of this mess, Griffith sucked your tongue in the most disgustingly experienced way possible.

Not inside….

You thought. “Mmmmmhhhhh, mmmmhhh!!!!”

Griffith deepened the kiss and didn’t look back. He didn’t care as to whether he kissed terribly at this point, for all he wanted was to take full ownership of you. His hips rocked faster and faster, his moment of release coming much closer.

Pulling away, Griffith made a conscious effort to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, whispering inaudible sweet nothings into it like a lover in despair.

“Mmmmmm……All the….more to love…..No one will ever come close to making you feel the same way……”

“Griffith….Not inside……I’m going to—ah!”

“Then do it, love. Grind your way against me. Claw at me like your life depends on it. Show me how much you appreciate my efforts.”

After nutting in you raw, you moaned aloud while Griffith grabbed your hips forward to make sure every last drop of cum unloaded into you. His pacing slowed down as well as the sounds of cheeks slapping against skin.

“You did well, my love. Now open your legs wide and show me who this pussy belongs to.”

You, of course, rode out your orgasm and came down from your high. After the feeling subsided, you closed your legs intentionally out of shame.

“I said….open wide.” Griffith frowned as he used all his might to spread your legs once more.

Despite the sex being over, things didn’t stop there. Griffith shoved three fingers up your pussy, twisting and turning them in order to elicit a moan from you despite achieving a full-on afterglow.

After a while, Griffith pulled away once more after testing the waters.

“You did well, my love.”

Those were the last words you heard before your orgasms led you to fall asleep soundly and peacefully.

#berserk x reader #griffith #griffith x reader #griffith berserk #fanfiction #x reader #berserk griffith #yandere x reader #yandere griffith

444 notes · View notes

jadeee · 6 months

Note

Halluu ✨ since you asked to drop some scenarios about Nanami, mind if I start off with a fluff? I was thinking that reader could just spoil Nanami for the whole day like, breakfast in bed before work, flowers, sweets, cook his favorite meal, take him out on a date or somewhere he wanted to go to, etc.(honestly, this man needs a break) and just shower him with lots of love, making him flustered by the end of the day (hmmm...maybe some spice at the end?👀✨)

this was really cute 💗 i feel like this treatment would make him spoil you more. i also think he'd try and reassure you that you don't have to do all that {even though he really does love it}. he wants to shower you so just let him "take care of you" {i can see him saying those words tbh} thanks for the request!

wc: 1.1k

dividers by @jaysdividers & @attxnt ©

Something didn't feel right. Nanami opened his eyes then noticed the empty space where you should've been.

"Morning," you walked in carrying a tray of food.

"What's this?" he sat up in bed as you made your way toward him.

"What's it look like?" you carefully set the tray in front of him and he glanced up at you with rosy cheeks.

"Are you gonna eat or just stare at me all day?" the bed dipped as you sat on the edge of it.

The sunlight beamed through the windows and highlighted your features. It was impossible to pick his favorite one. His eyes scanned your own, then your nose and lips. In a matter of seconds, he committed your face to memory.

"Who said I can't do both?"

He wanted to kiss you but he knew where that would lead; and he shouldn't be late for work, not if he could avoid it. Instead, he offered you some of the food you made for him and you obliged. You spent the next few minutes making small talk but he was taking mental photographs of you all the while.

Although you told him not to, he washed his own dishes. It gave him something to do other than you. He tried not to glance at you when you were watching him get dressed. A blush blossomed on his cheeks as soon as his eyes landed on your face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

You grinned and shook your head before walking off. The truth is, it was everything. The way he avoided your gaze like a boy with a crush. How his fingers quickly worked at his tie. The slow but steady blush that crept onto his face. Your effect on him only increased when you walked in holding his jacket. It nearly doubled when you pulled it back as he reached for it. Part of him wanted to roll his eyes at your antics but the rest of him melted a bit.

He slid his arms into the sleeves, "What's gotten into you?"

His face turned cherry red when he felt you wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind.

"I just love you ... a lot."

The sudden kiss on his shoulder made him go stiff and his heart felt like it was going to explode. Your lips started to pout when you didn't hear him respond or feel him react. So you rested your chin on his shoulder and held his gaze in the mirror to see why he was silent. The small smile on his face paired with the look of love in his eyes was the embodiment of light itself.

"I love you too," he slid his hands over yours "the most."

"Oh really?! Care to prove it?"

He turned to cup your cheeks in his hands then pressed his lips against yours.

"How's that?"

Within moments, his jacket fell to the floor.

It was a miracle he showed up to work on time, but he still wished for more. As Yuuji trailed behind him, he slid his hand into his pocket then felt a small piece of paper. The skin between his brows creased at the thought of Gojo playing some prank on him. He opened it to see:

I love you; always and forever.

His thumb lingered over your words.

Yuuji repeated himself and Nanami finally answered. He would've apologized but he wasn't sorry for having a soft spot for you.

As soon as his workday ended, he dialed your number.

"Hey, handsome."

His lips parted to speak but you caught him off guard. All he could do was smile to himself but the sound of clanking in the background interrupted the moment.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm just cleaning."

"I would've done that. I'm on my w -"

"No, let me do it!" you protested playfully "Let me spoil you."

"So that's what this morning was about."

"Well," the defense you built up weakened "are you mad at me?"

The corners of his mouth turned up at the ridiculous thought, " Why would I be upset?"

"Because I don't spoil you enough." you confessed quietly.

The line went quiet while he meditated on your words. Suddenly, he said your name and it pulled you out of your trance.

"Hm?"

"All I need is you and nothing else."

"... okay."

"What's wrong? You don't believe me?"

"I do, it's just -" there was another clank in the background and the low swear of your voice.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I gotta go. Love you, bye!"

He stared at his phone after you hung up and counted down the minutes.

He opened the door and immediately looked for you. Each muscle softened when he saw you lighting the last candle at the dinner table.

"Hi."

His eyes glazed over the carefully planned dinner you prepared then focused on you in your dress.

You set the lighter aside then faced him ,"I know what you said on the phone but I was already cooking. The food was almost done and -"

Nanami kissed you for the first time since that morning. When he pulled back, there was a hint of a smile on his face.

"You can be so stubborn."

As always, he insisted on doing the dishes; but tonight he especially persisted since you went out of your way for him.

"But what am I gonna do?"

"Just stand there and look pretty."

His response surprised you and how he loved the look on your face.

"What? You don't want to do that for me?"

You leaned against the counter, "I didn't say I wouldn't."

He cleaned the last dish, "You're incredibly defiant today. We should fix that."

Your eyes widened as he walked over and picked you up. He tasted your giggles with each long, slow kiss. When he sat you on the bed, he basked in the feeling of seeing you in that dress, posing for him so perfectly. Waiting, teasing, silently pleading. He bent down to kiss your neck then let out a soft moan when you clutched a fistful of his hair.

His lips kissed your collarbone, "You have no idea how much I love you."

"So show me."

"Don't be a brat about it."

He slipped his hand under your dress and you gasped at the familiar touch of his fingers. You reached for his wrists and he held your hands above your head. When you moaned, he kissed you on your open mouth. His tongue melted against yours along with the rest of him. You felt like air after holding a breath for too long or like tea with honey. A good night's sleep after a horrible day. You were relief and comfort and so much more. Although he couldn't put it in words, he could show you and that's exactly what he planned to do.

Author's Note: No words, just Nanami Kento being himself. I actually really like how this came out. I even tried new formatting too, so thanks again, Mariah!!

#jade has mail #jjk nanami kento #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami #nanami fluff

195 notes · View notes

yoonia · 7 months

Text

the bedroom hymns ● chapter viii

⟶ Chapter summary | As Yoongi returns home, he is welcomed by the shadows of his past, and the secret behind his journey being challenged and questioned. At the same time, you slowly begin to unravel your father’s secrets, as you begin to learn more about his magic, and you continue following the shadows of his footsteps to find out what he has planned.

⟶ Author’s note | We’re finally getting a long chapter! I contemplated between dropping this part as a full chapter or to split it into two, but I figured it would be best to combine the scenes as they work much better if being shared and told at the same time. That being said, I might be taking a break from posting the chapters for a couple of weeks (just a week or two, maybe) to finish the rest of the upcoming chapters so we can have some more regular updates. I’ll be back soon with more thrilling scenes, I promise. But for now, I hope this long chapter will fill your days as we wait for the next ones to come :)

chapter viii. chasing shadows

Yoongi never truly understood why he was able to find solace while he was staying in Smotia until he finally returned home.

Emburn Empire, Min Yoongi’s home kingdom and the home of the fairies, can be quite distinctive compared to any other kingdoms that inhabit the Land of Far Far Away. Its vast territory rises from one of the most sequestered regions of the fairy tale land, divided into three separate sections connecting Emburn Empire with the three different elements of nature which support the empire as a whole—on the land, its landed territory that is united with the main continent of the fairy tale land; on the water, the small province floating against the rough waves of the Carmine Sea; and on the air, presented by the patch of island housing the main government of Embun which levitates gracefully above the continent, floating among the thick white clouds on the blue-grey sky above.

Here, much like in Smotia, greens in various hues cover the expanse of Emburn. Widespread of green grass and a vast variety of trees blanket the range of hills, with dense clusters of tall trees crowning the rising terrains and stowed between the dip of valleys. Some trees grow here just as wide as the people’s homes and almost as tall as the sky above, with many that are almost older than the entire empire itself. Thick clusters of wild ivy smother the stone walls of the Imperial Palace and the people’s houses in the towns, and flowers bloom in a myriad of shapes and colours that only exist here in the Emburn Empire.

Yoongi recalls all the dawns and mornings he spent sitting on top of the tallest hills in Smotia, looking away from the towns and the mercenary camps to enjoy the sight of the canopies of trees and the widespread meadows and finding similarities there to the sea of green waiting for him back home. Oftentimes, he would wonder how the empire that was built within the human realm could have given him a sense of familiarity which reminded him of his home. Whenever he remembered how Smotia existed in the borders between two realms, he would find himself wondering if the similarities had been deliberately created to mirror their closest neighbour, albeit their existence is separated by the portals hidden in the depth of the Elcester Forest. And that was before Yoongi learned of the truth about the Wicked King’s true antecedents and the true history behind his ascension as the ruler of the Nythelean Empire.

Had King Aneas done it on purpose, then? That he had built his new home in the human realm which resembled the land where he had once been, taking everything that he had learned from his former ally about making use of the land’s resources to establish his empire and to support his people?

Because just like how Nythelean Empire gain their resources from the Land of Smotia, the fertile land, the green hills, the abundant woodlands and fresh springs that spread all over the territories of Emburn are the ones that have helped the empire and its people to thrive for a long period of time. But unlike in Smotia, resources are not the only things that the people of Emburn could gain from nature.

One look was all he needed to see, through the first sight that Yoongi had taken from his homeland on the day he emerged in the bluffs after leaving Smotia behind, to remind him that the two empires are not one and the same. Arriving at the bluffs at dawn, he traveled towards the southeast of Earthpeak Cliffs and across the borders between kingdoms, where the sight of the territory of Emburn first welcomed him. The green hills of the landed territory of his homeland opened for him like a warm embrace. The sight and the feeling that overcame him as he marched his loyal mare, Aspen, through the borders had been almost comparable to what he experienced the first time he first came through the borders of Smotia.

Yet all the similarities ended once he finally reached the area where the landed territory of Emburn and the capital city were connected, where the first sign of Emburn’s distinctive nature could be seen.

What doesn’t exist in the vast fertile land of Smotia is magic. The same kind of magic that exists here in every part of the land, drifting in the air that Yoongi breathes, and is constantly felt by every single inhabitant living within the territories of Emburn Empire. This old magic is what becomes the empire’s source of power ever since the day it was established and built by Yoongi’s ancestors, with the emperor and empress sitting on its throne becoming the pillar and the core that hold the magic together, binding it and keeping it stable for many years.

It is the same powerful magic that allows the capital city of Emburn and the Imperial Palace to defy gravity, levitating far above the mainland and higher than the peaks of Earthpeak Cliff, the tallest rocky mountains which stand above the Carmine Sea.

The sight of the levitating capital city which Yoongi saw the moment he reached the heart of Emburn had become clear evidence and reminder of how different his homeland truly is, not only compared to the human land of Smotia but also to all the places he visited throughout his journey. Beyond the sight of the sea of green that welcomed him in the landed provinces, appeared to his eyes the majestic sight of Marble Falls, the flowing waterfalls that descend all the way from the grounds of the Imperial Palace in the sky and down to the Armere River that flows between the range of hills in the grounded region of Emburn in the mainland.

This powerful magic was first found by the ancient fairies who once roamed this part of the fairy tale land, passed down to Yoongi’s blood ancestors who built the empire from the ground up to create a peaceful haven for the fairies in Far Far Away land. The magic that still exists today, the one that is holding the empire together in the present, and the same magic that becomes the cure to Yoongi’s ailment, helping him piece together the bond that he has with his mana which has grown weak and fragile during his time away from home.

It had only taken Yoongi mere seconds after breathing in the fresh air here in Emburn and stepping through the gates of the Imperial Palace for his power to begin knitting itself together. He could feel every fractured piece of his mana strengthening itself until his powers began coursing through his body once again, until he was finally able to heal. In an instant, his senses were heightened, the mana flow within him stopped rebelling against him and it began to calm down, settling peacefully the way it should have been.

Days have gone by since his arrival, and before he realises it, those days are slowly turning into weeks. Albeit his mana has yet to fully return to its normal state, Yoongi is quite relieved to have made the decision to return home, allowing him the chance to not only recover the magic within him but also to gain more strength before he returns to finish his journey.

Sometimes, when he would roam through the imperial palace on his own, he would be filled with guilt and realisation that he should have probably listened to Yijeong’s advice about returning to Emburn so he could recover. If only he had listened and hadn’t been so stubborn about staying in Smotia, knowing that the chances of him finding what he was after had been slim, perhaps he would have been able to use his powers when he needed them the most.

But that was all in the past now, and all he can focus on now is to recover completely while thinking of ways to make up for his obstinacy once he gets back to where Yijeong is. Because recovering his powers hadn’t been the only thing that Yoongi had managed to gain by coming home.

Ever since the moment he arrived back to the land of Far Far Away, Yoongi immediately noticed the peculiarity hanging in the air. He could easily sense the turbulences happening in the fairy tale land, recognising immediately that something had been brewing in his absence. Warning bells kept ringing in his head as he entered the home castle with cautions upon his arrival. His shoulders had been heavy, not knowing what to expect as he made his way to see his parents.

While it wasn’t bad news which welcomed him home, the odd exchange that he had with his mother during their first reunion didn’t help much to reassure him about the situation.

“Was it really necessary for you to be away for so long? What could have been more important than being here, for you to prepare for the crown and handle the matters around the empire in place of the Emperor?”

Empress Ariane had always shown Yoongi a form strict of love, as she had always placed the matters of the crown and the empire above everything else, including her own son. In her eyes, Yoongi is not just her biological son, but the Crown Prince and the sole heir of the Emburn Empire, and she has always reminded Yoongi of his role at every chance she gets. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise to Yoongi when she immediately brought up his duty to the empire and the crown upon his return home, to remind him of the need for him to focus on preparing himself to take the Emperor’s place once it was due time for him to take the responsibility.

Yet there was something in the way the Empress addressed the matter which had been bothering Yoongi. His own conscience has been brewing with suspicions, and it has kept nagging him in the back of his mind that he finds it hard to shake the thoughts away, even to this day.

“What if something happens to—” the Empress’ words broke and shattered at the mention of the Emperor while they sat together in the throne room the day Yoongi first came to see her. Hurt flickered through her gaze, though she quickly blinked it away before Yoongi could say something about it or look deeper into her thoughts at that moment. “What if something happens while you are out there running amok doing heavens know what? You know I wouldn’t be able to handle this entire empire by myself.”

Yoongi never said a thing in return except making a promise that everything would be okay, regardless of what the Empress was trying to imply. There was no need for her mother to finish her words, as Yoongi could already hear it in his head.

What if something happens to the Emperor?

“Nothing is going to happen. I am sure of it.” Yoongi said this to the Empress with full conviction, as he had truly made sure of the safety of the empire and the Emperor before his departure from home.

Emperor Aymon, the ruler of the Emburn Empire and Yoongi’s biological father, has been bedridden from a mysterious illness which started two years ago. The ailment had come out of nowhere, when the strong and healthy Emperor unexpectedly started to grow weak. It had all begun with the Emperor losing control of his mana flow, until the magic within him began fighting back against him, erupting through his whole body while hurting him from the inside. Once the powerful mana began to simmer down, it almost seemed like every drop of magic within him had been wasted, and so did his soul.

Even the entire empire was hurting, as his magic—that was supposed to stabilise the powerful magic within the home of the fairies—started weakening. The unexpected changes of weather caused the crops to fail and prevented fishing ships from sailing out across the Carmine Sea. Earthquakes and storms happened every so often that people kept having to build new homes, while a series of peculiar illnesses began to spread in towns.

To this, the Emperor had chosen to lock himself in one of the tallest towers in the Imperial Palace, not only for the sake of himself and to prevent his magic from harming people around him, but also to preserve the magic that he had left to keep his empire under control. Even once the Empress and the High Priest of Emburn managed to aid him in stabilising the empire with their magic, Emperor Aymon remained in his refuge while doing his best he could to find a way to heal.

Yoongi still remembers the days he spent with the Emperor during the height of his sickness. The fairy king had always appeared to his eyes as the most powerful being he had ever known. But during that period of time, it seemed to him that his father was withering right in front of his eyes, appearing more frail than he used to be as the Emperor laid down on the massive bed where he had been resting during the time of his illness.

But at the same time, the Emperor still appeared to him as the strongest person he had always known. When even at his most critical condition, the Emperor still did his best to fulfil his duty as the ruler to use the rest of his magic to keep the empire and their homeland from crumbling apart.

If only Yoongi had been as indifferent as how the Empress had made him to be—both to the Emperor’s condition and the turbulences occurring in his home kingdom—he would have thought that Empress Ariane’s inquiries had come from a place of concern. The concern she might have felt for the Emperor’s wellbeing, and what might happen to the empire with the Crown Prince being away during the Emperor’s absence.

Yet, seeing the truth now, Yoongi remains haunted by a lingering doubt.

Unbeknownst to the Empress, Yoongi had visited Emperor Aymon not long before leaving Emburn. Not only had the Emperor always known what Yoongi had been up to during his time away from home, but it had actually been the Emperor himself who sent him off on his journey in the first place.

“I want you to do me a favour while I still exist in this realm. It will be quite challenging of a task should you take it, and it wouldn’t be an easy path, but it is necessary that you go into this journey to prevent the upcoming turmoil that may arise in the Land Far Far Away in the near future.”

That day, the Emperor sat down on his bed, his back resting on the headrest as he spoke to Yoongi. He seemed resolved as he relayed his request to his son. But for the most part, he also appeared resigned, as if he was ready to welcome the end of his time should it come to him. But for the first time after a while, Yoongi had also noticed that his father had looked like he was in a much better shape than he usually would, which gave him a sense of relief, albeit briefly. Because no matter how well-shaped he looked as he sat there looking into his son’s eyes, the Emperor’s voice still showed how weary he truly was.

“If you are willing to take this challenge for me, you have to promise me two things,” Emperor Aymon said then. His voice came out stern, and his words came like a warning that Yoongi had no other choice but to agree and make a promise to follow his words. Only then did the Emperor continue with the list of requirements that Yoongi needed to follow. “One, you must go into this with an open mind and forget everything that you’ve learned about the war between kingdoms that was written in the books. Two, you must never let your mother know about my request. Promise me this.”

Yoongi had questioned this specific request from his father at first, yet the warnings given to him had made him grow cautious enough to make sure that he wouldn’t be leaving the Emperor alone without someone watching over him while Yoongi was away. Before he left, Yoongi had ordered a few of his trusted men to keep watch on the Emperor, warning them to trust nobody except for Yoongi. Not even the Empress herself.

He hated not being able to trust his own mother, but the situation that happened after had proven that he had made the right call. As now that even the Empress and the Royal Aides are being placed under close watch, the Emperor’s condition has been getting better. Though Yoongi has been adamant about keeping this information a secret between himself and his men, that not even the Empress knows about the Emperor’s improving health.

It has caused him to feel unsettled, not knowing who to trust even in his own empire. Yet the situation had only given him more reason to do what his father willed him to, as he set off to fulfil not only the Emperor’s request, but also his own intention.

Tonight would be the last night Yoongi would be spending at his home.

Tomorrow, he would have to decide if he should return to Smotia and regroup with his men, or if he should start investigating the Wicked King more closely to know what he is up to. Yoongi knows that he has been gone from his camp for too long, and through the reports sent to him by his men, he has heard that many things have been happening with the Nythelean Empire since the day he left Smotia.

It has made him feel anxious, suddenly afraid that he would miss the perfect opportunity of accomplishing his tasks, now that the Wicked King is on the move. Once again, he regrets for not taking his time to recover sooner, as his departure from Smotia seems to have only caused him the long restless nights filled with all the ’what ifs’, wondering if Fates are trying to stop him from doing what he is required to do.

To calm his thoughts, Yoongi steps away from his bedchamber once the night has fallen. When the night is deep, Yoongi often feels a heavy awareness hanging in the air around him, as if warning him about the shift happening in the fairy tale land and there is something looming in the horizon that he needs to be wary of.

Normally, he would simply reside in his room when this happens, where the stiff tension that he has been constantly feeling would not be able to mess with his mana flow. Or, he would spend the night in the library, trying to make sense of everything that the Emperor had told him as he dives right into the books that were written about the ancient kingdoms, the great war between kingdoms that had once rattled the land of Far Far Away, and about the ancient magic spells—one of which had been the same one that had allowed him to walk into his soulmate’s dream.

Tonight, Yoongi chooses to spend his time roaming through the dark hallways of the Imperial Palace with no destination in mind.

For the first time after a long while, he allows his mana to lead the way instead of giving in to the silence. He tracks down even the passageways within the castle that he had rarely traveled through—passing the vacant rooms and the Royal Guards’ posts, past the Great Hall where the empire would often hold their annual festivities, and he continues walking until he suddenly finds himself crossing the palace’s courtyard and entering the Lumina Apex Hall, where the source of the elemental magic that the Emperor has casted onto the palace’s grounds can be found.

Originally built by his ancestors as a temple to worship the moon—which was once believed to be the source of Emburn’s magic—the Lumina Apex Hall has become a fixture within the Imperial Palace’s grounds where the Emperor would spend late hours in the night to cast his magic, casting the spells that are needed to maintain control of his empire and its vast territories under his reign.

With walls and pillars built with Clayntine stone, one of the most durable materials that could only be found in the land of Emburn, and windows made of Shadow Crystals, the Lumina Apex Hall lights up in the nightfall with structures that reflect the moonlight perfectly like mirrors. Located at the center of the Royal Garden, the structure is partly covered with a layer of wild vines growing along its walls and pillars which have rapidly developed with time. Thick hedges and flowers blooming in pastel colours line up on either side of the pathway leading to its front door which has been left unlocked for the Empress and the Royal Priests’ daily visit.

A burst of energy welcomes him as Yoongi enters through the door. There are no lights inside the main atrium, yet moonlight streams through the Shadow Crystals that form the dome ceiling above the atrium, illuminating the hall perfectly with streaks of soft light spreading across the stone floors and bouncing against the stone walls. Standing at the center of the atrium, his eyes roam through the walls around him.

Even here, inside the stone walls, vegetation grows rapidly between the pillars. The overgrowth of vines appears along the pillars, bushes rise from the ground to cover the pale-coloured walls, and a thin layer of grass emerges where the floor tiles made of Osnite stones are split. As Yoongi looks up, he gets to see the bright display of stars which adorn the night sky of Emburn. The sight of the dancing aurora in copper and gold in the sky should have been daunting, when Yoongi notices that the shades seem darker than they usually would, presenting the shadows of peril in its wake.

Yet the sky seems brighter tonight than it usually does, with stars glimmering in the night sky, surrounding the aurora like a protective blanket. Somehow, it gives Yoongi a sense of peace to be walking under such a phenomenon as he steps towards the center of the atrium, where a small pond made of Clayntine stone stands on its own, taking over the space at the heart of the Apex Hall. Around the pond, specks of silver and cyan blue glitters appear to be floating around it instead of a flowing stream, beginning from its center and moving out towards where the streaks of moonlight are falling into the room.

He reaches out to touch the silver specks, feeling them crackle against the tips of his fingers before he retracts his hand. Smiling at the sight of the flowing magic that is the essence of Emburn Empire, he turns away and walks across the atrium to reach one of the glass doors of the Hall which leads to another part of the Royal Gardens that only the Emperor and his trusted people could enter.

Under his touch, the door opens for him, and Yoongi walks out through the pathway that has become familiar to him after all the years he has become acquainted with this place. A core memory from his childhood returns to him as he walks down the gravel-covered pathway, though the overgrown hedges and blood orchids blooming all around him are nothing like what he had seen many years ago.

He was a mere child when he first walked down this pathway with his father holding his hand, long before Emperor Aymon took the throne and during the time Yoongi’s father was slowly taking over the empire’s business with their alliances. To the Emperor, those visits had been about introducing Yoongi to his future duty and responsibility as the future Crown Prince of Emburn, while to Yoongi, the memories that had been engraved in his mind from that period of time hold an entirely different meaning to him.

Beyond this pathway is a magical place, the portal gate which acts as the border between realms and the bridge that connects Emburn Empire to the other kingdoms in the mainland of the land Far Far Away. It was through this magic gate that the Emperor had been able to travel freely between kingdoms and realms, to be able to visit their allies and neighbours while keeping the homeland from being exposed to external threats, and without having to lose connection to the source of Emburn’s magic—just like what happened to Yoongi during his journey. It wouldn’t be until later, once Yoongi takes the throne as the new ruler, when he would be required to do the same, though he would still be able to cross the portal gate whenever he needed to.

The Eden Isle Gardens is what the magical portal gate is called, and it is the one place that Yoongi would always come to visit whenever he returned home.

For many years, ever since he was a child, he would secretly escape to this place whenever he needed a moment of reflection. This has been a place of refuge where he would be able to find peace, and a place that holds one of his most treasured memories which Yoongi has kept for many years.

Even in the Emperor’s absence, the vegetation in this part of the magic garden grow beautifully. The Emperor’s magic remains strong here, keeping the grounds fertile, the grass and hedges perfectly trimmed instead of growing rapidly, and the portal gates secured, with nobody else but Yoongi and Emperor Aymon holding the key and memorising the spell that would help them activate the portals when needed. Yoongi follows the path that has been adorned with blood orchids growing left and right, fairy dust leading his way through the areas that moonlight is unable to penetrate, until he finds the center of the garden, to the place where Yoongi would always return to.

At the center of the garden, surrounded by a small pond and blooming blood orchids, stands a small gazebo made of Shadow Crystals. His legs feel light as Yoongi walks across the boardwalk across the pond to reach the gazebo, while a sense of deja vu fills him as he takes a seat inside, right at the spot which overlooks a locked steel gate which has always caught his attention.

Once in the past, that steel gate had been one of the magic portals that the Emperor would use for his journeys. It was the main bridge connecting his empire to their former ally, another empire which the former Emperor of Emburn, Yoongi’s grandfather, had managed to form a tight bond with. A close and mutual relationship which lasted until the height of Emperor Aymon’s reign.

But as Yoongi looks out through the steel gate now, there is nothing left out there but the wastelands and the ruins of the fallen empire that was once superior in its reign.

After the war between kingdoms, the territory which lies beyond the portal has become a forbidden area for anyone to enter. With remnants of hazardous toxins and black magic that may still linger in the area after the war, nobody has been allowed to come across the borders and into the wastelands for many years. From this side of the connecting portal, the steel gate is secured with chains made of Magraonor steel and locks that are bound with magic spells casted by the Emperor and the High Priest.

Even though Yoongi wouldn’t be able to walk across the gate with all those spells preventing him from seeing what is beyond the darkness, he can picture it inside his head. Through his distant memory, he still recalls the majestic empire that had once been the most peaceful place in Far Far Away, the home of the elves, fairies, and powerful mages who once loved to travel between kingdoms to spread their knowledge about ancient magic and healing remedies. But if only he would close his eyes tonight, the brilliant images of the fallen empire that he once remembered would not be the image that he sees.

Another reason why Yoongi has been doing all he could to evade sleep tonight was the dreams. Ever since he used the spell which allowed him to walk into his soulmate’s dream, and ever since the day he arrived back home, a different kind of dream has been haunting his long, restless nights.

In his dream, he saw himself crossing over the steel gate, the chains and locks had been broken and he could easily walk across the borders to enter the wastelands. He saw himself walking up the steps to the fallen empire’s home castle, surrounded by nothing but shadows and the ruins that had been said to fill the barren territory, and a thick layer of white mist following him as he reached to where the main palace should have been.

Everything about the dream has been daunting, and it has only solidified his concerns about the peculiar shift happening in Far Far Away. While he never got to see what was waiting for him at the end of those steps, to see what was hidden behind the thick mist and beyond the broken stone walls, he still remembers the feeling of unease that lingered through his chest as he was stuck inside the dream, the eerie shadows that seemed to follow him through the mist as he entered the wastelands, and the feeling of death that seemed to linger.

The unnerving sensation he felt was so strong that he could feel it touching his skin even as he opened his eyes upon his return to the waking world. Even now, as he silently recalls the sights he saw in his dreams, his body shudders, while the same uneasiness fills his chest, warning him about the darkness that may come to visit.

As Yoongi sits silently at the center of the magic garden, under the dome roof of the glass gazebo overlooking the high hedges and broken pathway leading to the steel gate, he is unable to look away from the darkness beyond him. Lost in the faint memories that he has of the past, he doesn’t notice it when a black cat enters the premises, sauntering between the hedges filled with blood orchids and over the glimmering pond before finally joining him to lie down in the gazebo.

The black cat follows Yoongi’s gaze, as if trying to understand what the man is thinking so deeply about. The cat suddenly slides closer and rubs itself against Yoongi’s calf to gain his attention before sitting back on its hind legs, with his curious eyes looking out towards the nothingness beyond the gate.

“We used to slip away and escape to this place when we were kids, didn’t we?” a deep voice speaks. “What a wonderful time that was, when we were nothing more but oblivious little children who knew nothing about the world.”

Yoongi turns to the black cat with a smile, recognising the voice that had just spoken to him, allowing him to identify this mysterious cat that had just decided to join him in his wonderings. “Indeed, we were. Those moments back then were truly irreplaceable,” Yoongi says, responding to the cat as he turns his gaze back at the steel gate. “We used to run away from the tutors to hide in this place, and then played hide and seek until the sun came down and Father would have to come down here himself to fetch us.”

“Those were the days,” the black cat softly chuckles. The cat falls silent for a moment before it softly continues, “This was also the place where you met her for the first time, wasn’t it?” The cat turns to look at Yoongi as the other does the same, and they exchange gazes with each other when the cat adds, “I’m talking about Her Majesty, Queen Milena.”

Sighing, Yoongi looks around the garden and reminisces about the past. “This was the place—” he says, as his memory takes him back to that moment in time from many, many years ago, when he was nothing more but a little boy who could barely able to speak fluently, yet was curious enough to follow his father to see what the Emperor was up to when he suddenly changed his plans with Yoongi to come to this place, only to find out that the Emperor was having important guests visiting. While the Emperor went on a stroll with his guest, Yoongi came to the gazebo to meet the young Princess Milena, the future queen who was resting while staying under the shade. The young Crown Princess of their neighbouring empire welcomed Yoongi with a warm smile, a sight that to this day remains to be the most glorious thing about her for Yoongi to remember.

“We did come across each other in this place for the first time, but it was beyond that gate where I used to be able to see her—” Yoongi says, pointing at the locked steel gate, while his memory once again takes him back to those days when Emperor Aymon took him along during his visits past the steel gate. Back then, a remarkable empire stood proud and strong on the other side of the gate, with the sun shining brightly on its prosperous land. Now, there is nothing there but the dark void and the flowing white mist that haunts him in his sleep.

The black cat looks out towards the steel gate and, as if knowing what Yoongi had just been thinking about, says, “And now there is nothing left there but the wastelands.”

“Is that really the truth?” Yoongi questions almost distractedly, and the cat scoffs.

“Only you would question it.”

The blunt comment draws a smile to Yoongi’s face, and he turns back to look at his peculiar companion to say, “The only thing I’m questioning right now is why you chose to come here while disguising in that form. I didn’t expect that you would follow me all the way back home, Yijeong.”

The black cat, Yijeong, stretches out and lies down near Yoongi’s feet before answering, “As a concerned friend, I was worried when I didn’t get a word from you since you went home. I had to slip out in disguise to move easier when following you. This form was the perfect choice since nobody would pay attention to a black cat strolling through the gardens. Did you notice that you were being followed by guards? I’m not sure if they know what you’re up to, but it seems that they’re determined to keep people away from the gardens to give you some privacy.”

Despite knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see anyone other than the two of them, Yoongi still steals a glance over his shoulder, looking back to where these royal guards that Yijeong mentioned might be standing by. Somewhere near the Apex Hall, no doubt, as it would be rare for regular guards to be able to come this far. The only exception was given to Yijeong, as the son of the Empire’s General, the only other person aside from the Emperor who has access to visit this magical place. Just like him, Yijeong has been trained and prepared to replace his father once the time comes, to one day stand by Yoongi’s side once he takes over the throne and rules the empire, and he had been trained all the spells that would be needed for him to do his duties.

“I noticed having extra shadows following me since I left my room,” he says, before facing towards the center of the gardens again and settling back against the glass wall on the side of the gazebo, though he turns his attention towards the other side of the gardens this time, where fireflies are beginning to appear around the pond. “I’ve had guards shadowing me since I got back, so I already expected them to follow me here too. But I didn’t care. They wouldn’t be able to enter this place anyway.”

“I guess you’re right,” Yijeong says as he lays his chin on his paw. “What were you expecting to find by coming here anyway?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep, then I started strolling through the palace’s grounds, looking for some kind of a distraction,” Yoongi answers with a deep sigh. “I suddenly felt like I needed to get out of the palace, and I suppose that’s how I found my way here.”

Yijeong says nothing for a moment, before he questions Yoongi with a hushed voice, “Something was bothering you. Has the Emperor’s request been weighing heavily on you?”

His question draws a frown to Yoongi’s face. Yoongi had never truly revealed the true purpose of his expedition into the human realm, not to his loyal men and even to Yijeong, except to simply mention that it was a royal duty that was needed to be done under the Emperor’s request. Yijeong may have never questioned it out loud, and despite his willingness to stay by Yoongi’s side and to join him on his journey, Yoongi had always known that his best friend had been curious, if not suspicious about what he aimed to find.

It was not until the day Yoongi had to depart from camp, leaving behind Smotia to return home, when he finally pulled Yijeong aside to tell him everything—about the true reason why he left home, about why he had chosen to remain in Smotia, or why he had to keep a close eye on the Wicked King.

Only Yijeong knows what their true mission was, and what the Emperor had requested Yoongi to find without Empress Ariane ever knowing.

“Find my childhood friend. Find Milena. Help me find out what happened to her, and if she is still alive, bring her home. I cannot leave this realm without having any knowledge of her fate. I can’t die regretting that I couldn’t do anything to save her. If you can find ‘him’, then you might be able to find out if he still has her.”

Yoongi understood it quite well when Yijeong complained about being kept in the dark. Thankfully, his friend was quick to forgive him, knowing that such a big secret would cause a myriad of other problems should it ever get out, or for the Empress to hear that her own husband had made such a request. Even though it has been such a long time since both Yoongi and Yijeong ever came across Queen Milena, they both still remember how jealous the Empress had been of the Emperor’s friendship with his closest friend.

But sharing this secret only gave little relief to Yoongi’s heart, because there is still one more secret that he holds dear, unable to find a way to reveal it to Yijeong when he still has his own doubts. That finding Queen Milena, a mission that might be fundamental for the Emperor’s road to healing, has only been a small part—if not the first step—of Yoongi’s personal goal. And he has yet to be able to share this with anyone, even Yijeong, because he has never truly shared the real story of his first encounter with Queen Milena in the magic gardens.

Because that day, Queen Milena had not been sitting in this gazebo on her own, and only Yoongi and the Emperor knew Queen Milena’s secret which had been hidden until now.

Just as Yoongi is silently pondering if he should share his secret with his best friend, the air around them suddenly shifts. There is an invisible weight that breezes through the bushes, stirring the peacefulness that has been accompanying Yoongi in his wallowing. Even Yijeong becomes alert as he stirs by his side that Yoongi instantly rises, already prepared to use his magic to connect to the elements around them so he can see what is happening. But before he can even begin summoning his mana, Yijeong snaps his head to focus on him. His best friend’s gaze remains on his chest just as warmth begins to form against his skin, while the mana flow within him seems to be reacting to the sensation rising around them.

“Hey, Yoongi?” Yijeong says with a spark of surprise lathering his voice.

“Yeah?” Yoongi answers with his eyes focusing back and forth between Yijeong and the gardens, noticing how the leaves are swaying with the unsettling breeze.

“Why is that thing glowing? Did you do something or are you conjuring your mana to have it reacting like that?”

“No, I’m not doing any—” Yoongi starts to respond when his amulet—which has been hanging from his neck and down to his chest the whole time he was here—begins vibrating. He looks down and touches the amulet, which is now glowing in his hand as he lifts it up to get a better look. Blue light shimmers from the center of the amulet, flickering and swirling even stronger as he brings it up, inadvertently pointing it towards the locked gate that was supposed to lead him to their fallen neighbour.

His breath is caught, as he slowly begins to understand what is happening. There is only one reason why the amulet would be reacting this way, even if it makes no sense at all for it to be trying to lead him towards the forbidden territory beyond the sacred gate. And then, something finally dawns on him.

“You know, this amulet has been lighting up quite often since I got back home,” he whispers almost to himself, while the voice inside his head adds, ever since the dreams started happening. “But this is the first time it’s doing something like this.”

This can only mean one thing. “I think someone is using his magic to create portals, and they have been moving around between realms.”

Yijeong slowly rises, while Yoongi’s heartbeat picks up, beating rapidly in his chest right after he says those words. “Do you know who it might be? Can it be possible that—” Yijeong begins to question him, only for him to see Yoongi shaking his head, chucking to himself with disbelief when he says,

“It’s impossible, but—”

And it seems almost too good to be true just to think about it. Yoongi swallows hard as he wonders about this, as he can no longer qualm the rising hope blooming in his chest when he adds, “I think I know who it might be.”

She’s so close. How could it be?

Yoongi has no idea how it could possibly happen, but he can sense you being so close to him that he can almost feel your presence within arm’s reach. His body trembles with anticipation, excitement, and his worries rising at the same time. Seeing that there is light appearing, hope waiting at the end of his journey, Yoongi slowly releases his amulet and kneels down beside his best friend.

If he wants to find the truth, and find you, then he will no doubt need help to achieve it.

“Yijeong, I need you to listen to me carefully—”

Your hands feel clammy as you stand right in front of another silver door.

Unlike the other doors that you have seen so far, this one looks the most ordinary and a bit—old. Made of deep-coloured wood, its front is adorned with embellishments made of thin silver linings that are crafted in intricate curves formed in floral patterns, and they all seem to glint in the dimly lit hallway. You probably shouldn’t be intimidated by its size and the intricate details that you are seeing, but not surprisingly, your knees are already shaking with the mere thought of opening this door filling your head.

Deep down, you already know that whatever you may come across once you step through this door, it will be far from ordinary. This is what you have learned so far from these silver doors after venturing into them for the past few days, as it had become one of your past afternoon activities once you are done with your daily lessons and royal duties.

The shock that you gained after entering the first silver door remained within you for quite a while. Pure disbelief had followed you after coming back out of the door, not entirely sure if what you encountered that day had been real. If only you hadn’t found yourself stumbling back into the hallway of Stargrave Castle or nearly spraining your ankles on your way back to your bedchamber, perhaps you would simply think that you were dreaming. That there was no way you could have gone back to The Citadel, or that the door had connected you back to the smaller—and slightly bland-looking—study room which your father, King Aneas, would often spend his time working in with his men back at the capital.

But you were well awake to feel it when the dusk came in and your skin was covered by the bumps rising as the temperature dropped so rapidly. And you were definitely awake when the palace’s maid came to help you prepare for dinnertime. You even held a long and steady conversation with her while she was brushing out the knots in your hair, further proving that you were walking in the real world instead of being stuck in a long, extended dreamscape.

Yet those things couldn’t stop you from questioning your own sanity as you laid down on your bed that night, particularly when you recalled the conversation that you ’heard’ from your hiding spot when you were in the study room. But then you looked out the window of your bedroom, the curtains left open as you had wished to see the stars and you saw a glimpse of the same copper aurora which had captivated you on the night of your arrival, the magical display of light once again making its appearance known to you as it danced in the sky above the calm ocean.

The sight quickly reminded you of how different and peculiar everything should be in this place. It made you realise that the odds of you actually being transported back into a different place across the realm would not have been impossible. It was hard to deny it when you remembered experiencing jumping into a burning flame to get into this realm, and that magic did exist in this place in ways that you couldn’t possibly imagine.

It was your own curiosity which had drawn you back to the same hallway after you were done with your lessons on the next day. At first, you considered going through the same door again, if only to prove that you hadn’t been dreaming and that you were completely sane. But then your father’s voice echoed through your mind as you stood in front of the same door, reminding you of his warning to only try one door at a time.

As you wished to be able to see more, you stepped away from the first door. There was no humming sound calling you back when you left it behind, while an odd pull was felt through the air, and you followed it until you found another silver door not too far away.

The silver door which soon became your second to try out had been smaller in size compared to the first one you had gone into. Yet you still entered with caution. You came through the door thinking that you would be prepared to find another surprising revelation, only to feel the shock filling your entire being when you walked through the door to come out through a small cabinet, and you found yourself emerging into the royal waiting room that was located within the city hall in the capital city of Smotia.

There was nobody around to catch you as you came out of the waiting room. After finding the podium on the first floor, right where your father’s throne was placed for him to acquire during formal ceremonies, you continued to make your way to the upper floors. Having been to this place often times before to accompany your father, you found no trouble in finding the main balcony, where the King would stand before the people of Smotia as he leads various ceremonies and rituals together with you by his side and his loyal ministers shadowing his movements.

Sure enough, as you looked down from the balcony, the Elysium Square was presented right before your eyes. The town’s square where the people would gather to see their King and to celebrate the empire’s annual events, and oftentimes, to simply enjoy the free time they have during their daily lives.

The same way the people were doing as you looked down from above. Keeping yourself in the shades to avoid being seen, you saw how the town’s workers were walking down the pavements as they were on their way home, making quite a haste to make sure that they would return to their dwellings before dusk. There were also little children playing around the fountains, while their mothers kept their busy eyes to watch over them while gossiping on the sides.

Just like the day before, when you felt your knees buckling beneath you in shock, you had to hold on to the railings as you watched the people below, the faint voices of their laughter became solid proof that you had been once again sent away from your new home. A memory flashed through your mind just then, of how each time you were supposed to attend the royal gathering alongside your father, the King himself would never ride the royal carriage with you to reach the city hall.

Each time, your father would somehow arrive not long after you would, with not a sight of another royal carriage arriving at the city hall to bring him all the way from The Citadel. Turning back to the hall where you came from, you could almost picture it, to see the King walking down the hall before emerging through the main balcony to greet his people, his daughter, and his men, without a single person witnessing how he had truly arrived.

With your curiosity deepened, you continued your adventure for the next few days by trying out two different silver doors, both of them lined up within a nearby hallway just beyond the King’s study room. And just like the previous ones, each of these doors took you back to different areas in the land of Smotia which you had become most familiar with.

The smaller one took you back to the town’s church.

You came out through the storage room door at the back of the church and, in your shock, you came so close to bumping into the head priest while you were busy taking in your surroundings. It was pure luck that you had been quick enough to slip into a nearby room which was thankfully empty, that you were able to avoid getting seen by the head priest who walked by with his helpers.

When the coast was clear enough for you to slip out of the room, the evening mass was just starting to take place. You may have recovered from your shock by then, yet once again, your mind was caught in a battle between acceptance and denial to make your exit. Fallen prey to your own curiosity, as you wanted to get a closer look instead of leaving with questions shadowing your thoughts, you returned to the room where you had been hiding in. From one of the wardrobes you found, you managed to grab a commoner’s cloak for you to borrow, using it to hide your identity as you slipped between the parishioners who came for the head priest’s sermon and gain his blessings.

As everyone around you was listening to the head priest’s sermon with rapt attention, the burning candles on the altar swaying with the breeze, their soft lights illuminating the walls and the dais while giving a serene feeling into the whole church, your attention remained on the side doors leading to the back halls where you came from. Once again, you could almost see the shadows of your father, sauntering through the back halls with his magic before appearing at the altar without anyone noticing or wondering where His Majesty had come from.

The next silver door you tried had appeared to your eyes like a work of art. The carvings on the wood panels had been the ones to draw you in, before you noticed that the silver embellishments that marked the door seemed to have silver specks floating around it, drawing more of your attention to have a closer look. That was before the humming voices began to call for you, pulling you in, enchanting you to slide in the key and open the door for a new adventure.

The magic door brought you to the orchard house that was part of the royal winery on the outskirts of the capital city. Located beyond the borders of the Elcester Forest where the wide, open plane was rich and fruitful enough for the vineyard to grow massively, it was the place which produced the royal wine that the King would often serve to his special guests during royal dinners and important events that were held by the empire.

Despite recognising the place almost immediately, you still took your time to look around to find clues, any signs that may confirm your suspicions. Leaving the main house, you browsed through the warehouse and stockrooms, not stopping until you finally found the crates of bottles that were being prepared to be sent away to The Citadel. It wasn’t until you saw the royal crest marking the crates and the bottles when you finally confirmed it, that the place had indeed been another one of the King’s properties which was situated within the territory of Smotia.

Back in the part of the empire which existed in the human realm.

You walked across the clearing with a mixed feeling of awe and trepidation. The day was beginning to settle down to dusk by the time you were venturing through the property, with the sun descending into the horizon, spreading more shadows than light through the open vineyards. It allowed you to stay in the shade to avoid being seen, and to be able to watch the workers from a safe distance. As the night was closing in, there were only a small group of people left working at the winery. Most of them were just finishing up, either at the warehouse or the stockrooms where they kept the crops. They all seemed busy with their own tasks to notice you, though it didn’t stop you from feeling like someone was watching your movement, causing you to become even more cautious while you were feeding your curiosity.

It was after the last trip you took through the silver doors when you finally came to a realisation, to finally understand the secret behind them. Once you accepted that your little adventures had not been a dream or imagination, and that what you encountered had not been mere illusion, you finally understood what these silver doors were.

Portals.

The silver doors that your father had given you access to have been magic portals, with powerful spells that would bring you to different places, allowing you to emerge in different realms, and perhaps even beyond.

If only you hadn’t had the talk with your father on the day you first arrived in this castle, or taken the time to understand more about this new realm and learn about magic since you have been here, you would have simply thought that you have indeed gone crazy. But all the days you spent learning about the fairy tale land and the magic that lies within the realm have only helped you to understand everything better, and you soon realised that this was the magic that your father mentioned the day he handed you the bundle of keys that you are now holding in your hand.

“Within each one of the silver doors, there is a strong kind of magic. One that has been so demanding of our family’s powers, exists under my control, and it is also the type of magic that should be kept secret, no matter what. Once you go through them, you will understand why it is important for me to defend this castle and our home territory.”

Was this the reason why your father brought you back to this place after so long, after spending years keeping you away from it? Did he want you to learn about his magic after protecting you from it? Was this the reason why he handed you these keys, to show you the power of magic that has been passed down in your family?

But then the most important question still haunts you to this day—

Has this been His Majesty’s way of being able to travel to different places in a short amount of time so he could handle his business, to be able to do his duty without having to travel far and long so he could continue taking care of his empire?

With this new knowledge, your curiosity has been growing stronger than your fear, and you have more questions plaguing you each day. Questions that you would have to keep to yourself until the day your father would return home.

Until then, you would gather more information through your lessons and from opening more magic doors. Perhaps, the more you get to see the magic behind these doors, the more you can see this new world as you continue venturing through these portals, then you will be able to learn and understand more about your father’s magic and this magical realm, and find out who you truly are.

That was the reason why you are standing here tonight, right in front of yet another silver door that has drawn your curiosity that you find it hard to look away. The silver embellishments on the door are glimmering right before your eyes, as they reflect the soft glare of moonlight that has penetrated into the hallway through a nearby window.

The moonlight that rarely accompanies you whenever you are about to embark on your own little adventure.

In your previous trials, you have only chosen the short period of time in the late afternoon after tutoring hours to slip out of your bedchamber and venture into these halls. Keeping the short timeframe that your father had given you for these adventures, you have always used the sign of dusk to remind you to return home, allowing you to be back right before dinnertime.

Today has been different. Tutoring hours lasted longer than usual, when Lord Gordan took over your afternoon lessons and sat you down to teach you about your family’s ancestry. The extra lessons didn’t end until dusk finally came, when Nanny Abigail took over guarding you as she led you straight to dinner in the royal dining hall.

It wasn’t until long after dinnertime when you finally found the chance to slip out of the bedchamber. The absence of Lord Gordan and Nanny Abigail when you stepped out of the room, and the absence of the lady maids in the hallway wasn’t so much of a surprise, but it was quite a shock to find that there had been no guards standing by outside of your bedchamber. Just like how it would have been back at The Citadel when you could barely see yourself going around the palace without at least one guard following you.

It made you curious, yet you spent no time wondering about it, and took the chance to slip out of your quarters and find your way back to this hallway of silver doors.

There were no palace staff in sight as you walked down the halls, but you did catch a sight of a pair of guards standing in their post in a nearby hall, though they seemed to be focused on guarding the King’s study room to notice you slipping into the shadows behind the pillars as you made your way into this place. Glancing towards the end of the hall and to the opposite way, you make sure that the coast is still clear, and nobody would catch what you are doing as you move closer to the silver door.

This time, there is no humming sound coming out of the door to summon you, as if beckoning you to come closer and choose this door for you to open tonight. Yet the silver key that you are holding seems to vibrate against your palm the closer you come towards the door before you. The vibration is strong enough to cause the rest of the keys in the bundle to jingle that you have to press your palm around them to keep them from making too much noise, afraid that it might draw someone’s attention and you would miss the chance to see what lies beyond the magic door.

Knowing that you won’t have much time left before the guards would begin their evening patrol and your absence in the bedchamber gets discovered, you reach back and pull up the hood of your cloak to cover yourself before walking through the door. Learning from past experiences, after finding yourself emerging into unexpected places and coming close to being seen or recognised, you realised that you would have to be more careful to avoid getting caught by someone and accidentally exposing your father’s secret during your trips.

That was why you decided to be much safer tonight, to disguise yourself as you go through with your secret escapade.

Under the half-ragged cloak that you have often worn whenever you escaped from The Citadel at nightfall, you have chosen to wear a commoner’s clothes—a plain, dark-coloured tunic top and a pair of tight breeches—instead of your daily dresses. The pair of boots that would normally be hidden under your bed have replaced the low pair of heels that you wore during today’s tutoring hours and afternoon lessons.

With a deep inhale of breath and a silent prayer, you turn the vibrating key which has somehow become warm in your hold, and gently open the door.

You suck a deep breath as you emerge into a bedroom that looks nothing like the rooms you have seen all around the magic castle so far. The room you walk into appears to be quite small yet cozy, with a queen-sized bed positioned right at the center of the room, covered with a couple of fluffed pillows and fresh sheets, with a thick furry blanket folded on the foot of the bed. There is a shaded lamp on top of the side table right beside the bed, and a cold, unlit fireplace on the opposite wall. Right in front of the fireplace, a brown felt that appears to have come from a deer is laid to cover the wooden floor, making you think for a second that you might be inside a hunter’s lodging, until something draws your attention to make you think otherwise.

On your right appears to you a wooden door. Even while being closed shut, you can still hear the muffled sounds of people chatting and cheering, the sounds of glass clinking and cutleries hitting tables and plates, and the rough voices of men shouting and calling names. The noises that you hear are enough to give you a hint to figure out where you currently are, as they bring you back to the scene you encountered a period of time ago during your late-night trips into town. Though doubt fills your mind, as you still find it hard to believe it to be true unless you can see it with your own eyes.

You turn towards the door, and the door from which you came in from grabs your attention. Looking at it now, it seems to be the door of a walk-in closet. But just like the other portals, magic has turned it into something else. Through the half-opened door, instead of seeing the interior of a closet, you see the sight of the magic portal that is still open. There is nothing there but the sight of a dark void with swirling blue lights floating at the center. The dark void seems eerie to you, yet you no longer look at it with fear as you know that this magical sight is what will lead you back to the magic castle once you are done venturing here.

The sound of a man’s laughter and the loud cheers that follow draw your attention back to the bedroom door. Curious to know where you might have ended, you carefully make your way to it. The wooden floor creaks beneath your booths, making your breath hitch, and you silently pray that the noises outside would drown the sounds you are making as you slowly reach for the doorknob and turn it open. To your relief, the door has been left unlocked, and you carefully pull it open just an inch. Just enough for you to see what is on the other side.

The muffled sounds you heard suddenly clear out and immediately hit you straight in the face—the loud chattering that seems to come from dozens of rowdy men and the boastful laughter that you heard earlier, with the sounds of glasses clinking against each other or hitting against wooden tables. Seeing nothing but a wooden walkway and railings as you open the door, you realise that you are currently on the upper floor of an establishment, while the noises seem to have been coming from downstairs. The familiar scent of booze, dust, and burning candles wafts through the air, and you stifle a gasp as you soon realise where you are.

Moving in haste when you barely have the chance to recover from shock, you shut the door with a soft click and turn the other way. Across from you appears a window, left partly opened for the cold night breeze to flow into the room, blowing the thin curtains that have little to do to shield the lights coming from the street outside. With shaky legs, you walk towards the window and look down.

Just as suspected, you see the bustling street of the business district of Smotia right down below, with people passing by as they are making their route home or searching for a place of leisure after a long day of hard work. You can easily recognise the street you are looking at, because you had ventured into the same street the last time you slipped away from home.

Still busy taking everything in, you almost miss the sound of firm footsteps and the creaks on the wooden floor outside of the bedroom, until you hear them coming closer towards the bedroom door. A low and deep voice calls out from outside the door, snapping you out of your shock, “Anee? Is that you?”

Turning sharply with a gasp, you rush to close the door to the closet, hiding the glimmering portal before rushing into the small bathroom on the other side of the fireplace to hide.

“You didn’t tell me that you were coming tonight—”

The deep sound of voice fades just as the bedroom door opens merely seconds after you close the bathroom door shut. “Anee? Are you here?” the man calls out again after coming to a halt. “Huh. That’s funny, I thought I heard someone here.”

Just when you expect him to leave after finding the room empty, you hear the man entering the room instead. The floor creaks more intensely under his boots, and you hold your breath as you sense him coming towards the window. Peering through the seams between the door and the wooden frame, you catch the sight of the man as he stands in front of the window, looking down the street with a sigh.

“Must have been my imagination, then. ’Am getting old for this, I swear,” he seems to mumble to himself before he gently shuts the window, and as he bends, you get to see him more clearly to recognise him. The illuminating street lights from outside the window are helping you to see his face.

Sir Elias.

A woman’s voice is heard from outside the room, calling for him, and the man turns to walk away. “Nothing, love. I thought I heard someone in the room, is all,” he calls out to whoever was calling him as he makes his way to leave the bedroom.

“Who is it? Is it Anee?” the woman’s voice seems muted as she remains outside the bedroom, with the noises from below rising in the background.

“Nah,” Sir Elias chuckles lowly. “It’s just the wind—” he calls out to the woman that you assume to be his wife as he turns and begins walking away, before adding gently under his breath, “Or maybe I just missed that bloody sucker.”

You remain still as you listen to the faint click sound of the door coming to close, followed by the sound of Sir Elias’ heavy footfalls over the wooden floor fading in the distance, until silence fills the room.

It isn’t until you take a few more deep breaths and steady your shaking hands before you finally open the door, looking around you to make sure that the bedroom is completely empty before finally stepping out of the bathroom. With a deep, exhale of breath, you come down to your knees in your relief and rest back against the bed. Your eyes turn to the window, now closed shut to shield the voices from the town below, leaving you in the stifling silence where your mind once again becomes the loudest.

The silver door has taken you back to The Rare Roots, the local pub right at the center of the business district in Smotia, and straight into one of the rented rooms on the upper floor of the pub, which Sir Elias had offered you to take the night you came here.

Your head spins as questions after questions continue to fill your mind.

Why would the King have direct access to a local pub in the business district of Smotia?

And why would Sir Elias—the owner of the local pub who you have never once seen coming to visit The Citadel—be calling your father by his childhood name, as if they have known each other personally for a very long time, or that he would expect the King to be appearing in one of his rented bedrooms as if it would be such a normal occurrence to happen here?

You remain in the bedroom for a while longer, looking around to find any sign that your father had truly been here, while the night passes by with the muffled sounds from the crowd of The Rare Roots below penetrating through the silence. The noises out there are loud, but not loud enough to drown your thoughts as you take a seat at the foot of the bed, trying to make sense of your findings.

The curtains by the window have been left open after Sir Elias’ departure, allowing the figure that has been moving in the shadows to look his way in, watching your movements in silence, his presence completely unbeknownst to you. Perched atop the roof of the next building, he gets a clear view of you. Of the way you seem to be wallowing so deep in your thoughts that you are unaware of the pair of eyes that are keeping a close watch on you.

And he continues to watch over you, taking his time to take the sight of you in and memorise everything he sees of you until you finally slip away, disappearing into one of the doors which acts like the portal bringing you back home. That is when he also makes his move, stepping back into the shadows to return to where he belongs, filled with the delight of victory that comes after finally finding what he was after.

Found you. Finally, I’ve found you, he wonders to himself, as he slips away and disappears through the shadows of the night.

118 notes · View notes

thorburned · 1 year

Text

Big fan of fantasy settings that turn classic monster types into more abstract archetypes that fit within the magic system.

Dragons in Pact aren’t just big magic lizards that sometimes fly or breathe fire, they have a specific place in the universe, with each one being an ouroboros, a perpetual motion machine, an infinite feedback loop of some kind of power, often but not necessarily elemental. A god that worships themself, a fire that burns itself as fuel, a spring that acts as its own water source, a battery that powers itself. They aren’t always reptilian, but default to forms reminiscent of dinosaurs as the last dominant group of organisms before the rise of mammals and humans. They’re one variation on a broader concept in the universe, of knots, places or beings or circumstances where the usual balances and flows of the universe have stopped working as they should.

Bogeymen in Pact are a way of unifying the wide variation in specifics of horror movie monsters and slashers, preserving the uniqueness of each one while keeping the shared themes of fear and implacability and refusal to stay dead in the sequel; each one is someone who fell into the Abyss, a dimension that feeds on pain and fear and specializes in forcing its victims to sacrifice their humanity to improve their own situation, and got out by agreeing implicitly to become the Abyss’ agent in the mundane world, dragging more people down to keep themself afloat.

@artbyblastweave also has a great non-Otherverse concept of Minotaurs emerging from mass death in a labyrinthine area.

So I was thinking about Gorgons. There’s a lot of variation to this Greek myth, but the gist is that if someone looks at a gorgon, they turn to stone. Also they have living snakes for hair which is sick. The Basilisk and Cockatrice are other monsters that are usually described as having similar powers, though in some versions they poison or burn rather than petrify, and in others it’s what they look at that ends up poisoned/burned/petrified, instead of what looks at them. Also they tend to be more bestial and might incorporate some bird parts in addition to the reptile parts.

The reason for why they have this power ranges from “cursed by gods” to “they’re just like that”, but I think an interesting interpretation would be in a similar vein to Pact’s dragons. They’re beings that embody such a potent source of a particular element or substance or power, that they’re incredibly reactive or contagious, so much that even looking at them or being seen by them provides an avenue for their essence to cross and infect. They arise from too much power being forced into too small a container, until pressurized enough to burst out along any path of least resistance, rapidly conducting along any connection. The ‘snakes’ seen in some gorgons are in fact plumes of their energy leaking out, like the corona of a star, reptilian emission spectra. The heads of some gorgons may appear to those who manage to view them indirectly as like blooming flowers, bristling with invertebrate legs, pierced with spikes, or radiant with halos; these are only ever brief glimpses however, as even indirect viewers are almost immediately blinded. The ‘crown’ that gives basilisks (from basiliskos, ‘little king’) and cockatrices (spelling influenced by resemblance to a rooster’s comb) their names is the same phenomenon.

‘Gorgon’ could be interpreted as specifically the stone or earth infused variant of this being, while ‘Basilisk’ could be fire and ‘Cockatrice’ poison, or they could all just be treated as interchangeable. A fire gorgon cause viewers to spontaneously combust, a water gorgon melts its spectators, to look on an air gorgon is to vaporize. Gorgons vary in power, and not all are able to instantly convert the whole body, but even the weakest are usually fatal due to the close proximity of eyes to brain. The victims that escape direct eye contact with only blindness or nonlethal brain damage are few and lucky. Even a reflection of some more powerful gorgons can be enough to turn eyes to stone or melt them out of their sockets. A potentially related phenomenon is seen elsewhere in Greek myth, with Zeus and Semele, and in the Bible, with Lot’s wife. While mortals gazing on Lovecraftian horrors may lose their minds, those who witness the true power of a god are annihilated or become a pillar of salt.

#wildbow #otherverse #there's some demons in pact that do similar things to what's described here #a lot of demons are abstract and able to possess or appear from reflective surfaces including eyes that look directly at them #and also in the bit discussing how demons only destroy never create there are some examples #about how demons that make statues or noise when annihilating people is actually just the universe backfilling terrain or air #also sight/eye contact functioning as a detectable or exploitable connection that magic can conduct along is also an established thing

413 notes · View notes

the-monkey-ruler · 1 month

Note

what are some plot holes in jttw? would be fun to try to make sense of it as a fan

Hmmm, surprisingly not a terrible amount at least when I did my first and second run-through! It helps that in the story, each arc is nearly a self-contained story within itself so really they don't like contradict each other. But that doesn't mean that this story is perfect as this was made with a combination of multiple of stories that Wu Cheng'en collected and gracefully mashed together to create this novel.

I would say the biggest plot hole you would see people bring up is why Wukong is so much weaker on the journey compared to his Havoc in Heaven. He went against 100,000 soldiers and even defeated the Jade Emporer, about to smash his head in if not for Buddha coming in last minute. And the out-of-story reason is that... there NEEDS to be a story at all and we can't have Wukong bulldozing through every arc, that isn't isn't actually a compelling narrative. In-story-reason we are never given but I have two! One is that Wukong lost power under the mountain, not just from being weakened and he has to slowly regain his strength but that he lost his mental fortitude. Wukong was defeated in battle for the first time (not including his draw with Erlang Shen) and everything he knows about might is right is gone. He has not only lost the battle but also lost the foundations of his philosophy. His actions do have consequences and while he was able to use his power with near reckless abandon he knows how this self-awareness to himself he didn't have before that is almost mentally blocking him from using his full strength, something that even he refuses to acknowledge within himself because that would be confronting that part of himself. Another theory is that the demons that he fights along the road ARE just stronger than demons he has fought in the past. That a new generation of demon, inspired by the legend of the Demon Monkey that took on heaven, gained power rapidly within the 500 years he was down and Wukong found himself unprepared for a new world of demons that were aiming to be just as powerful as him.

The second plot hole you see many times in the arcs is maybe asking 'why is it that Wukong could use sleeping bugs in his arc and he doesn't in every arc' or like 'why doesn't he just turn invisible every and just snap demons neck' or something like why doesn't Wukong or the gang use like their magic powers in more complex plans to take down their enemies and that is similar to the first out-of-story reason that there needs to be a narrative and there is a lot of magic powers that cannot all be counted. In-story-reason is that Wukong is an impulsive man and usually does pick his first plan before thinking out others, as I will say he does show that he is a fan of espionage and can transform into anything to sneak into his enemies' lairs. He COULD just make the whole room pass out when he is just a fly on the wall sure but that wouldn't be nearly as fun.

There was a time Wukong claimed he ate humans but this cannot be true as later Sanzang has Wukong perform a life-giving magic that neither Bajie nor Wujing were able to do because they have eaten humans before. This mostly likely being that Wukong only said so to make a point to Sanzang but in reality, he has never eaten a human because his soul is still pure.

Azure lion appears twice in the novel, once as the Lion-Lyxn Demon and returning as the Azure Lion in the Camel Ridge Arc. This appearance is not commented on but it isn't impossible considering the first time he was asked to be a trial, and the second time he was running away from his Master.

Erlang Shen burning the mountain is most likely him following the nine familial exterminations where all families of a criminal must pay for their relatives' crimes. We see that Wukong actually THANKS Erlang Shen the next time they meet, even calling him his sworn brother, after seeing his Flower Fruit Mountain. While never outright stated this is to be believed that Wukong was grateful that Erlang Shen didn't not follow those orders to the letter and kill all his monkeys, rather he spared enough to still live on the mountain. This would still show Erlang Shen as a rebel in his own right which does follow his own lore.

Bailong doesn't get involved in most of the journey but this could be that he lost his scales and horns in his punishment. While not stated this could have greatly devalued his powers or perhaps even taken away his abilities to turn back into a dragon altogether until they reach the West. We see that he can still transform into a human form but he reverts back to his horse form when injured.

Wukong claims that he got his sleeping bugs from a bet from one of the Heavenly Kings, but we also see that he can MAKE the sleeping bugs with his fur as well... meaning that him having the real bugs is a moot point. He keeps enough to make sure they can reproduce.

Never try to power scale. Wukong is able to defeat Nezha, but wasn't able to defeat Bull Demon King (despite him running away every time before the fight could finish), but the Bull Demon King was taken down by Nezha just shows that all these guys are powerful yeah but like every battle is circumstantial and like while some people are strong, some are stronger just for this fight.

Wukong's demon-revealing eyes unable to tell if Azure Lion or Sanzang were the true form, could suggest that Wukong's eyes are always infallible. This was brought up to me recently by Ryin but Wukong's eyes work more like to see aura rather than x-ray vision, as he can tell when someone is a demon but he can't tell what kind or who really underneath. He does this again in the Jade Rabbit Arc where he knows that the princes is a demon but their aura isn't strong enough that he can tell who they are under their human disguise.

Not really a plothole but they can't just fly all the way to the West cause Sanzang can't stay on the cloud being a mortal. We see this at the end where they recount that he hasn't done all 81 trails and he loses his cloud mid-flight causing the scirptures to get wet.

It is never stated that Wujing ate all of Sanzang's past lives but it could be suggested since Wujing's necklace is made from nine scripture pilgrims, suggesting that perhaps Sanzang never lived past 30 in all his past lives. This is more of a theory than anything else.

Wukong's staff being stolen in the Twany Lion Arc despite being so heavy no one could lift it. This could be that Wukong is able to command the weight of the staff and thus he made it light for the servants to pick it up as they made replicas for the king but that it has to be within his range to make it heavy again.

Sanzang has healing spit and we never get to see that in action again after he cruses his grandmother's blindness.

These are some theories/plot holes that I have found, but honestly there isn’t a lot. Xiyouji has the advantage of having several self-contained arcs within the story that that does help keep up with consistency. I would say that the only big problem is that if a character uses a power in the past, it can be questioned why it’s never brought up up again, but that’s hardly “plothole” and just a miss opportunity. But understanding from a writing perspective, it does require the plot to go on!

Overall, if I missed anything or anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to add!

#anon ask #anonymous #anon #jttw #journey to the west #sun wukong #xiyouji #ask #sha wujing #tang sanzang

31 notes · View notes

museofthepyre · 3 months

Text

Did a fun Q&A thing on insta about my ocs, here are the highlights, lore and shit! For context I am writing this into a horror-ish book as we speak. Brewing my dastardly schemes (gay tragedy).

Q: Is Eden also a cannibal?

A: Eden isn't a cannibal in the way Harlow is. I mean he eats people but only because Harlow's cooking is too good to turn down /hj. Eden's thing is... kinda the opposite.

He's slowly being consumed by the rot that's festering within him, a manifestation of hatred and shame. To him love is consumption, and he is inedible. Insert vulture metaphor here w Harlow. For every rotting corpse there is a very greatful vulture who will look past the decay, and see your worth. Eden is ultimately finished off by something that loves him, a consumptive love, unconditional and indiscriminate.

Q: ABOUT THE ROT, HOW DOES IT WORK? HOW IS IT AFFECTING HIM??

A: This rot is really the only story element that isn't totally grounded in reality. It's an illness that's a manifestation of his self hatred/ repression/ internalized shame- not an actual condition.

It appears at first like it just affects his chest- but it’s been slowly burrowing deep into his body. Its spreading like roots/ mycillium through his flesh and will finish him off in one foul swoop once it's finished spreading.

In the meantime, it manifests like a chronic illness- his muscles are all atrophied and he feels constantly drained of life. It's taking small pieces of flesh to sustain itself while it spreads (the chest cavity is the result of that-though the REAL damage is invisible. It's the ticking time bomb roots beneath the seemingly unaffected surface). It functions like a slow acting Chronic Wasting Disease (aka zombie deer disease, humans can't get it in reality, but it was the inspiration)

Q: What happened when Harlow discovered Eden was a guy

A: Eden is trans, and closeted in his life. Harlow is the first person he ever discusses his truth with.

At first, Harlow was just kinda... confused? Transness is not a concept he was familiar with. At ALL. The idea alone was completely unheard of to him. Again this is the Bible Belt in the 8os, the area so rarely encountered visible transness- trans people existed of course, but so many stayed hidden to survive. The roaring tre of bigotry did not have much tuel in that regard... no trans people to propagandize against. It was not on the public's vitriolic radar. In that way, Harlow hadn't developed the knee-jerk reaction of hatred... he was more fascinated than anything, but it did challenge him to understand at first.

Unlike his journey with accepting homosexuality this was not so much a task of unlearning as it was just... learning.

Also Eden's whole rotting thing adds another layer to this Harlow is stupid and takes everything VERY literally- he thought Eden's condition must be divinely brought.

Harlow saw a gift from God, a rare flower planted in inhospitable soil, wilting before it ever got the chance to bloom. Like the angels sent to Sodom and Gamorrah in human disguises, to test the townspeople's virtue. To present them with something foreign yet beautiful, to judge their inherent goodness based on how they treat it. Like in the biblical story, the townspeople were so vile and inhospitable that it endangered the angels and forced them to leave, burning down the town behind them. Harlow saw this as prophecy. He was eager to get to the “burning down the town” part.

Part of my motivation for incorporating that specific biblical story is SPITE btw since so many people use it to justify homophobia. Reverse uno idiots. I'm putting you in my GAY BOOK as a metaphor for hateful queerphobic societies.HA!

Q: Describe the rot in Eden's chest in sensory detail (texture smell “cause" etc) I want rot details!!

A: I used CWD and necrotizing fasciitis as building blocks for this thing... starts in the brain, spreads like roots through the body, eating away at muscle and skin as it does. Once it's fully spread, it'd rapidly worsten and bring death within a matter of hours.

In the meantime it sustains itself off of non-fatal bits of flesh (his chest here, since it's a manifestation of self hatred and all, and dysphoria is a bitch). It is an open wound so it'd feel scabby and it is perpetually weeping... which is how Harlow finds out about it so quickly (seeps through white nightgown after being left unbandaged for a few nights). He would also have to take care to hide the smell of decay

It advances throughout the story and by the end there's barely any soft tissue left on his chest, nothing alive anyways. The final overtake begins, and his organs enter the early stages of consumption (which happens very rapidly in one foul swoop). That's when they decide it's time for boy dinner!

Q: How smart are they

A: GREAT QUESTION! HARLOW IS FUCKING STUPID. LIKE not only does he lack emotional intelligence entirely, but he's also very impulsive and reckless. The ONLY reason he's getting away with his murders is because the society around him has shot itself in the foot with its homophobia. Noooobody is suspicious of him for the string of missing attractive dudes. They're looking for a "vengeful woman" profile, or possibly a "debt collector with many social connections" or something. Not some solitary redneck who barely shows his face in town and is very polite and quiet when he does. He appears, in all respects, like a normal guy in public.

Once they have mutual blackmail (and also start caring about each other)... Eden realizes that if Harlow gets caught, he's fucked too. So partially for the sake of self-preservation, and... partially out of pity for this stupid stupid man... Eden starts to help him cover up.

Harlow is pretty disillusioned as to how society functions as a whole, since he grew up pretty far from it. Eden is the opposite, he was suffocated by it and learned how to be sneaky as a result. Eden is very good at getting people to trust him, he's good at lying, he's good at acting. Thing is, he's overly trusting to his own detriment. He's desperate for genuine connection and easily deceived himself. He's bad at reading people.

Q: What happened to Harlow's mom?

A: Harlow's mother died due to complications during childbirth. He never had a maternal figure in his life, he was raised as an only child by his father, who had become calloused and would never remarry. Harlow dropped out of high school and kept to himself at his house/ in nature after that very isolated from society. Considering all this... he not only lacked a maternal figure, but any female influence... at all. Which manifested as this warped and idolized understanding of women as a whole

He thought of women in a very high and almost mystified regard- like how a child would imagine a mythical creature. One massive blank filled in by a clueless imagination. He respected them greatly, he feared them like gods, and he felt a need to repent to them as such. He never properly processed the guilt he felt over his mothers death-largely thanks to his father's handling of it. This guilt left him feeling indebted, like he owed the world for what he “took", like if he ever so much as inconvenienced another woman it would be an irredeemable sin.

This all sounds like it comes from a good place, but it's really all just deluded naivety this is not a positive trait of Harlow's. It contributed a lot to his toxic masculinity, the pressure he put on himself to "be a man", etc.

He's not a white knight, he's a cowardly dog.

This is why he didn't just kill Eden on the spot after being caught, he needed to make sure...)

MORE TO COME IM SURE I LOVE GETTING QUESTIONS ABOUT THESE FREAKS IF ANYONE HERE HAS ANY

#Rot of the Eucharist #my ocs #ocs #original characters #original writing #horror writing #horror author #queer author #queer fiction #long post

25 notes · View notes

blainesebastian · 1 year

Text

a dream is a wish your heart makes

words: 1,287 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “sequel to Disney proposal fic” notes: this is a small part 2 to ‘full of magic’, you should read that first :) warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted, @rairaielv

You'd never consider yourself that much of a worrier, there's never seemed like much of a point. In your opinion, worrying is just gonna mean that you'll suffer twice, so, why bother? Clearly in all the times you've told yourself this, you were never planning a wedding—so what do you know?

You know that wedding planners exist and that maid of honors and family members usually help with this sort of thing, getting all your ducks in a row...because at this point all you feel like you're doing is putting out small fires for something else to pop up in your peripherals but. One of the mistakes you think you make is that you kind of insist on doing everything on your own. And so much of it feels doable? You make lists all the time and get shit done and only accept help when you absolutely need it—but then a year turns into five months and now you're at three and then one and...you're worried about a day that's supposed to be one of the most perfect in your life.

And maybe that's the issue. Too much pressure for a 'perfect' day and not allowing anyone to take things off your plate (or well, checklist). You can figure out most of this on your own, right?

Right...that's why you're drowning in a sea of paperwork on your dining room table and you've lost at least two mugs underneath somewhere. Swallowed up. You frown—you're beginning to forget what this table actually looks like beneath.

The thing is, everything major is booked—this is just the little things, which are somehow worse and more stressful. These are the placecards, the flowers, the reception favors, the small cards and giftcards for the caterers and other people who are gonna work to make this wedding perfect.

"What was I thinking?" You mumble, shifting papers around. Getting proposed to at Disney was one thing...but now getting married? Whole other can of worms.

Of course, it seemed like such a good idea at the time--why wouldn't it? You were also completely swept up in the romanticism of having a Disney wedding. Austin was willing to spend any expense, even though you insisted that you didn't need to. You had joked about having your wedding at Disney once and that was kind of the end of it, those comments became checklists, and those checklists became plans. To be fair, it's not that you're not excited...even though you're incredibly stressed, it's just...it almost feels like part of a dream. Though how could it not when you're going to get married in the most magical place on earth?

Admittedly, you love Disney—you've always been a huge fan even though it's taken you a bit to get there. You're definitely able to associate perfect memories with Magic Kingdom, given that's where Austin proposed to you. Being with him within itself feels magical, so—and you know how corny that can sound on the outside, but...you're not gonna deny that's how it feels. So how can you pass up that opportunity to continue it there?

There's this gazebo before the Boardwalk near the Beach Club resort and it overlooks the bay, the Swan and Dolphin and Yacht Club resort. It's simple, beautiful but there's so many hoops to jump through, I's to dot, T's to cross. You run a hand over your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you close your eyes.

You feel rather than see Austin come into the room, his hand slipping along the back of your shoulders and running down your back. He leans down and presses a kiss to your head, a small shiver coursing down your spine as you catch a hint of his cologne.

"I keep having nightmares I'm gonna get buried under paper."

Austin chuckles lightly, squeezing your shoulder before slipping into a chair next to you. "You're gonna give yourself a migraine—you know we got other people to help you with this, right? Including me?"

You sigh a bit dramatically and tip your head back before rolling your gaze to your fiancé. "I know," You reply quietly, a soft smile tugging the corners of your mouth, "I just keep thinking about everything that needs done and I get tunnel vision."

He hums before nodding, reaching for a few pieces of paper aside. He knows you, doesn’t need to elaborate on that—he gets exactly how you’re feeling. But he’s also right. You can’t take utter control over all of this. For starters, there’s way too much to do that you can easily delegate to some other people to help and secondly, the last thing you want to do is associate your wedding with negative feelings of stress and general ickiness.

Alright, fine. You’ll get some help, stop trying to control everything, because it’s not possible anyways.

“I guess I just wanted everything to be perfect.” You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you push the chair back from the table. You turn your body, facing Austin, knowing how cliché that sounds.

You should know better, at this point, than to be a perfectionist—there’s no good reason to be. And yet it’s difficult to stop when those nagging thoughts come rolling in. Austin’s pretty good at shushing them, though, sometimes with a simple touch. He shifts slightly in his chair to take a look at you, brushing your hair over your shoulder in a fond gesture. He gives you this look which you know says—you worry too much.

“It will be.”

You crinkle your nose because…you know that Austin is an optimist but, “How can you know that?”

He holds your gaze for a long moment and before he speaks, you can tell how serious he is about the words that are going to leave his mouth, an emotion you can’t quite name in the depths of his blue eyes, “Because I’ll be with you.”

And despite the fact that there’s a slight glimmer of added mischief a moment later in his gaze, you know he wasn’t kidding. You laugh softly and roll your eyes, making Austin grin.

He takes your hand and squeezes, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “What, you didn’t like that? I was gonna make it part of my vows.”

You playfully push his cheek with your other hand but he’s quick, grabbing it and using it as leverage to tug you closer, kissing you.

Needless to say, you definitely have a necessary distraction for the afternoon.

And it is pretty perfect, as if you had any reason to doubt or think otherwise.

You think one of the most surprising aspects is just how fast everything goes—all that planning and worrying for it to be over and done in the blink of an eye, in the flash of a camera bulb, a heartbeat.

You go back to where Austin’s proposed before you both leave Florida for your honeymoon, standing in front of Cinderella’s castle, looking down at the ring on your finger. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, running your thumb over the underside of the band. The sky is orange this time, candied pink, as the sun dips down behind the soft blue and silver structure.

To face the future with another, who means more than any other, is to be loved.

You can’t help but smile as you feel Austin come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, your jawline and your cheek before you turn your head and your lips brush. Your thumb runs over his wedding band.

That’s definitely the magic of love.

The line in italics come from the Disney movie The Rescuers.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #mccall writes things #elvis 2022

123 notes · View notes

penvisions · 11 months

Text

the melting point {chapter 3}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: Your triggers have successfully complicated your life, once again. Something you had hoped would be easier to deal with upon moving. You try to pick up the pieces after the fact.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: breach of professionalism on benny’s part, flirting, mentions of past depression, description of reader to establish future plot points, soft touches that ignite the soul

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

“Hello?”

“Um, yes. Hi, hello. I have this number down as the emergency contact for…” Benny scrambled to search your gym profile for your last name and paired it with your first.

“Is she okay?” The man’s voice on the other side of the line was rushed, worry flooding through the receiver of the gym phone.

“I’m not entirely sure, I’m the owner of Brass Knuckles, it’s gym here in Florida. She’s been a daily visitor for the last 6 months, same time every day. But it’s been a week since she’s been in.”

“Benny? Ben Miller?” The voice seemed to breath a sigh of relief. “I thought this was going to be a call from a hospital…”

“She’s more than just a patron, sir. I’ve been on good speaking terms with her and she always brings us stuff from the bakery, we just,” Now it was Benny’s turn to sigh. “We just want to know that she’s okay, she was supposed to meet us for drinks this past Friday but never showed up, even after an ‘on my way’ message.”

“Last Friday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This time of year is tough for her, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up with my kid, I would’ve flown out to be with her. She…probably wouldn’t want me to tell you what’s going on, but you seem genuine enough and she’s told me about you and your friends in passing.”

“Tough time of year?”

“She’s a retired EMT, Benny.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh no.” Benny may be a little naïve sometimes when it came to social cues but he knew that you were too young to have retired from something that took years and schooling to get accomplished such as EMT, medical work. “Say no more, really, if she wants to share the details with us, then we’ll wait until she’s ready.”

“You’re a good man, Benny. She’s gushed about you before, says you’re always nice to her and that even though she declines, you always make her offers to hang out and even if she doesn’t say it, she really does appreciate it. It’s…just hard for her to be around people and out in crowds sometimes.”

“Has she at least opened the bakery within the last week?”

“No, sir, she hasn’t. It’s been dark since I checked on her after the weekend. I’ve rerouted my way home to check everyday since.”

“Shit, okay. She’s been responding fine, short but fine. Let me see if I can rearrange some stuff and get out there.”

“I can also reach out in a more concrete way, if you think it will help. My friends and I…we’re retired military. So we get the whole overwhelmed with a past life thing. I’ve been debating calling her or the shop, but didn’t want to breach professionally anymore than I already had, this was, I’m very sorry but a breach enough in itself.”

“No, no. I really do appreciate you reaching out, she’s a good girl, she just gets lost in her head sometimes and shuts down. I think that’s why she moved, to try and get a better handle on it. Get some space from the things around town that triggered her.”

“Okay, I totally understand. Do you think flowers would be over the line, the guys and I want her to know that we’re here for her and we aren’t mad.”

“I think flowers would be perfect, she loves chrysanthemums.”

“I’ll order some and let the guys sign the card, I’ll drop them off tonight after I close up.”

“Thank you, really. You’re a good friend, she needs those.”

Frankie had no idea how he ended up parking along the street in front of your bakery with a vase of beautiful white flowers. He had gotten the text of Benny’s plan in the group chat. Explaining briefly that he had reached out to your emergency contact and had come to find out you were just as damaged as the rest of them. Everyone was quick to agree to the flower idea, everyone showing up around close with the intent to sign the card for you. Living the closest to you, Frankie had been volunteered to be the delivery boy. He hadn’t argued but he did feel out of place. He didn’t even know you as much as the others, but he wanted to…

He had been so worried his added presence had turned you off from the bar that night last week. He wasn’t happy with the real reason but he was grateful he wasn’t the cause of your trepidation. Sighing, Frankie glanced at the card one more time, he hadn’t figured out what little blurb to say and had just opted to sign his name with a smiley face. It looked a little funny but it was cute, he thought.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, someone was walking about in the bakery behind the counter, the lights having been flickered on. With a nervous huff, Frankie carefully picked up the vase and got out of his truck. He knocked on the front door, the closed sign in his face making him feel like a fool, but he had seen you inside, he was sure of it. The slight smell of something sweet decorated the air.

He watched as your head popped up from where you must’ve been crouched behind the counter, your brows knit together in confusion. Then a blush when your eyes met his own through the glass. You stood, running your hands down the black apron that was over a simple outfit of black jeans and a dark heather gray ribbed tank top, the cut of it showing the tattoos that decorated your arms. He had been so distracted by your expression last time that he hadn’t noticed them. He took in the plants you had on each shoulder / collarbone, symmetrical in their placement and design. Others made up loose sleeves on your arms, some bare patches making him wonder what you were going to fill them up with.

You walked slowly to the door, a small hesitant wave letting him know you recognized him. You reached up to tighten the bun that piled all your hair atop your head before reached to unlock the door.

“Well, hi there.” Your voice was quiet, but you didn’t run away from him so he felt a little like he was floating on air.

“Hi.” He cleared his throat as he inclined his head in a silent question. When you stepped aside, he walked over the threshold and into the shop. He heard you click the lock back into place as he looked around. You had one large display case by the register at the back of the space, two shelving units off to the right from the door with jars and other things he couldn’t make out. There were three small, but comfy tables on the left and a squishy leather couch with a coffee table facing the shelving.

“We uh, wanted to let you know we were thinkin’ of you. We got you flowers. Taylor said they were your favorite?” Frankie held out the vase to you when he turned back around from his exploration of the space. Your eyes held a caution he was all too familiar with.

“He told me Benny called him, said to not mess up the chance at making some good friends down here.”

You reached out for the vase, your fingers brushing Frankie’s and you both felt the tingles of contact. You closed your eyes as you brought them up to sniff. The motion allowed Frankie to see the dark circles under your eyes, the way your freckles were darker on your muted skin, you didn’t look like you had been outside since he last saw you. He felt heat rise up his face as he watched the same rise up yours, a shy smile gracing your features.

“Are you busy right now?”

“Me? Oh, um…” Frankie thought of how his mom was watching over his daughter, it was summer so she was out of school and had been scooped up from daycare a few hours ago. The drive wasn’t too far, on the other side of town, which he had reminded the guys of when he had been volunteered to come here on his way. But now he didn’t regret the task at all, your presence was calming even if he was the one who was supposed to be offering support right now. “Let me make a call real quick?”

“Oh, that’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so forward, we barely know each other…” You broke away from his gaze, looking down at the ground and then toward the back of the shop.

“I don’t mind!” He rushed to say, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. He was sure what he said next would break the spell regardless. Women were always thrown off by the single dad revelation, he was sure this wouldn’t be any different. “I just have to check in with my mom, she’s watching my daughter for me.”

“Oh! Don’t let me steal you away from that. I didn’t have anything in mind, just…wanted to see if you were interested in helping with the batch of cookies I just started. But it’s totally okay, I get it, kids are the priority and I didn’t realize you were already spoken for.” You hastily walked away from him, going to the register counter and setting the vase down. You wouldn’t look at him. You were so embarrassed, of course Frankie had a wife and a kid. Off limits, with a family he had to get home to.

“No, wait. No. I’m not married. Lex’s mother took off on us a few years after she was born.” He followed you and placed a hesitant hand on your shoulder. Your skin was so soft underneath his fingers, the tattoos begging to be traced and explored. “Just give me a second and I’ll be right back.”

“Take the room, no need to go back out in the heat. I’ll be in the kitchen.” You picked the vase back up and with another shy smile you disappeared behind swinging door that led to the back of the space behind the counter.

After a quick call asking if everyone was alright and if it would be okay for him to come fetch Lex after dinner and bath time. His mother had insisted that Lex stay the night if he had plans, something he seldom had. She bid him a good time with a smile in her voice and a promise to send a goodnight video once bath time was over. Frankie took a second to collect himself, he glanced down at his dirty clothing, self-conscious of the oil and grime that stained him. He had gone straight to Brass Knuckles after his shift at the mechanic shop he worked part time at. He wished he could take a shower and look nicer for you.

He felt all of his troubles melt away when he pushed the swinging door to enter the kitchen, the sight of you rolling out a large sheet of what looked like sugar cookie dough on a floured counter surface. Your arms were toned, he noted, the muscles moving with practiced ease as you rolled it out to the thinness you wanted. When you looked up, a small smile on your face he felt his heart thump loudly in his chest.

“Alright, you’ve officially stolen me.” He tossed you a playful wink, loving the way your cheeks flushed at his boldness. “What would you like me to do?”

previous chapter || next chapter

86 notes · View notes

creamiesstoryconer · 4 months

Text

Yandere Harpy x Reader Part 1

Chance Encounter

I ended up rewriting this whole chapter and reusing some of the content from the teaser I am so sorry!

This is my OC I'll probably post some more info about him at a later date and some world building stuff!

Word count: 1.5K

Total reading length: 12+ Minutes

Requests:Open!

TW:Blood and fighting

Baskets woven of fresh twine and twig, sitting on the soft palate of green crumpled underneath its own weight. Stacked high with the long forgotten labours of yesterday, fruits stained with the dew of early sun and ripened with the bitter winds of the night.

Air crisp, smoking as you exhale, the condensate rising - dancing as it allows itself to be carried away by the senseless wind of the day. Gentle nipping of one's flesh, all warm bodies fall victim to the spring morn.

Haze settled in the distance, creating a golden sea that is bound to the floor. Almost a pure white light within the sky paints an ombre from deep greys and sea blues to a dusty hue.

Gravel path under foot, leading to rustic wall a deteriorating fence, scrapes and rolls each step taken. Tiny pebble tumbling down path, momentum faster than you can keep up with. A gentle smile nestled snugly upon your face.

The start of spring, a true new year here.

Following small path embed into ground, leading to a patch of heaven. Plot of land, on the edge of the garden packed with love. Vibrant colours embraced alongside one another, roots embed into soft browns, out of sight yet still make themselves known.

The scent as one passes by is catched in the breeze, pine that mutes the undertones of lavender. A refreshing scent against the early damp morning air.

Finger brush against aged wood, a gate whom had lived many a storm, shown upon the peeling of its face Overgrowth of ivy that had cast its grip upon the barrier. Ridges in the warping material cling to the moist air, the faint feeling lingers upon your skin as you pass yourself through.

Into the arching corridor of nature that leads to the woods, a path that is no longer rock, nor even dried mud. A long neglected walkway that mother earth had taken back for herself, tall grass flattened, a trace that you had been here just days ago.

Trees hand in hand enclose the pathway, a canopy of dampened greens blocking out the sea of light that lay just above this seemingly separate part of the world.

Isolated and almost silent, it seems that time has grown stagnant. Further foot trod into the canopy walk, the gentle russell of leaves brushing against each other. The first songs of birds drowned out what little was not natural to mother Earth herself. High chirps and low croaks of frogs that called home to the rushing river just out of sight.

Flickering breaks in thick trunks that stud tall and proud, give opening to a flash of water that follows down hill. Cold clashes against stones that leaves speckled clear upon plants that rooted themselves in the sloping waters.

The natural web of nature, adhering to the splashes left by the waters. The transparent pearls that adorn exquisitely plumped ropes. glimpses of sunlight peeking through the thick foliage, its warm, golden light illuminating everything underneath.

Further onto ground you continue, colours finally spring to life, a refreshing taste to the repetitive greens and browns that had painted the day so far. Bunches of flowers finally make the canopy walk look bright, overhead gaps finally form allowing for break from dampened light.

A bit further up the overgrown trail you are familiar with, an annual springtime ritual. To make a sacrifice, to hope for world harmony, to continue a titration you have become tired of. Children should not be terrified of the customs and stories of the elderly; they are nothing more than fairy tales.

At the opening's edge, feet stiffened as the deep green canopy of the trees gave way to a torrent of gold. Warm on the skin and a striking contrast to the morning breeze, the honey-coloured light completely engulfs the clearing.

A few seconds it takes for your eyes to adjust. To be able to see a sea Of Clashing colours festival seemingly brought together by nature.Clashing smells of floral fight to enveloppe your nostrils.

Blues and pinks cramped by one another, twisting and fighting, reaching for the sea of light that washed over the bed of natural beauty. Delicate petals, untouched, pure. Embodiment of times untouching hands where humans are not.

Though at the moment feet had frozen, they had begun to move once more. The harsh cut out in the sea of purity, a feeling that causes legs to move upon their own.

A splatter of ugly red, tainting once faultless blossoms. A mark of impurity of ingrace.

Flattening of the flower bed, a sin upon Mother Nature's Beauty, ones core told them to investigate.

Your steps are cloaked by the cushion on greens and vibrance, Edging closer and closer to the flat patch. In the air a metallic stench rises, the rusted colour of crimson upon translucent petals morphs from speckles to harsh thrashes.

A trail leading to it…

Eyes glancing upon it, at first tanned skin, human. Deeply kissed by the sun, broad chest heaving. His warm breath clashing with frigid air that still plagued the thicket, a gutterel wiring escaping from his body.

A lingering look for too long, the source of what defiled the flowers around the laid body. A piercing arrow, through his shoulder. It’s deep oak and shaft crowned with it’s flesh wound.

As if second nature, your fingertips reached forward, to aid or to provide comfort you do not know. Softened Digits that grazed upon taunt skin, one exposed to the elements seemingly for a lifetime.

Gaze focused upon the stranger's face for a reaction, though his features obscured by a mess of locks, a mixture of braids and tatters.

Then a hint of gold made itself known through the nest of chestnut that hid most of the beings' identifying features.

Time is still for only that moment. Only for a moment …

A blur and a impact,

The faint memory of something sharp around your waist before a harsh impact to one's back.

The coarse texture of dried bark entangled in once soft locks of hair. Throbbing, building a deafening silence is what over stimulates the nerves. Soothing warmth trickling down your neck, tracing itself past your crook. Allowing for a bud of red to flow and root itself onto once pristine white clothing. Now defiled with browns and quickly darkening crimsons.

The rising of your chest like hard labour, air having been stolen from your lungs. Hoarse gasps replace a steady rhythm that was once there. Drying your mouth as a once cared for body folds in upon itself.

Ringing in your ears causes one's head to spin. To not focus is to not be able to see.

Blurs of greens, a blue perhaps the sky. Golden shines for a moment. Then the sight of flesh.

Flesh unclothed, blotches of maroon identifiable upon the sun kissed skin. A guttural scream escapes your lips, ripping through your vocal cords, straining already fatigued muscle despite no fight being given.

Cheeks, red as puffed eyes strained to stay open, salty water - your own tears- sullying your face. Teeth bared as saliva bubbles and leaks from the corner of your mouth. Instinct forces your disorientated body to stay awake.

Fingers tangled within a sickenly soft plumage of feathers. Almost comforting to touch under dirt stuffed nails.

Air that was once almost refreshing to the lungs now reeks of desperation and fear. Tawng of metallic lingering, your own blood that was long dried and flaking. A dried river of rusty colour liquid fashioned from your own wound, wrapping around your neck like a macabre necklace.

It’s animalistic eyes boaring into you, pupils blown to unnatural size. Tilting its head, forcing itself to envelope your sight. It’s chest rumbling, trilling… studying.

Hands still entangled with the red feathers, weakened digits clasp desperately. Unable to keep your head straight for much longer, a final fight escapes your limps. Harsh, violent yanking down upon plumage in hand.

Pure red decorating your hands and the floor below. Feathers flown, taken from the scene of pure instinct by the gentle winds.

Ringing in your ears accompanied with an unworldly screech, piercing a cry that would shatter one's heart .

All within a moment a peaceful day ended with your hands painted in red , head once again snapped into wood. Before the shuddering that was your world goes black within a moment.

Yet body still feels the dragging across the field of mother earth's patch of hidden gold.

#yandere #yandere harpy #harpy oc #harpy #harpy x reader #tw yandere #male yandere #yandere blog #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #oc x reader #oc x y/n #oc #mythical creatures #yandere mythical #yandere part 1

40 notes · View notes

vandal-flower · 1 year

Text

Chapter 2 - I Have A Dream

Blue Roses With Gold Lining

You are escorted to the prince's chambers from your behavior from before. You only wish you had prepared for his words and especially his actions.

MALE LEAD: Michael Kaiser

WC: 1.7 words

WARNINGS:

Our death is mentioned, Kaiser invades our personal space multiple times & his mild flirting, Mentions of murder, backstabbing and other horrendous acts, Name calling, A glimpse of Michael's past.

I.¹ - III.³ - IV.⁴ - V.⁵ - VI⁶

Being pulled by the hand by Alexis Ness, the royal advisor of the prince, Michael Kaiser is sure an experience. He is dragging you by the hallways, not escorting you. His tight grip feels as if he wishes to tear your hand from its wrist. He wants to.

Even witches with long curling nails would treat their victims with kindness before devouring them whole.

You tried to escape from his tight grasp multiple times, saying you can walk on your own without his help, but was only met with his harsh glares and curses from him. If this man was the royal advisor of the prince, you can only imagine what kind of prince Michael Kaiser may be. An awful one you believe.

You get to the prince's chambers thanks to the help of Ness's speed walking and tight death grip. He opens the doors and enters. Still with your hand in his cruel, tight grip.

The room itself is bigger than you imagined, than you initially thought or expected. The bed was enormous, and on its covers, blue roses were designed on it. A large desk with a quill pen and ink ontop with some documents. Another room which you think is for the closet, and other necessary items you'd think a prince would have.

Before you could admire the room even more, Ness ended your little sight seeing adventure.

"Stay here and wait for his majesty. Do not touch anything and do not make a noise. Are we clear Miss (Name)?", he orders you, his eyes filled with anger and detestable hatred for you. His first impression was a lie as clear as day.

"Understood, Royal Advisor Ness.", you bow, not bothering to ask anything that was on your mind. As if the situation was not already dire enough.

He gave you one last look filled with hate before smiling again and exiting the room. "So he's a shape-shifting advisor.", you thought to yourself.

Back to sight seeing.

You admire the room once more. Noticing detail one after another. The covers with blue roses had small crown symbols with it as well, symbolizing that a 'King' sleeps here. The quill pen' feather was a dark royal blue and the ink was contained in a small blue container. The guy must really love blue. Obsessed with it. This is the Royal Family's colour after all.

But the most important thing about the room was the window. The window was large enough to look at a fraction of the palace's garden. Blue Roses. That's what you saw.

Blue Roses. The Royal Flowers of the Palace of Kaiser. People within the palace walls can only see them and only see. A mark on even a single petal can lead to a single person's demise. They are a mystery and forever unattainable. Maybe this is why they are the key symbol to the the Royal Family, to the prince. Michael Kaiser is a mystery and unattainable.

And a man with a huge ego for the most part. Unbelievable.

If you knew you were forced to participate for some arrogant prince's so called 'love', you would of prepared ages ago! For goodness sake, you would've asked more questions in the discussion you had with Madam Gertrude!

While busy seething in your anger, the door is opened by the prince himself, which makes you turn to face him.

His eyes shine when looking at you. And that smile still plastered on his face. He closes the door and locks it. Great, now he has you trapped in his room. As if things weren't as bad as it was.

He takes a step forward and you take a step back out of caution. His smile grows wider, and chuckles to himself. "Are you afraid of me, my little bird?", he asks, his head tilting to the side. You don't answer, knowing well that if you say something, your words could potentially help his ego grow.

"You're so quiet, guess Alexis did make sure that you don't bite.", he says laughing to himself.

"His majesty should acknowledge the fact I haven't attempted to actually hurt you, so why not enjoy the peace you so called have.", you snap back, your voice filled with venom, but is sweet like honey.

If your words can potentially inflate his ego, then it can pop it into little pieces as well.

Before you is the prince, Michael Kaiser himself, shocked. Flabbergasted even. It's as if no one has ever talked back to him. Even if you are killed for not tolerating him, it's not as if anyone cared. Though your death could be of use against the prince.

The prince's face then twisted into a smile and walks towards you. You don't make a move, folding your arms and waiting what he'll do next.

Much to your surprise, he takes you by the waist and grabs your face by your chin to make you look up to him. You were in this position moments ago, but this one was more... romanticized. How lovely.

The position, the look he gave you and the fact your hands were on his chest could make it seem as if you two were truly in love. You might as well call off the whole competition and just prepare the wedding!

"So you do bite, for a moment I thought you were all bark no bite, guess you can do both. I'll give you credit on that, my dearest flower.", he says with a smirk on his face.

"First you call me a dog, then bird, and now flower. What's with the sweet talk, your majesty?", you question, looking right at him this annoyance.

"That's because you have a few things these wenches don't have. An actual thought process and most importantly, personality."

He casually calls the other participants "wenches" as if it fits so well on his tongue. It does if you had to be honest, you never met someone who had such a loving voice when calling someone such a repulsive title.

"Explain further.", you blatantly ask.

"Simple.", he takes his hand away from your face, but still keeps you in his grasp. "You don't wish to please me and have my heart, hell, my entire being. You wish for something greater than that, and that is the reason why I'm so invested in you, my flower.", he says to you, his eyes filled with passion. You don't like it.

"Most of the women here wish for you and desire you, your majesty. This is in the best of your interests, is it not?", you question him, finally pulling way from him.

"The whole thought is sweet I'll admit, but it's boring when you think about thoroughly. Those wenches are going use their connections against each other, plot murder, backstab and other horrendous acts, all in the name of love. It's a repeat of history. A script used. Every. Single. Time.",he says, no longer smiling as he was before. He looked bored and disinterested.

The most concerning about this "script" he is talking about is that he's right. Many have people have died due to the selfishness, obsession and immorality of the women in the palace. The innocents that have died for even being in the palace, even outsiders were not safe. No one is safe.

Except for the Royal Family. They intervene in the situation at hand, but in the end, laugh at the amount of blood spilled. Some even use this as an opportunity to gain the upper hand. The palace itself is deadlier than any war on the face of the earth.

And it's all in the name of love. A twisted excuse to justify any of their actions and to avoid any consequences they may face. No wonder Madam Gertrude told you to win the loyalty of the prince than his heart. It's all but pointless. A cycle that has yet to end.

"I've seen all of this before my own eyes. My father wanted a new set of concubines, and my mother killed them all in her own ways. She even had a smile on her face.", he ended, his eyes now dull of emotion. You feel sympathy for him, exposed to bloodshed at such a young age.

You can't even blame him for his small regard for humanity, he had seen it before.

"But enough about that my flower, I want something from you.", he says, his smile suddenly returning to his face. "And that is?", you question, wondering if he might make you his personal spy just to collect information on the competition. You can't blame him though, you would too if you had power over people's lives like that.

"I want you to rewrite the script history has been using. That is what I want you to do."

Rewrite history?! This man is insane!

"And how can I do that, I'm merely a participant for this competition, how can I make such a difference?", you ask him, slightly raising your voice after hearing how he wants you to change history.

"I don't know how you will do it, but I know you can excel past my expectations. It will be of great service of me seeing you in action too.", he smile becomes wider. Negotiating with him is almost impossible.

"I'll agree, but if I ever get myself into trouble, I ask that you help me out, not sit back and watch the show. Do we have an agreement your majesty?"

"Adding terms and conditions to our agreement, how daring of you. That's what I love about you, my flower. I agree, but I highly doubt your killing methods is going to less brutal than those wenches.", he ends, leaving you curious about what methods you will use in this competition.

"And that is?"

"Silent, but deadly."

You've heard that phrase before. Many die a death that alerts people, but a death that is silent is worse. It could mean no symptoms and no effects in the first stage, but slowly takes over, taking the life of one person and soon, another.

"So, my flower, do make this competition for my love interesting, will you. Do not disappoint me, my love.", he pulls you in the romanticized position you two were in moments ago.

And kisses you on your lips.

How Michael Kaiser wants to drive you insane.

@lightoftheamethyst

I still got things in my drafts that I wish not to speak of.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser #Blue Roses With Gold Lining #vandal-flower

108 notes · View notes

ququb444hm · 1 year

Text

thanks a lot, cupid

part 02 / surrounded by homosexuals ☆

masterlist

warning(s): possible typos, profanity

let’s give a little context, shall we? currently, we are set a few months prior to the present timeline– yn’s sophomore year, nearing the end of sophomore year to be specific. she and keiji have been dating for 5 months, and today is the annual art exhibition of yūgen university, a day where all the art students gather their most prized and successful art pieces for the public to view and even buy off during the auction portion of the event. as joyous as this day should be, yn’s mind clouded with thoughts regarding her boyfriend.

keiji was great! he was sweet, thoughtful, evidently handsome, and universally, an ideal boyfriend. but… recently the spark seemed to die out. with promised dates being frequently forgotten and feelings bottled within the two individuals, until they decide to burst and drench the couple with a bitter taste, yn was beginning to think it would be a good idea to break up.

this takes us to a gloomy yn who just finished getting ready for tonight's event, waiting for her brother and his girlfriend to make their way from the downstairs flower shop to the apartment above. identifiable voices followed familiar footsteps up the building’s stairs. “you ready, picasso?” tetsurou chimed, head peeking through the rails.

cecily followed suit, giggling about, “ohh, you got the name right this time!”

“what can I say, I support the art community.”

“yeah, I'm ready.” yn answered, walking over to the two.

“oh wow,” cecily awed, staring at the younger girl. “you look great, peach. let me go freshen up, I’ll meet the two of you in the car. give me five minutes!” in a hurry, the oldest of the three swept over to her bedroom to get dressed as the kuroo siblings grabbed their belongings before exiting the premises.

“keiji texted me,” tetsurou mumbled, opening the car door for his sister. “said he can’t make it to the exhibition.” the second half of the sentence was almost inaudible if not for yn’s perked ears.

“for some reason that doesn’t surprise me.”

“tried to see if it was a surprise and he was just saying that to catch me off guard, but apparently he forgot about today and accidentally scheduled something else that he can't reschedule.”

“how romantic. well, that adds more reasons why we should break up.” yn murmured, picking up her phone to check if keiji decided to text her the news himself, “did he say anything as to why he couldn’t tell me any of this himself? or was it the usual use tetsurou as my personal messenger?”

as a response, tetsurou passed his phone over to yn with the screen showing his conversation with keiji.

please tell yn for me I don’t think I have enough courage to do so myself. I’m sorry.

the car ride to the university was quiet despite cecily’s attempts to try and get the siblings into a conversation. once parked, the three made their way to the art building to transfer yn’s paintings to the place the exhibition was being held where a crowd of friends and family of other art students awaited to enter.

“holy shit. the crowd seems bigger than it was in freshmen year.” mori gasped, fingers fidgeting with his nametag.

ignoring the whole relationship situation, yn couldn’t help the growing feeling of excitement for tonight's event. her art occupied a huge chunk of her heart and soul. she spent laborious days, weeks, and months on her paintings. sure her boyfriend who she was going to break up with couldn’t make it and somehow talk her into not breaking up but! her friends, her brother, and proud administrators who have actually supported and encouraged her passion were with her, and that’s all that mattered.

the event itself went smoothly. various compliments and pictures with admirable professionals struck yn’s heart with pure serotonin, “If I died right at this moment, I swear I would die with no regrets.”

“that’s a lie. you’d die a virgin which is lame.” rin interjected,

“nothing wrong with that.” koushi said matter of factly.

“says the non-virgin.” tooru smirked, earning multiple gags from the group.

rin rolled his eyes at the couple, “first of all, ew. second, the auction is starting in fifteen minutes, mr. vanderaz said to start putting the things you wanna auction off into the stage room.”

“oh! I need help moving my things then,” mori exclaimed, “see you there, yn!” he gave his best friend a quick hug before dragging rintarou, tooru, and koushi over to help him.

“alright! which pretty paintings do you want moved over to the stage room?” koutarou beamed, ruffling the girl’s hair.

“oh, these three please!” yn answered, pointing over to the three beside her, “also, I really gotta make a quick phone call, I’ll meet you guys there?”

cecily, who yn informed about her thoughts regarding breaking up with keiji, quickly understood what was happening. “meet you there, peaches.” she gave a reassuring kiss on the girl’s cheek before going over to tetsurou and koutarou to help carry the canvases.

quickly making her way outside the building to a secluded bench, yn dialed keiji’s number half hoping for him to pick up, half hoping that maybe she wouldn’t have to hear his voice and cry because she hated ending things, especially a 5 month relationship. A few seconds passed before the overfamiliar calming voice of keiji akaashi was heard on the other side of the line,

“yn?”

“hey, uhm are you busy right now?”

“…kind of? not really, why what's wrong? how’s the art exhibition? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it…”

“It’s fine…I mean no it's not fine-”

“what do you mean? did you get hurt?”

“no, no that’s not what I meant. I was referring to you not coming…I actually called because I wanted to talk about us.”

“oh.”

“keiji… you’re a great guy but these few months have been really emotionally draining for me and I just don’t think I can do this anymore. you haven't been keeping your promises and with all the small arguments we’ve had recently, I just…I think it would be best if we…if we broke up.”

“…”

“keiji? keiji please respond. this is really hard for me too and I just really need you to say something. anything. please.”

“I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused you yn…I’m sorry.”

the sound signaling the call ended echoed throughout the empty night, drowning out the bustling noise from the inside of the building and it wasn’t until the soft pitter patter of rain that yn realized she had been holding in bulky tears that now streamed down her face, warming her cold cheeks.

a few minutes passed until someone noticed yn’s absence and went to look for her. finding the crying girl outside and alone made the heart of the individual ache. slow, quiet footsteps made their way to the bench, stopping in front of the girl. no words were exchanged, just pitying eyes and a warm embrace.

“thank you, kozu.”

part 01 ugly and bitchless <- | masterlist | -> part 03 stuck w me

note(s): none of the pictures used are mine!!

#🐈.thanksalotcupid #kozume kenma #kenma kozume #kozume kenma x reader #kozume kenma x fem!reader #kenma kozume x reader #kenma kozume x fem!reader #kenma x reader #kozume x reader #smau #kenma smau #haikyuu #haikyuu smau #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! smau

125 notes · View notes

zeciex · 7 months

Text

A Vow of Blood

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.

However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.

This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?

After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love. Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.

Chapter 9: The Feast

AO3 - Masterlist

In anticipation of the evening’s grand feast, Daenera underwent a meticulous bathing ritual, immersing herself in fragrant lavender water and indulging in a thorough cleansing of her entire body. Throughout the day, Joyce and Jelissa tirelessly attended to her by delicately brushing her hair. They would have skillfully arranged it in an exquisite fashion, ensuring its flawless presentation had it not been for Daenera’s unwavering desire to let her tresses cascade down her back.

Instead, they settled on crafting intricate braids that gracefully allowed the dark curls to cascade over her shoulders.

A dress of blood red fabric had been chosen, the neckline revealing her bosom with each breath she took, gold embroidered flowers blooming along the edge with pearls at their center. It was quite the extravagant dress, meant to draw the eye, and perhaps take away from the simple beauty that was her face.

Joyce tightened the bodice of the dress a bit more and Daenera gasped for breath. “Would you have me pass out during the feast?”

“It will loosen with movement,” Joyce promised, tying the final knots on the dress.

Daenera tried to breathe easy against the restraint, a hand on her stomach, each breath squeezed and only serving to reveal her ample breasts. Perhaps this dress was too on the nose…

With a chest filled with jewels in hand, Jelissa approached the princess, opening it up for her to look through. It was the simple necklace of pearls that caught her eye, a string of them with a small ruby in the middle. It wrapped around her neck and rested perfectly on her breastbone. Jelissa closed the chest of treasures and hastily walked away.

“You look beautiful, my Lady,” Joyce complimented, fingers tucking the bodice to just the right place. Daenera’s whole body jerked and she almost tumbled over. The bodice was painted on her and it would undoubtedly leave it’s marks.

“I look expensive, no one will ever call me beautiful.”

“Oh please, I’ve seen more plain looking girls than you,” Joyce chided, lightly slapping Daenera’s shoulder for emphasis. “Stop being self deprecating, it doesn’t suit you.”

Daenera rolled her eyes at her maids chastisement. In truth, she was rather comely. But she wasn’t the usual Targaryen beauty. She wasn’t blessed with a long and slender body, nor the greatly coveted silver hair. No, the blessing had surpassed her and given itself to Baela and Rhaena. For a time she had envied them. And, perhaps, still deep within her worst parts, she still envied them.

But as she had come to accept that she would be the Targaryen and Velaryon without a dragon, she too would be without the traditional Valyrian features.

“The King honors you with this feast,” Jelissa said excitedly, “The queen too.”

“I fear that it is more out of the kindness of the Kings good heart, than that of the queens. If it stood to her, she wouldn’t have held anything at all.” Joyce shook her head.

“I’ll have to thank the queen regardless,” Daenera voiced, stepping down from the little dias in front of the mirror to get a proper look at herself. She may not look Targaryen or be a true beauty, but at times, she thought, she could be pretty.

“Maybe you’ll be able to catch some young lordlings eye,” Jelissa dreamed on, feigning a swoon as she fell onto the pillowed settee, her light brown hair in a tussle.

Youth clung to the maid and she remained caught in the childish notions of knights and lords and true love. Daenera had once been the same. A starry eyed girl who dreamed of a great love, of a knight or a prince to whisk her away to her happily ever after.

But then she visited the witch.

Your first marriage shall be loveless and your second cloaked in betrayal.

And she would find herself wishing she had cut out her heart to begin with.

All she could ever hope for was a marriage as amiable as her mothers first marriage had been. Partners, but not lovers. Free to do one's own choosing…

But it would still be a prison nonetheless. Widowhood would suit her the most.

Daenera shook her head and deemed herself ready.

“Or mayhaps I will catch some old lord's eye, who would sooner die and leave me a widow.”

“You know, for a princess, you’re not very dreamy,” Jelissa grumbled like a sour child that had just gotten their cake snatched away from them.

“I will not have you talking of widowhood at your young age, princess,” Joyce scolded, looking every inch the exasperated grandmother. “You are far too young for that.”

“You’re never too young to be a widow, Joyce. Widowhood is the best a girl can get. Freedom from her husband and freedom from expectations.”

“You’ll find a girl like you would be married off a second time, or thrice if it came to it, so choose carefully who you’ll marry, the others might be worse.”

“That is why I study plants,” Daenera grinned at the old maid, who looked at the young princess in dismay. In spite of this, she knew that she was only joking.

“You shouldn’t joke about such things, princess, least of all here.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Daenera relented, cupping the maids face in her hand, brushing her thumbs over the freckled cheeks. Age had been creeping into her face for some time, deepening the lines and sagging the skin. Still, she was an attractive woman, with sharp cheekbones and an always coy smile on her lips. Daenera liked her the best when she was teasing Ser Fenrick relentlessly. Joyce had been with Daenera since she could remember.

“Say that again,” Joyce teased, eyes narrowed in amusement.

Daenera rolled her eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry… All I’m saying is that I don’t expect to find any suitors tonight.”

“Tonight is the perfect night to find a man,” Jelissa argued. “Maybe you’ll be surprised.”

Daenera and Joyce gave each other a look.

Fenrick knocked on the door, entering when Joyce called out. The sworn sword entered Daenera’s quarters wearing his finest leathers for the evening's occasion. Joyce sauntered over to him and tapped a finger on his chin, a sly smile on her face. “My, my, Ser Fenrick, you do clean up nice.”

As always Fenrick tried to remain cold and stoic, but the crows feet at the corner of his eyes deepened. Joyce left him flustered, walking over to join Jelissa on the settee.

“They’re ready,” Fenrick announced, shaking Joyce’s touch off of him by shifting his feet. He surveyed the princess from top to toe, a warm but fatherly glint in his eye. “You look-,”

“Beautiful?” Joyce suggested.

“Expensive,” Daenera proposed, tilting her head.

“Like a princess finding a husband,” Jelissa added lastly, a big grin on her face.

Fenrick blinked, befuddled. “The first two, the last one I’m not too sure about.”

“Isn’t that the point of her being here?” Jelissa asked and the answer she got was a pillow to the face by Joyce.

Fenrick held out his arm for her to take.

“Princess Daenera of House Velaryon,” the court announcer bellowed out as Daenera entered the great hall. As all gazes fixated on her, Daenera braced herself for their scrutiny. With unwavering determination, she maintained her composure, holding her head high and walked confidently down the steps, making her way towards the King.

In the grandeur of the throne room, lengthy tables had been meticulously arranged, stretching along the length of the room, set up between the massive columns where the former kings had been carved into stone, forever made to look down upon their subjects. At least the Hightowers had not desiccated them, Daenera thought.

The King’s table had been elevated on a magnificent dias in front of the throne. It provided the royals with an unobstructed view of their subjects, as they feasted and danced.

All the tables were laden with an abundance of delectable dishes, the food towering on silver plates, freshly cooked and permeating the air with their mouth watering scent. There was barbecued duck with palm nuts and huckleberries. Served with brocciu and river almond pie. Spit-roasted goose with chervil and blackberries on a bed of sauteed courgette flowers, celery and limes. Served with sorrel soup, aged goat cheese, bread with butter, amber ale and boiled eggs. Stewed dire boar with jack nuts and tarragon with a salad of steamed fat hen, diced parsnip and gooseberries. Served with poached eggs, cheese, brown bread with jam and kombu pie.

Positioned alongside the bustling dance floor, a group of musicians took their place, their presence immediately recognizable to Daenera. It was one of the troops that had attended her audition, playing a merry melody.

With measured steps, Daenera made her way towards the royal table. Positioned at the center, King Viserys occupied the distinguished seat carved of heavy oak, with a tall back. On his head he wore his crown. To his right sat Queen Alicent, a formidable figure exuding pious gace, while to his left was the esteemed Hand, Otto Hightower.

As Daenera’s gaze shifted from Alicent, her eyes traversed down the line. Beside the Queen sat her firstborn, Prince Aegon, slumped in his seat and nursing his cup of wine, while his sister-wife sat at his side, eyes downcast and lost in a world of her own.

Lastly were Aemond, sitting in his chair with his back straight, a cold expression on his face, wholly unimpressed with the whole thing.

She didn’t deign to look towards him, but she felt his gaze burn against her soul, more intense than every other eye upon her. It was mind-boggling how someone with only one eye could convey so much emotion behind every glance.

“Princess Daenera, we are delighted by your presence,” Viserys greeted her, raising a cup in acknowledgement. The Queen offered a tight smile.

Nodding respectfully, Daenera bowed before them. “Indeed, your grace, I could not possibly refrain from attending, especially when it’s evident that the Queen has invested considerable effort into its preparation. It is a great honor to be here.”

“It serves as a token for your happy return to us, Princess Daenera,” Alicent said gracefully, though Daenera severely doubted the sincerity of her words. “It seems we are not the only ones who have put effort into this night. I must say, you exude beauty in its fullest form.”

Aegon snickered beside the Queen, spattering wine on his green doublet, staining it dark. He reached for the flagon and poured himself another cup.

Helaena shifted uncomfortably and shifted to chat with Aemond, who listened carefully to his sister, though his eyes remained on Daenera, prickling against her skin.

“Are you hoping to catch a lord's eye?”

Daenera turned her gaze back on the Queen. “I hope to spend the evening dancing.”

“With your charm, Princess Daenera, I have no doubt that there will be a multitude of dance partners eagerly vying for your attention,” Viserys remarked, his voice filled with unwavering confidence.

“Please, Princess, do take a seat,” the Queen said, gesturing to the vacant seat next to Otto. Daenera picked up her skirts, the jewels and beads chiming as she moved, the heavy fabric. She stepped up on the dias and joined the royal family by the table.

“Princess,” Otto Hightower greeted her with polite formality.

“Lord Hand.”

The King extended great effort to rise from his seat, prompting the Queen to assist him by securing an arm around him, with Otto poised to intervene if necessary. However, the King waved them both off, determined to stand on his own, despite swaying unsteadily. He used every ounce of his energy to maintain his upright position, a display of his strength and resilience. His grip on the cup tightened as he spoke, promoting the room to go quiet.

“It is a rare occasion to receive a visit from my beloved grandchildren, and their presence brings me immeasurable joy,” the King expressed, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “Daenera, my dear, you are as beautiful as your mother.”

Daenera smiled in spite of Aegon choking on his wine, sputtering out like a drunken fool and beating against his chest to loosen the droplets that lingered in his windpipe. The Queen scolded him with a reproachful look. It was enough to make Aegon slide further down in his seat with a sour expression on his face.

“You possess the same willful fire that courses through your mothers veins. I am immensely grateful for your return. To the princess!” The King raised his cup, and the other lords and ladies followed suit, their cheers resounding in celebration of her homecoming.

Exhausted by the exertion of his speech, the King resumed his seat, his body slumping slightly. Like the buzz of a fly, Daenera overheard Alicent chastising the King for his exertions, her words laced with concern and indignation.

“Have you enjoyed the time in the Keep so far?” Otto inquired out of politeness rather than genuine interest.

“I have,” Daenera answered, eyes looking at the masses as they prepared the first dance, before flickering back to the Hand. Why did he always appear so congested? And his hair… always so brittle and thin, looking more like a birds nest than anything else.

“I hear you’ve taken interest in the arts,” Otto continued.

“I’ve always had a fondness for music and dancing, Lord Hand. How can I not support that which brings me such joy?” Daenera sipped the sweet wine and found it too sweet for her liking.

At that moment a young lordling, Alan Beesbury, gathered enough courage to ask her for a dance. Bowing before her, he extended a hand. Daenera accepted the gesture, and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor, happy to remove herself from the company of Otto Hightower.

Aemond discreetly departed from the table, a cup of wine in his hand, melting into the shadows as he maneuvered through the crowd to lean against one of the stone columns, under the hooded figure of Maegor. His attention was fixed on the princess, his gaze drawn to her presence amidst the festivities.

His mind wandered back to the very moment he had first laid eyes on her. The memory stirred within him, causing this scar to throb as if it were made anew, cut open by the memory of a honed blade. The injustice of that night tasted bitter in his mouth, and they ignited a righteous fire within his chest.

The recollection had brought him back to his mothers quarters that day, where concern had been etched upon her face, aging her years before his eyes. With hands wringing nervously, she had revealed her thoughts.

“The princess has returned to us, claiming it is for the sake of her studies, but I hold no trust in her words. She’s been sent here to spy on us.”

“What would you have me do, mother?” Aemond had asked, hating the sight of his mothers worry.

Alicent had reached for his weathered and calloused hands, taking them in her own soft ones. Her voice wavered with apprehension. “Watch her.”

“I will,” Aemond promised, resolute in his determination.

“Be careful, though,” his mother warned, her voice laced with disdain and distrust. “She has spent years isolated on Dragonstone with Rhaenyra and Daemon. Who knows what she might be capable of.

Bitterness and sorrow swirled in her story expression, and she had reached up to brush a thumb against the scar that dipped below his eye. Aemond despised when she looked at him like that, burdened with blame and shame, as if it was her fault.

“I fear what her presence might mean for us, what it might do. She will ask questions, I just know it. And she will try and undermine us.”

“I won’t allow that,” Aemond avowed.

His mothers eyes softened. “You are the only one I can trust with this.”

And so, he had kept a vigilant eye on her, watching from the shadows.

He had surreptitiously trailed her to the sept, fully aware that his role was merely to keep an eye on her, and not shadow her like a spy. Larys had already seen to that, and the sept like the rest of the city teemed with spies, rendering Aemond’s own presence unnecessary.

Yet, against his better judgment, she had ignited a morbid and persistent curiosity within him.

He despised the sensation.

Approaching her had not been his intention. However, there she stood before the effigy of the Stranger, lighting candles in the memory of her dead. He wished there were more candles for her to light. It was the bitterness, the scorn, and the enduring resentment that had compelled him to reveal himself. She had appeared to have been taken aback.

Her very existence was an affront to the Targaryen legacy. A bastard .

He wanted her gone, and restore the peace that was before her appearance. Where he wasn’t haunted by the reminder of that fateful night, and the anguish it had wrought. He yearned for her to suffer as she had made him suffer.

It had been Lucerys who had seized the dagger. It had been Lucerys who had swung it. But it was Daenera who had pointed the finger at him. It was Daenera who had revealed what he had said. It was Daenera who had shielded her brother.

Lucerys was not here to answer for his crimes, so Daenera would have to.

That day in the sept he had inflicted upon her but a fraction of the pain he had endured. It hadn’t been enough. It had only put more kindling on the fire within him.

At night he had been haunted by her big, blue eyes, and her spiteful lips dripping with poison. Her presence was a shadow that followed him around in all moments, waken or asleep. He wanted to free himself of it.

The hatred burned with such intensity that it was almost blinding. He yearned to ruin her, to witness her consumed by the inferno that raged within him, reduced to ashes, utterly destroyed.

But by the gods, old and new, she was undeniably intriguing. It only exacerbated the torment. He recognized the festering rot within her, the dutiful daughter, a bastard, with a penchant for chaos.

Daenera twirled around, her gown shimmering like the stars against a bloodied sky. Her blue eyes clashed vividly with the crimson of her dress, drawing even more attention to their glint. And then, she bestowed a smile upon the lordling, causing the sickly sweet wine to turn sour in Aemond’s mouth.

Who would want a bastard like her as a wife?

It was plain for all to see, and yet, no one dared confront her as he had once done. They might fear the same price he had paid. And the King, his great father, foolishly remained blind to it all. It only fueled his loathing for him further.

“Brother, who has caught your fancy?” Aegon inquired, sliding up to Aemond, his wine cup halfway empty.

Aemond remained impassive, hoping his lack of response would deter his brother. It did not.

“Do not tell me it is the bastard.”

“Speak any louder and the whole Keep will hear you,” Aemond sneered, his concern less for the implications of Aegon’s words and more for the potential of eavesdroppers. Viserys did not take kindly to the truth, and even his own children would not be spared from his wrath should he hear of either of them calling her a bastard. It didn’t matter that it was the truth. It was one Viserys did not wish to hear.

“Are you truly concerned for the reputation of that girl?” Aegon pressed on.

“I am concerned about the trouble your loose lips will inevitably bring,” Aemond retorted.

“I am flattered, dear brother,” Aegon taunted, bracing a hand on his chest.

“I suppose I shouldn’t trouble myself with your affairs. If you lose your tongue, you will cause far less trouble,” Aemond remarked coolly.

“Mother would be terribly displeased. Can’t have a prince without a tongue and a prince with only one eye.”

“Your head then” Aemond continued. “And if that were to happen, I would be next in line for the throne.”

“Only if our sweet sister were to meet an unfortunate end, taking all her bastards with her.”

“As tactful as ever, Aegon,” Aemond retorted dryly.

Daenera erupted into laughter, playfully slapping the shoulder of a young lordling, her eyes brimming with sly intrigue. The lordling’s eyes were wide and besotted. A grave mistake, Aemond thought. Did he truly believe the princess to be a simple-minded girl? Did he comprehend her capacity for chaos and deceit? Or was he merely blinded by her smiles and the allure of her figure?

“I must admit, she has grown rather… appealing… Perhaps if you avert your gaze from her face and focus solely on her body,” Aegon mused in a lewd tone, raising his cup so that its base obscured Daenera’s face. “A cunt remains a cunt, and she certainly possesses a ravishing figure.”

Aemond rolled his eye in sheer disgust.

“I’m certain some insignificant lordling from a minor house will be thrilled to take her as wife… Although, he will encounter great trouble if she takes after her mother,” Aegon remarked, underestimating the potential consequences of his words. It seemed he cared little to keep his tongue.

“I highly doubt she will settle for a mere lordling,” Aemond responded, assuming that if Daemon had his way, Daenera would be wedded to one of the major houses to bolster Rhaenyra’s claim. And if that wasn’t the case, she would marry a lord with deep pockets and the ability to raise a formidable army. If she were to marry one of her brothers, he assumed she’d have done it already.

“She’s not worth much more than that,” Aegon said, completely unaware of how mistaken he was. “She should count herself lucky to find a husband at all.”

Aemond shook his head. His brother never cared for politics and it was evident. “She will be married, and it will complicate things for us.”

“Why would anyone wish to marry a bastard?”

“Do you even grasp the political implication of her presence, brother?”

Aegon grimaced, eyes on the few drops left in his cup. “I don’t particularly care. It’s not as though it matters anyway.”

Once again, Aegon rolled his eye, frustrated by his brother’s lack of ambition and foresight. Was he even aware of the efforts of their mother to secure their position in this world? To keep all of them alive. Or did he simply not care what happened to his family? If that were the case, Alicent’s efforts were wasted on him. It only served to fuel Aemond’s bitterness. If only he had been born first.

A servant girl scurried past them, only halting when Aegon lunged for the tray she carried, casting an indecent smile in her direction as he placed his empty cup on it and grabbed another. The girl averted her gaze, shoulders tensening under the attentions of a prince.

“You should pay more attention to your lady wife than to the servant girls, brother,” Aemond remarked, every word dripping with disdain.

Helaena sat alone, absentmindedly tying with her fingers, lost in a world of her own. She never really enjoyed things like these. Aemond wished that Aegon would treat her better, with the kindness she deserved. Instead, Aegon disregarded her and indulged himself in whores and wine.

“I’d sooner bed a boot cleaner’s daughter than my own wife,” Aegon spat, his eyes following the timid servant girl. “If you’ll excuse me…”

Emptying his cup, Aegon carelessly placed it on the table beside Lord Rosby, who looked up in surprise. Then, Aegon vanished into the crowd, chasing after a quick fuck.

Aemond’s eye returned to the princess, narrowed and ever watchful.

“Sweet flower!” A familiar voice boomed.

Cutting through the crowd of people was Darqarrow Ernaan, a knight that had once fought alongside both Daemon and Laenor in the war of the Stepstones, battling against the Triarchy and even his own people from the Free Cities.

“Ser Darqarrow!” Daenera exclaimed, her smile widening.

Darqarrow took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, his black stubble grazing her skin. He was a handsome man, only ten years her senior, with tanned skin, a long, well-defined nose, and almond-shaped eyes that were the same color of coal. His hair, black and expertly oiled, emitted a scent of spices and warmth.

“What brings you to King’s Landing?” Daenera inquired as he released her hand.

“Ah, you might not be aware, I am here to speak with the Master of War. There is unrest in the Stepstones, and I fear it may escalate into another war,” Darqarrow explained.

Daenera frowned upon hearing the news. “Will you advocate for war?”

“No, sweet flower. I will advocate for improved defenses,” Darqarrow replied. “We wouldn’t face such troubles if we had established proper guard towers and provided guards along the border. However, alas, I do not rule a kingdom so what do I know? I can only offer advice.”

“Does Daemon know of this?”

“He does,” Darqarrow responded. He plucked a grape from one of the trays, propping it into his mouth with a shrug, his dark eyes scanning the lords and ladies present. “He cares little. Advising the council is no longer his responsibility, so it falls upon me.”

“And if the council doesn’t take heed?”

The council was unlikely to take any action regarding the incursions. They cared not the first time around, why would they be any different now. The King’s leniency with the Stepstones was a burden that the realm might have to pay for once again.

“I will go to the Sea Snake.”

“Corlys is still pursuing his son’s murderer, he would be of little help if there’s to be war.”

“It has been five years since the death of his son,” Darqarrow remarked, his tone gentle. “He is unlikely to find him now. Lord Corlys has always been aware of the troubles the Stepstones might bring to the realm. He will understand. But let’s not dwell on war and politics! Have you found a husband yet?”

Daenera chuckled, taking a sip of wine. “And here I thought you didn’t want to discuss politics. No, I haven’t found a husband.”

“Does that mean Darqarrow still has a chance to make his feelings known? I have written you many letters, but I have always fed them to the flames in fear of your rejection.” He eyed her mischievously, his words colorful and filled with empty flattery. “Will you let me send them?”

“I never said you couldn’t.”

“Ah, but you see, I feared your response.”

“I cannot reciprocate any feelings you might pour into your words,” Daenera said with a gentle but stern voice. “And you know this. I am meant to find a husband.”

“This is why I admire the Dornish ways the most, eh? They are free to pursue their passions while the rest of us are bound by marriage and the notion of purity. What if I desired to write to you and express my passions?”

“That would cause a scandal,” Daenera replied. “Moreover, it would be inappropriate.”

“You wound me, sweet flower,” Darqarrow moaned, clutching his doublet where his heart was.

Daenera shook her head and laughed, feeling somewhat flustered. It wasn’t often a man made his desire for her so explicitly known. It was rarer still to have a man desire her outside of wanting her for her title.

“I will write to you, Princess, and you may choose not to respond, but I will write to you, and you will read my words.” Darqarrow was a notorious flirt who followed his passions, be it in war or otherwise. It was foolish, she knew, but she couldn’t help but feel flattered by the dramatic display of passion. He wanted her for her, not to elevate his station by seeking to marry her for her title.

“You can’t,” Daenera insisted, dismissing his compliments with a smile. “It would be inappropriate.”

“Ah, you restrict me, sweet flower. How can I resist writing to you when you look as beautiful as you do tonight, a woman grown.”

“Exercise restraint,” Daenera playfully scolded, amused by his theatrics.

“I fear I have never been good at restraining myself,” Darqarrow confessed, a gleam in his eye.

Regardless of anything she could ever say to him, it was evident that Darqarrow would write to her. By then, she would do well to dismiss it too. Perhaps he needed the dismissal in writing.

As the evening wore on, time seemed to drag. With each passing hour, the guests grew increasingly intoxicated. The once graceful dances had devolved into clumsy movements accompanied by giggles. The King had departed merely an hour into the feast, leaving the Queen and the Hand to preside over the revelry.

Having bid her final dance partner farewell, Daenera slipped away into the comforting embrace of shadows. Fanning her face, she sought relief from the heat, feeling her damp hair stick to her neck. Her feet throbbed uncomfortably in her shoes, and the tight bodice would leave bruises on her lower ribs.

Throughout the night she had received numerous thinly veiled proposals, ranging from boys as young as three and ten to men three times her age. Daenera had politely declined the worst of them and bid the others to write her a letter for their consideration.

She managed to escape the bustling main hall, her ears still ringing from the sudden decrease in noise. Her hand brushed against the cool stone, relishing in the sensation against her overheated skin.

At this moment only shadows and ghosts were there to watch her.

Eventually, she discovered a secluded sitting room, where silence enveloped her with an almost deafening intensity. The stillness echoed within her mind, and she took a seat in one of the chairs arranged by the hearth, her skirts rustling as she sat down. Her movements were stiff and restrained. It hadn’t loosened as Joyce had promised.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she knew she wasn’t alone.

“Show yourself, it is impolite to lurk in the shadows.”

In truth, she was half expecting some overreaching lordling to have followed her in an attempt to try his luck, but instead she found Aemond stepping out of the shadows, his pale silver hair falling perfectly over his shoulders, not a single knot in sight.

Daenera scowled at his presence, exhausted and not in the mood for fighting.

Aemond approached her with his hands behind his back, looking every part the prince he was, with the exception of his eye of course. The eyepatch concealed what she knew was lacking beneath. She wondered if he ever took it off, or maybe it had grown onto his face and he was unable to remove it at all. The thought amused her.

“It isn’t wise to go wandering the halls unaccompanied, Princess.” The way he said the word ‘princess’ made it sound like an insult. “Should you find yourself in a position you would not wish to be found in.”

There was that perpetual smirk on his face, the look of knowing some secret she didn’t. It annoyed her to no end.

“I’m well protected, I can assure you, prince ,” she told him, producing a small blade out of the fabrics of her skirt, “Should I find myself with an overreaching lord… or prince.”

Daenera let the tip of the dagger bite into the wood of the small table at her side, twirling the blade around absentmindedly, every flicker catching the light of the fireplace. “Why have you followed me, one-eye?”

Aemond’s remaining eye narrowed at the nickname. Daenera found great pleasure in that, smiling softly at him, tilting her head and resting her chin on the same hand with which she held the blade. Her eyes followed his movement as he sat down in the chair opposite her.

“In truth? I was curious,” Aemond admitted, his long fingers drumming against the armrest of his seat. His smirk grew when he caught her looking at the movement.

“And have you satiated that curiosity? All I’m doing is sitting and enjoying the silence.”

“If you wanted to enjoy the silence in your own company, you’d have gone to your rooms,” Aemond ventured.

It was a mistake staying. She knew that. But she too was curious. And maybe the wine once again weakened her judgment.

“Are you insinuating that I want for your company?” Her chuckle was sharp and mocking.

“So you’re hoping for someone else?”

“I was hoping that the men inside this castle would grant me a moment alone.”

“Then you’re sure to be disappointed, princess,” Aemond said.

“Every woman is familiar with disappointment. It is unfortunately our lot in life.” Disappointment so easily turned to resentment. “I’m sure you’ve disappointed every woman in your life.”

Aemond was unreadable, though she saw a flicker of something in his eye. “There’s no greater disappointment than a bastard.”

“Hmm,” Daenera hummed quietly. “I wouldn’t know of course. But I would think you familiar with the taste of disappointment. Second son, never anyone's first choice, not even your mothers. You know, I’ve never seen disappointment on a mothers face before I saw yours.”

Her words stung him.

A pity, their conversation was so promising. Daenera leaned over the table, feeling the bodice of her dress press in on her ribs, threatening to spill her breasts from its confines. The position made the necklace dangle, the ruby flickering like fire just above her breaths. Aemond’s eye flickered back to hers, unreadable, sharp, ice.

“Let me give you some advice, one-eyed prince, find some other insult to levy against me, bastard is beginning to ring hollow and there’s nothing more disappointing than a weak insult.”

If you’d prefer I call you a whore, I will happily oblige. It’s a title you may share with your mother.”

“You may, if you want me to call yours the same,” Daenera bit back, knowing the retort was weak at best. With an indignant huff, Daenera leaned back in her chair again, releasing some of the pressure on her ribs.

“Tell me, one-eyed prince, why have you started this war?”

“You know why,” Aemond mused, his eye ever present on her.

“Yes, well, revenge, ruin, fire and destruction, it’s all well and good… but what was it? consumption? I never understood that part. Do you mean to cannibalize me?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

She knew what he meant. A fire burned, it consumed and it destroyed, leaving nothing but ash and ruin in its wake. What she couldn’t be sure of was what kind of ruination he was planning. When faced with such possibilities, many would turn away, but Daenera would face them, morbidly intrigued. She wondered whether it was out of revenge only, or if he was just bored.

“A dumb girl is all a man could wish for,” Daenera sighed.

“A truely dumb girl, yes, not one feigning stupidity,” Aemond said, eye never leaving her.

“I can almost hear the compliment,” Daenera teased. “It’s a pity an underhanded compliment won't get you anywhere, otherwise I would think you’d be wearing the crown by now.”

A flash flickered across his sharp features. He wanted it, she realized. He wanted the crow for himself, but duty did not permit his dark ambition, shackled by his own birth’s restrictions. He envied Rhaenyra and if not her, his brother, for their claim to the throne. And in turn he hated them for it.

“It has been a long evening, Aemond the one-eyed,” Daenera sighed, picking up her shoes with a grunt and a sharp jab to her ribs after sliding the dagger into it’s hiding place. “As entertaining as it is to spare words with you, I think I will head to bed.”

Aemonds hand snapped out, wrapping around her wrist and effectively stopping her in her tracks. He looked up at her, for once, eye burning into hers. Daenera stared at him bewildered. His hand burned against the skin of her wrist, the fire traveling up her arm and infecting the rest of her, coiling in her stomach.

“ Aemond ,” she warned.

“You should release me,” Daenera commented, waiting to see whether he’d peel his fingers off her or he’d pull her down to her knees. “You want things you can’t have. I’m aware of the allure of it, but you should turn your one good eye towards what you can have.”

“Oh, I have my eye turned towards what is within my reach,” Aemond drawled, his voice making the hairs on the back of her neck stand, heart thrumming in her chest. Daenera ripped her arm out of his grip, dropping her shoes on the floor as she went to grip the armrests of his chair, staring him down. His eyes burned fiercely with something Daenera didn’t fully understand yet.

One of her hands grabbed onto his jaw, fingers digging into his skin, twisting it as she forced him to stay in place for what she had to say to him. “I will not let you destroy me.”

“Destruction is not the only thing I promised,” Aemond muttered.

“I burn, you burn,” Daenera promised. “It all ends the same… With ash.”

If he tried to ruin her, she shall return the favor. If he wished to consume her, then she would do the same to him. Fire rarely had a master, all it did was consume and destroy.

Upon releasing him, Daenera picked up her skirts and left the room, disregarding her shoes. He may do with them as he wished, burn them, throw them out, keep them. She didn’t care. Her bare feet met cold stone as she swept through the halls at night, barely lit by the candles along the walls, the shadows dancing in revelry, ghosts breathing down her back.

Fenrick awaited her outside her door, a disapproving scowl on his face. “Where where yo-where are your shoes?”

“I seem to have misplaced them,” Daenera answered shortly, passing into her quarters. Fenrick followed, closing the door behind them, giving the two some privacy.

“You disappeared.”

“I needed a moment to myself.” Daenera began to remove her jewelry, feeling hotter than ever before and unable to breathe properly. Did Aemond poison her somehow?

“And where you?” He questioned. “By yourself?”

Daenera glared at him sharply, in no mood to be questioned. “Of course.”

“But your shoes-,”

“Were killing my feet so I kicked them off somewhere I do not recall.”

“You shouldn’t wander the halls alone. It is not safe,” Fenrick advised with a stern tone, calling out her mistakes. “This isn’t Dragonstone.”

“I’m aware it isn’t Dragonstone!” Daenera exploded, trying to undo the laces of her dress so that she could finally breathe. Along her skin she still felt Aemond’s eyes on her, lingering, haunting. She needed the dress off. “I’m aware this isn’t home. I do not need you to remind me.”

King’s Landing had once been a home. But it no longer felt like that. The halls were cast in shadows and ghosts. The maids seemed more like mice and the gods has made a Sept out of what once was a place for Targaryen pride. No longer would her brother's laughter meet her in the night when they couldn’t sleep. There was no longer anyone to read her bedtime stories like Laenor had. Her mother would no longer take her to the gardens in search of flowers.

And Ser Harwin was no longer there to bring her into the Kingswoods in search for her specific plants. He would no longer comfort her and tell her not to listen to what the witch had said. For he was dead. Laenor was dead.

Some of those things were forever lost, while others awaited her on Dragonstone.

“I’m sworn to protect you-,”

“I know,” Daenera cut off. “But sometimes, I just need a moment to myself. I feel like I can’t breathe ...”

Fenrick nodded. “Shall I call for the maids?”

“Unfortunately I think so, unless you’re prepared to unlace my dress.”

“I’ll call for Joyce,” Fenrick said before leaving through the door.

Daenera waited, feeling uncomfortably confined in her dress. She wasn’t sure why its confines bothered her so much, she had worn far more uncomfortable dresses, yet she felt as if this one was a prison on its own, slowly squeezing all of the breath and life out of her.

By the time Joyce showed up bleary eyed, Daenera had considered cutting her way out of the dress and had even gone as far as to slip the blade from its hiding place.

“Are you going to ruin that perfectly fine dress?” Joyce chidded, helping the exhausted princess to her sore and cold feet.

“Only if you didn’t arrive at this very moment.”

“It would have been such a waste,” Joyce argued, her strong fingers tearing at the lace, slowly unwinding it until Daenera felt the fabric begin to slip down her body.

“ You promised that it would loosen!”

She wiggled out of the dress, leaving it on the floor, removing the small hip pads that only served to puff up the dress. Daenera didn’t otherwise need her hips enhanced, finding that she curved more than most girl her age. She reached behind her and began to impatiently untie the shift, her hands getting slapped away by the experienced maid.

It didn’t take long before the strings had been loosened enough for her to wiggle out of that either, leaving her only in her underdress. It always felt strange to be free after spending so long in a shift and bodice.

In the mirror she could see every red line from where the fabric had been sown, every edge and curve of what she had worn. By her lower ribs were two, already yellowing bruises. She would not wear this dress again.

Daenera slipped the underdress off and replaced it with a nightgown, climbing into bed while Joyce put away her clothing. “It's a wonder any babies are born when women wear such things.”

Joyce chuckled. “Men tend to find a way.”

“Yes, they do,” Daenera murmured to herself sinking beneath the covers.

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #prince aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #A Vow of Blood #my fanfiction

33 notes · View notes