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thetriumphantpanda · 8 months

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a woman's voice, i quickly ran

In The Woods Somewhere | Chapter One

Chapter Summary | Joel has been wandering for weeks, aimlessly listing through the forest as he scouts a new patrol path. He's gone much further than he needs, could easily turn back, which he almost does, until he stumbles across you and your coven of children, hiding out in the forest.

Chapter Warnings | Consumption of food, canon typical violence, descriptions of child death and dead bodies, mention of weapons, mention of religion, religious trauma, mention of a cult, swearing, child loss, allusions to controlling behaviour and domestic abuse, allusions to dirty thoughts but nothing explicit yet, age gap relationship in future chapters, no use of y/n.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 6.3K

Authors Note | Well, here we fucking go right? I definitely didn't need another WIP, but I seriously couldn't leave this one alone so here we are. Like I said on the masterlist drop, this is different from what I've written before. It's challenging me in the best way and I really cannot wait to share more with you. If you enjoy this then please consider reblogging, leaving comments or popping into my ask with your thoughts - I love hearing from you guys! And also consider leaving a tip on Ko-Fi if you enjoyed as well - I'm a poor student so anything really helps, but no pressure.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel’s boots sink into the ground underfoot. It rained last night. He’s thankful he managed to find an abandoned cabin along the way yesterday before the heaven’s opened. This walk would be even more miserable if his clothes had been soaked through as well. Every few steps his feet slip in the mud. He can already feel his ankles screaming at him to stop, but the sky above him is dark grey and threatening to rain once more, so he keeps walking, hoping there’s someone, somewhere looking down on him, taking pity, hoping he can find another cabin to spend the night in.

When he hears a distant rumble of thunder, he curses Tommy, out loud. He’s nowhere near Jackson now, having been convinced to take a scouting mission for this new route they’d stumbled across once the snows of winter had melted away. He feels like he’s been punished. Shunned from his own community. Even though his brain knows that’s not the case. He hasn’t spoken to Ellie in months, his chest constricting tightly when he thinks to her. He's no-one to blame but himself for where he is, but the Lord knows whatever he did, whatever he would continue to do for that girl, he’d do it all again given his second chance.

He can still see Tommy’s face when he came clean. The look of utter despair, the one chance they had at returning to normal, snatched away by Joel and his gun, and then the look of understanding that Joel had found his purpose again, found someone to give his love to. That’s why he’s here now, backpack laden with a singular change of clothes and his rations, rifle slung over his shoulder. Tommy thought some solitude would help. Help him come to terms with his new relationship, or lack thereof, with Ellie. Give him something to focus on. He still can’t help thinking that it was an excuse for him to be out of town for a few weeks, so that his scowling face didn’t make the children cry or the rest of the town avoid him.

When all is said and done, he misses her. He’d already lost one daughter, and through trying not to lose the other, that’s exactly what he’s done. Pushed her away. Alienated her. What he wouldn’t give to go back and hear those shitty puns again. Of course, in the back of his mind he knew this would happen, he just didn’t think it would be so soon. The only thing he would do differently about the years they’ve lived since they came back to Jackson, it would be to savour the moments he had with her, knowing they’d be gone all too soon.

He can feel his chest tightening. Not in the way it would when he’s exerted himself up a hill. In the way it happens when he feels things spiraling out of control. He rests a palm on the tree-trunk in front of him, other hand clutched to his heart as he closes his eyes and tries to calm him breathing. Ground himself. Count to ten. Think of things he can smell. Think of things he can hear. He’s focusing on the birdsong when he hears something else. Just as sweet as the chirping from the trees, but decidedly more human.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey

Along with the singing, Joel can hear the telltale sound of children. He’s grown used to it since being in Jackson, hearing children enjoy themselves without having to worry about what happens outside of the walls that keep them safe. But there are no walls out here, only forest and danger, so the sound of children laughing is unsettling him, and he’s not really sure why. He pushes himself back from the tree, taking the rifle off his shoulder to rest in his arms as he takes tentative steps through the forest, careful not to step on anything that might give him away. He comes to stop near the front of the line of trees, letting his eyes adjust to the scene in front of him.

There’s a cabin, not unlike the one he’d spent the previous night in, situated in a small clearing. If he looks at it with his contractor eyes it’s pretty well built, solid and sturdy. But it’s not the cabin that he’s interested in, not really. His eyes are drawn to a woman, sitting on a bench that’s placed on the porch of the cabin, and more importantly, the small gaggle of children that are sitting around her. There are four of them, varying in age, two boys and two girls, who are sitting on the floor in front of the woman, who has stopped singing and is now reading aloud from a book that’s on her lap.

The voice that she speaks with is almost as lovely as the voice she sings with, and Joel finds himself leaning against the tree, letting the soft lilt of her voice soothe him. It’s a distant memory but it reminds him almost of his mother, when she’d read to him and Tommy before bed when they were young boys. He doesn’t know the story, can’t make out enough words to follow along, but that doesn’t matter.

He's watching intently as she closes the book on her lap and sets it down on the bench. He listens as she tells the children to go inside. She follows, guiding one of the older children with a hand on the back of his head. She’s only gone for a minute, then she’s back, this time with a shotgun clutched in her arms, much like the way he’s got his own rifle.

“You gonna be trouble?” She calls out, facing him directly, barrel of the gun trained into the trees where he’s stood.

He’s taken back by her observation skills. Joel had been careful to stay as still as he could, but somehow, she’d managed to spot him. He thinks to himself that it’s good, when she’s got children to care for.

“Don’t mean no harm,” He calls back, shouldering his rifle as he does, “Just lookin’ for somewhere to spend the night.”

He steps out of the tree line, hands raised in surrender to bring home his point. She keeps the gun trained on him though. Smart, he thinks, she doesn’t trust him. The sky above decides now, that after hours of threatening, to open, sending fat drops of rain onto the ground.

The woman points with the barrel of her shotgun for Joel to sit on the bench, under the cover of the porch, which he gladly does, grateful for the opportunity to take the weight off his aging ankles. Once he’s sat, he takes a moment to push the curls back from his head, water dripping from the ends, he also leans down to unlace his boots, relieving the pressure on his feet.

“How’d you find us?” She asks, still aiming the gun at him.

“How’s about you get that gun off me, and we’ll talk?” Joel asks, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s stopping you from attacking me once I do?”

“Probably the fact that my gun is there,” He motions to the pillar he’d rested his rifle on, out of reach unless he stands and takes steps to get it, “And those kids in there.”

“You got any other weapons on you?” She asks, Joel nods his head, because it’s true, he’s got a hunting knife in his backpack, “Can I search you?”

“Knock yourself out.” He murmurs in response.

She takes slow steps towards him, eyes not leaving his face as she kneels in front of him, fingers tracing the top of his boots for something concealed. She does the same up the leg of his jeans, trying to feel if he’s got anything hidden there, and then pats down his chest. Joel curses to himself at the way his heart jumps in his chest when her delicate hands touch him. Touch starved idiot, he thinks, he’s not had a woman touch him since Tess, and even that was more of a means to end.

She steps back from him, moving onto his backpack. She takes out his change of clothes, unfolds them to make sure he’s not keeping anything hidden there, but then folds them back up which Joel thinks is curious. She finds the hunting knife buried just below his clothes. She takes it out and inspects it, but doesn’t pocket it for herself, just rests it on top of his folded clothes. Finally, she rustles through his rations – some bags of dried fruit and jerky mostly. He'd been trying to catch fresh meat on the way so there’s still plenty left. Once she’s satisfied Joel has nothing else to hide, she repacks his bag for him, before standing back, gun still in hand but not trained directly to his face anymore.

“Where did you come from?” She asks, leaning against the porch fence.

“I’m from a commune, few weeks walks from here,” He answers honestly, “We noticed a new route out when the snow melted so I’m just scouting it out, makin’ sure there ain’t nothing to cause us trouble,” He looks at the woman now, directly in the eye, “You gonna be trouble for us?”

He’s teasing really, because what threat could one woman and four children pose to Jackson? But she doesn’t take it that way, Joel catching the way her fingers twitch on the trigger.

“Depends,” She speaks, “You gonna be trouble for us?”

“Doubt it,” He shrugs, “We won’t come out this far when we patrol.”

“Then why are you out here at all?”

Ah, yes, the million-dollar question. He really could have gone back a week ago. Once he’d walked as far as he would on his normal patrols, he could have called it and gone back, but there’s something about the solitude here that he enjoys. He also thinks he’s avoiding going back to his miserable existence now. Doesn’t want to live in a place where Ellie ignores him, where she walks past his house without acknowledging him.

“Guess I just like the outdoors.”

She raises her eyebrows at him but seems to accept his answer. The rain is pouring now, soaking the ground again and if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do right now, it’s trekking through the storm to find someplace else to shelter.

“You mind if I say?” He asks, “Just until the storm passes.”

He watches her closely as she thinks, finally taking a moment to really take her in. She’s young, probably in her early thirties if he was to guess. She’s wearing a white dress, or it would have been white once upon a time. The long hemline is covered in dirt, ghosting along worn work boots. The dress has long sleeves, and the neckline is cut just enough to be enticing but not indecent. He wonders where the hell she’s come from. There are scars that pepper her face, one that cuts across her top lip and another that slashes through her left eyebrow. They look old and healed and he can see another mark on the skin around her throat – perhaps not a scar, more of a burn, that traces around the entirety of that delicate throat. He knows she’s been through something; it must be what’s made her so smart. She is, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing he’s seen. Like an angel, dressed in white, ethereal. He feels depraved in this moment, thinking of all the ways he might break her.

“You stay out here,” She says firmly, “And you don’t speak to the children, understand?”

“Understood.”

She nods, pushing herself back from the railings beneath her back, “I’ll bring some food out later.”

Joel watches as she moves away, murmuring a quiet thank you to her as she disappears back into the cabin, shutting the door behind her. He hears a lock click a moment later and he smiles. This woman knows exactly what she’s doing.

You settle the children at the table a few hours later. You dish servings of the stew you’d made over the fire into bowls and give each of them a glass of water. You turn your back on them when they clasp their hands together, bowing their heads in a silent prayer like they’ve always done. Like they were conditioned to do. You don’t join in. Instead, you take two bigger bowls, filling one for yourself and then the other for the mystery man out there. His portion is bigger. If he’d been surviving on dried rations and whatever he could catch, you think he must be starving. You’re not sure why you care so much, but you think it has something to do with the way you were raised. Before the world went to shit, your parents had always given guests the biggest portion of food, this is just something you carry with you.

When you turn around the children are eating their food. They’re slow, knowing they can savour what they eat now. They don’t have a master who takes their bowls away once he’d finished, no matter how much they had left. They’re quiet too, something they’re still yet to unlearn. Children are to be seen and not heard. You’d told them in the months after that you loved hearing them, the joy they let out when you taught them how to play properly. You’d insisted no-one was going to beat them again for speaking too loudly, but some lessons are harder than others to unlearn.

“Who is that man?” Thomas, the oldest boy asks quietly.

“He’s just passing through,” You smile, ruffling the hair on his head as you pass, “He’ll be gone by the morning.”

“He won’t hurt us?” He asks, and your heart breaks a little, because what do you say?

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, dipping to press a kiss to the crown of his head, “I keep us safe though, don’t I?” He nods in response, “Then I’ll keep us safe tonight, now finish your dinner, I’ll be back in a little while.”

You set your bowl down on the corner table by the door, unlocking it with one hand before picking up your bowl again. The man from earlier is still sat on the bench, exactly where you’d left him, except now he’s got a book perched on his lap, which you notice is the one you’d been reading to the children earlier. He looks up, closing the book as you offer him his own bowl.

“It’s not much,” You speak softly, sitting in the small chair across from the bench, “It’s squirrel, the meat.” You inform him as he starts pushing his spoon through the meal.

��Thank you,” Is all he says as he lifts the spoon to his mouth, “How long have you been livin’ here?”

You chew your own mouthful of food, realizing quickly that the anxiety in your stomach at someone you don’t know being in your space means you don’t really want to eat anything, the meat and vegetables settling like lead when you swallow. Better to be out here and keep an eye on him though.

“Couple’a months,” You offer, pushing the food around in your bowl, “We’ve moved around a bit.”

“Ever get any trouble?” He asks, shoveling another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

You take a small bite of your own food, chewing it more times than is necessary before you struggle to swallow it down, “Not really,” You answer, “Few people come through, but the shotgun usually means they move on, I think the children help,” You shrug, “World might have gone to shit but people don’t wanna kill kids these days.”

You’re still trying to convince yourself to eat your food when the man in front of you sets his empty bowl on the floor. You look down into the stew, taking another bite making you feel like you might be sick, so you extend the bowl to him.

“No, thank you,” He holds his hand up, “That’s yours.”

“I ate earlier,” You lie, “Please, it’ll just go to waste.”

You can see him battle with himself a little, but ultimately his stomach wins, so he takes the bowl and finishes off your portion in silence, setting his old bowl inside this one once he’s finished. The light has faded fast, it’s still pouring with rain so there’s no chance he’s going to move off tonight. You stand, bending to take the bowls from between his feet.

“I’ll find you a blanket,” You speak quietly as you open the door, “You’ll be more comfortable that way.”

Inside, the children have finished their food and have started to clear up. Another hangover from where you’d been before. Thomas takes the bowls from your hand and gives them to Clara, just a year younger than he is. She places them in the bucket of water in front of the fire and starts to scrub as you root around in the ottoman by the couch. There’s only one blanket in there that you think will be big enough for him and it’s threadbare, but better than nothing you think. Whoever he is, he’s old, or older than you at least, so you take two cushions from the sofa, if his back is anything like yours, he’ll need them.

He's back to reading the book when you take them out to him. This time, he doesn’t close it, just looks up with a smile and says thank you as you place them at the end of the bench. You turn to head back inside.

“I’ll be gone once the sun rises,” He speaks, “Thank you, you’re a very kind girl.”

You scoff a little, thinking if only you knew what I’d done. You smile at him instead, you want to tell him it was nice to meet him, nice to meet a man who doesn’t seem to have ulterior motives, but what would be the point? He’ll be gone in the morning and you’ll be back to keeping your children safe. You say nothing. Leave him on the porch and lock the door. It’s for the best.

Joel doesn’t sleep. He spends his night upright on the porch, rifle over his lap, surveying the tree line in front of the cabin. Every now and then he stands, walking around, because his good ear can only pick so much out. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to stand guard, he wasn’t asked to. You’ve gotten under his skin. He’s been around you less than twelve hours, he doesn’t even know your name, doesn’t know who these children are to you, what you’ve been through, but still feels the need to keep you safe.

The rain had stopped some time ago, just after he noticed the lights inside the cabin go out. It makes hearing things easier, now he’s not trying to make out sounds over the roar of the weather. It’s unsettling though. A few times he thinks he’s heard something amongst the trees, the snapping of twigs and such, but it could easily be an animal. He doesn’t want to risk wandering off into the woods to figure out what it is, because if it is humans, his absence means you and your children are an easy target.

He's sat back on the porch when he hears it. The unmistakable sounds of someone cocking their gun. He’s too slow to react. The sound of the gun firing fills his ears and then the shattering of glass behind him. The bullet piercing through the window behind him. He jumps up, realizing whoever it is out there must have been aiming at him. He readies his rifle, eyes scanning the tree’s for movement. He’s stood with his back to the door, aiming his gun out, waiting for whoever is out there to give away their position when the door is yanked open, you’re stood there with your shotgun.

“Get inside.” He hisses, trying to gently push at your shoulder.

“I haven’t needed your help so far,” She spits back, as another bullet ricochets off the wall of the cabin, they’re definitely aiming at you both, “Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” He whispers, trying to figure out exactly where they’re firing from, “If you’re gonna stay out here, you need to be quiet.”

You scoff at him, as if you’d been making a ton of noise anyway, but then another bullet sounds, bouncing off the wall near your head and you let out a yelp, finally realizing you’re terrified. The man, whose name you still don’t know, grips the top of your arm and pushes you back inside the cabin, following behind you as he slams the door shut.

You watch as he pulls the couch away from the window that had been shot through. He points his rifle out of it and pulls the trigger and you think you can hear someone cry out into the night. Good riddance you think, as you watch him reload his gun. You turn around at the sound of a creaking door, finding Thomas and Clara and the two younger children, Edward and Isabel, clearly frightened by what was happening. You drop your shotgun on the table, rushing over to kneel in front of them. They crowd into your arms, Isabel is crying so you try and soothe her as much as possible.

“What’s happening?” Edward asks.

“There are some bad men outside who want to hurt us,” You answer simply, you’ve tried never to sugarcoat things with them, “But it’s okay,” You try and smile, “Because we’ve got someone looking after us.”

You turn just in time to watch your guest shoot again. It continues like this for what feels like forever, someone outside shoots towards the cabin and then he shoots back, until it’s silent. You watch as the man stays still, but there aren’t any other shots that ring out. You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. You were safe.

“Back into there,” You tell the children, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

They do as they’re told, heading back into their bedroom. You close the door and turn around as the man in front of you is finally lowering his gun. You both take a moment to look at each other, chests heaving and adrenaline flooding through your veins.

“Thank you,” You speak softly, walking up to him, “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Probably not been attacked,” He grumbles, “I think it was me outside that made them think there was somethin’ worth takin’.”

“Still,” You place a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“You can’t stay here,” He says suddenly, “All those gunshots mean infected, I can’t keep you safe enough if they’re gonna start swarmin’.”

“We don’t have anywhere else to go,” You panic, feeling bile rise up in your throat, it had taken you months to find safety like this, and now you had to give it up, “Where are we going to go?”

“There’s another cabin, just a few hours walk away,” He explains, “I stayed there the night before I came here, same kinda thing, and far enough away to be safer, but we have to go now.”

You take a moment to think. You don’t know this man. Sure, he’s just killed people to keep you safe, but maybe this is all part of some master plan, lure you away, take the children from you, force you back into a life you don’t think you’d survive second time around. The alternative though isn’t much better. You stay here and what? You’re overrun by clickers, get torn apart by infected and if they don’t get the children, what becomes of them? When you think about it like this, there is really only one option, and that is trust this man in front of you.

“If I’m going to trust you, I need to know your name.”

“Joel.”

You return the favour quickly, telling him your name, before turning to go to the children. They’re sat together on one bed, comforting each other. You kneel in front of the bed, placing soothing hands wherever you could reach.

“The bad men are gone,” You speak softly, “But it was really loud which means it isn’t safe to stay here anymore, so the man out there is going to take us somewhere safer.”

“How do we know he’s a nice man?” Thomas asks.

“Well, he kept us safe, didn’t he?” You offer, “He didn’t have to help us like that, but he did, so I think that makes him nice, doesn’t it?”

They nod, but you know they would do anything you asked them to do, without question. There isn’t much to pack, you didn’t have much to begin with, but you ask them to gather the small bags you’d found for them along the way and fill it with what they would need. When you head back to the main room, Joel is still posted near the window, keeping an eye out for whatever dangers might be waiting to greet you when you leave.

You find your backpack and make sure it’s filled with everything you might need. It’s still got most of your essentials in it, perhaps you’d always thought this place wouldn’t be forever. You fit a few of the books in that the children love the most before putting it on, gathering the small knife from the table, setting it in your boot and then picking up your shotgun, just in time for the children to emerge with their own bags.

Joel turns around, “Okay, we need to be quick,” He speaks softly, aware that the children must be frightened, “And really quiet, okay?”

They nod, as do you, then he’s opening the door and leading the way. You don’t bother closing the door behind you. You just motion for the children to follow behind Joel. Isabel and Edward are holding hands, just like they always do, Clara and Thomas just a few steps behind them. The sun has started to rise, painting your surroundings in pale light as you start to move quietly behind them all. Then, it all goes wrong. You’re not entirely sure what happens past hearing another gunshot and one of the children screeching.

Joel whips around and trains his gun from where the sound had come from, firing a shot right into the man who was heading right towards you. You scream and step back before you look to your children. Edward is stood with his hand clutched to his side, blood seeping through his shirt and his hand. You barely have time to catch him before he falls. His tiny body is shaking in your arms, as you try and move his hand away from the wound. He cries out in pain when you try and move him.

“I know baby, I know,” You try and soothe, your own tears clouding your vision as you manage to move his hands away, “You gotta let me see, okay?”

When his hands do move, you can already tell there’s nothing you can do. Blood is pooling on the ground, seeping through the white material of your dress as you try and put pressure on it, which causes more pained cries to leave his mouth. You must get him up, you have to move him somewhere you can look at him better.

“We gotta get you up, okay?” You ask him, quickly brushing your tears away from your face as you try and hoist him up, but it’s no use, the screams of pain are more than you can bare.

You let him drop back to the ground, still trying to stem the bleeding when you notice that he’s stopped shaking and his crying has stopped. No. No no no no no.

“Edward?” You ask, shaking his shoulder, “Edward!�� This time it’s louder, mor hysterical as your sobs rack your body. He can’t be dead. Not after everything you’d done, “Please, baby, come back to me,” You beg, “I can keep you safe, please just come back.” You cry into his bloodied body, knowing it’s no use, he’s gone.

You let out another sob as you clutch his small body to yours, rocking him back and forth like you used to when you were trying to get him to sleep, tears falling down your face and onto the ground. Then, a strong palm slips onto your shoulder which makes you jump, “We have to go.” Is all Joel says, trying to get you to stand with an arm on your elbow.

“I c-can’t leave h-him here.” You choke out through sobs.

“Give him to me,” Joel insists, taking Edward’s lifeless body from your arms, helping you to stand, “I’ll carry him.”

You don’t know why but you start to wipe at the blood on your dress, it’s seeped into the material so there’s no way you’ll ever get it out, but it’s something to focus on that isn’t Edward being dead. For the first time in years, you don’t look at the other children as you start to follow behind Joel once more. You know their faces would break you, would cause you to fall to your knees and not get up again. The three of them walk side-by-side in front of you again. Silent, but you can tell they’re crying from the way their shoulders are shaking. Isabel is in the middle of Thomas and Clara, each of them clutching one of her hands as they struggle to keep up with Joel’s pace as he walks through the dense forest.

You think you walk for hours, quietly crying as you do. You stop once, Joel walking off away from you whilst you sit with the children that are left, letting them sip from the canteen of water whilst you all catch your breath. You know he does it so none of you have to lay your eyes on Edward’s dead body. You make yourself as small as possible, knees to your chest, to try and hide the worst of the bloody stains on your dress. All too soon, Joel is whistling to you, telling you that it’s not much further.

By the time you reach the cabin, the sun is already starting to set. Joel motions his hand for you to go inside ahead of him which you do, guiding Thomas, Clara and Isabel in before you go. Joel stays outside as you get them settled on the dusty couch inside.

“What happened to Edward?” Isabel asks, her eyes wide as you crouch in front of them.

You take hold of her small hands, “I’m sorry baby,” You sigh, “Edward is gone.” You can feel the lump in your throat, you try to bite your emotion back for their sake.

“Where has he gone?” She asks.

You open and close your mouth, trying to find the right words. Trying not to rip up wounds from the past that you’d only just managed to close with them.

“Well baby, he’s gone somewhere else,” You sigh, “You remember before, when we lost people, and we were always told they went to heaven?” The three children nod at you, “I know we don’t believe that, but he’s somewhere better now.”

“And he won’t come back?”

“No baby,” You coo, running your hand over her hair, “But we’ll see him again someday, I promise.”

You press a kiss to each other their foreheads, opening your backpack to pull out one of their books. You hand it to Thomas so he can read to the other girls before you head outside. You can see Joel near the line of trees, he’s digging with a shovel and your chest constricts at the sight. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. Edward deserved to grow old. You’re angry. You want to scream. You want to strike your fists into something until all you feel is the physical pain, because that’s easier, it’s an easier pain to the one you feel right now.

Joel turns as you stand still at the door, he tilts his head, ushering you over to him. Your body follows the direction, like you always had before. A man tells you to do something, you do it.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to bury him,” He speaks softly, “But if you do, it’s ready.”

You can feel your bottom lip tremble so you bite down on it, hoping the pain stops you from crying, but it’s useless, you still can’t comprehend that he’s gone, despite the fact his body is wrapped in a filthy sheet next to the grave Joel has dug. He deserves so much better than this. You can’t help but take it as a personal failure. You’d vowed to keep them safe, and you’d failed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” He murmurs, letting a hand rest lightly on your shoulder which you shudder away from, “I’ll give you some time, just place him down and I’ll do the rest when you’re ready.”

He walks away, but not into the house, you notice. Maybe he still thinks the children are frightened of him. He walks around the side of the cabin as your focus moves back to the shroud in front of you. You drop to your knees, delicate hands rolling the top of the shroud down to reveal his face. His eyes are closed, and you can almost convince yourself that however he died it was peaceful. His skin is pale and mottled, lips blue. A tear drips from your face and onto his, clearing a trail down his cheek as it moves through the dirt. You lean forward, kissing his forehead, running a hand through his hair like you did each night to soothe him.

“I’m sorry baby,” You whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

You stay like this for a moment, forehead pressed to his. You can’t bare it anymore, pulling back and covering his face, but there’s something stopping you from lowering him into the ground. Then it’s final. You won’t be able to see his face again, listen to his voice when he talks or smile when he laughs. You turn, finding Joel hanging back.

“I can’t do it,” You mutter, “Will you?”

He nods, walking over to you. He doesn’t try and touch you this time, just bends and picks Edward up before placing him lightly into the grave. He stands, putting his hand to the shovel, you decide you can’t watch anymore, turning your back on the scene behind you to go back to the family you still have.

Darkness has enveloped the outdoors. The children have been in bed for a while, after Joel handed out the remainder of his measly rations to everyone. You wish you could convince yourself to sleep, but moving from the couch seems like too much work right now. You’re numb. Joel is sat at the other end of the couch, letting the small fire he set warm him through. The silence is deafening.

“You wanna talk about it?” His gruff voice asks.

You’re biting at the end of your nail, crying again. Your body is aching, dress covered in dry blood. You wish you could wake up from whatever horrible nightmare this is. You finally shake your head, biting at your lip as you do.

“I don’t think I can.”

There’s another beat of silence before Joel speaks again, “I know you don’t wanna think about it right now,” He sighs, “But Jackson, where I live, it’s safe.”

“Is anywhere really safe these days?” You scoff.

He nods his head, “Y’know, that’s what I thought when I got there, but it works,” He shrugs, “My brother, he sorta helps run it, big walls, everyone chips in where they can, take turns patrollin’, I’ve been there two years now and nothin’ bad’s ever happened.”

“So, you’re communists then?”

Joel can’t help but laugh, thinking about the existential crisis Tommy had when Ellie had suggested the same thing, “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

You sigh, because it’s starting to sound like a good idea. A place where you’d be shut in, protected by people. Where the children could actually be children. You’re still not convinced you trust him though. Sure, he’d protected you. Helped you to safety. Carried Edward’s dead body all the way here, but you’re still convinced it’s some kind of sick joke at your expense. You could be walking headfirst into a trap.

“It’s okay,” He murmurs, “I don’t expect you to trust me, it’s going to take time, but just follow me, even for a while, we’ll go slowly back that way, anytime you wanna leave, you can.”

“I can’t think about this right now,” You snap, “Can we just have some time?”

He gives you a small smile, “Of course, all the time you need, I ain’t in a rush to get back.”

Exhaustion floods your body, eyes becoming heavy, as the final ounces of adrenaline finally leave your body.

“Take the room,” Joel offers, “I can sleep out here.”

“You slept on a wooden bench last night,” You fight, “And I’m younger, I can sleep out here.”

“I didn’t sleep at all,” He counters, “So it don’t matter where I lie, I’m gonna be fast asleep in minutes.”

“You’re sure?” You ask, lifting your heavy bones from the couch.

“Go.” He nods his head towards the closed door to the second bedroom.

“Goodnight.” You speak softly, picking up your backpack to take into the room with you. You’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Taglist: @morning-star-joy @tightjeansjavi @cavillscurls @cupofjoel @darkroastjoel @dinsdjrn @sinsofsummers @montenegroisr @millenial-teenybopper @casa-boiardi @pedrotonin @punkshort @givemeth @noisynightmarepoetry @joeldjarin

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bored-storyteller · 9 months

Text

Warning: slight angst, angst/comfort, blood mentions, Leona licks you, some may not like it so you are warned.

Author's note: It was supposed to come out on his birthday but that's okay, it's a reworking of something I've already written in the past.

Twisted Wonderland, Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Nightmare

Leona always thought that becoming king would be the greatest joy he could ever get in life. To be acclaimed by his people, loved, respected, seen for the wonder that he truly is. All his problems disappear before his merits, finally recognized.

You're proud of him, aren't you?

He looks at you next to him, he sees your smile. You know you will share his privileges with him.

You love him, you told him in many ways.

So why that sharp pain in his stomach, that death throb under his side?

You smile happily as you hold the bloody sword in your hands. His blood, dripping on the ground, on the royal robes, flowing amidst the laughter of jubilation at the deliverance from the dying king. Ruggie celebrates too, and Jack, and Epel, and even the brats of Heartslabyus cheer in victory. You didn't even bother using magic, just a sharp blade was enough.

His hand grips the wound in a vain attempt to survive.

But if he survives, what's he ever going to do with your hate on his shoulders?

Leona closes his eyes, and for a moment he asks for everything to end soon. But then he realizes from his gasp that it doesn't have the traits of death. The pain in his stomach is suddenly gone: he's awake.

He finds himself sitting between the sheets of his bed in the dark room.

All is calm, only the pale moon is watching him. His hand is wet yes, but only with the sweat of his torment.

It's just a nightmare, he tells himelf, and Leona Kingscholar is no longer a puppy afraid of nightmares. But even as he says it, his chest hurts, a primal dread scrapes the edges of his mind.

He feels so alone in that bed. It’s not the solitude that he claims, to which he is accustomed. It's a loneliness that asks him questions that he never wants to answer, it's a real loneliness, not the one he pretends to want.

Tomorrow everything will be easier with the sun, he thinks, yet he is downstairs outside his room.

He feels cold, his bare toes starting to bother him, but he's stronger than that.

His knocking on your door is insistent and arrogant, but effective.

When you open the door, a thousand emotions pass through your eyes: concern and confusion prevail.

He stands there like a grumpy tousled cat, cuddled up and nose wrinkled as your eyes alternate between him and the time on your phone's glowing screen.

“Leona…is it…quarter past three in the morning?”

“It seems.”

He sees you flutter tired eyelids: “What's going on? Did something catch fire? Is anyone sick? Hurt?”

Leona awake during the day is already a special event, but at night it is definitely a sign of misfortune.

But he snorts: “Nothing like that. Will you let me in?”

You smile at him, stepping aside: “Well, it's the practice, right?”

He doesn't moan or huff, he just walks past you looking for the first place he can sit down. Your expression saddens.

"Leona..." You call him softly, you kneel in front of him but his eyes escape you. His ears hang over his head and for some reason his general appearance of him brings you a melancholy that doesn't usually come from him. The boredom and pent-up anger that is usually your issues with him are dissolved into an existential sadness.

“What happens?” You investigate again, as gently as possible. What on earth could have hurt the prince so much as to reduce him like this? And what can you do, little creature, in front of something like that?

Leona remains immersed in silence for a period of time that you cannot quantify, but when his green eyes finally look at yours and you can hear his voice, there is no answer waiting for you: "Do you hate me?"

That question comes out to him in such a strange tone, feeble and wounded, that it scares even him. The big bad lion is not brave enough to face his inner monsters.

You're shocked, you almost think it's a joke, or you're dreaming, because such Leona is unthinkable.

“Do people hang out with those they hate at your home?” You ask with a hint of a smile that just wants to reassure him, even if you aren't sure either. Your hands slide over his, you take them meekly as if they were wet little birds: "Why on earth should I hate you, Leona?"

His mind suddenly comes up with more reasons than are actually real, and at the same time he seeks an answer within your gaze.

Then, suddenly, his eyebrows furrow in tension as he sights something that had gone unnoticed up to that moment.

“What did you do?” He asks as his thumb brushes the edges of what looks like a dry cut on your forehead near your left temple.

“What? What is it?” You ask confused at first, as your hand goes up to his.

“Oh, no, it's nothing!” Then you laugh, relaxing “A small accident during the alchemy lesson a few days ago. Nothing serious."

A few days ago. Nothing serious.

He hadn't noticed. Even though you'd been around him most of the time, he hadn't noticed at all. You had been hurt and he hadn't noticed.

He must have let you down, and he feels humiliated. Someone looked after you so well that you didn't even feel the need to tell him – or maybe he didn't listen to you?

He bites his lower lip in an unconscious punishment, while he feels his swollen heart become heavier in the new awareness of being useless to you.

“Come here.”

His dragging you into his lap feels rough, but you sense that something has changed in him, something that had remained unknown until then.

“Leona?” You call him quietly, but he silences you with a soft whisper. You're not sure what his behavior responds to, whether it's a puppy's need for affection, the care of a lover or a primordial protective instinct that resides in the animal part of him.

His tongue slowly caresses your wound with mechanical and slow movements. They are of no use now, yet they speak of his need to have you near, to be worthy of having you.

It's a prayer for forgiveness he'll never say in words, but what's the need for words?

Your palms rest patiently on his shoulders, and his hand gently holds the opposite side of your face as he continues that primal ritual.

How many hidden sides does your magical prince have?

“You should do this more often.” You tell him, while you hug more to his chest.

“Don't get your hopes up.” He answers you, but in the meantime he feels your body abandoned in his hands, all your need to receive the love of your loved one.

Your hand rests on his neck, caresses him, then goes up his cheek, up to his sensitive ear. Leona meekly bows his head to let himself be cuddled. For once, in the middle of the night, with you, he can afford it.

You still love him, it's a relief. A relief that deserves his invaluable commitment, not to make you leave.

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland leona #leona x reader #leona x you #reader insert #angst/comfort #twisted wonderland fluff

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flowerandblood · 5 months

Text

The Man in the Black Crown

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, violence, mention of the murder attempt, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, verydark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in her life had she felt such happiness and such relief as when she saw her mother, alive, smiling, standing in her chamber. She dreamt of it in solitude, heartbreakingly trying to come to terms with the fact that she would only see her and convey everything she wanted to tell her in the next life.

Instead, she could burst out crying like a little child, find herself in her arms again, smelling her wonderful, calming scent, her hands stroking her head and her back. For a long moment she couldn't calm down, sobbing loudly, apologising to her for everything, babbling about how scared she was, how much she was suffering, how she was dying every day at the thought of not protecting her.

When she calmed down at last she sat with her on her bed, realising that someone must have led to this miracle, that something had happened that had completely escaped her attention, that there was someone else in the coffin or no one at all, that someone had helped her flee.

"I helped the Prince escape when he was a child. He offered to help me run away if I secured my brother's support for him. When he found out what your father wanted to do to me, he arrived at his call." She said calmly, stroking her head, and she swallowed loudly, remembering that Vhagar's real name was Aemond, that he had taken her on the table a moment ago, her thighs sticky from her moisture and his seed.

All this time he knew her mother was alive.

I gave her poison, after which she just fell asleep.

She's free now.

She stared in disbelief at her mother's lap, realising with a rapidly beating heart that he had never said that he had killed her.

That he had never lied to her.

She felt a wave of heat, a wave of gratitude, of devotion, of tenderness surge through her body. She thought she would do anything for him, that she would never repay him for this miracle that had just embraced her with his arms. She lifted her gaze, recalling with fear her younger brother, the fact that he was officially the heir to the throne.

"What about Loras?" She asked in a trembling voice, her mother stroking her head reassuringly and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"He has seen me, he is in shock. My brother remains with him in his chamber so that he is not alone, but for now he cannot leave. Before the coronation, he will have to give up his rights to the throne in front of everyone, agreeing that you should become Queen instead." She said calmly, and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief, hugging her face to her chest, hiding in her embrace as she had when she was a child.

"…are you willing to do it? Marry him?" She asked uncertainly, and she nodded.

"Yes."

That night she waited impatiently for him, knowing he would come, knowing what she wanted to give him. She surprised him with her directness and initiative, the low groans of his pleasure as her mouth clenched and sucked on his manhood made pleasant shivers run through her, her walls throbbing greedily around nothing.

Both of them were surprised at how quickly she managed to bring him to the edge, his noises were full of desire and vulnerability and when he came in her mouth with a loud sigh of pleasure as she swallowed bravely everything that came out of him, wanting him to be satisfied with her.

When she released him from between her lips with a loud splat and looked up at him from below she noticed that his face looked completely different − he was panting loudly, shuddering, stroking her hair, his healthy eye wide open, his lips parted, his length still twitching, swollen from his fulfilment.

"− you will make a fine Queen −" He whispered with some kind of recognition, and she felt his words deep between her thighs. He pushed her wanting her to lie on her back, clearly planning to spend the whole night with her, but she stopped him with a movement of her hands, tightening them on his shoulders.

"− no − no, we can't −" She whispered pleadingly, her eyebrows arched in pain.

There was nothing she wanted more after seeing her mother whole and healthy than to give herself to him, however, if she was to become his wife, she could not allow him to do so.

He furrowed his brow, shocked, looking at her in disbelief.

"− are you mocking me? − I have no intention of pulling it out of you all night −" He said dryly, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer − she squirmed quietly when she felt him rub his manhood between her thighs, an amused smirk appeared on his face when he felt how wet she was.

"− you fucking want this −" He hummed; she tightened her hands on his tunic, shaking her head.

"− I want this − but the court will think I am your whore − I will never be respected by your side − is it not enough that I am the daughter of a traitor? −" She asked in a trembling voice and saw that he froze, looking at her in shock, his lips tightened into a thin line.

"− I will kill with my own hands anyone who dares to insult my Queen −" He hissed. She raised her hand and stroked his cheek − she saw him hesitate, his gaze softened slightly.

"− I ask this of you as your future wife − let us not spend the night together until our nuptials −" She whispered, stroking his scar with her fingertips − she heard him sigh heavily and curse quietly, furious.

He stood up, tying his breeches, staring at her with a clenched jaw and she raised herself up on her elbows, covering her thighs, looking at him gratefully.

"You're going to finish me off, woman." He said with annoyance, and she swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze. She felt his fingers grasp her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Tomorrow, you will accompany me during my council with the lords. You will stand by my side when I tell them of our decision. Do you understand?" He asked coolly, and she nodded, feeling hot in her heart at the thought that he really wanted this.

He really wanted her to be his wife.

The next day, new servants walked into her chamber, looking at her with trepidation, apparently afraid that if they offended her she would tell everything to the dreaded One-Eyed Prince, who would cut their throats.

In silence they helped her to dress and combed her hair − even though she should be wearing mourning, she put on a light navy blue gown with exposed shoulders and long red sleeves reaching to the ground, her and her future husband's colours.

In accordance with his wishes, she was led into the small council chamber, where lords loyal to him over the years as well as those who had joined him later were seated at the table − she was relieved to see her uncle and her mother among them.

This time, as soon as she spotted her future husband sitting at the head of the table she bowed humbly, causing the conversation to fall silent.

"My King." She said softly and lifted her gaze to him − his sapphire now covered by a black eye patch, his healthy eye looking at her with satisfaction and contentment. He nodded at her.

"Come closer, my Lady." He said in a firm, dry voice, and she headed towards him obediently, surprising most of those gathered by the fact that she stopped beside his chair − Criston Cole moved restlessly, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Conquering a city and regaining the throne is one thing, however, maintaining it and keeping the peace is another. The simplest way to appease the terrified citizens, in my opinion, would be a union between the feuding families, heralding a new beginning. That is why I have made decision to take Lord Walford's daugther as my wife and that she will be crowned with me during our nuptials." He said lowly − an uproar and dissenting voices echoed around her, her heart beat hard in horror as one of the lords stood up and pointed a finger at her.

"This is treacherous blood, my King. It passes from generation to generation, it cannot be trusted. Send her back to the monastery, my daughter would be a more suitable candidate for your wife." He said looking at him with outrage, however her future husband's face remained impassive and indifferent.

"I declare my will, my Lord, not to ask your opinion. Have you supported me only to have me marry your daughter? Will you turn against me if I do not?" He asked coldly, with emphasis, wanting to push him to the wall. The man swallowed loudly, shaking his head.

"No, of course not, my King, however you must not be fooled, she will want to avenge her father and put her younger brother on the throne, she…" He didn't finish as a fiery argument broke out around her − her uncle stood up from his seat, furious, saying that it was thanks to him that they had taken over the city and he didn't wish anyone to speak to his niece in such a way − the other lord said he only did it because he wanted to be King himself.

"Why would I want to avenge my father?" She asked, looking straight into the eyes of the lord who had insulted her earlier − the man fell silent surprised that she had the courage to interrupt the men's discussion and interject.

"Because I believed he ordered my mother to be killed? Because if it wasn't for our King I would have took my own life? Because my father wanted to sell me like a mere whore to whoever would offer more?"

She asked in a trembling voice, a tense silence fell around her.

"I wanted nothing more than his death. Our King can attest that when I realised that my, what I thought at the time, ghost had connections to your cause I offered to help the Prince and do whatever he wanted, if only he would agree to spare my little brother's life. I told him this without knowing who was hiding under the mask."

"You could have done it because you sensed something was coming and wanted to warn your father!" Said one of the men, slamming his fist on the table.

"That's enough." Growled their King, but she wasn't about to leave that comment unanswered.

"If I loved him so much, why didn't I warn him? Why, after discovering the shelter under the bed in my mother's chamber, did I not inform him that the Prince might have taken refuge there, that he had survived?"

Silence answered her − the lords looked at each other uncertainly with grim faces. She heard her future husband sigh heavily, running his hand over his face.

"I appreciate your devotion, my Lords, but my decision is not negotiable. Let us proceed with the details of the coronation so that we can get it over with. I understand your concerns, fear not, you will fill your purses with gold."

Despite the extreme distrust and coldness with which her husband's decision was received, it looked as if his allies must have struggled to accept it, seeing that he was taking it seriously, not wanting to lose out in his eyes, hoping for close and important positions in his future council.

She watched from the sidelines with the ease with which he set them up like pawns on his chessboard, seeing exactly what they wanted, the greed and vanity behind their grand words of allegiance.

He knew that he could not trust them completely, that he had to control them.

Even though he didn't have a mask on his face, he somehow put it on in front of them, not letting any of his emotions or thoughts come to the surface that he didn't want to share with them.

She saw his greedy, thirsty gaze, knew he was dying of rage and irritation, struggling to keep his promise not to go near her since that night.

He craved her and couldn't touch her.

When the day of the coronation finally arrived her maids prepared her bath in the morning, dried and combed her hair, helping her put on her beautiful new black and red gown, a gift from her future husband, the colour of his house.

She felt a kind of pride when she noticed that the shade suited her − her dark hair contrasted with the ruby long sleeves, her hair partly pinned up in a bun at the back of her head, partly loose, flowing down her bare back.

She walked out of the fortress for the first time in weeks, accompanied by guards, and was led to the carriage that would take her, escorted by Criston Cole along with her mother and her brother, to the temple where the nuptial and coronation ceremony was to take place.

"Do you remember what you are supposed to say?" Their mother asked Loras, correcting his robe, also the colours of red and black, proof that he too was from now on relinquishing his father's lineage to his new house.

"Yes." He muttered, looking at her in horror, pale, his large, dark eyes glazed over from tears. "If I say all this, won't they cut my throat?"

She pressed her lips together at his words and reached out with her hand, grasping his fingers, squeezing them, looking at him tenderly.

"No one will hurt you again. I will become the wife of a Prince, and then a King, and you will retain the title of lord and inherit the estate that once belonged to our father. Everything will be as it should be." She said calmly, for the first time sincerely believing that their lives would finally be at peace, that her husband would keep his word.

When they arrived there were crowds of onlookers waiting around and in the temple itself, horrified people not knowing what to think about what had happened, watching them in silence.

Her younger brother was led onto the podium with their mother, much to their consternation − she heard shouts that it was a miracle, that the Queen was dead. Her mother placed a hand on his shoulder as he began to recite what he had been ordered to say.

"I, Larys Walford, as the son of a traitor, renounce my claim to the crown in favour of its rightful heir, Prince Aemond Targaryen, and my sister, his future wife, retaining by their grace the title of Lord." He said in a trembling, childish voice from which she felt a tightening in her throat.

He came downstairs, standing behind her, heading with her to the entrance, where her uncle was waiting for her to lead her inside instead of her father. She grabbed his arm and nodded that she was ready.

When they went inside all eyes were fixed on them, but for some reason she felt no fear or panic. All she looked at was the man who stood in front of the huge altar, behind him the tall windows through which the sun fell, illuminating his pale face, his eye patch, his long, almost white hair.

He stood upright, proud, prepared for this moment for many years, confidence, calmness and determination beaming from him − she saw that he swallowed hard at the sight of her, a barely visible grimace of satisfaction and contentment on his lips, from which she felt heat in her lower abdomen.

He craved not only the crown, but also her.

It was all about to become just his in the eyes of the gods.

Her uncle gave him her hand, which he grasped in his own, looking down at her, his gaze seeming soft to her despite the coldness, her fingers tightening lightly on his skin.

"We are gathered here to unite, bless and anoint these two people entrusting the fate of us all into their hands. Do you, standing here before the face of the gods, wish to join in holy matrimony of your own free will?"

"Yes." They both replied in a confident, clear, calm voice.

"Have either of you, standing here before me, made a commitment to someone else that might stand in the way of this sacred union of marriage?"

"No." Again they both answered, she saw his gaze change with each passing moment, as if he was slowly realising that this was really happening, that they were just becoming one.

"Therefore, I, the envoy and servant of the gods on earth, call upon you to take an oath:

In the face of the gods and all assembled witnesses, I vow that what was empty becomes full, what was broken becomes whole, and what was separated becomes one, now and for all eternity.

They said with difficulty. She felt tears gather in her eyes with each word, her throat tightened, their fingers clenched on their hands − she saw his lower lip tremble slightly.

There was a complete silence around them that made her hear their accelerated breaths perfectly − they let go of each other's hands when the priest ordered them to face him and kneel.

She closed her eyes as he anointed first his forehead and hands with holy oils and then hers, while saying that by the will of the gods they would rule this kingdom.

She heard Ser Criston Cole take a black steel crown, adorned with rubies, from the altar and walk over to her husband, placing it on his head. He went back and took another crown from it, which was in the form of a diadem with ringing ruby beads − when he placed it on her head it would fall on either side on thin strings, connecting to each other at the back.

Her husband stood up, and she rose with him, Criston Cole shouting behind them.

"Long live the King!"

"Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!" His lordship cheered, and behind them the other assembled people began to chant, simple folk who had watched everything from afar.

Loud applause echoed all around them, and she thought that people, like her, were relieved at the thought that the worst was behind them, that perhaps there would be peace at last.

They returned to the fortress on horseback so that all those gathered could see them − she rode a little way behind and heard the people shouting her name, calling her their queen, running after her.

She looked at them with some kind of emotion, remembering how they had thrown flowers at her feet when she returned alone to the keep, thinking that her mother was dead.

They were welcomed in the fortress with a huge feast of dancing and revelry, seated behind a large wooden table, receiving congratulations from the lords and their families along with vows of allegiance, which they accepted with a nod.

She knew they were both dyingly exhausted and dreamed only of rest and respite. Her husband did not ask her to dance, however, she did not mind.

She felt no need to do so, although to her surprise, she was filled with contentment.

She looked at her husband out of the corner of her eye − he was sitting with his profile to her listening to the words of another of the lords, the black crown on his head looked noble.

It seemed to her that he was born to wear it.

When at last they were able to retire to bed, her husband ordered her to go with him to his chamber, so she did so without a word of objection, and her servants followed her.

He watched sitting in a chair as they helped her to take off her gown, trying to remove the diadem from her head first, however, he immediately protested.

"No. The diadem is to stay." He said coldly, in a slow respectful movement pulling the crown off his head, placing it beside him on the table, looking at it thoughtfully.

Her servants walked out when she was finally left in just her nightgown, closing the door behind them − her husband raised his eyes at her, his gaze expressing displeasure.

"Shall I rip it off you?" He asked lowly, so she pulled at the ties of her nightgown and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall lightly to the floor.

She saw her husband-king lick his lower lip involuntarily, seeing her naked body at last in the candlelight, able to admire her shamelessly without having to rely solely on his sense of touch.

He rose slowly from his chair with a creak of wood, approaching her unhurriedly, towering over her. She shuddered as his hands ran gently over her shoulders, up to her neck and cheeks, a pleasant, warm shiver passed through her even though she was cold.

He surprised her when he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, barely rubbing against them without giving her a full kiss. She sighed in delight as she felt his familiar touch and scent, her fingers ran over the soft skin of his cheeks reciprocating his caress.

She moaned quietly as he grabbed her with his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, his lips greedily pressed against hers in a loud kiss as if he were tasting the fruit − they both gasped as the tips of their tongues licked each other tentatively.

"− I'll lick you good down there before I slide it into you − hm? −" He murmured running his nose over her cheek and she felt her insides throbbing hard at his words. She nodded quickly, running her fingers through his hair impatiently, looking up at him pleadingly.

She squealed quietly as he grabbed her hips and lifted her with ease, walking with her towards the royal bed that had once belonged to her father, and his father before that.

She sighed as her warm body collided with the cold sheets, her husband taking her thighs in his hands and spreading them in front of him, looking down at her with slightly parted lips.

"Mmm."

He murmured, and then leaned over her, nuzzling his face into her warmth between her thighs, with shy, tentative movements sliding the tip of his tongue inside her, teasing her deliberately, a moan of pleasure escaping her lips, her body arching backwards as his nose rubbed against her bud.

"− please − please, my husband −" She mumbled out, feeling her whole body burn with desire − for the time he hadn't visited her she had satisfied herself with her own hand, but it wasn't the same − she needed and wanted only him. She heard him hum with satisfaction at her words, watching her reaction with contentment.

"− so impatient − I was thinking only about this listening to those fucking fools −" He muttered between one lick of his tongue and the next, making her body tremble in his hands.

"− about what I'm going to do to my wife tonight −" He breathed out − she moaned loudly, surprised, clasping her hands in his hair as his tongue suddenly burst deep inside her.

He began to eat her like a starving man with a loud click of their mixed moisture, the tip of his tongue rubbing and pressing the spot inside her from which her walls throbbed wonderfully, her hips began to push desperately against his face.

"− my King − right here, yes, please −" She was panting and whimpering with pleasure when she felt the shockingly intense fulfilment shake her body, waves of heat flowing through her one after another − she was writhing in front of him, thinking only of the fact that he was her King and she had just come on his face.

She heard him sigh in contentment, with slow, lazy flicks of his tongue licking off everything that flowed out of her.

She looked at him with misty eyes when she heard him rise up on his knees, wiping his face with the back of his hand, reaching up to clasp of his tunic, staring at her as if he was about to devour her.

"− as your King and husband, I swear to you that you'll fall asleep and wake up with this inside you −" He murmured with a grin as he untied his breeches, releasing his hard, swollen erection, its tip glistening from his own wetness.

She spread her thighs obediently in front of him as he leaned over her, placing one hand at her head, the other guiding the fat head of his cock against her entrance, still throbbing from her fulfillment, and he pushed into her, a moan of delight escaping from their throats.

He slid deep into her with one sure thrust and immediately began to slam into her, panting loudly along with her, imposing an intense, fierce pace, his thighs slapping again and again against her buttocks with the loud click of her juices.

"− oh gods, yes − fuck, I've missed this −" He breathed out, rooting into her with sure, deep thrusts of his hips, sliding into her with ease − she reached her hand up to his eye patch and pulled it off in one sure motion, startling him completely.

He groaned low as she grasped his cheeks in her hands and pulled his face to hers, their lips colliding in a sticky, loud kiss, their bodies hitting each other fast and hard.

"− yes − please, yes, fuck me, my King − I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours −" She mewled meeting each of his thrusts with the bucking of her hips, one of her hands clamped down on his buttock allowing him to pound into her harder. She could feel him twitching all over, close to fulfilment after such a long separation, her insides sucked desperately at his cock, wanting to keep him inside her.

"− gods, stop clenching − stop, oh, fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck −" He muttered before fulfilment shook his body and his hot seed spilled inside her − they were both panting, looking at each other with misty eyes, trying to prolong this sensation with the motions of their sweaty bodies.

She sighed quietly as he leaned in and kissed her deeply, pulsing hard, still moving inside her with involuntary rocking of his hips.

"− you are made for me −" He sighed in relief, his voice filled with calmness, as if stating a fact he had read about in some book.

"− you were born to be mine −"

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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slavghoul · 6 months

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Want to know what weird? Henrik Palm was in a band called In Solitude and they sound like pre-lawsuit Ghost. Why can’t Tobias Forge come clean about the ghouls involvement with Ghost?

Just of curiosity, how do you expect me to respond if you come here making statements like this? Like are you trying to shake me up? Do you think I'm gritting my teeth here typing this out? Well boo hoo, unfortunately for you I am a very patient person :-)

Yes, I guess there are some similarities between In Solitude and early Ghost (and a dozen other bands, duh) but they cannot possibly stem from Henrik because he simply wasn't yet involved with Ghost during the time Opus Eponymous or Infestissumam were made. He joined in March 2015 during the recording of Meliora at the recommendation of Klas Åhlund, so I'm not sure if he and Tobias even knew each other prior to that. He was in the band for a little over a year. If you happen to hear any similarities on Meliora, it most likely comes from the fact that Henrik laid all of the lead guitars and bass on that album, and every guitarist has their own unique way of playing. The extent of his involvement isn't a secret, it's not forbidden knowledge guarded by the evil Tobias Forge. He was a valued member of the band, literally so - he had the highest salary from all the ghouls, probably because Tobias knew what an asset to the band he was. He is a very skilled musician and there is also no denying that Meliora would not have sounded the way it does if it hadn't been for his contributions in the studio as the guitarist. But he did not write any of the songs. He played them according to the demos prepared by Tobias and Martin, and based on Tobias's instructions, which he made very clear had to be followed exactly the way he explained them, and no diversion was allowed. As a matter of fact, there was an instance during the recordings when Tobias got pissed about someone changing something, and it had to be re-recorded the way he intended. It was a minor thing and if such a minor thing put him off balance, how do you imagine he'd allow actual significant changes to his work?

How come none of the lawsuit-ghouls' claims pertained to music ownership and royalties? How come none of them came forward with a claim or evidence that they are the rightful creators of song X, Y, or Z? Simple, because they did not create them. Those who were involved, anyone who actually collaborated with TF on the writing of the music, had been properly credited and is getting their royalties every month. By the way, does it not speak volumes that Martin Persner, the only ghoul who had an actual, palpable impact on the band (musical, visual, and other), did not sue Tobias and speaks of him highly to this day, despite their personal differences?

Listen, I actually have no issue discussing the lawsuit as it is part of the band's history and I understand it piques people's curiosity, but man, it's been almost 7 years. It's over, the case was settled meaning they reached some kind of an agreement. So let's move on maybe.

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limi-strology · 1 year

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Astro observations II

Decided to make a part 2, didn't expect the first one to get more than, like, 50 notes 😅

Based on just my personal experience, might not be true for everyone! ᵔᴗᵔ

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ Contrary to the stereotypes, I don't think I've ever met a two faced Gemini. They honestly seem pretty cool people, they have so many friends and they just know how to communicate, you know? Their relationship with their partner looks really wholesome to outsiders too (but could be just me viewing it this way, lol). If anything, I think they just stand out more, which makes it a bit more difficult to approach them. 🤷‍♀️

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ Gemini sun girls also have something aesthetic about them, like my cousin has a nice academia aesthetic going on in her life and a classmate from uni has this high-end fashion sense, she looks really pretty everytime (For some reason, when I think of Geminis, I'm envisioning luxury parties with champagne and brands like YSL and Louis Vuitton, that's the vibe I get) ✨

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ People with Sagittarius in their big three (sun, moon, rising) are some of the most outgoing people I know. They have so many connections and, once their schedule allows it, they start planning coffee dates, hangouts with their friends, clubbing etc. A friend of mine can literally NOT stay at home the entire day, he just HAS to go out or meet up with people for at least 2-3 hours. 🏙️

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ To the fellas with Moon opposition Neptune; How do you guys deal with moments in life that don't live up to your expectations? You know, when your imagination goes wild and has a very idealistic scenario of a certain situation, only for it to happen in a much different way and lowkey dissapoints you? Also, do you have dreams that kind of warn you or prepare you for something that will take place in the future? Because I feel like we kind of build our own world and the universe has to remind us that life isn't always perfect, lol 💭

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ My dear Aquarians, why the pessimism? Rather than overthinking everything and imagining the worst scenarios possible, how about you try focusing more on positive things? Even if it's just something small each time, it helps you view your daily life in a better light :)

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ Speaking of Aquas, I've noticed that most of you guys also don't really like being alone for too long. Sure, you want to have your me time (it's fine, we all do) but you also can't stand not having company around. Like, you'll randomly decide to stay in and spend some time alone but then you'll get upset and start calling your friends and family. A friend of mine cannot stand being alone for too long, even if we spend the whole day together, he hates being home on his own, to the point where he sometimes straight up takes the bus back to his hometown. It's wonderful that you enjoy spending so much time with others (I could never, lolll) but try picking up a hobby when you don't have the chance to be around people as much. It'll kind of distract you from loneliness and give you the chance to have some quality time with yourself 🧩

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, hope you have a wonderful day 💙

Edit: Bonus Observations

So a lot of you guys commented that Aquarius actually prefers solitude and could easily pass time all by themselves, so I looked into the charts of the social Aquas I know irl and see what it is that makes them so outgoing and talkative;

(I didn't include houses because I haven't gotten to confirm their birth times)

• My friend has Saturn in Gemini, which can make people talkative in any situation (I also have this placement and, although I see myself as an introverted homebody, I am surprisingly pretty chatty and enjoy going out with people that make me happy). Truly, he always gives something to talk about with everyone he knows, sometimes he'll start a conversation with another friend of his while I'm standing there not knowing what to say or do in the meantime, like 🧍‍♀️?

• He also has Mars in Sagittarius and Jupiter in Leo; energetic, lively and outgoing, thrives when surrounded by people. He almost never gets tired of hanging out with people, my low social battery could never 😅

• Other than her sun, my mom also has Aquarius in her Mercury, which makes her friendly and likeable, plus she enjoys conversing with people.

• Another thing about my mom, her placements are a bit contradictory; She has Sun in Aquarius, Moon in Virgo, and Uranus and Pluto in Libra - These indicate shyness, independence and introversion. Truly, she prefers doing things on her own most of the time and doesn't open up to just anyone. She also used to be very shy around my age (probably because of Virgo moon?). However, she also has Jupiter and Neptune in Sagittarius, which make her more adventurous, outgoing, charming and humorous. So that would probably explain this whole 'outgoing yet independent yet still can't be lonely' vibe she gives me.

Hope this explains a bit better why I had this image of Aquas at first, thanks for sharing your thoughts in the comments!

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bridgetoesoteria · 3 months

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✨Toxicity✨: What would have happened if you stayed?

Helloo. So this is going to be for anyone who feels in two minds about their decision to walk away from a situation.

Sorry in advance, the piles are so long! I really meant to be more succinct. So, grab a snack or break up the reading ahah 😅.

This can be used for any kind of situation: professional, romantic, platonic, etc. Options are left to right. Hope it resonates :)

For the collective: P.S.I took time out to do a guided meditation to connect with my intuition. So some of you may benefit from that. Some personal messages came through for me as well. So your guides probably want to connect with you too. I used a guided meditation on YouTube but feel free to do whatever resonates best with you.

Without further ado 🙇‍♀️🎩 ...

Pile 1

**TW: Substance Abuse**Off the bat: So before I even really began the reading, I was channeling Hey There Delilah by Plain White T's. So idk if that is relevant somehow. I was thinking of a lot of early 2000s songs. I feel very eager and excited. So maybe some of you left home behind to chase your dreams in someway. So, every win is a little bittersweet. Honestly, its such a vibe rn. I'm feeling chill, room is dimly lit, there's thin swirls of smoke coming from the burning sage...

4-card spread: Ace of Disks, The High Priestess, Prince of Cups, 7 of Disks. Bottom of Deck is Knight of Wands.

So, for context I'm using The Urban Tarot Deck. I feel like the imagery really helps with this pile. Its a Thoth inspired deck so the names for the cards are a little different. I read Knights as Kings and Princes as Knights.

All right, so right away I feel kind of confined. I don't think you would have had a horrible life or situation but it would not have been all that you needed. You would continue secretly dreaming of the life that you truly want. Whatever that means to you. I say this because the woman on the high priestess card looks very dreamy. Like she stole away and ran herself a bath just to have a few moments of solitude. But with the "knight of cups" right next to her--which is another card that can signify illusions, fantasies, daydreaming--it feels like she's dreaming of what could have been. And what could still be!

I always read this knight of cups as an amateur filmmaker. Someone just starting out, perhaps a little pretentious, but their intentions are in the right place. The fact that its a card that isn't fully mature, like a king of cups for instance, makes it seem tangible. So the woman isn't jumping to the ultimate end goal, but what could reasonably happen. This dream just lives in her head. Something she keeps for herself.

This is supported by the ace of disks (pentacles) and the 7 of disks. The 7 of pentacles can show patience as you wait on your investments or considering whether you invest or not. Aces are new starts. So, you would still be thinking about whatever alternative option you rejected to stay. Maybe you would know its still on the table and that's why you toy with the idea as a contingency plan. You know your growth is being stunted. Honestly for this group I think you were meant to leave. I don't think you would ever have been able to throw away this opportunity.

The king of wands is passionate and action oriented. This is how you would yearn to be. An energy like this cannot be contained. For some of you this may be referring to leaving a family dynamic or hometown behind. Right under the king is the 8 of cups reversed. With the imagery, I'm getting substance abuse problems. Maybe its common where you're from, alcoholism in particular. With it reversed, I think you would want to cut ties once and for all. Like just ghost friends, cousins, maybe even a partner. Like its the sort of thing where there may be all this lore associated with your name back home.

You will see what you could turn out like and decide to just go. For some this could relate to a job too. Maybe you see how the job consumes people around you, people lose relationships, some may get depressed, start drinking. You might have "noped" out of that and decided to carve your own path.

For those resonating with more of a family dynamic, I think you might experience some kind of loss. The kind of loss that acts as the straw that breaks the camel's back. Like I'm hearing "well, if Granny G/GG ain't here anymore, wtf am I doing here?" For others you could experience some kind of deep betrayal like a cheating spouse, a backstabbing best friend. And it will just make you go "fuck it" and choose yourself. You might not even be about all that lovey-dovey crap anyway.

Oracle Message: The oracle cards basically repeated the same message: Imposter Syndrome, Forever a Phoenix, and Emergence. Its literally what I- like look at this: "Sometimes you can't save it. Sometimes you have to take what's left and what lessons you have learned and simply just watch the rest burn to the ground." (Forever a Phoenix) The message of feeling confined comes up as well. The emergence card depicts a butterfly woman emerging from her cocoon. It's giving...I REST MY CASE.

Pile 2

Off the bat: A lot of you could be watching for an academic or professional situations. It reminds me of when I had to choose another school over my first choice. In hindsight, that was the best decision I could have made. I now can truly understand the saying "thank god for unanswered prayers." A move could be significant in someway so maybe some of you relocated or chose to stay where you are.

4-card spread: 9 of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, The Moon, The Hanged Man. Bottom of deck is The Fool.

I immediately started to feel a lot of anxiety. My chest feels kind of tight. If you hadn't left maybe you would have dealt with a lot of anxiety or panic attacks. I feel like the environment would have been stifling. A lot of major arcanas in a spread can sometimes signify stability or a lack of change. So if you are watching for a professional situation (academic counts too), you might not have progressed. This could look like never being given promotions. For others I am getting a combo of work and school like a dance academy or something. In a situation like this may always skip over you when it comes time for assigning solos. There is also a lot of romantic energy coming through but please consider how it resonates for your situation.

I also think something about remaining in whatever this is, would have caused you to doubt yourself. The moon and the wheel of fortune side by side could hint at emotional or mental instability. While I do read the wheel as a positive card, because it is something that is always turning, it can also represent a certain predictable unpredictability. The 9 of wands reinforces the message about being on guard. I think it would have been really exhausting to keep up with this toxicity indefinitely.

If this represents a romantic "third party" situation, the affair would have continued in the same way it was going. This applies regardless of which side of the third party you fall on. So if you were in a relationship with the person already, they would keep cheating. Or you would never be able to relax because you'd always be waiting for the next shoe to drop. Always on the look out for signs they're back to their old ways and never fully being able to trust them. No relationship can thrive in the those circumstances. So it would leave you frozen in this state of constant misery.

For others, if you resonate with being the person they snuck around with or if you were one of the many people they were entertaining, they would have kept that up, unfortunately. You would probably get resentful eventually. You may not even get any kind of title that would hint at some kind of significance to your relationship. They would not show the kind of effort that makes you go, "wow, they really value me and want to make this connection work". Nope, with the wheel and the fool. They would want to continue popping in and out with no thought to how it could throw you off balance. They could ghost. Your self-esteem and ability to ground yourself would really suffer.

This could also apply for situations where cheating wasn't the issue or at least it wasn't the only one. If the other person was rude, or controlling, or just awful, that would have continued. It would be you giving up parts of yourself and your peace to keep things afloat. They would still poster like they are "self-made" and like they're a great person.

Oracle Message: I haven't pulled anything yet but some of you may benefit from meditating. If this is something you have been practicing and wonder if there's any point, there is but the benefits are cumulative. So, you have to stick with it. Same with therapy, fitness journeys, or health journeys. Any kind of self-care. You just gotta be consistent. I am pulling from my affirmation cards deck. I'm going to insert a pic. "Today I am responsible" and "today I am at peace" came out together. My intentions were to read these cards as if they came out reversed. So with that in mind, you would have continued being in a lot drama and back and forth. The situation would be detrimental to your mental health and possibly physical health. Think a partner or friend that uses substances and so it makes it easier for you to get into. You might not get as much joy out of life and work would be unfulfilling. Overall, you would not experience much growth as a person.

Pile 3

Off the bat: I am getting more relationship and love energy. But if you are here for something nonromantic, just change the love stuff to fit your situation. Many of you are here for friends or significant others. For some of you, this reading may not be "that deep." Like perhaps this is just a crush that you moved on from and you're wondering what could have happened with them. Others you might have left a party and you're trying to quash the feelings of FOMO lol. Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls could be significant for some reason.

4-card spread: 10 of Swords, Ten of Cups, Ace of Swords, King of Pentacles. Bottom of deck is 4 of Cups.

I just want to note that the king of pentacles came out sideways. So if there is a flakey or unreliable person in this situation, they would have let you down. So for some resonating with a party or a gathering, if you wanted to stay because a friend or a crush was there, they might have ended up ditching you anyway. You could have stayed and realized this person was not even available, so perhaps they came with someone else. You might have just ended up bored, in your feelings, and way too drunk.

Next, if this was someone that was breadcrumbing you or kind of one foot in, one foot out, they have the potential to really disappoint you. I say this because of the sideways king of pentacles, ten of swords, 4 of cups, and the 6 of pentacles right under the 4 of cups. So you could have ended up feeling unfulfilled emotionally or practically (e.g. quality time). This other person could be kind of cocky, especially if they have a lot of other friend or dating options.

For others of you, staying could have led to pregnancy or children in some way. So this could be a partner or spouse that you considered staying with. A few examples I am getting: Having a child with this person, staying with them and starting a family, finding out they had a child or family with someone else.

The storyline is kind of splitting at this point. Some of this could resonate or none of it, so trust your gut. There's a group of you where things would not have been that bad. This is only for people who had a decent relationship with the person. Maybe the main issue was that you both weren't mature enough or stable enough to have a baby or a super serious relationship. This pregnancy would make you two very happy and would bring you closer together. Even if you ended up co-parenting, I think it would be okay for the most part.

Now, for the other half of the storyline...it's not such a happy ending. If something told you this person was not reliable enough to have a family with, that was likely the truth. They seem like the sort of person that would seem cool to start. They would act like they are going to step up. Think coming around your family more, being present for first ultrasounds, looking at apartments with you. I do think there would still be an air of detachment though. Unfortunately, this person gives me the vibe that they would just go cold. Like they may start off seeming bored, then escalate to "no call, no show" type of behavior, culminating in them ghosting or being very hard to reach. They aren't as ready as they seem and you would be mostly on your own. Whether this means as a single parent or them letting your relationship fall apart. They could continue posting online with their friends, when you were supposed to go to an open house, or crib shopping, or having your baby shower...you get the idea.

Oracle Message: I am pulling from a non tarot deck. I will insert a picture of the cards. It would be a lot to type out in order to explain properly. 😅You could resonate with certain cards more than others. (OMG you know what I just realized. I was getting Bubbles earlier and isn't that what Summer Walker calls her baby? If you know about her and her relationship drama, that could be more confirmation.) For some of you, you could see "what could have been," reflected in one of your friend's life. Maybe they made the opposite decision than you. The cards talking about fate lead me to believe that maybe things worked out in your best interests. In hindsight, you might be able to see how you dodged a bullet. Perhaps you would have had to sacrifice your goals, boundaries, or self-love. The other person seems really messy. The first, third, and sixth card make me think that. The first card is again making me feel like they could have a group that they run with that probably isn't the best influence. Maybe they have a lot of run-ins with the law. Impulsivity and recklessness could be the norm with this person. Also, it would probably be very hard to trust this person. Specifically, it would be veryy hard to trust they will change. You could have the same conversations and just go around in circles with no results. The trust question makes me think of couples counseling and the card next to it reminds me of individual counseling. You would probably get more out of one-on-one counseling. Whatever decision you made here was the right one.

I've been considering offering personals. I would probably put a quota on certain readings just so we are all "consuming responsibly", so to say. It would also just make me feel more a little more comfy. Boundaries were the main reason I stopped doing readings for anyone besides myself. I need to have my ducks in a row so for now it's just a thought.

Anywhoo 🦉 I've got soo many more readings planned. The last one from the poll will be a classic love reading. I will probably do another poll so keep an eye out for that! 💋

#tarotcommunity #pick a card #tarot #intuitive readings #tarot reading #oracle reading #spirituality #oracle cards #pick a pile #pick a card reading

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fairy-verse · 5 days

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An idea came to mind for Geno and Reaper all of a sudden, I remember it was mentioned you weren't sure who will pursue the other I wanted to add something on that. It is common to see Reaper being the one to pursue Geno so what if it is the opposite? Going story wise I would suspect Reaper not being good with communicating with others since he is mostly alone, and it was mentioned that Geno stayed with the other fairies in Error's mountain halls meaning he would be better with interacting with others than Reaper. Going back to the point Reaper is pretty secluded and warry of others coming around him in fear he would hurt them, maybe try and chase them away? Idk. He could be known as the Death fairy to many others due to his suitors dying around him mysteriously, Geno hearing this wants to know more and see this "death fairy" for himself, this curiosity was brought out because of his time with the Big Folk then... well I don't know T^T That is all I got unfortunately Just some stuff I wanted to share as a fellow enjoyer of AfterDeath lol

Geno is a fairy who enjoys his moments of solitude, though he’ll never want for them too long. Seeing the way Reaper is mostly avoided, left to crawl along the cavern walls to hide away in his nest (often left dimly lit), makes Geno feel a sort of pity for him, and so he ignores what every other fairy says, and goes to inspect what this strange fairy is all about.

Reaper is… awkward, to say the least. He is older than Geno but he’s been alone for so long (his parents were quite old when they had him, so they passed by natural causes some time ago) that he’s not the best at socialising. He’s not sure of what to say when Geno suddenly shows up to say hi, and Reaper feels flustered since he thinks Geno is cute, and thus his brain fries itself in its attempt to act suave. His poor flirting attempts are… charming, in a way, and they make Geno snort and smile, despite himself.

In the end, once both of them become fully comfortable with each other’s presence and company, their roles will eventually reverse somewhat. Reaper calms down and lets himself act naturally, and unbeknownst to him, his openness about his attraction to Geno and his way of just saying what he feels makes said other winter fairy the flushed one of the two. Geno doesn’t lack flirting skills, far from it, but once he sees Reaper in a new light, as this tall, dark fairy with unnatural wings and an aura he cannot describe… Well, his chest tickles, and he might just have to act quickly to make Reaper his mate. In due time some other fairy will notice how handsome Reaper truly is, hybrid or not, and they’ll try and win his heart. No, no, Geno won’t let that happen.

Not yet mates and Geno is already feeling jealous of the “potential” that another fairy will try to take Reaper away… It makes the latter feel giddy on the inside.

Note: Fairy Reaper is a mixture of the goofy self we all know and love, but he’s also somewhat similar to what we think of when imagining the Grim Reaper. Sometimes stoic, speaking in a tone that sounds unnatural and strange, aura that makes one's spine tickle, tall, dark, and imposing; these fairies ought to put their uncertainty for hybrids aside and instead see them for how ethereal they can be. Luckily for Geno, most will not see Reaper for how dashingly handsome he can be, so he’s safe to woo him in peace, which is good because he prefers to take his time.

#aufairyverse #utmv #ask for the fairy #fairy!reaper #reaper sans #fairy!geno #geno sans #canon

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

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How does Yves celebrate our birthday?

(P.S. thank you for the delicious content!)

However you want to celebrate. It could be as simple as having you make a wish and blow the candle out on the succulent birthday cake in the solitude of his living room, or as grand as a ballroom party where you invite all your friends and families, you get to dance in the most intricate dresses and suits made by his own skilled hands.

You would think that he commissioned the world's best fashion designer to create your outfits, but it was all himself after months of preparation. Yves would painstakingly hand sew every sequin, every bead, and it's this level of detail that makes your dress stand out.

Yves would work with teams of event managers and certified professional hires to facilitate your birthday. He would lead, even having a hand in the kitchen. He creates the menu and ensures that everyone he hired has the same faces throughout, because training starts a year prior to your big day. He remembers everyone's names, everyone's probability of making mistakes and ability to handle a variety of strange and unlikely scenarios.

His staff members would be confused and terrified as to why Yves has protocols if an armed intruder were to crash the party. Each person has their designated evacuation sites and roles to keep you, the guests and themselves safe. Most would already decide to back out after he handed them a thick booklet that details all the programmes happening on the day and all the potential scenarios they might face. Yves has his lawyers present with briefcases of waivers, NDAs and other binding contracts.

They thought that he was some sort of dangerous figure, better not involve themselves into something that they're going to regret. No pay is high enough to compromise their safety. But those who stuck around for years realized that he's just an extremely careful man who loves his darling to death.

The bomb-diffusing classes he required them to take were never put to use, they never once had to use a firearm to protect themselves and the guests, they never had to apprehend anyone who tried poisoning the food and the intensive first aid, toxin control and chemical dossiers they had to memorize by heart wasn't too useful. At most, they just had to deal with minor scrapes and burns in the kitchen. It's just a normal, lavish birthday party with friendly faces. Where the special birthday person is just a civilian who Yves spoils rotten.

He has over two hundred members, yet he knows the details of every single one. Even if two had the same name, he knows which is which. Yves remembers and they know that, which added more pressure on their shoulders. It always freaked them out when Yves caught them slacking off and he called them by their full name, with perfect pronunciation no matter how ethnic.

They cannot trick him into thinking they're supposed to be on break. There are numerous other employees, there is no way he remembers the roster for the day, right? Wrong, he was the one who made the schedules after all. And that unnerves them, he's just like a machine!

However, they appreciate being seen and valued individually. They're not just another tool to him, they're human with their own specific strengths, weaknesses and Yves sees that. It in turn motivates them to do their best. That, and the fact they cannot worm their way out of trouble at all. Reward and fear go hand in hand.

While he prepares for the biggest annual event 12 months prior, Yves somehow managed to spend enough time with you without raising suspicions of the surprise. Of course, you know it is going to be outstanding every year, you just don't know the true magnitude of preparation conducted by Yves.

On the day of your celebration, Yves would be in the kitchen, cooking your meals. It's going to follow the same menu he and the other senior chefs crafted, but yours is a lot more personalized- salted, sweetened or spiced to your liking. The rest of his kitchen staff focused on massive batch production to cater to potentially thousands of attendees.

Only Yves would be allowed to do your makeup and hair. You wouldn't want anyone else anyways, they couldn't compare to his skills and his knowledge of what you're trying to go for.

You spend the entire day being praised, loved and revered on stage. Yves standing by your side at all times as his entertainment team facilitates the event.

Dozens of photographers capture every angle of the happiest possible moments. His personal hidden video cameras running and feeding data back to his vault in real time.

You get to eat with the group of people you cared for the most, or if you rather eat with him alone, he will also humor you.

In the end, you would go home exhausted but happy. He will take care of you; by preparing a fresh set of comfortable clothes while you take a shower. If there's something particularly difficult to remove, such as hairspray or silicone prosthetics, he will help you with no complaints. The mess is left to Yves's loyal team to clean up.

He will give his employees a week to recoup before jumping right back into planning for your next birthday. Yves has to rent a moving truck every year just to transport all your presents from the ballroom to his home.

Or, perhaps you think that's an overwhelming way to celebrate another year of being alive. Maybe you wanted a gathering, but in a much smaller scale.

Then, he would host a party at his house. Yves will be in charge of the food, the decor and the activities. You don't have to lift a single finger, a number of his hires would also be involved, just that you wouldn't see them around. Yves tried working with your friends and families for the surprise, but their intent mostly doesn't align his. It's either that they're grossly wrong in thinking what you really wanted, they're trying to put the spotlight on themselves or they just don't take it as seriously as they should.

You would notice on your special day, his living room looked quite different from what you're used to. His gothic flair wasn't as pronounced, anything fragile was hidden and all other doors aside from the kitchen's and the bathroom's are locked shut.

Colourful banners, posters and ribbons that fit the theme you wanted decorated the walls, inflated balloons made the place lively and there was constant upbeat background music playing.

He provides extra seating, there is a zone just for children and teenagers with a plethora of toys, gadgets, game consoles, books and art materials. He brought in a couple of his team members who he knows work great with children to supervise the area. Yves made it as appealing as possible to people who tend to be disruptive when bored (usually ages 16 and below), so that they would stay contained there and not interrupt the 'adults'.

If some happened to breach containment, he would send his handlers a death glare for not doing a good enough job as he guided them back into the room.

But otherwise, Yves would be going in and out of the kitchen, holding trays of homemade food. He allows you to mingle with your guests, even those who are in the wretched "zone". Yves will begrudgingly step foot inside just to be with you, everyone felt the horrifying aura emanating from him though.

The children would play with you, but avoid Yves like the plague.

He would fix your plate of food for you, filling your cup with your favourite drink when it's empty and generally babying you. Yves wants you to enjoy the day, to forget that report deadline, your exams or that urgent email. He is going to handle it.

Just tell him whenever you're tired, he will drive everyone out of his house in his own polite, manipulative, reality bending way almost instantly.

You could either spend the day opening gifts or taking a nap. Yves is simply happy you had a good time.

Or,

You perhaps prefer a much smaller audience to please. A dinner with your friends or family at a nice, trusted restaurant, a maximum of 10 guests. In all three scenarios, Yves must bake the cake and help you dress up. He is the only one you trust to do so.

Yves would send out the invitations to them, deeply observing their life so that he could ensure they're coming. It would mean the world to you for them to attend, he doesn't want to see you disappointed.

The week leading up to your special day, he will do everything in his power to clear their schedules for you, be it from sabotaging their romantic relationships so they wouldn't abandon your little gathering for date nights, to slipping subconscious reminders to take their medications so they wouldn't be too depressed, anxious or psychotic to come, to poisoning their lecturers so they would have an extended deadline for their assignments, to intercepting the news of their dead relative first, so they wouldn't go to their funeral or mourn on that day, to calling them and dishing out insane guilt trips and/or threats.

The effort was all worth it to see your gleeful face smiling at the full attendance.

Of course, this is all paid by Yves. At the end of the day, you would come back home a year older with a full heart and stomach. Your guests would come home to clean up the mess Yves made in order to make them show up.

Or,

You don't want anyone else. You just want him to be there with you on your birthday. And you wanted to be involved in the process.

He will be more than happy to set up a romantic candle lit dinner at home, cooking a delicious, well portioned meal for two. He follows whatever tradition you're used to doing well.

You will receive a present from Yves, usually it's something you desperately yearned for, but never told anyone. It's fascinatingly eerie how he could figure it out every year.

You could pipe icing onto the cake you and him baked earlier. Laughing at the lopsidedness of your handicrafts while Yves kisses you on the temple for helping him in the kitchen.

It wouldn't be as grand, as flashy or as lively as the first two. Not by a long shot.

It's quiet, peaceful and sweet. But never lonely or empty.

As Yves is right there with you, teaching you how to hold a piping bag correctly. A pint of handmade icing wasted later, you managed your first successful border.

He hugged you from behind and praised your abilities. You melted into his touch as he pressed his lips on the top of your head.

The two of you shared a slice, because you were stuffed from the main course. Anyone could tell that the edible decor was made by someone inexperienced. But Yves didn't care, neither should you.

It's your birthday, and you get to decide how to celebrate it.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves

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k-dokja · 2 years

Text

summary: oh, you would be a fine queen if only you vied for the crown

settings: pre-relationship + reader is the child of a duke + talks of an arranged marriage + reader's mom is pretty :) uh :)

author's note: i was writing this then i remember i have no idea about malleus' characterization beyond wanting to clown him now i'm in tears. help.

your mother arrives at the study an hour after dinner, "have you thought about it?" she asks, offhandedly. like this wouldn't be an important decision which will change your life forever.

you have expected her to ask about this when she arrived. the only slight delay happened when she pretended for a few minutes to browse your bookshelves. after not finding anything of interest, she changed her focus on you.

"it's only been an hour," you sigh as you set aside your pen. at her mention, you no longer want to deal with this pile of documents. there's only so much stress you can take at once and your mother is the more formidable opponent.

"aren't you good at making snap decisions during battle?" she smirks. "time to apply this skill to determining your future."

again, you sigh, "you're comparing my future marriage with war," dryly, you add, "i didn't know it has to be that stressful. what happened to marrying for love?"

"you're a smart girl," your mother idly browses the books again, if only to find something to do while conversing, "you have more than enough achievements to back up your credibility, you care for the people and understand them, your subordinates adore you and many would die for your cause, your education exceeds that of your siblings, and you are beautiful even if it is not extraordinary compared to them"

you scrunch your nose. it is not every day one hears their own mother say they're above average but not outstanding. however, you keep your mouth shut. you've always known your qualities lie more in your capabilities than appearance.

"you'd be a good queen," your mother picks a book to peruse, "crown prince malleus agrees, too."

"is that why you're pressing me?" you sigh the third time in that conversation. "because i already received his approval?"

"yes," she says, "is that so surprising?"

no, it isn't. at the same time, you cannot say you were expecting this to happen. "we've only met in passing. his highness doesn't even know who i am as a person."

she shrugs, "he knows enough to applaud your accomplishments, and," her eyes trail away from you to admire the curtains in the study. she set it up once upon a time, along with every other piece of furniture you never bothered to change. "he's a better prospect than that boy under your command... what was his name, kendrick?"

"kieran," you correct her.

"yes, yes, kiernan," she replies absent-mindedly, "you've managed to achieve a lot, my dear. you should go for the highest height you can reach."

you have known your mother your entire life. you know what urged her to urge you but you won't bring it up. there is no point to pursue a conversation she will avoid deftly. not when she has shown that she has no care for your actual opinion on the matter, only to inform you of what would be prudent to do.

"is that an order?"

"hm?"

"courting with prince malleus."

"oh," your mother stares back at you, then fixes on an indulgent smile, "of course not, but if you're open to the idea, i believe he'd be interested in having tea with you the next time you're at the palace."

with a frown, you bite down on your lower lip, "i'll think about it."

"good," your mother says, putting the book in her hand back to the shelf, "but don't think for too long, that's how all the good ideas run away."

"yes, mother."

with that, your mother flits out of the study and leaves you to your solitude. somehow, even without her in the room no longer, the weight of her expectation remains with you.

you sigh. fourth time in under ten minutes. no longer feel compelled to finish your work.

"your mother worries about me?"

kieran helps you on your horse. you don't need the assistance but accept it out of habit. he has been a companion since you haven't known how to saddle your ride. even after you have long mastered equestrianism, he's always ready to lend a helping hand whenever he's around.

"she worries about everything, but i say you shouldn't mind it," you say, "she doesn't even remember your name."

"ouch," he puts his hand on his chest but on his lips is a boyish grin, "that hurts. i thought i'd be more memorable. she even smiled at me whenever i greeted her."

you shrug, "she smiles at everyone, you know what she's like. matters at the court interest her more than the ones out at the frontier."

"maybe we've been away for too long that she forgot me," kieran muses and leads his own horse over to yours. "should i reacquaintance with her...?"

"no," you answer, "it's better for you to stay forgettable. she has the habit of removing people she finds to be the thorn at her side."

after he saddles his horse, kieran laughs at what he probably assumes to be a joke. but when he double-checks your expression, he stops and swallows nervously, "wait, you don't think she would...?"

admittedly, while it's funny to see him fret, you really don't have the heart to confirm his worry. you know he won't like the answer, there's no reason to say it out loud.

the two of you set into an easy rhythm while you tread down the road towards the capital. he's quick to bounce back from the unnerving conversation, shifting towards a more pleasant topic.

"so, prince malleus, huh?" he says breezily, "that's a high climb."

unlike his namesake, kieran possesses an easygoing disposition which befits his mess of unruly blond hair. you admire it at times and detest it at others. during this conversation, your feeling was somewhere in the middle until he mentioned the climb.

"haven't i done enough?" you huff, then correct, "i'm not whining, by the way. i'm fully prepared to deal with my duty and i know what must be done, i find purpose in helping my people and improving their livelihood. it's simply that..."

"it's not enough in your mother's eyes?" kieran softly suggests.

your shoulder sags, "nothing ever is," you mutter then square up your shoulder again, "i'm being petulant. this is silly. i shouldn't lose my mind about this. mother was correct on one matter, i would be able to do much more if i become queen. if his highness does favour me in the end, then that'd mean there'll be more people i can help. not only for the people of the dukedom but for the entire briar valley."

kieran laughs, softly, "it's nice that you can see the positive in this, but don't dismiss your feelings. you know it's fine to be upset."

it's your turn to laugh. unlike kieran's full of affection, yours is a mockery. to your own situation and no one else. "not in my position, i don't."

there is a lull in your audience with the queen. the meeting has been private due to the sensitive nature of your discussion. however, before you have the chance to extract yourself, the elder woman stops you from the action with her eyes alone.

upon seeing your shock, she smiles. it's not unkind, but there is amusement towards your misstep. "i understand your mother has brought you words of malleus' affection."

you wouldn't call it affection, but you don't contradict the queen. "yes, your majesty."

she nods, "he's young, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. he might've been an elder to the children of men, but he remains a teenager for our people, barely a young adult. he has a lot to learn."

it confuses you where she plans to go with this, but you keep your silence. she does not wait for you to move on. "i have broached the topic of future marriage to him only halfheartedly, but he recommended you quite adamantly."

then, with a slow smile, she says, "it befuddles me because i did not know where this interest was from... until he listed the reasons why you'd make a good queen."

you swallow. it is the same with your mother. both of them thought about what you can do instead of who you are. but you don't begrudge the prince for it, he doesn't know who you are. your mother, on another hand.

"i know you and i know my grandson," she says, "both of you would agree to this arrangement if you think it'd better for the country to unite."

before a sigh can escape you, she adds. "however, i do think it's worth noting that his parents were a love match. as was yours, i believe."

you nod in confirmation. for all of the flaws she has as a mother, her marriage comes from the heart. it confuses you at times to hear her bringing up arranged marriage, but then it dawns upon you that she has achieved both love and power by marrying your mother. the confusion dissipates then, only leaving you with gnawing anxiety.

it'd be too idealistic for you to achieve both, too. in a perfect world, then maybe. unfortunately, your world is already too flawed.

"i do not ask of you or him to fall in love," she clarifies, "but i do think it'd be worth it if you are at least friendly. malleus is only focused on the pragmatic side when he chose you, but i do have faith that you can find a common ground."

the queen smiles again. this time, it's sincere. "after all, who else understands the pressure he's under than you?"

your meeting with the queen is a brief one. full of words with weight and thoughts to contemplate on. you will have to deal with what she has told you of the prince, eventually, but for now, you've done what you come here for.

you would've gotten the same done if you have sent an emissary. however, you have other meetings in the capital you intend to do in person, which means you wouldn't have to leave yet.

kieran has chosen to stay back at the inn. even if getting to meet the queen is an honour, he has volunteered to run a few other errands for you. this frees you up for the afternoon, although you see little point in it.

as you stride down the halls of the palace, your brain immediately mulls over what possible agenda you use to fill this free time slot. since kieran has taken care of the easy chores, you need to discuss with a few merchants about expanding trade routes through your territory, then visit a family friend who lives in the city.

and then—

"oh."

upon hearing the call for your title and name, you stop the pace of your jogging. immediately, a business smile sets on your lips but it slips when you see exactly who you come to face with.

"your highness," you recover your fluster with a curtsy, "i hadn't expected to see you."

"i live here and hardly ever left," malleus answers wryly, "it wouldn't have been that difficult to run into me unless you were purposefully avoiding me."

the lightheartedness of the prince is something you did not foresee. at least, not from his appearance. even without his horns, his highness stands tall, not broad but imposing anyway. his reptilian eyes stand out in their chartreuse green.

the color of his fire, you note.

aside from what you have heard about him, your experience with prince malleus is limited to formal meetings where you can only exchange pleasantries. beyond that, he was too young when you left for the frontier to have any substantial memories of him.

you force a laugh, "of course not, your highness," you say, "i've only meant to be here for a short while to meet her majesty, i didn't expect to run into anyone else."

"hm, talking with my grandmother...?" he hums. "am i arrogant to assume this has something to do with me?"

keeping your face impassive, you swallow, "a bit, yes," you thread your fingers together, "we mostly talked about the trade expansion in my hometown, but we did mention you."

his eyes gleam and you realize they shine like gems under the limited lighting of the palace's halls. "mhm."

if your mother pretends she wasn't listening to continue the conversation, prince malleus urges you on by giving you the full of his attention. it's jarring and intense in an alien way to be under the full force of the prince's scrutiny. luckily, you've lived your entire life under pressure.

"it'd be nice to be friends, your highness, if possible."

"that you'd appreciate a friend, your highness."

his eyes widen imperceptibly at your answer. he opens his mouth, but the only word he articulated is "oh?", leaving the floor for you to take.

"i don't know about... future plans," you press your lips together, "but i do want to know you before anything. we both have our own obligations and i don't want to mess anything up but..."

your lack of eloquence vanishes when it comes to moments of vulnerability. you have noticed this happened once before, earlier in the day. before it can fluster you, malleus smiles.

it's surprisingly gentle, "i understand," then, he laughs, it sounds sweet. you never expect his laughter to sound sweet. "friends... i admit it's not a familiar word, but it's not an unwelcomed one," he inclines his head towards you, the glimpse of amusement sparks in his eyes, "i look forward to getting to know you."

you laugh. perhaps genuinely for the first time in days, "it'd be my honour, your highness."

"please, call me malleus."

#malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #fics #i... lost my track of thoughts when i began to write malleus #🤷‍♂️

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starogeorgina · 9 months

Text

Broken bonds

Paring: Ser Harwin Strong/reader

Warnings: Swearing

Notes: So I've had a few asks about Harwin and Rhaenyra's relationship in this story, so I'm just answering them here. To clarify, Harwin is 100% not the father of Rhaenyra's three oldest children - their only connection in broken bonds is Vaella

2.03

“Forgive me, princess, but might I ask what happened?”

You turn on your heels to see Lord Larys looking at your scarred hand. You hadn’t noticed him prior because he was sitting in a well-shaded area within the courtyard.

Always lurking in the shadows.

“A received an arrow through the hand during the battle for the stepstones.”

Intrigued Larys motions for you to sit beside him. “Were you on the beach when it happened?”

“No,” you say politely. “I was on the dragon's back. The battle was almost over when members of the Triarchy came out of their hiding spot in a cave and fired upon us. Ser Laenor got away on Seasmoke, but I was not so lucky. It’s a painful thing to witness your dragon in pain. I was so concerned with the arrows hitting Varos that I hardly felt the one that struck me.”

“What happened to those who fired upon you, princess?”

“I bathed them in fire.”

“Hmm, my brother must be very proud of marrying a Targaryen princess who’s been to battle. I imagine you will be very happy together.”

Presenting a cordial smile, you nod, “I think we will as well.”

You watch as servants hurried to prepare for the first grand feast of many being held to celebrate the king's first grandchildren. During a rare moment of solitude while both your sons were tended to by their wet nurses, you decided to take a walk outside to clear your head. Since you opted to feed your sons yourself throughout the night, headaches had been a normal thing for you due to lack of sleep, so the fresh air had done you wonders.

“Will you be remaining in the keep? I know Harwin is the heir to Harrenhal, but it would be nice for you to return to Dragonstone, where you... went through so much together.”

Lary's lips moved as he smiled, but his eyes remained the same. It was known that Clubfoot was untrustworthy, especially with his friendship with the queen being kept a secret. Strong or not, he was another person to keep away from your sons. Before you have a chance to say anything further, you jump to your feet immediately after hearing shrieking close by. You look up and let out a hearty laugh, seeing Caraxes flying over the keep. “Excuse me, Lord Larys, I must go and greet my uncle. I will see you tonight.”

“Of course, princess,” he says, bowing his head. “I shall see you there.”

—

You wait by the entrance of the dragonpit for your uncle to emerge, and when he does, you smile at him brightly, like an excited child, as he approaches you with his arms outstretched. “Rijes aōt, ñuha gevie niece!” He takes hold of both your hands and says, “Two, I hear. Congratulations. I cannot wait to meet the realm's future greatest dragon riders.”

“Thank you, uncle; I cannot wait for you to meet my sons.”

His jaw tightens when Syrax roars in the distance; the happiness in his eyes fades and is overtaken by sadness. Usually, he was delighted to see your sister. Daemon cleared his throat and said, “I’ve got a gift for you.” He reaches into the small satchel he takes with Dragon Rider and pulls out a dagger. “It’s made of Valyrian steel.”

Your finger smooths over the handle, which has your house’s symbol engraved into it. In a way, his gift reminded you of the three-headed dragon; since Daemon had a dark sister and Rhaenyra had her necklace, and now that you had a dagger, the three of you possessed a part of your family's history.

“Thank you; I will cherish it forever,” you say sincerely while trying not to get emotional. “Uncle, is there something bothering you?”

“My wife, Lady Laena, is pregnant.”

“Fantastic news, is it not?” The people who were around the dragonpit began to stare when your uncle didn't reply right away and appeared to have zoned out. You nudge him lightly, “Uncle?”

“Yes, fantastic news. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys are ecstatic, as are I and Laena.”

“How many people know?”

“Not many. Laena hasn’t shared the news with her brother yet.”

“Which means you haven’t told Rhaenyra,” you say, squeezing his arm. “My sister will be delighted for you, and so will my father.”

While pregnant, you often snuck through secret passages to visit Harwin at night and nearly always overheard the servants gossiping. Nothing ever particularly interested you; you would only ever ease off when hearing your sister's name being mentioned. It seemed to be common knowledge amongst the servants in the keep and Driftmark that Rhaenyra had become fond of Lady Laena. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Laena seemed to be in some kind of polyamorous relationship, but it wasn’t your business, so you never asked. But if it were true, you could understand why your uncle was hesitant to share the news with your sister; he didn’t want to hurt her.

When Syrax starts to fly into the dragon pit, you offer Daemon a kind smile and say, “I will leave you to greet my sister; I’ll see you tonight.”

—

Stepping onto the small platform, you admire the velvet gown you have chosen. The floor-length gown was red and had a corset-style top, puffed sleeves that draped down each arm, and black intricate detailing and embellishments. It was beautiful, and for the first time, you felt like one of the princesses you’d read about in books as a child. Hearing a gurgling noise, you look over your shoulder to see Harwin rocking the cradle beside him gently with his foot while holding one of your sons with his good arm. You found it amazing that Harwin was still finding time to care for the boys despite his injuries.

“They are both gorgeous princesses,” your lady in waiting says as she puts the final red pins into your braid.

“Thank yo-”

You’re cut off when the door to your quarter opens and Ser Criston steps inside; he bows his head in the direction of you and your lady in waiting and says, “Princess, her grace is here to see you.”

“Ser Criston,” Alicent smiles as Harwin and your lady in waiting greet her properly. She waves for one of her servants to come into the room, and the servant lowered her head as she entered the room carrying a hideous green dress. “Princess Vaella, as a gesture of goodwill, I’ve had my seamstress custom-make you a dress that will better hide your… curves.”

You bite your tongue. You didn’t know what bothered you more: Alicent going out of her way to embarrass you or Ser Criston not acknowledging Harwin, which was a clear sign of disrespect. The seconds pass by with Alicent looking at you smugly, awaiting a reply.

“I think my betrothed looks rather beautiful in what she’s wearing.”

You smile brightly at Harwin. He was the only person whose opinion truly mattered to you. Of course, your family and close friends mattered, but only Harwin could cause butterflies to dance in your stomach. The glint in his eyes suggested he truly meant it. He smiles back at you before returning his attention to the babe, who is starting to babble in his arms.

—

“A fucking green dress!” Daemon sneered. “Malicious cunt—”

“Uncle!” You motion to the baby in his arms.

Damon chuckles at you before shaking his head. The celebration feast was in full swing, and mostly everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Your father was laughing with his hand while Rhaenyra danced with a few of the ladies from other houses. It did sadden you slightly that she appeared to be avoiding Lady Laena and your uncle, but now wasn’t the time to check in on her. The last thing you wanted was to upset her by mentioning it. You fully believed Rhaenyra would be happy for them, but it would mean the three of them wouldn’t be able to spend so much time together.

Feeling eyes on you, you look at the table closest to the high table at your end and see Harwin talking to two young ladies who resembled the house's strong appearance. Harwin grins when he catches you staring, and you smile back. Usually you would have gone over and introduced yourself, but with Aerion sleeping so peacefully in your arms, you were reluctant to disturb him.

“Fucking greens,” Daemon mumbles, looking over at the opposite side of the room where the Hightowers from Old Town were sitting, all of them wearing green clothing.

You sigh, “Don’t let their presence ruin the night, uncle. We have far too much to celebrate, my sons; my wedding; you having a baby of your own.”

“Speaking of sons,” Daemon chuckles as Vaegon grips his long silver hair with his tiny hand, then pulls it. “I predict this little dragon will love sparring when he’s older.”

You laugh until the music stops, and everyone looks to the hall's entrance to see the Queen. You roll your eyes. “I guess she finally decided to grace us with her presence.”

As Alicent approached the high table everyone stood, everyone but you and Daemon, which didn’t go unnoticed by others. You cuddled Aerion closer to you when Alicent stood in front of you and said, “Congratulations, stepdaughter.”

She moves on quickly without glancing at your uncle, who was beside you. When the queen is out of earshot and the music resumes, Daemon takes a gulp of wine with his free hand before leaning into you and asking, “Would you like my advice?”

“Naturally.”

“You and Ser Harwin should take your sons to the dragon out, fly to Dragonstone tonight, and ask for a septon as soon as you arrive.”

Rijes aōt, ñuha gevie niece! - Congratulations, my beautiful niece!

#house of the dragon #ser harwin strong x reader #ser harwin strong x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x reader #ser harwin strong #broken bonds #ser harwin strong fanfiction #Ser Harwin Strong/reader #harwin strong/reader #harwin strong fanfic #harwin strong x reader #ser harwin breakbones #harwin strong/you

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sweatermuppet · 8 months

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sorry if you've been asked this before but have you gone to college or are you interested? a lot of my fav writers went to pretty prestigious places and have masters or phds etc and i was the type of person who never thought i'd be able to go to school for writing (or anything really) but i'm gonna try this upcoming school year. would love any insight you have if any <3

my feelings on further education for writing are complicated, but to put it out there at the top: i did not go to college & do not consider it necessary to be published

i did not apply to college in high school, which was highly controversial according to teachers, who insisted i need to at least look. i had some poor grades (almost failed creative writing, almost failed sophomore english) & did not attend many after school programs. i skipped class, had a suspension on record for fighting, & i was deeply deeply clinically depressed. i was in therapy, on medication, & could not see that another few years of school would suit me, especially because i was trying to come out as trans in a small school & that exhausted & despaired me. i did not have savings, scholarship offers, & my parents had told me since childhood that any secondary education would be my responsibility

i would like to go to college now i think, or at least attend more workshops & small classes for poetry & fiction, but i still feel it is very unlikely. education costs are too high for me to consider it an agreeable sacrifice for those experiences & connections. if i had the chance to go somewhere for writing, it would have to be within a financial margin that seemingly does not exist for current college costs & i refuse to take out loans, especially when i would rather work a day job & further my transition

i think it is very possible to educate yourself. there are lots of online resources available that can provide you with lessons, prompts, readings, & "homework". one key element, that ive discussed with other published friends, is that doing it alone... means you are that: alone. there is a lot of value in being taught by someone or someones who can answer your questions & give you a uniquely human perspective. i have taught myself a lot privately, but it does come with a sometimes crushing distance that can feel downright alienating, if not discouraging. there is a thrill in discussing poetry in a group that cannot be replicated in solitude

on the other hand, i think experiences cannot be taught in a classroom. to write, you must live first. you have to have material & it is difficult to craft material when you are entirely occupied with study. heartbreak, loss, love, wonder, can all happen during college, & even college is its own experience, but i do think there is a lot of overlooked value in people who just do... people things without wondering if it'll make a good poem

when i went to a writing retreat last year, i was the only man to attend (or ever apply!) & the only person in the group to not have gone to, or actively be in, college. i was torn between thinking i was an outsider, because everyone around me was "better educated" & feeling like id accomplished something all on my own

so... at the end of the day, i think it is entirely personal whether someone goes to college for writing. i know people who have gone & loved it & others who did not find it useful. i think these depend upon yourself, the school, your style, what you're hoping to achieve, etc. i think most of all it's deeply important to learn with other people when you can, to talk to people about poetry, to go to readings & subscribe to journals & visit libraries & take notes. how that is done is up to you

#devotedbunny #sorry that this is six million pages long. i just have a lot of thoughts about it

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wh0refornikolailantsov · 11 months

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Prompt: “It was all I had left of them.”

Song: Matilda – Harry Styles

For Reader x Tolya please?

Hold Onto Me - Tolya Yul Bataar

Content Warning: Discussions Of Loss. Not Beta/Proof Read.

You know there are more things to be precious about, that sentimentality is better reserved for things that will last, or on people. Which there are no guarantees about either, but energy is often better spent on those that are still here, you know that well enough. You cannot change what has happened but you can impact what is yet to come. You cannot save those you've already lost, but you can hold onto those you have found. You can help protect those who aren't yet gone.

But knowing something is true and living by that truth are not things that are intrinsically linked. You can know something is bad for you and keep it anyway. You can know something is good for you, but that doesn't make you innately drawn to it. People are inherently flawed in more ways than one, and this, the knowing and not living by that knowledge is simply one of those things. Because feelings almost always override knowledge, sense, and you're not an exception to that rule.

So when the pocket watch fell from your bag and the glass shattered and each tiny piece of the metal work scattered from one another, cascading across the floor in nothing more than spare parts, your heart felt like it gave up on itself.

You hadn't the time to collect the pieces, you reached for the floor and wrapped a hand around a single bronze hand when someone grabbed a fistful of your sleeve and was pulling you along.

Now you're staring at that same hand, all twisted in this beautiful intricacy that once built upon more piece to create this wild world within the watch, all ivy and wilderness. Now just one hand lain in your palm it would be hard to imagine the dynasty of artwork such a small watch contained. You'd only ever seen one anything like it before, this silver clasp that held a pattern of the suns movement, dial pressed into the centre, starts and constellations underneath the dials, you had mistaken it more than once for a compass, but it seemed to keep in track of the bells and you weren't sure how it did that, until you watched it get twisted by tired hands as the first bells of the day rang out. It took dedication to keep that invention working. This one, the one that had been yours, you don't think it ever worked, it was more of an idea than a tool, but when it was wound it would play small music notes, you knew it was supposed to tell you when to come home, but the home it had been designed to call you back to had not existed for a long time.

"Caught your breath?" comes Tolya's voice, coming to join you in your solitude. You shrug.

"Contemplating the futility of sentiment," you inform him.

He places a hand over his heart and winces. "You cannot mean that," he says, giving you a grin.

"To a degree," you say, holding the clock hand to the light. Tolya frowns at the small piece of metal.

"That looks like it belongs in your pocket watch," he says. You nod.

"It did," you say. “It was all I had left of them.” You fold your fingers around the hand, pushing it tightly into your palm, as if the act of holding it tight enough could make the metal a part of you. "It was... it was from my family, when I was younger I would wander farther than they liked, but after a while they realised trying to keep me in was never going to work, so instead they decided to let me explore, have my time and my adventure, but they needed a way to remind me to come home. When I got old enough the sound of the bells ringing got too far away in the distance I would travel, so my parents gave me this, my father tried to make a small clock that would remind me of time passing, it never worked, but the weight of it in my pocket, was always enough to remind me if I got lost in my wanderings, that people were waiting for me." You open your fist again to look at the small twisted metal. "I have no one calling me home anymore, so I suppose I no longer needed a reminder to go home, but it... it never worked as an object but it was fit for purpose and it was home, a reminder that I had one, where people were waiting for me, and I guess I have held onto it for so long," you catch your words on your inhale, feeling Tolya's eyes on you, listening so intently, "I was just hoping to find something to come home to again."

"What happened to it?" he asks, as if talking of it would make a difference, but sometimes people need an opportunity or an opening, or a half decent excuse to keep talking.

"When we were running," you explain, "it must've gotten loose and before I realised it hit the ground and it was in pieces and I barely got one bit off the floor before Tamar was pulling me along. I know she was saving my ass, I am not mad about it..." you sigh, "I am just... sad I guess."

"You can mourn an object too," he tells you, "especially something that holds so much love in it, it's like any other loss. You feel its absence."

"It just feels like a childish thing to be sad about," you say, "it wasn't worth anything, it was a few pieces of metal and a twisted mechanism from a music box, something I probably should have let go of a long time ago."

"Everyone has something," Tolya tells you, "something we keep not because it's practical, or because it's pretty, not because it has inherent value, but because of the narrative of the object, the stories it holds and the memories that lay within them. That was a piece of home, it's not childish to mourn that."

You tap your nail on the clock hand and try to take comfort in his words. "Thank you," you tell him after a while. "You're always so kind to me."

He smiles. "I treat you as you deserve to be treated," he says, "and it saddens me at the rarity of that."

You lean into him gently, allowing his presence to be your solace as you watch the sky, content in each others quiet.

You're helping Leoni with untangling the mess that was left of the supplies, she is explaining the topaz and amethyst gems in her hair, explaining the people they represent and you're listening, nodding along as she talks of her mother, and the woman who saved her as a child, it explains a lot about her. You have admired Leoni's sunny disposition more than once.

You look up as Tolya approaches and you offer him a smile. "Can I steal this one away from you?" Tolya asks Leoni. Leoni looks like she is pondering it for a moment.

"I don't know, Tolya," she teases, "you may have to fight me, think you've got what it takes?"

Tolya gives her a playful smirk. "I think I can hold my ground," he admits. Leoni nods and gives a wave of dismissal.

"Steal away," she instructs. Tolya gestures a direction and you follow him in it. You make it back to the stones you had been sat on when he found you in your sadness a few days before.

"Working too hard, forcing me to break?" you joke, taking your seat on the rock. It's colder than it was before, or maybe your detection of temperature has come back stronger as you let the waves of sadness slowly subside within you.

"I don't know what I am looking at," Tolya admits, "and I am not skilled in the mechanics of these sorts of things, and I am sure I did not find all the pieces, but," he pulls a small cloth from his pocket and unfolds it to reveal many parts of the pocket watch. He is right, you can tell by looking them over that cogs and mechanism pieces are missing, but amongst the pieces you can also see drum of the music box.

You reach for it, and amongst the shifted pieces you see the comb that strums the divots to make the noise. You pick it up and haphazardly try to coax the sound with dragging the teeth of the comb over the drum, and it's painful, and disjointed, but after a moment, it almost resembles the music you remember.

"The Flower Maiden?" Tolya asks, trying to pick out the tune. You laugh.

"The fact you can tell that is more a credit to you," you state, "but yes, it was a favourite of my mothers, she heard it on her travels, before she and my father settled." You twist the pieces of the watch around in your hands, short on words that could do the depth of your gratitude justice. "Thank you, Tolya, I cannot... thank you."

He smiles. "It's important to make room for grief and to make time for it. Mourning is something we have to learn to embrace. But I think you've accepted enough loss of late, and one less thing to make you feel that... it seemed like a small undertaking for such an important thing."

"You're always so kind to me Tolya," you say again, smiling through the tears that are welling in your eyes from the tightness in your chest, but for once it isn't all sad.

"I mean to make up for the rarity of it."

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #tolya yul bataar #tolya #tolya x reader #tolya my darling i adore you

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the-mercy-workers · 3 months

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Message of his holiness Pope Francis XXXII World Day of the Sick

“It is not good that man should be alone”. Healing the Sick by Healing Relationships

“It is not good that man should be alone” (cf. Gen 2:18). From the beginning, God, who is love, created us for communion and endowed us with an innate capacity to enter into relationship with others. Our lives, reflecting in the image of the Trinity, are meant to attain fulfilment through a network of relationships, friendships and love, both given and received. We were created to be together, not alone. Precisely because this project of communion is so deeply rooted in the human heart, we see the experience of abandonment and solitude as something frightening, painful and even inhuman. This is all the more the case at times of vulnerability, uncertainty and insecurity, caused often by the onset of a serious illness.

In this regard, I think of all those who found themselves terribly alone during the Covid-19 pandemic: the patients who could not receive visitors, but also the many nurses, physicians and support personnel overwhelmed by work and enclosed in isolation wards. Naturally, we cannot fail to recall all those persons who had to face the hour of their death alone, assisted by healthcare personnel, but far from their own families.

I share too in the pain, suffering and isolation felt by those who, because of war and its tragic consequences, are left without support and assistance. War is the most terrible of social diseases, and it takes its greatest toll on those who are most vulnerable.

At the same time, it needs to be said that even in countries that enjoy peace and greater resources, old age and sickness are frequently experienced in solitude and, at times, even in abandonment. This grim reality is mainly a consequence of the culture of individualism that exalts productivity at all costs, cultivates the myth of efficiency, and proves indifferent, even callous, when individuals no longer have the strength needed to keep pace. It then becomes a throwaway culture, in which “persons are no longer seen as a paramount value to be cared for and respected, especially when they are poor or disabled, ‘not yet useful’ – like the unborn, or ‘no longer needed’ – like the elderly” (Fratelli Tutti, 18). Sadly, this way of thinking also guides certain political decisions that are not focused on the dignity of the human person and his or her needs, and do not always promote the strategies and resources needed to ensure that every human being enjoys the fundamental right to health and access to healthcare. The abandonment of the vulnerable and their isolation is favoured also by the reduction of healthcare merely to a provision of services, without these being accompanied by a “therapeutic covenant” between physicians, patients and family members.

We do well to listen once more to the words of the Bible: “It is not good for man to be alone!” God spoke those words at the beginning of creation and thus revealed to us the profound meaning of his project for humanity, but at the same time, the mortal wound of sin, which creeps in by generating suspicions, fractures, divisions and consequently isolation. Sin attacks persons and all their relationships: with God, with themselves, with others, with creation. Such isolation causes us to miss the meaning of our lives; it takes away the joy of love and makes us experience an oppressive sense of being alone at all the crucial passages of life.

Brothers and sisters, the first form of care needed in any illness is compassionate and loving closeness. To care for the sick thus means above all to care for their relationships, all of them: with God, with others – family members, friends, healthcare workers – , with creation and with themselves. Can this be done? Yes, it can be done and all of us are called to ensure that it happens. Let us look to the icon of the Good Samaritan (cf. Lk 10:25-37), to his ability to slow down and draw near to another person, to the tender love with which he cares for the wounds of a suffering brother.

Let us remember this central truth in life: we came into the world because someone welcomed us; we were made for love; and we are called to communion and fraternity. This aspect of our lives is what sustains us, above all at times of illness and vulnerability. It is also the first therapy that we must all adopt in order to heal the diseases of the society in which we live.

To those of you who experience illness, whether temporary or chronic, I would say this: Do not be ashamed of your longing for closeness and tenderness! Do not conceal it, and never think that you are a burden on others. The condition of the sick urges all of us to step back from the hectic pace of our lives in order to rediscover ourselves.

At this time of epochal change, we Christians in particular are called to adopt the compassion-filled gaze of Jesus. Let us care for those who suffer and are alone, perhaps marginalized and cast aside. With the love for one another that Christ the Lord bestows on us in prayer, especially in the Eucharist, let us tend the wounds of solitude and isolation. In this way, we will cooperate in combating the culture of individualism, indifference and waste, and enable the growth of a culture of tenderness and compassion.

The sick, the vulnerable and the poor are at the heart of the Church; they must also be at the heart of our human concern and pastoral attention. May we never forget this! And let us commend ourselves to Mary Most Holy, Health of the Sick, that she may intercede for us and help us to be artisans of closeness and fraternal relationships.

#catholicism #christianity #works of mercy #corporal works of mercy #quote #pope francis #pope francis quote #vatican #visit the sick

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academyofbrokenhearts · 4 months

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You Touched My Face and All Life Was Erased

Suna and Kaya's first kiss, and what brought them to that point.

Author note: I planned to write this every since I watched the kiss scene, but it took me a while, because I wasn't quite sure how to approach it. But here it is finally. Hope it will make it up somewhat for the lack of canon KaySun this week.

Title inspired by HIM's "Resurrection". Lately it seems like all my favourite songs are KaySun coded.

AO3 link here.

Neither Suna nor Kaya give it a second thought until the moment İfakat opens her mouth, putting in words something neither of them was willing to confront.

the attraction that they feel for each other

Suna's initial reaction is disbelief, because she wears the scars of a lifetime of silence and solitude, always being treated as an afterthought, a quiet, withdrawn girl whose opinion does not matter, and never will.

and her dreams were always fractured to the point where she actively suppressed them, because useless hope can be worse than resignation

Kaya looks at İfakat, knows that whatever game she plays, can't be in his interest, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go along with it, if it will get him one step to the revenge that seems to be the only way in which he can calm the storm that rages inside of him. Also, if İfakat thinks she can play him, she better think again.

and somewhere deep down inside, even if he is unwilling to admit it, he does have a bit of a soft spot for the beautiful girl who is not afraid to criticise him, and is not afraid to apologise to him either

Can he be her rescue? Suna wonders, when the aftershock has passed, and İfakat's words have started to settle in a bit. Or is this just another door that opens to a wall?

and what other option does she have, except submitting to endless humiliation, to the point that she will be nothing but a broken shell?

Is it worth it? Kaya asks himself. Sacrificing his freedom just to wildly bet on an outcome that might not even be in his favour at the end?

but was he ever really free? and would it be so bad to take this risk?

Suna thinks and thinks.

She believed she had found a shelter before, through a love that was at one point the only source of joy in her miserable life, a love that is still unfinished, drowning in bitterness and more pain than she thought she would be able to handle. She's here, still standing in spite of everything, locking down her pain and pretending, in order not to collapse.

But she doesn't know how long she is going to last like this. What word will destroy her completely. What pain will finally be too much.

Part of her still doubts that Kaya is affected in any significant way by her. The spare, the girl who always gets ignored. How could this ever happen?

It's not possible.

And yet...

what if it is what if it is what if it is what if it is

What exactly did she do to him to be dragged into this twisted game of revenge? Kaya muses.

And of course, the answer is nothing. Nothing at all.

She bears no responsibility for the rage that boils inside him, threatening to spill over and destroy everything in its path. She has no fault for the dark shadows that loom around him, for the insecurities that he would never acknowledge out loud, for the fear that he will always be left behind, that he will never be good enough.

He does not know her that well, but he did pay attention to her a bit, he noticed some things. She's living her own special kind of hell - what use is it to add his own on top of that?

It would be bad.

And yet...

maybe not that bad maybe not that bad maybe not that bad maybe not that bad

In spite of herself (don't dream, Suna, don't you dare), her heart flutters when he compares her to a water spirit.

he doesn't know that she cannot fly because they cut off her wings until there was barely anything left anymore

He does try to keep his distance. Says he won't come to her sister's celebration because he does not want to cause any more tension, but she insists.

she doesn't know that something in him warms up when hearing her words, because he sees himself reflected in her eyes, and it's almost like he's a human being, and it's almost like he matters

She can't go to his room, she can't, she won't. She already risked more than she could possibly imagine by leaving the mansion with no permission to go with him at the market, she can't take one single step further.

But İfakat insists that she should, because he got in a fight and got wounded because of her, so she gives in. And really, a part of her might have been on board with it all along.

She should be afraid. She saw his anger, the way it exploded almost unprovoked. She should be, but...

but this is her choice, hers and no one else's, and it might result in heaven or hell, but it's the first time when she feels she might be in control of something, when she feels she's more than a simple pawn

He thought she would be scared of him, but she's not. Quite the contrary, she surprises him by knocking at his door and offering to apply some cream to the wound he got when fighting with those guys in the market.

It goes against everything he knew, or he thought he knew, about her upbringing, about who she is as a person. She either likes him that much... or she is just that desperate.

Neither option is good, and he should put a stop to everything before it's too late.

it's hard when she is so close he can smell her perfume, the sweetness of her breath when she blows over his eyebrow, where they hit him, and if only someone could heal all of his wounds like that

He tells her they should stop. He tells her it's too soon. He tells her she's not sure of her feelings.

She freezes, mortification taking over her entire being. Of course she interpreted all of it incorrectly. She bet on an illusion and lost again. And she knows she will never be able to look properly into his eyes again, and tells him as much.

Oh, and it's so familiar to him, the way tears suffocate her voice, the effort she makes to keep her head high, to not crumble. He knows it. He lived it.

He only tried to be kind, the way he knew how to be, at least, but his kindness hurt her.

She's brave, the way she tries to stop crying, the way she tells him nothing happened, like she's trying to convince herself.

this is another nightmare and then she will wake up and she will lock everything down and she will survive because she has to

He stands still, looking at her, understanding in his eyes.

he knows, he sees her now

With measured steps, he approaches her, the decision taken before he can even be properly aware of it. She could step back, get out, but she does not. Brave girl.

There's nothing tender in the way he grabs her face, but his fingers wiping her tears feel gentle on her skin. She closes her eyes, breathes in, breathes out, and reaches out to him, touching his cheek with her hand, his own hand immediately moving to cover hers. Like he's not allowing her to let go.

Like they are the only remaining living beings in the entire world.

Then he kisses her.

he tastes like hope and dreams and desire and everything she never dared to wish

she tastes like salt and desperation and want and everything he never knew he needed

it turns to hell two seconds later

but when all is said and done and after all the tears and commotion, there are no regrets to speak of

#Yalı Çapkını #Yali Capkini #Suna Şanlı #Kaya Sönmez #Suna Sanli #Kaya Sonmez #KaySun #fan fiction #You Touched My Face and All Life Was Erased #writing #made by me #oh yes you guessed it - another work related to the clown show #tons of angst in this one #these two make me so emotional on a regular basis #I can't remember the last time I wrote so much in such a short time for a fandom #maybe never

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