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#what if my passion is graphic design #quotes #let things happen #artblr #artists on tumblr #photography #graphic design #writers #writing #art blog #art

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save me vincent renzi save me...

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We need a 2part of remnant please!!! It was really good!!!

Thank you! I'm currently working on a part 2 rn, life just keeps getting in the way 🥹 I'm so glad you enjoyed it 🫶 Remnant - Vincent Renzi x reader

#swann arlaud #vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #replies

[wackapedia]

The Farm Opens At Six

Pierre Chavanges x reader (Swann Arlaud in Petit Paysan!🐄) Coming home from Paris to your little town, you encounter your childhood friend and discover something that's always been there before. Word count: 3,216 (whoa?!) Warnings: Canon-typical violence, spoilers for the movie

The blue lights of the bowling complex make you feel even more dizzy after a couple of drinks. The Cow Prince Pierre Chavanges all of a sudden invited the boys (and yourself, by extension) to hang out, just like you guys used to hang out in high school. The oddest thing about this was that it was Pierre himself who initiated it.

Several rounds of bowling and even more rounds of drinks later, Pierre and JD have a heated argument in front of the alley. You're not sure who's angry about what, but Pierre walks out of the bowling complex after rolling his final ball.

He's been out of himself lately; the former gentle-hearted man has turned into the most anxiety-loaded, stressed-out dairy farmer in all of France. You follow his quick strides and knock on the passenger window as he pulls his truck out of the parking lot

"Hey, can I get a ride?"

"Ask Fabrice." He frowns before changing gears, keeping his eyes straight.

"No, he's drunk." You get in the passenger seat, not waiting for an answer. 

"Your house is far out of my way." He sighs.

"That's fine; I can walk from your house." You try to get comfortable on the seat. Vincent doesn't answer. The truck is now on the road, driving steadily back to his family farm.

"Or I can stay over-" You begin, but he cuts you off.

"No."

A good distance from town, you continue to observe Pierre. He has dark bags under his eyes and a crease on his forehead. He's had a stick up his ass since this week, and he hasn't told you or anyone anything. He's driving flat out through the dark road, and you're worried he's going too fast, especially because he had a couple of drinks.

"I know there's something going on, Pierre. You can tell me. I can help." You ask with a gentle tone this time.

"No." He shuts you down.

"Is it me? Are you mad at me?" You attempt to make him spit out the truth. Pierre chuckles. "Did Paris turn you into a narcissist?" He asks. It stung, but you ignored it to get to the bottom of his sour mood. "Well, is it the farm?" 

You just don't give up. Pierre grunts because he's annoyed that you're snooping into his business. He wishes you'd go back to your big city and forget about him like you did when you left after high school. He angrily scratches at the back of his neck, not noticing the skin there is bleeding. He snaps out of his trance when you yell out his name. He feels your hand grab the cold skin of his arm, pulling his hand away from his neck. Pierre immediately steps on the brake, and the car halts a few paces from his house.

He looks at you and sees the fear in your eyes. He immediately feels sorry for putting you through all that. Pierre tries to run his hand through his hair, but your hand stops him from moving.

"Don't scratch it; it's bleeding!" You hold his arm tighter, afraid he might hurt himself again. "Is it your health? Is that what's bothering you? Are you sick?" You ask, fearing for his answer.

"I'm alright. Please let me go." He sighs and gently pries your hand off his arm. He's no longer angry. All that's left now is sadness and distress. He avoids your gaze, knowing you're about to cry about him.

You slowly let go of him. You're scared for your special friend. He was always the quiet one in school, standing on the sidelines and joining in on the laughter when something was funny. He was that lanky kid who knew a lot but never really overachieved anything. He was the forgettable type. All the other batchmates from school don't remember him well, but you do. You came back to your little town to see how the youngest Chavanges kid is faring, and you've heard from the baker's daughter that Pierre is doing okay.

He still doesn't say anything, and now you feel like you've crossed the line. You sling your bag on your shoulder before moving to open the car door. The lights on the porch of his house illuminate the truck's interior when you notice something. You look to your feet, and then to Pierre's, and then you laugh.

"What's wrong with you?" Pierre sounds exhausted. You kick your feet up on the dashboard to show him what's funny.

You were still wearing the bowling shoes, and so was Pierre. He regarded you as if you had the worst case of insanity possible before giving up and chuckling to himself as well.

You're sure you weren't laughing about the shoes anymore, but something was funny because Pierre was laughing too, and oh, his laugh. Was it the porch light, or did the world suddenly seem a bit brighter? Pierre looks at you and pulls out a cocktail umbrella from your ponytail. You both laugh again, and it feels like you were both fifteen all over again.

A few minutes pass as you wind down, still chuckling and giggling. He leans his head on the steering wheel, and he keeps his eyes on you. Both your faces were flushed with the drinks, the laughter, and maybe something else. 

At least he's smiling now, you note to yourself.

"Will you please tell me what's bothering you, Pierre?" You gently ask, slowly moving your hand to his.

Pierre's smile fades. He's reminded of the dead cow stored in the milking shed. The sadness in his eyes returns, and you don't miss the shift in his mood. The crease on his forehead comes back, but in his eyes, there's only confusion. The same look he used to have back in high school when the lessons became too difficult. He exits the truck, his movements rushed but careful. He then enters the house, leaving the door open. An invitation.

This was progress, you tell yourself. You get out of the truck and land on the rented bowling shoes, not entirely missing your Dior sandals. As you enter the house, you are filled with a sense of nostalgia for your younger days when you would visit the Chavanges house during the summers or after school. Pierre comes out, dressed in work overalls and holding two pairs of boots.  

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

You stand next to him inside the milking shed after swapping the bowling shoes with the work boots he left for you. He stares at the dead cow, rigor mortis kicking in. On it's head was a gaping hole. You are left to piece these facts together when Pierre begins roping the cow's feet, dragging it out, and tying it to the tractor.

He comes back a while later to clean the shed. This time, he lets you help with scrubbing the floors and disinfecting the railings. He chuckles to himself when you clumsily knock over a bucket.

"Do you remember when we were eight, you said you wanted to be a dairy farmer's wife?" He asks while draining the blood from the floor.

"Um, yes..." You wonder where this conversation is going, ignoring the splashes of blood and soapy water on your Balmain shirt and jeans.

"That's unlikely for you now, is it?" Pierre is smiling. The whole situation is confusing you.

Your favorite dairy farmer finishes up by spraying disinfectant in the shed. You stand outside just as the sun comes up, waiting for him to finish.

"You can't go home looking like that." Pierre comes out of the barn, carrying a calf in his arms.

"Oh, look at that! He's so cute!" You ignore what he said and begin petting the calf as Pierre walks by to the house, still carrying the calf. Weird, but okay.

"What's going on? Why are you bringing him into the bathroom?"

"He needs a shower." Pierre answers plainly, as if it explains anything that has happened in the past 24 hours.

He still hasn't kicked you out of the house, which was a good sign. You observe him gently bathing the calf. Pierre lets you reassure the distressed animal as it attempts to leap out of the tub. The calf seems to favor you when you pet him and let him sit in the tub while Pierre rinses the soap out of its fur.

"So, to answer your question, yes, I am still qualified to be a dairy farmer's wife." You chuckle while running the towel down the calf's body.

"Not in those clothes, missy. You smell like a whole manure pit. No farmer would want you." He smiles teasingly as he takes off his work suit. You spot the wound on his neck. There are also red stains on the back of his shirt where patches of the wounds bleed through. The teasing mood doesn't last.

"Your turn in the tub. Let me put antiseptic on that." You sternly tell him as you point at the wound on the side of his neck. Pierre wanted to protest, but he was exhausted, and the look in your eyes made it seem like you would not take no for an answer.

------

You return to the bathroom as soon as Pierre calls you in. He sits inside the tub, his bare back facing you. 

"I think you just want to see me naked." He mumbles, trying to make jokes to distract him from the sting of the antiseptic that you were pouring.

"I'm building up my farmer's wife qualifications." You play along as you pause, letting the pain abate for a bit. After a few seconds, you pour over the last patch on his shoulder. He grunts at the pain.

"Also, Pierre? Don’t flatter yourself. It's not that impressive." You say it jokingly as your gaze points to between his legs. He gets mildly offended and shoots off playful insults. Pierre's face flushes in embarrassment and annoyance, but at least not in pain.

He lets you take a shower and lends you some fresh clothes after he finishes. You catch him on his laptop when you walk out of the room, wrapping a towel around your hair. Biniou, the calf, lays comfortably on the sofa. Pierre doesn't move away when you sit next to him. You were hoping he'd watch football or some TV show, but he's watching a news report. His attention is laser-focused. His hands fiddle with the collar of his shirt, trying to stop himself from making the wounds worse.

"A disease?" You ask, trying to follow through with the report while taking his hand away from his shoulder.

Pierre hits pause and sits up to face you. Your hand remains in his, like its the most natural thing in the world. He begins explaining to you the whole cow disease debacle. His eyes hold your gaze as he passionately explains what he had thought. You tried your best to follow through with what he was explaining because surely you were getting lost in his eyes. 

"Do you understand? I'm trying to save the herd." Pierre finishes. Both your hands are in his much larger ones now. He looks down and takes in your soft hands, contrasting his rough and calloused ones.

"Pierre... I don't think..." You don't think this is salvageable. He thinks so too, but he's got to try. He nods, fully understanding what you mean. 

“B-but what about you? Those... on your back?" You stutter, fearing his answer.

"I'll be okay." He smiles slightly. Somehow, the warmth of his hands bring comfort to you.

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

"You skipped breakfast..." You appear in front of Pierre as he works on the pulsator of his milking machine. The usual crease on his forehead is there again. You refer to this as Pierre's work-mode face. He lightens up a little when he looks up and sees the plate of bread, eggs, cheese, and meat you brought for him.

"Oh, you can just put it inside. My hands are still greasy." He shows you his hands.

You shrug and lift a forkful of scrambled eggs to him. He stares at it, feeling hesitant.

"Come on! Do you want me to make train noises? Choo choo!" You laugh. He obliges you with a bite. His face flushes with playfulness and laughter.

"I'm not a child!" He chews his breakfast.

"I know. But someone has to look after the farmer while he's looking after his cows."

Pierre's face flushes, overwhelmed by the feeling of love-

"Oh! Bonjour, Pascale!" Your first impulse interrupts you as you watch a silver Opel pull up. You immediately regret waving at her because Pierre's sister is now eyeing you suspiciously. You? Alone with Pierre at this time of the morning? Wearing clothes that are obviously not yours? 

In your defense, you were worried for Pierre. Although his back was beginning to feel a little better, he needed your help putting cream on his back before bed for the last few nights. You also helped him make healthy meals while his parents were away. He lets you sleep on the couch with Biniou, which was rather comfy. Pierre stacked you with soft pillows and blankets to make sure you're warm and comfortable.

Pascale walks into the tool shed and pulls Pierre away as they have a serious conversation. You return to the house and hang out with Biniou for a bit, waiting for Pierre to come back.  

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

After Pascale leaves, Pierre is back in his dour mood. You hoped he'd be chatty today. He had a great sense of humor, and his voice always made you feel at home.

Huh, you never expected to feel at home with Pierre. Over the past couple of days since bowling night, you hadn't returned to your family home. No one cared to look for you, which was good because you were enjoying your time with Pierre, reliving your childhood together.

"Can I come in?" You knock at his bedroom door. Every night, you help him put cream on the healing wounds on his back. Most of the time, they sting, but you make sure to go hard on the teasing just to distract him.

Pierre doesn't seem to be in a teasing mood when he opens the door. His shirtless form sits on the edge of the bed and hands you the cylinder of cream.

He doesn't react when you make contact with his warm skin. You are grateful that it doesn't bother him anymore and the wounds are beginning to scab.

"Pierre? You okay?" You wanted to ask what Pascale had told him. He sighs.

"It's over." He's given up.

You don't know what to say. The farm is his life, and now that he's forced to give up his life's work, you're afraid it might take a toll on him.

"Will you stay with me?" He asks, taking your hand after placing the cylinder on his bedside.

And, of course, you stay.

His bed was a lot cozier than the couch. A lot warmer too, with him next to you. 

He falls asleep first, his head turned in your direction. You see him as a child again—the boy who has never cared about making it big. He was always so perfectly content with his life in the countryside.

"I'm certain that you're going places." Your teacher once told you back in grade school. She was right; you made it in Paris and maybe beyond, but at that moment, you confidently told her you'd rather be a farmer's wife while eyeing Pierre next to you. The entire class laughed. Pierre felt embarrassed. The teacher took it as a joke, but it was what your heart longs for and where your heart belongs. To be with Pierre.

In the morning, Pierre wakes up, mildly startled to see you asleep so close to him. Your head rests on the same pillow as his, and he notices his arm slung around your waist. It feels like the most normal of things. The natural order of your relationship. It has been weeks since he slept this well. Pierre observes your face, which is so gentle and peaceful. He wonders if you're dreaming, and if you are, is he there in your dreams?

Then, as if your minds are one, he sees your eyes shift under your eyelids. Unconsciously (or not), you snuggle closer to Pierre. His heart melts. Then, your eyes open to see his face so close to yours.

A moment passes, and you don't know how long. You lose yourself in his eyes.

"Good morning," he whispers, making sure to keep the peace in the early hours.

You smile. "What time is it?"

"A bit over eight..." He glances at the wristwatch he wears, even when he sleeps.

"Aren't you supposed to check on the cows?" You wonder. He's normally up at six, sometimes before sunrise.

"No." He answers, and his arm tightens around your waist. You presume there was something about the conversation he and Pascale had yesterday. You let Pierre enjoy this calm morning, which you know is a very rare thing for him.

Little did you know that this would become a regular thing.

Gravel crunches outside as cars pull up at ferme Chavenges. Police cars. They have come to put down the whole herd of "infected" cows, leaving Pierre with nothing. 

"Hey, stop, wait!" You try to stop the cops, but even Pascale couldn't do anything. At least they let Pierre milk the cows one last time. He takes you back to the house. Someone knocks a while later and takes the calf too.

You were too distraught to notice the time. The sun had set. You were still on the couch, with Pierre holding you. You felt incredibly sad about the whole situation.

That night, Pierre takes you to his bedroom. Just like last night, he lays you gently on what is now your side of the bed. 

"Maybe you should head back to your folks tomorrow. You're headed back to Paris on Saturday, yes?" He asks, caressing your hair gently.

You nod.

"Okay. Get some sleep." Pierre kisses the top of your head and turns the lights off.

On your last morning at the farm, you wake up before Pierre. It was still a bit dark outside. You hoped it was raining so it could wash the stench away and save Pierre the effort of cleaning up.

Oh, Pierre.

You look down on him, sleeping next to you. His gentle lips are parted as he snores lightly. It makes you chuckle. You can't leave. Not now, not ever.

"Pierre?"

He snores.

"Pierre? I need to tell you something."

"Huh? What?" He says, keeping his eyes closed.

"Can I stay?"

"What?" He opens one eye.

"I think I want to start my internship here."

Pierre opens both eyes now. He is very confused. "Are you sleep-talking?"

"I said I wanted to be a farmer's wife. I'm ready to start training today, if you'll have me."

It takes a moment for Pierre to understand. He chuckles and then pulls you back to bed, snuggled close to him. He brings up the covers and wraps his arms around you.

"The farm opens at six."

#swann arlaud #petit paysan #bloody milk #pierre chavanges #pierre chavanges x reader #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi

[wackapedia]

Swann Arlaud. January 2016

Following the script reading of “Bloody milk”

[wackapedia]

Remnant

Vincent Renzi x reader Vincent finds a woman living in Miss Voyter's former chalet and finds a new outlet for his feelings. Wordcount: 1,670 Warnings: Attempt at comedy, one swear word, Anatomy Of A Fall spoilers, ghosts for comedic effect

Vincent sighs and lights a cigarette just as the sun sets behind the mountain. He is sitting in the driver seat of his car, which is parked outside the chalet. It's been empty for months, since Sandra-

Miss Voyter, he corrects himself.

 Since Miss Voyter sold the cabin and is turned into some sort of B&B thing just as Samuel intended, she would say.

Miss Voyter and her son moved back to Germany after the case, Vincent remembers. He then wonders why he's parked outside their former chalet.

As of late, he finds himself driving up the uphill road to the cabin, maybe to think or to reminisce. Maybe he's trying to heal from a wound he would never acknowledge.

The lawyer, who is now gaining popularity since that widely-broadcast case, stubs out his cigarette and starts the car. What am I doing here? He mumbles to himself. He tosses the cigarette out the window and moves to start the engine. Someone suddenly shows up by the side of his car.

"Hey, did you just come here to throw your shit? Pick it up!" A woman yells, standing a few paces from his car. Vincent feels embarrassed. He decides to suck it up and apologize.

"Je suis desole, madamoiselle... " He steps out of the car and picks up his rubbish. He then looks up at the woman, who seemed a bit stunned.

He stuffs the stubbed-out cigarette in his pocket and smiles apologetically at the woman. He feels his face heat up.

"I've seen you come here a few times; are you following me?" The woman stumbles through her broken French.

"Oh, no... I'm just..." Vincent doesn't know what to say. "I'm a lawyer." He attempts, as if it explains anything.

"Am I in trouble?" She replies. Vincent tries to take advantage.

"Depends. How long have you lived here?"

"Three weeks. Why?"

"Nothing, Make sure to lock your doors at night." 

Vincent tries to escape from the situation he's found himself in. He begins to open his car door and longs to just drive back to the city.

"What? Wait! What do you mean? Is that some sort of threat?" She takes two steps closer to him. 

"Threat? No! What do you mean?" Vincent stops. He looks at her, surprised to see her face clearer now that he's up close.

"They say this house is haunted... Someone died here. Is that true?" She whispers, almost afraid to mention it out loud. At this, Vincent chuckles.

"That's just silly." He answers her as he settles himself in the driver's seat.

"Wow, and you think standing outside someone else's house isn't as dumb? You could be a pervert for all I know!" She stands next to his car door, addressing him through the window.

Vincent decides he's tired of defending himself like he's in court. Instead of answering, he hands her his business card.

"You're a lawyer?!" She asks after taking the card in her hands. Vincent offers her a kind smile before starting the car and driving off.

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

That night, she sits alone in the bedroom of the rented cabin, playing with the lawyer's business card. She still wonders why she felt odd around Mr. Vincent Renzi.

"That guy's probably some sort of stalker..." She jokes to herself, tossing the business card next to her phone as she opens her laptop and types his name on the search bar. Good news! The name matches the face. Bad news: He is featured in a couple of news articles.

She browses through them and reads about the success of his recent case, which happens to be quite popular. It's not bad news after all. Mr. Renzi was defending a woman who was suspected of murdering her husband. She was ruled out because the death was proven to be a suicide.

She goes deep into the research rabbit hole after staring at a couple of photos of the said lawyer taken from press release interviews. She then discovers that the scene of the crime was the house she was staying in at the present. She then organizes her thoughts after reading through several articles.

1. Mr. Renzi is indeed a lawyer. 2. He is quite handsome. 3. He had reason to come by the house. 4. Someone had died here, and therefore; 5. The house is haunted.

She gasps, and her skin erupts in goosebumps. She looks around the dark room and feels the darkness staring back. Was it just her imagination? No, there's a cold wind enveloping the room. The windows are closed. There's some sort of noise in the attic. Footfalls? Walking down the stairs? Outside her room? She panics and picks up her phone and the card next to it before running down the stairs.

Who to call? The cops? What if they think you're insane? The owner of the house? What's he going to do—ward off the vengeful spirit who's about to kill you? 

She looks at her phone and pulls up the phone app to call the only person who can help her.

"Hello? Vincent?" Her voice trembles. She was outside the house, trembling, both because of the cold and the fear of what could possibly be inside the house.

"Oui, c'est moi; comment puis-je vous aider?" He answers in his charming French accent. She briefly wonders what he just said.

She quickly told him her name, although she doubted he would recognize her.

"Its me, the one from the cabin? I think there's someone in the house!"

-----

Vincent stays with her on the phone throughout the whole fifteen-minute drive. She seems to have calmed down a little, shivering mostly from the cold and less from fear. The moment he arrives, he immediately spots her outside the chalet. As the car stops, she runs toward him.

"What happened?" He catches her like its the most natural thing. 

"Someone died here, right?" She looks up to him and positions him between her and the house.

Vincent sighs. "Is this about the haunted thing again?"

"You never answered me! I fact-checked your business card, and everything made sense!" 

Vincent rests his forehead on his palm. He is still wearing his green home slippers, their bright color catching his eyes. 

He tries to catch his breath after his mini-heart attack, expecting her to be in danger. 

So this place is actually haunted, and she begins to feel a little sorry for him. She looks up at the house, noticing she failed to turn on the lights. Is there a figure in the attic window? Her mind might be playing tricks on her, but she is genuinely scared. She moves closer to the lawyer who is standing there, watching her.

"What?" Vincent pretends to be annoyed with her.

"Can you help me inspect the house?"

"I'm a lawyer, not a cop."

"You were observing the house this morning..." She mumbles.

Vincent sighs. He can't seem to say no to this woman.

-----------

"There. Happy now?" Vincent faces her with his hands on his hips. All the lights in the house are on, and Vincent checks the attic, making sure there are no "vengeful spirits" there to hurt her. She seems to be satisfied.

"Okay.... Thank you..." She mumbles sleepily in the living room. Vincent can't help but smile at how she looks right now.

The lawyer hesitates to leave her there, sleeping in the living room with all the lights on.

"Go on now; get to bed." He tells him, sounding like he's scolding a toddler.

"Okay. Goodnight." She walks up the stairs slowly. She now feels very comfortable around him, which is a wonder since she scolded him just this morning.

Vincent smiles to himself as he drives home.

--------

The minute Vincent wakes up the next day, he checks his phone for any texts from the woman in the chalet. He got her name when she called him last night and has been repeating it in his head since. Unfortunately for him, there were no calls or texts from her. He watches his phone closely in case she reaches out, but the only messages on his phone are text ads and messages concerning work.

As that Sunday progresses without her reaching out, the grumpier Vincent becomes. 

So he heads out there.

----------

She had just come back from town, carrying a basket full of fresh fruit and produce. As she steps up and comes into view of the house,. He is surprised to see another car parked and a certain lawyer standing by the stairs.

"Where were you?" He tries to sound nonchalant.

She raises her basket, showing the obvious.

Vincent seems out of words. She is about to ask, 'Why are you even here?' and he would have no answer. Vincent looks down hard, trying to find the answer on the gravel. Ah, there it is.

"You deserve to know the truth." The lawyer blurts out suddenly, just as she was about to ask something.

"About what?"

"The man who died? He died right here," Vincent bluntly says, pointing to the spot next to them. "So, yes. This place is very haunted." 

She gasps in surprise. She wasn't expecting him to believe her bullshit excuse to see him again that night, right? You guess he's one of those superstitious small-town folks.

Vincent waits for her reaction. She hasn't reacted the way he hoped. He expected her to be shocked and cling to him, but no, she just stands there and stares at the gravel. 

"Hey, did you hear what I just said? This place is hau-"

"Do you want to grab coffee sometime?" She decides to just go straight to the deal, a slight smirk playing on one side of her face. Now it's Vincent who takes a breath of surprise.

"Um... Sure?" Vincent finds himself replying. He can't believe this turned out well for him when he literally had no roadmap for what he was trying to do.

"Okay. Let me just put these inside the house, and we can head to town together?"

The lawyer nods. She smiles and comes out of the house a while later and walks with him to town.

part 2?

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d'une chute #swann arlaud #i just need to get this out of my system lmao #anatomy of a fall vincent

[wackapedia]

Swann ARLAUD. Paris 2016 © sophie jarry

[wackapedia]

Swann Arlaud, Actor

January 2016 © sophie jarry

[wackapedia]

#Something very french is about to happen in this blog #music #careless whisper

[wackapedia]

Stay

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader, Laenor as your favourite parent Plot: Aemond questions you on why won’t you accept his love. Wordcount: 740 Warning: angst, flashback, half-cooked idea, really i hope you guys like medium rare

“Why do you shut me out? Why won’t you let me love you?” Aemond was in his most vulnerable state. He stood next to you on the shores of Driftmark. It was past midnight. The moonlight reflects into the waves of the vast ocean ahead of you.

“Why won’t you let me in?” The one-eyed prince pleads.

“Trust me, you don’t want it in here…” You laugh humourlessly, patting your chest where your heart beats rapidly.

“I won’t leave you, Y/n.” Aemond promises. It sounds hollow to you.

Keep reading

#Aemond targaryen x reader #self reblog

[wackapedia]

The Wolf Prince

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader Plot: Snow Fairy sequel where you sort our your allegiance, navigating through the politics of your family Wordcount 2,880 Warning: None! :) More cute Rickon and Cregan, tiny angst but fluff

The messenger bird’s wings flutter against the cold air of Winterfell, carrying a letter addressed to your mother, the queen. You’ve begged them to not search for you, and that you’ve sworn yourself away from the politics of your torn family after the death of your father, King Viserys. You’ve also accepted your gracious host, Lord Cregan Stark’s offer that you stay a little longer since you’re still recuperating and that you’re not in a hurry to be elsewhere. 

Everything in Winterfell felt right for you. You may have been waited on hand and foot back in the Red Keep but it never felt like home. Not like how you feel in the cold and peaceful Winterfell, where everyone was friends with everyone, submissive to their lord, and united in running the estate. 

One important factor was Cregan himself. He is most hospitable, kind, dutiful, not to mention handsome, and just great company altogether. He spends a lot of time with you, and it’s making your feelings run wild. 

Another factor was his boy, Rickon. He had asked you one day whether you’d like to kiss his father, a reference to his favourite fairy tale where a fairy was found in the woods and only true love’s kiss could bring her back. You asked the excited little boy to show you the book.

Keep reading

#self reblog #cregan stark x reader

[wackapedia]

The Snow Fairy

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader Summary: Rickon finds a snow fairy in the woods and asks his dad to kiss her so she can grant him a wish. Wordcount: 1,976 Warnings: mild injury, cute Rickon and his dad too hehe

Little Rickon walks down the snow-covered path, bunched in his thick fur coat. The caravan had stopped because the men ahead had spotted a horse running against the trail and worried that there were bandits. Fortunately, his father’s men had scouted ahead and didn’t find any danger. Their band decided to give the horses a little rest.

Rickon’s father had put him down from the horse and sternly instructed him to stay put while they pack up to resume the journey back home. But he was a five-year-old. No one was watching him. Of course, he won’t stay put.

Keep reading

#self reblog #cregan stark x reader

[wackapedia]

Nothing Is Ever Enough

Aemond Targaryen X Reader It’s been a week since your ship was lost at sea. Aemond hasn’t gotten a peaceful wink of sleep since then. He is afraid, and no god nor man can help him. Wordcount: 1,124 Warnings: flashbacks in italics, mentions of death, a ghost, a corpse, cheating allegations (which are false!) brought to you by Larys Strong

Aemond sighs, turning over in his large bed, tangled among the clean white sheets. He can no longer smell your scent from your used pillows. He’s been tussling over for hours, counting down the minutes until sunrise to begin another sleepless day without his wife. The room is illuminated by the fireplace and the light ray of moonlight seeping through the windows. Aemond faces your side of the bed, a tear rolling down your eye, imagining you there. Sometimes he’d find sleep. And in that sleep came nightmares. The prince’s mind would wander, imagining the worst that has happened to you, and then making it even worse, deep in the fragments of his exhausted mind. Aemond had always prided himself on his intelligence, but this time he wished for the bliss of ignorance.

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#self reblog #aemond targaryen x reader

[wackapedia]

I know you write "The End" at the end of the fic of The Wolf Prince but can we get some drabble or small fic maybe about their wedding or when she finally gets Rickon baby brother or sister? (I just know that both Cregan and Rickon will be soo protective and worried all the time when she's pregnant)

Both parts were amazing by the way and it left me wanting more 💟

Thank u! So sorry this reply is late :(

I'm trying to get back to writing and i think this is an adorable idea. I'm so glad you enjoyed reading it because i had fun writing it too. 💛

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[wackapedia]

Hey I hit 500 followers! Thank you so much for following, I know the fandoms are all over the place but I appreciate each one of yall :)

#sorry i dont have anything to offer for a celebration lol #mod post

[wackapedia]

Lady of Devon was so good! That cliffhanger though….is there a second part?

Helloo! Thank you for reading :) I originally didnt have a plan as to what happens next but i'm reading the novels now and maybe i can come up with something. Have a nice day! 💚

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[wackapedia]

thank you for these comprehensive reactions @ellooo0ooo ! I’m glad you enjoyed this fic :))

Maybe Another Day

Aemond Targaryen x reader Plot: Aemond gatecrashes your time at Dandelion Bay, You don't know why he's here but you're not complaining (This is a sequel to Just One Day) Wordcount: 2,464 Warning: none :)

Aemond huffs out several exhausted breaths as he dismounts his horse. His hair is mussed, sweaty, and tangled from being jostled around on horseback. The prince is still catching his breath when he stands in front of you. 

"Well, if it isn't the stranger himself!" You jest, a reference to one of your previous conversations.

"That's a bad joke, you almost died." He responded.

"Mhm! And you thought I fainted for your attention! The nerve, really!" You toss back, pretending to be offended. You conversed with the prince of the realm like you were the best of friends. Aemond had never had a best friend before, but this one felt so right, so natural. He enjoys looking at you, happy and fully healed. The prince suddenly felt shy under your gaze. He begins to toe on a pebble beneath his riding boots. The prince turns to look around the vast sea of dandelions, the place you talked about so often back in King's Landing. 

"W-would you like to take a walk?" Aemond stutters for the first time in his adult life. You nod, comfortably taking his arm.

"You know,..." You started, "the last time we took a walk like this, I almost died."

Aemond lets your words float through his mind. He can't help but feel guilty. "It's really not funny, y/n."

"Aw, Aemond! You're too serious..." 

"It's not a laughing matter!" He argues.

"It is! Aegon cried laughing, when I told him. At least he's good fun..." You continued walking next to your former betrothed, your arm comfortably over his.

"Wait, you talked to Aegon?!" Aemond sounded quite agitated.

"Yeah, we spoke before I left. He's great fun, your brother!" You added the last sentence just to get a reaction from the prince.

"Hmmm..." He huffed. Aemond sounded so insulted. Although all he did was hum, you knew he felt differently about it. You were almost tempted to take it back. 

"Are you staying for supper? I'm sure my father would be pleased to see you despite showing up unannounced..." You asked. Aemond gives you a tight-lipped smile and moves to fetch his borrowed horse.

The prince awkwardly saddles up on his horse. You figured he was more used to mounting his dragon.

Aemond marvels at how swiftly you get on the horse despite the many layers of your skirt. He thinks you'll fare well riding Vhagar. His train of thought however, fizzes out at your close proximity. The warmth of your chest on his back seeps through his vest and tunic, your arms wrap around his slender waist like it was made to be there, your breath tickles ever so close next to his neck-

"What? Are you going to ask this horse to ‘Sōvēs’?" Your teasing voice next to his ear tickles him from the inside. Aemond thinks your Valyrian is perfect. He can't wait to teach you more.

"Hey! Are we going to stand here or what?!" You snap your fingers in front of him. Aemond jolts back at your movement, kicking the horse into action. His eye widens at the horse's speed, and the closeness of your bodies does not help his panic calm down.

The prince doesn't remember how he made it to your family's castle. It was all a blur of his heart racing, your hands on his waist, and your occasional chatter. By the time he ungracefully dismounts his horse, he is beyond flustered.

"My prince!" Your father greets him, immediately noticing his flushed face. "Are you quite well?" The older man asks in alarm.

"Careful, father! He might pass out!" You teased, motioning to carry Aemond like a bride, before laughing with the small crowd who flocked to greet you and the prince.

Aemond seems to have forgotten how to speak as he scowls at your jokes. He hated to admit how you and Aegon would be absolute menaces if you two happened to band together.

At the dinner table, Aemond sits on one of the cushioned seats, his princely posture stiffened by his nerves at being around you and your family. There was no one else in the room yet, save for a few servants and your older sister's husband, whom he attempted to chat up with small talk. Despite this, the prince felt anxious at being surrounded by members of your family, remembering the possible dishonor he had brought when your betrothal was called off.

The dining room seats slowly fill with your parents, your grandmother, and your older sister. Aemond's anxiety rises as he greets every one of them accordingly. Your younger siblings cause a ruckus as they enter the room, hitting their wooden swords at each other and yelling like seasoned warlords, and finally, in comes-

"The dragon!!“ the children scream in faux fear. Aemond was alarmed anyway, catching himself halfway rising from his seat. A woman, who was very obviously you, enters the room, growling underneath a paper mache dragon headmask.

"Dragon-whisperer, please save us!" The four children gather around Aemond, clinging to his arms, two on each side. The prince turns his gaze from the "dragon" looming towards him to the elders at the head of the table. The prince was surprised to find that they were somehow enjoying it? like it was a normal occurrence in the household. Your grandmother even grips the edge of the table, seriously paying attention to the impromptu play.

The children, three boys and a little girl, gather around Aemond excitedly to watch the "dragon" dramatically march toward the silver-haired prince. You were stomping your feet in slow motion, imitating the giant beast's walk. Aemond sees the playfulness in your eyes through the large eye-holes of the dragon headmask as you gradually get closer. You were laughing and playfully growling when you took a large leap to be directly in front of him as the dragon maskhead fell from your head, revealing your face.

It takes all of Aemond's self control to not kiss you where you stand. He smiles, for he feels his insides tickle with excitement and love.

Love? Is he in love? His mind questions itself. He gets his answer immediately.

"I love you, Y/n." Aemond declares.

Your parents, your sister, and your younger siblings all gasp in surprise. Your grandmother, however, tries to keep up with the theatrics and asks your sister's husband sitting next to her: "How could he be in love with the dragon?"

You, on the other hand, try to control your emotions. Your lips parted mid-laugh when the paper dragonhead hits the floor. And then Aemond speaks. You weren't sure if you heard him correctly, but judging by everyone's reactions, he really did say it. It wasn't a daydream.

Aemond's forehead shimmers with sweat. Why did he say that?! It's not like he didn't mean it; he did, but it just wasn't the right time! He was about to blurt out an apology when one of the children giggled and adds: "But you broke off with her!"

Your father finally recovers, senses their esteemed guest's discomfort, and asks everyone to be seated for dinner. 

The conversation between your family was joyous and wholesome- something Aemond rarely, if ever, experienced back at home. You would help your younger siblings with their steak, your parents still made flirty remarks to each other; and grandma never ran out of stories from her youth. The entire table was busy with pleasant chatter, a complete opposite of Red Keep family dinners- normally taken alone or, when forced to come together, would end in a screaming match.

Aemond almost forgot his earlier blunder when he finished his first course. Your mother, whom Aemond discovers is actually your step-mother, pleasantly offers him more of the roast lamb. He was already quite full and was hesitant to refuse your family's hospitality.

"Then you must have some dessert, son!" Your father bellows from the head of the table. No man has ever warmly called him 'son' before. It was a strange thing to hear, but he found himself smiling and nodding as he received a plate of pudding. He stares at it for a while, and the sound of lighthearted chatter fades while he contemplates the last hour spent with your family.

"Aemond! Are you alright?" You whisper from across him, the dining table in between. You kept your voice low so as not to draw attention because the prince looked like he was sobbing? You calmly head over to sit next to him. "Is dessert not to your liking, my prince?" you inquired, gently steering him to face you and away from the rest of the table. You asked if his patched eye was bothering him, but that wasn't the case.

"It's just, all of this is so beautiful; I've never, it's all just so... different from what I was used to..." He tries to collect himself, taking a deep breath and holding it in before exhaling. "I'm sorry, that was-"

"No, It's alright; I understand." You carefully reach for his hand, hoping to bring him comfort. Your family graciously averts their attention from the both of you.

"I'll take you to your chambers if that's what you like?" You smooth a thumb over his large hand.

"I'm alright." Aemond, exhales. "I wouldn't want to miss out on a moment with you." He turns his hand over to catch yours in his warm palm. "you and your family. A moment with you and your family, of course." He rushes to add

You grant him a kind smile, which he returns just as sweetly.

The rest of the evening is light and full of cheer. Aemond begins to loosen up and laughs a little too loudly after having quite a few refills of your father's best wine. You return to the dining hall after checking with the servants to find Aemond playing kickball with your younger siblings while listening to your grandma talk about history. The prince enthusiastically pays attention, even adding his own thoughts from what he's read in the books. In the brief months you stayed with him in King's Landing, you have never seen your former betrothed this calm and laid-back. He looked so at home, happy, and carefree.

When the younger ones are ushered off for bedtime, they bid Aemond goodnight, asking if they could play again tomorrow. Of course he agrees, and gives them a genuine smile, which you thought was dazzling. He should smile more.

Aemond continues to talk to your father and your sister's husband in the sitting room, having a drink and occasionally petting the dogs who were comfortably nestled by his feet. It seems like everyone in this house enjoys the prince a little too much.

"How long is he staying?" Your mother asks, spotting you eavesdropping outside the sitting room.

You blow a raspberry and shrug. "No one invited him here, so I guess he's staying for whenever?"

"I'd let him stay forever!" Your grandma joins in, announcing rather loudly and calling the attention of the men in the room, mainly Aemond, who rose from his seat to check if you were around.

You were about to sprint away when Aemond respectfully nodded at the elders by the door, and then closed it.

He doesn't spare you a glance when he shuts the door. Your jaw slackens at his audacity. Shutting the door in your face? In your own house?!

"He's leaving first thing in the morning." You state this to your mother and grandmother as you march up the stairs to your quarters.

You stomp your way up the stairs, grumbling under your breath about how that audacious prince treated you in your own home. After he shows up unannounced? After everything that happened in King's Landing? He doesn't even laugh at your jokes! 

While you sulk in your bedroom, Aemond is having a very crucial discussion with your father inside the room at this precise moment. There is a choice at hand that might drastically alter the course of your lives.

You were still annoyed when you woke up the next morning. A consecutive knock wakes you.

"What!" You yell, sounding more like a statement than a question. A servant peeks in, and you immediately feel sorry.

"Your lord father wants you in the council room, lady."

You sigh as you slip out of bed and get dressed. You hoped that Aemond had left, or else your mood was about to swing for the worst.

As if the universe was teasing you, Aemond was inside the council room. His magnetic presence drew your eyes to where he stood, next to your father.

"Good morning, My lady." He greets her with a nervous glint in his eye and a teasing smirk on his beautiful lips. You were confused, so you ignored him. 

"Y/n..." Your father begins. There was a certain look on his face. It was the same look when that letter from King's Landing arrived by raven, asking for your hand in marriage.

"So which one is it?" You ask, glancing at the papers in front of him, scattered on the table.

"Which what?" Aemond's smirk dissolves into a worried frown.

"Which loser am I promised to?" You ask, and you receive two answers.

"He's not a loser." Your father warns

"I'm not a loser." Aemond fails to stop himself from answering.

Oh.

Your eyebrows meet in confusion, and your lips part, but you're out of words. You look like a fish out of water as you open and close your lips, trying to form a coherent thought.

"Y-you again?" You put your arms on your hips, facing Aemond. "Are you in love with me or something?" 

"I am." Aemond answers rather quickly. He steps up, holding your hand in his. "And it was almost too late when I realized it. I was so scared watching life fade from you that day in the Sept's tower. I was too proud to tell you how much I truly cared, how much I loved, and how much I still... love you."

His words make you feel dizzy. Was this what Aemond and your father talked about last night when he shut the door? He was asking your father for your hand?

"So you want us to be betrothed, again?" Your mind soars a hundred leagues, and your heart skips several beats. You can't wait for him to say yes.

"No."

Um.

"No, I want to court you first. No strings attached this time; no responsibilities to the crown, no political arrangements."

You did not expect this at all. You look to your father, who was giving you and Aemond an encouraging nod.

The prince's hand trembles, still holding yours. His jaw deliciously clenches, and his eye pleads with yours for an answer.

"I accept."

---------------- A/n: So sorry this is so overdue T_T Can I please get a reblog? Thank you for reading! :)

#wack reblogs