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kaus-quietis · 11 months

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Lav's All-smiles Problem-solving Roooooundtable ch108 edition!

Welcome, welcome! To Lav's BSD ch108 discussion! Delivered to you via my funky dove Eliott, acting as my mystic messenger. These are random thoughts I had after reading this brilliant chapter, which, writing-wise, made the best possible use of Fedya's character, expanding it even more without even betraying his backstory. Maybe a backstory isn't needed after all, just look at how much FUN he is right now. I am in BLISS

Putting aside the fact that he is literally carrying the plot at this point, come sit with me, I make you a delicious Chinese black tea with rose petals and casually share my thoughts. Hello there, dearest Kat, yes, "where is Lav when you need her?", I am here, I offer you a hug, and to all my friends here who share the sentiment, I hug you too.

A. Before you say ANYTHING about "oh but? maybe Fedya is telling the half-truth? or a half-lie? what if his ability really is the evil one?", my brothers and sisters in Christ, listen to yourself. This man functions almost on a meta-level of character consciousness: he changed his facial expression and aura so convincingly, his tone, his speech, his posture, even the shade of his eyes, fooling not only Sigma, but the readers as well. We are used to characters changing the shade of their eyes when they change mental states or have certain (new) decisions in mind, we as a community are so used to this, all it took was one panel from the Conjurer doing this trick for so many of us to actually believe him and start, yet again, to spiral down the "what if he is good but his ability is evil? what if he is two entities? what if?" rollercoaster. This is so amusing to me, and in a meta-sense must be amusing to Fedya too. While speculation can bloom again based on this, I wouldn't be putting too much effort into reading into his lines here. I take it as a trick. It worked splendidly, almost like it attacked the fandom's major concerns and theories about his character and weaponized them against everyone. That's a meta-kind of tomfoolery. Trolling, if you will. I LOVE that Asagiri made him bamboozle every reader like this. His character so far goes into the best direction, it cultivates and expands his traits and skills in the best way. But let's pretend Fedya really is telling a half-truth there, which is there being an opposition between him and his ability. I talked about this in my essay (see pinned post), there really seems to be a divergence at the core of his character, but it manifests subtly, not like what we saw in ch108. Then again, not even on that can we arrive at any conclusive statements, because if we remember that, of course, "crime and punishment are close friends", it could well be that he and his ability are partners, and you bet I imagine they would BOTH indulge in peak tomfoolery like this together, if that meant one of them switching in and the other out for a sec. Remember, dear souls: aside from his "higher mission", abstract as it still is lore-wise, Fedya's keyword is "fun" or "entertainment", repeatedly. And oh he himself is even more fun now~

B. if Fedya would have wanted to mortally wound Sigma, he'd have chosen a more suitable place to stab him; it looks like a abdominal, lower quadrant, lateral stab, a deliberate choice, I would say, that technically avoids critical, most vascular organs (kidney and spleen for example) and main veins/arteries. I am no doctor, but from what I gathered, Sigma won't bleed out fast at all, and if untreated might get a deadly infection in a longer time (not counting the possibility of septic shock if we assume the knife penetrated and heavily opened an intestine). Sigma needs a medic asap (our queen Yosano when?), but will likely be conscious and quite able to move around and whatnot. Like I argued in my essay, Fedya most likely does not want to kill Sigma, or anybody for that matter, because keeping everyone alive to fulfill various roles and see how their will tosses them in all kinds of directions is more fun for him, more entertaining, but also more useful. He is a long-term strategist, like Dazai. "Our beloved monsters" ❤

C. Fedya evidently exerts some serious mental torment on Sigma, by making him stand by his choices, his will, just like he always desired. The flip side is that Fedya takes his time, or should I say gifts Sigma his time, in which he teaches him the full lesson of what Sigma wants. The responsibility that comes with acting on your own, the terror of facing the consequences when choosing on your own: right now, to Sigma, this freedom is terror. But Fedya is never a one-dimensional character. It's most probable he calculated and devised strategies for both possibilities (a. Sigma with rekindled determination touches him; b. Sigma backpedals on what he decided and does not touch him). The irony is that both scenarios are an affirmation of Sigma's will, because, while the first decision can be seen like foolish bravery, the second one can also be seen as wise self-preservation, if the circumstances so demand it. BSD is not a black-and-white series, diving head-first into danger is not its definition of bravery or heroism. BSD was always about measured decisions, ones the characters take upon themselves willingly. It may be time Sigma does that too, in his own way, and Fedya wants to see that. Why? Well, my guess is because it's fascinating to watch humans grow, and Fedya lives for the entertainment that comes with it. It is actually more interesting if we remember his line from ch42 (“People can be so simple… They truly believe they are thinking for themselves. (…) They don’t want to think they’re being led by the nose”): the pattern is, Fedya puts others under harsh circumstances, and then, under pressure, lets go of them, waiting for their free decision, the true test and expression of their hearts, so to say (which could make a superb discussion if we make a parallel between Kunikida and Sigma, since essentially what happened to Kunikida is happening now to Sigma, except Kunikida did indeed break down, but thanks to healthy support from his comrades he slowly regained his sense of self, and stronger than ever at that time, however… Sigma is alone, isn't he? but what if he needs to be in order to finally get a hold of his own self?). Anyway, how much of that expression is free, or how much is guided or manipulated, is a debate in itself, since it implies relating the freedom to the individual vs relating the freedom to the external factors and possibilites.

D. I do need to underline, just like Fedya also underlined it: Sigma already made his decision, right there when he still tried to get the gun before getting kicked in the face. Fedya moved on to the next step: testing how strong Sigma's will is when an actual chance to act appears. Sigma already accepted the physical pain, but how will he face the mental anguish? That is more Fedya's territory, a "specialist" of breaking people by simply knowing them thoroughly and choosing the right words. But now we gained new info: even in close combat, apparently, Fedya is not to be underestimated. That was a rather strong kick, anyway. But more importantly, he completely turned the tables in a situation where he would be in a total disadvantage. * chef's kiss * that was very bungou stray dogs of him.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd manga spoilers #bsd fyodor #bsd sigma #stopped working on my PhD to indulge in ritualic chants and expressions of love and devotion towards BSD's greatest character #the man himself #it's always Fedya #my love knows no death #yes I even typed these tags out for Eliott #I hope she has been a good circus ghost #but even is she was a bad or absent circus ghost I forgive her #she is the best and you agree #unless you think I am the best and in that case you're right lol #this was your daily dose of sensible ENTPs faking a massive ego #if you have questions please reply here or send an ask but dont stress the funky dove mystic messenger #we are both vanishing ENTPs like the Queens song Now Im Here Now Im There #i will still not be on my blog till a long time I have a PhD to write #no an ACTUAL PhD not my marriage proposal PhD that is already posted #but that one I will update too after more chapters pile up - maybe in November

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lightofmyblight · 1 year

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wow I have a lot of followers on this blog

if you like lesbianism but don't mind/crave Fucked Up Shit, may I recommend The Locked Tomb?

#if you like skulls and narration fuckery Come Here #seriously though we have a year till the last book. Come Here and join the Fun #and tears #and HELLA SAPPHISM #and gothic and sci fi exploration #it's a veery active fandom come HERE #lore!#death!#blood sweat tears! come HERE!#if you like amity's bitchy little ass come Here!#if you like Luz's goofy ass come Here!#if your like girls taking care of girls who are fainting with blood pouring out of every pore come Here!#if you like enemies to maybe but definitely Lovers come Here!#if you like insane but endlessly determined good hearted mean girls come here!#if you like Themes and Symbols and Subtext and Voices and etc etc etc come HEEERREE #if you like Devotion and Sacrifice and Tragedy and Comedy and Adventure and Family and sognldk.ngijsrtndhy #please read Gideon the Ninth and join us.#death! gothic! post apocalyptic! catholic! nuns! religion! im bad at describing but i really do think anyone following this blog would prob #enjoy The Locked Tomb!

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thegirlwholied · 2 years

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"and I trusted him"

is the fundamental tragedy of House of the Dragon broken trusts & misplaced trusts & bitterness over lack of trust & loving someone you know you should not trust & losing the only ones you could trust & what happens when the love is there but trust isn't & what happens when you can't trust anymore hmmm

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon spoilers #rhaenyra targaryen #harwin strong #jace velaryon #just dwelling on how Rhaenyra speaks those words to Daemon & how episode 10 - before the throat grab! - shows us who she trusts even before #- and how she & Alicent reach out to get past their broken trust but never quite make it #- and how Daemon's deepest issue seems to be his brother not trusting him but also his own actions are why he's not trusted #how Alicent in a funhouse-mirror-of-Rhaenyra cannot trust her oldest son & has the 'devotion' of a Strong man she CAN'T trust yet relies on #and how Rhaenyra cares for Laenor but cannot count on him #& respects the Velaryons but not to the point she can trust them with Laenor's 'death'#and the game of thrones is decided by who you trust #but there's few to trust once power's in play #and what cuts deeper than knowing you HAD those you could trust #but lost them #and now you're surrounded by hungry-eyed strangers and what trust will you have left to give by the end?#(not. enough.)#you don't know what you got till it's gone #and now the storm is coming #so this show has me by the throat CLEARLY #just saying #sometimes you get that old itch to write an essay and i am not going to write an essay so Tumblr gets this i guess #sometimes love just ain't enough

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m1kaelsons · 1 year

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klaus is definitely on that ‘ if you date me , there will be no one else for you . if not your first , i will definitely be your last ’ type beat ://

#he's an old ass man stuck in his old ass ways #he is incorrigibly selfish and secretly believes in soulmates / true love #'till death do us part' in the most literal sense #this of course goes both ways; he's very devoted to his partner #𝒊 . study .

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oncomingnight · 10 months

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Yandere! Husband

Barry attended culinary school in Paris, France, earning himself a bachelor's degree in baking and pastry arts. Because of this, he was able to open up his own bakery that gets receives nothing but praise. Thanks to his talented advances, he's able to build an incredibly comfortable and peaceful life with you, his beautiful wife.

After a long day of work, he enjoys quickly putting together your favorite meals and gently guiding you to the table with his hand on your lower back. He'll handfeed fruitful pastries to you as he listens attentively about absolutely anything you're currently feeling passionate about.

He isn't a jealous man, not at all. The only thing he strongly dislikes is when someone is persistent with their attraction to you. From his body language, you can tell that he's extremely confident, but the only person he even thinks of impressing is you. He tries to stop himself from blushing when you gush over the hooked appearance of his nose, the beauty mark on his right cheek, his glossy chestnut hair and heavily lashed downturned eyes.

On the day of your wedding, there was no way he could've prevented himself from full on sobbing as he recited his vows, words depicting feelings of pure devotion. When it was time for your vows, he wiped at his tears, gazed at you lovingly and reached to hold your stray hand as the other held your paper.

That night, his focus was solely on your pleasure. Barry doesn't consider sex toys as an enemy, rather, he takes them as an opportunity to help you reach immense amounts of pleasure.

He takes incredible joy in being able to just take care of you. He'll sit behind you as you're sat between his legs in the bath, gently massaging soap into your skin, wrapping your soaked body with a warm lavender scented robe and carrying you to bed.

Barry enjoys reading broad books on incredibly mind-twisting topics such as: The terrifying art that was made in subject of WWI. He's simply intrigued by several major events in the history of mankind.

He has a knack for listening to old romance songs, many of them in different languages other than english. From everything I've been telling you, it's incredibly easy to tell that he's an immensely romantic man. Reading to you as the both of you lay in bed, slow dancing with you in the living room as old westerns play, hugging you from the back and swaying your bodies together, etc.

Barry will take interest in absolutely anything and everything you seem to enjoy.

He's an amazing husband who will stop at nothing to do what it takes in order to keep you safe and happy.

He meant it when he said, ""till death do us part." His love has no limits.

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scuderiahoney · 1 month

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Every Second

charles leclerc x reader

masterlist

summary: the world is ending. you’re right where you belong. 2.6k words

warnings: major character death (apocalypse au, everyone dies), charles & reader have a daughter, talks of death/afterlife/end of the world, it’s mostly sad not gonna lie

a/n: had this idea a LONG time ago, finally finished it today. loosely based on the music video for Older by 5SOS. see also: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe & FINNEAS and I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers. you get the vibes.

The world is on fire.

For once, you mean that literally. You’ve been saying it for years, in reference to politics and pollution and the general temperature of the planet. But now, the world is literally on fire.

Charles is pacing laps around the whole apartment. He’s unable to sit still, even now. The tv is on, the volume low, photos flashing by on the screens. There’s a countdown, ticking along at the bottom of the newscast, telling you exactly how many minutes you have left before the whole thing falls apart. You’re not sure how they seem to know. You won’t take the time to find out.

The next time Charles walks by you, you reach out and grab the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He stops in his tracks, and your fingers brush against his skin. He doesn’t look at you, hasn’t for hours. He stared at the ceiling, now. He’s angry, you can tell. It’s eating him up inside.

“Amour,” you say, calmly, quietly. “You will wear a path in the carpet.”

The irony of what you’ve just said doesn’t hit you until he lets out a bitter laugh. You realize, then, that by tomorrow there will be no carpet. There will be nobody to see the path he’s worn. Everything around you will cease to exist.

It’s funny, the end of the world. It doesn’t feel like you thought it would, though you’re not sure you spent much time devoted to the thought. You had worries, sure, but they always seemed so distant.

“We should wake her,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “I want… every second.”

“Okay,” you agree. “Okay, I’ll get her.”

“No. Not- I’ll go with you,” he says, twisting his hand to grab yours, then repeating, “I want every second.”

You stand up from the couch. He keeps your hands linked as he follows you to your daughter’s room. She’s asleep in the crib, barely one year old, head full of dark curls and a smile that bears his dimples. She looks peaceful. For a moment, you hate to disturb her. It’s the last time you’ll pull her from her crib. You understand, now, why he wanted to come with.

Charles walks over, reaches in with one arm, and scoops her up. It’s only then that his eyes meet yours, as he cradles her to his chest. The two of them make such a perfect picture. You’ve seen it before, after races when he’s tired and sweaty but always wanting to hold her, when he gets back from long trips and she clings to him for hours, when he gets her up in the morning and brings her to your room to wake you up.

He swallows tightly as she shifts in his arm, pressing her tiny round cheek to his neck. You tug on his hand, lead him back out to the living room. He squeezes so hard you think your fingers might fall off.

It won’t be long now before your daughter is fully awake. She’s already beginning to wiggle slightly, her eyelids fluttering. You don’t dare to try and let go of Charles, but you head for the kitchen and start warming up a bottle for her.

It’s what you’d do any day. It’s odd, because the apocalypse is breathing down your neck but your baby still needs to be fed. Other things, you’ve chosen to neglect- the trash will stay in the overflowing can in the kitchen. The mail will go unopened, bills unpaid. There’s a layer of dust on the fireplace mantle that will stay there until the mantle itself ceases to exist. You warm up your daughter’s bottle, though, and try to listen to the sound of the microwave instead of the sound of your husband’s crying.

She’s awake, now, and tugging at your hair with tiny fingers. Charles untangles your hands and wraps his arm around your waist instead, uses it to pull you into his chest. His grip is so tight it would almost be claustrophobic on any other day. Today, if you could melt yourself into one person with him, you would.

The microwave beeps, and you both jump. You grab the bottle, turn to your husband, your daughter. She’s yawning, her head on his chest, her hand still caught in your hair. She doesn’t know. She won’t ever know. There are so many things she won’t get to learn. You’ve dreamt of this your whole life- of love, a family, people to call your own and a home to spend your life in with them. In the end, your time has been so short lived. There are only so many minutes left. The clock on the TV counts down, and your chest aches with every second. You will lose them today.

Charles seems to sense your train of thought. He leads you back to the couch in the living room. He half sits, half lays with your daughter, legs up on the sofa, and holds his other arm out for you. She’s beginning to fuss, because she’s hungry- the most simple of human predicaments. When you sit down, he pulls you into his chest, to face him, your back to the tv. Even on the last day, he will try to shelter you. He curls his arms around you and your daughter while you hold the bottle to her mouth.

“My girls,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “My beautiful girls.”

You’d thought, when you had gotten pregnant, that Charles would want it to be a boy. A mini him, someone to teach karting and racing and follow in his footsteps. But before you even found out, he’d been insistent it was a girl, that she was going to be just like you, that he was going to be wrapped around her finger, same as he was around yours. And when she was born, his dark hair and your eyes and the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen, Charles had bawled his eyes out, holding her in his arms, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead.

He’d been so excited, told you all of his plans. There’d been days on the boat with her, days in the water, days at races with giant headphones to protect her ears. Her father had doted on her and loved her, had talked about her every chance he got. She was going to grow up with all the love the world could possibly have to offer and then some, surrounded by it, bathed in it.

It’s not fair. You’ve had years to live, you’ve gotten to be your own person, but she’ll never get that chance. You suddenly feel short of breath, chest tight, heart racing. Charles feels it and wraps his arm tighter around you. You stare at your daughter’s face, her tiny eyelashes, the little slope of her nose. She deserves so much more time. You rub your finger over her cheek as she drinks the bottle.

“S’not fair,” you mutter, blinking back tears.

“I know,” he says, murmuring the words against your forehead. “It’s not.”

There’s so much more you could say, but the words won’t come. How do you put that into words? The terrifying, all consuming fear of what is coming. There’s no stopping it now. Maybe it’s not worth dwelling on.

“You know,” you say with a sniffle. “She’ll never have to be afraid.”

Charles nods. “Nobody will ever hurt her.”

You reach out and hold her hand, her tiny fingers in yours. Her skin is so soft, unmarred by the world. She will never face heartbreak. She will never lose anyone. She will never have to worry. She’ll also never make her first friend, or have her first love, or her first job or first car, or… the nevers pile up and weigh heavy on your chest. The whole weight of the world is on you.

You press your cheek to Charles’ chest and let the tears flow. It’s silly to hide it. He holds onto you tightly.

There can’t be much time left, now. You can feel the seconds slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers. You have this uncontrollable urge to kneel on the ground and try to scoop them all up. The bits and pieces of your life together with him. You want to hold it all close to your chest, try and shelter it from the impact.

“The wine,” Charles says. “The wedding wine.”

You’d saved a bottle. It was meant to be opened on your tenth anniversary. It’s in the cupboard in the kitchen, a white bow around the neck, a label with a photo of the two of you custom printed by a friend. You’ve been married for three years now. At the time, ten years had felt so far away. Now it slips through the gaps in the cupped hands of your heart.

Charles passes your daughter into your arms and stands up. You cradle her to your chest and press your lips to the top of her head. You whisper to her, remind her how much she’s loved, how much you care for her. Charles returns with the bottle and two glasses, and the corkscrew you’d been gifted as a wedding present. You try not to dwell on it, try not to think about his brothers giving it to you, engraved with your new last name and with a note to accompany it- When you argue, or feel sad, or happy, or anytime, stop and share a bottle of wine together.

You take their advice- of all the times to take it, now feels like your best bet, though you’ve lived by little things like that your whole relationship. When Charles was gone for extended time periods for races, he always returned with a special bottle of wine, always made sure to set aside his first day back just for you, and eventually, for your daughter too. It was one of the things that bothered him most, he’d told you- he never felt like he had enough time. Stretched too thin between all the things and people he loved, everything that’s important to him. He pours you a glass of wine and hands it to you, and you wait while he pours his own. You clink the glasses together and take a sip. It tastes the same as it did on your wedding night, and fresh tears fill your eyes. All your family and friends, there to celebrate the two of you, and now it all comes to an end.

There are picture frames on the wall behind the couch. You stare at them, the tears in your eyes blurring the photographs, but you know what you’d find there. The wedding photo, when he’d kissed you for the first time as your husband. There’s the photo of the two of you on his first day at Ferrari, smiling bright and wide and happy and not having any idea how important you’d become to each other. There are family photos- just the three of you, and ones with your extended families, too. There are landscapes from your vacations together, pictures of you with friends out at parties, your whole lives, hanging up on the wall. All the photos will be destroyed, soon, along with the rest of the world.

Your daughter is dozing off against your chest. You turn to try and take a peek at the countdown on the screen, but before you can, Charles grabs your head and holds, firmly. It can’t be long now. Sometime this morning, just after sunrise, you think they said on the news last night. There’s sun filtering in through the curtains. Your breath gets caught in your chest. The dawn of a new day, of the very last day.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, lips against your forehead. “Don’t panic.”

“The world is ending, Charles,” you choke out, voice frantic. “We- we’re going to-“

“I know,” he mumbles. He knits his fingers with yours, right on top of your daughter’s back. “I know. Stay with me. Feel me? Feel her breathing? Just stay right here, my love. You are safe here.”

You’re not, you’re the least safe here that you’ve ever been, but you know what he’s trying to say. You feel the soft rise and fall of her back beneath your hand, feel the way he squeezes your fingers. Stay here. Stay with me. You take a deep breath against his neck, wondering if you can breathe in enough of him that he’ll be a part of you forever. Forever. What does forever even mean, now?

“It’s not enough,” you mutter. “It wasn’t enough time. We deserved more time.”

He nods, and when he speaks, his voice sounds raw. “It wasn’t. We did. But it never would have been enough, my love.”

“If you had more time,” you start, and you hear him choke on a sob. “What would you do with it?”

He’s quiet for a moment. There’s a million different options, a million different answers, a million things still left to do. You wonder if he’s thinking of the same thing as you, though.

“I would spend it right here,” he says, and you fall to pieces. “Right here, with you in my arms, and our daughter with us, and I would tell you how you are the love of my life and- and how I will find you, in the next life, and we will spend forever together. Over and over and it will never be enough,” he sniffles, his tears falling against your forehead.

“Give me a million more years, and I would like to spend them all with you,” you tell him, voice thick with your tears. “Every second.”

There’s a loud noise from somewhere outside. Your heart should be racing, but it isn’t. Charles wraps you up closer, pulling you around your daughter, trying to cradle both of you in his arms. This is it. If there’s anywhere you’d want to spend your last moments, this is the place.

“I will see you soon, my love,” he says into your skin.

Neither of you are religious, and you haven’t talked about your thoughts on the afterlife in any serious sense, but in that moment, you believe it, and you know he does too.

“Nothing could ever keep me away. We said forever,” he adds.

“I love you, Charlie,” you say, leaning up to kiss him. “Forever and ever.”

As the world falls apart around you, you bury your face in his neck and let it happen. There’s nothing you can do, now, except spend every second with him, with your daughter. All the seconds you have left.

…..

The Ferrari factory is bright and shiny, full of people who stare in awe. They have a new driver today, a new prodigy who’s meant to bring victory back to Maranello. You’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of it, by the people staring, by the buzzing underneath your skin. It’s too much, but you can’t back out now. You’re being lead through the crowd, and you hope you don’t look as terrified as you feel.

“Oh, and this,” your new team principal says, “is Charles. Your race engineer. You’ll be working very closely together.”

Charles turns around, eyes already sparkling. He grins, a dimple divoting his cheek. He’s cute. He gives you a warm feeling in your chest, like something familiar. When he shakes your hand, you swear you feel a spark. You’ve never met him, you’re almost sure, but it feels like you know him, or maybe, like you used to. It’s the strangest feeling, but it’s a comfort in this sea of strangers.

“Welcome to Ferrari,” he says, and it’s the millionth time you’ve heard it today but you could cry, still. For some reason, it means more coming from him. “You’re going to love every single second.”

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5 @c-losur3 @casperlikej

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fan-goddess · 1 month

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can you hotd characters (mostly alicent and rhaenrya) when the reader almost passes in child birth? thank youuuu :3

A/N: Yep can do! I’ve never given birth, gotten pregnant nor seen anything resembling child birth apart from the Aemma scene in HOTD so I hope I did this justice!? Sorry this has taken so long!

Character Roll Call: Rhaenyra, Alicent, Daemon, Aemond and Jacaerys (All romantic love)

Warnings: Child birth, talk of infertility, talk of not able to have children, pregnancy, she/her pronouns used in some places for reader, talk of death during childbirth, talk about smut but no smut, dirty talk, a most likely inaccurate childbirth telling, graphic detailing of blood and gore, this is not proofread! (if I miss any please let me know in a way you’re most comfortable!)

Rhaenyra Targaryen:

It was not the typical marriage you and your husband shared. For whilst you had never had a particular fondness for goose, he understood that and went after his own interest in tasting the variety the world provided him with.

So while he was off exploring, you were in the chambers of the heir of the realm. Showing her your devotion in the most unexpected of ways.

Yet soon, after nearly two years of marriage with no children, people were beginning to become suspicious of your womb. More specifically, your husband’s own family. There was talk of them already arranging a second marriage for him as your womb was supposedly infertile. So after a talk with him, you and your husband for a whole of three months, with the help of Rhaenyra. And just when you thought your efforts were unsuccessful, the maester greeted you with a smile, and told you you were with child.

Your lover took the news surprisingly well, as Rhaenyra spent all hours of the day with you comparing possible names for the baby. Your husband had done his part in this game. Now, you and Nyra could spend your days eating the cake and kissing the days away. Acting oblivious to the hateful world surrounding the two three of you.

“What about Aurion?” Nyra suggests, a lazy smile on her lips as she places a fork with a large chunk of vanilla cake on the end between your lips.

“Hmmmmm” You hum, smiling in thought. “Perhaps let’s not raise more suspicions than we’d like my darling. How about something not so Valyrian?”

She laughs, and yet agrees with you with her smile turning strained and sad. Her hand reaches for your own instinctively and you quickly move to grab it and squeeze it tight. “Alright alright! What about Rhys? Ivan? Those are some more boring names!”

You laugh, and yet make sure to note them down somewhere in your head. You discuss names of girls also, just in case. Yet months later as you sat screaming your heart out on the birthing bed, those names disappeared as pain became all you know.

“You must push my lady! The baby is trapped you must push!” One of the ladies in waiting says as she positions herself by your bottom half.

“I’M TRYING TO FUCKING PUSH!” You scream, sweat dripping down your face as your eyes screw shut. Your voice loud as the pain spreads further through you, till eventually you feel it all over.

Soon, the pain that blooms all over becomes numbing. Especially, when you feel your eyes becoming heavy, eventually shutting so all you see is black and the world becomes silent.

“What is happening?!” Rhaenyra screams, her face becoming pale as memories of her mother come flooding to her head. “What is happening to her?!”

“The lady is haemorrhaging!” One of the maesters yells, a multitude of rags of all sorts in his hands as he attempts to stop the blood from further dripping onto the floor. The babe that had quite literally fallen out of your whilst you had fallen unconscious was quickly taken away by the ladies in waiting to be cleaned and attended to. So now, all focus was on keeping you alive. By order of the future Queen of Westeros.

It feels as thought it had taken hours to stop the bleeding. Yet that meant nothing till Rhaenyra who waited anxiously by your side with your hand in her own. Her fingers poised by your pulse so she can reassure herself that you were truly living beside her and not dead like her mother.

By the time you had finally begun to rouse from your deep slumber, the day had turned to night. And all those in the room were exhausted from the effort it took. The maesters in particular, who knew that if they allowed themselves to slack, the princess would soon be upon them with the fury of the dragons.

“My love….” Rhaenyra whispered, at this point uncaring of the multiple people in that room who’d scuttle themselves to her father and the hand at the slightest chance of a scandal. “Do you hurt?”

“As much as childbirth allows me to be in…” You laugh, yet wincing as soon as your body moves. “I am glad you were here… i fear if you weren’t-“

“Do not speak of such things!” Rhaenyra begs, her hands clutching your own tightly as if she was fearful you would drop dead. “I forbid it!”

“Do you say that as my future queen or as my friend?” You murmur, both knowing the true meaning of the word.

“I say that as both..” Rhaenyra whispers, kissing the top of your head as one of the ladies in waiting comes in holding the bundle containing your baby.

“It’s a daughter, my lady.” She says, walking over and placing her in your arms.

“She’s beautiful…” you can’t help but say, brushing away one of her curls from her eyes. You can feel Rhaenyras eyes on you, and so you take her hand and somehow manage to pull her closer.

“I wish to name her Arya.” You firmly say, locking eyes with your daughter who begins to cry in hunger.

“Beautiful…” Rhaenyra says, unable to tear her eyes from the sight of you beginning to breastfeed your child.

Alicent Hightower:

Even while Alicent was married to the king, yours and hers unique relationship had never once wavered. When Alicent had her children with the king, who did not even enter the room when the time of birth came, it was you who held her hand in place of her mother’s, and murmured soft words of encouragement and affirmation into her ears.

While you had your own, even though your mother was there to be by your side as a place of comfort, it was only Alicent name that sprung from your lips. Begging for her to come closer so you can hold her hand and beg her for mercy and encouragements.

Most recently, your third pregnancy had been said by the maesters to be the most difficult one yet. Pain was all you knew through those last few months. Pain in your legs from when you were forced to walk to the dining hall. Pain in your belly from where not only did the baby insist on kicking but also from the cramps the maesters insisted did not need to be further looked at.

Yet Alicent was always close by ready to lend a helping hand whenever the moment allowed her too. According to her, she still has the old treatment the maesters had prescribed her with just in case she fell pregnant again after Daeron.

“You… my utter darling, are my world!” You moaned, eyes shut closed as Alicent carefully massaged the soothing ointment into the base of your feet. She continues to help whenever she can. The ointments and herbs she providing you with being much better than anything the dreading maesters could’ve ever given you.

Yet like most treatments, the effectiveness wore off. Soon, not even the most obscure of medicines would work on you. Pain was always lingering in every part of your body. Even in places you had no idea were on your body.

“I just want this babe out of me!” You groan one night while Alicent once again attempts to stop your pain using this time a supposed miracle working ointments from Lys. “Nothing is fucking working!”

“Well complaining won’t solve anything!” Alicent attempts to jest, though quickly haults any other further attempt after a harsh glare worthy enough to rival the Strangers is sent hastily her way. “Perhaps it is the gods way of telling you how strong you are for having this child? A way to tell you how powerful your son will no doubt be in the future?”

“I would not care if I was to birth a dragon for gods sakes I only with for it to come out of me so I can no longer feel so fucking horrible!” You groan, “I have already told my lord husband that this shall be my last time on that fucking bed! If he even brings his cock within inches of me it’s being torn off his body and fed to your children’s dragons my love!”

“Oh hush now!” Alicent scows, a rare bout of anger coming about her. “The gods have their meanings and their ways! Though I for once shall agree with you. You will be having three beautiful children my love, and that is all you need. Perhaps you could give birth to a daughter and we can betroth her to Aemond?”

“Perhaps…”

By the time the ninth moon has passed, it is quick to say that you were very much serious about this being your last child.

“GET THE FUCKING CHILD OUT OF ME!” You scream, the maesters wincing at the volume rivalling that of a child being born. Something your own child it seems is refusing to let happen. “RIP IT OUT IF MUST BUT IF I DIE I SHALL HAUNT THIS KEEP FOREVER MORE!”

“There shall be no talk of dying on this bed from you!” Alicent yells, her grip on your hands almost as tight as your hand on hers.

The maesters voices cutting through though as they announce how they can see the babes head. Meaning to much your relief the pain will hopefully be soon over and you can hold the thing that’s been hurting you for nearly nine moons in your arms to give it a stern talking off.

You make sure to push hard when the maesters tell you too, even pushing when they don’t so you could hopefully get the babe out quicker. But even when you feel the babe quite literally fall out of you and hear its cries, the maesters make their own cries far more audible.

“Alicent what is happening?!” You ask, feeling what feels like warm liquid gushing from your lower half. Only she does not respond. Only turning paler than the sheets that with horror, you realise are turning a deep red from blood. Your blood.

And It only turns worse when you realise just how faint you feel. A once iron grip you had on Alicents hand turning weak and feeble as your eyes slowly begin shutting.

It’s all a blur when you feel your body waking. Yet still your eyes have not grown enough strength to open, so it’s with great horror you realise you are still conscious but are practically unable to move. You are alive but it is as if your body is dead.

You can hear Alicent beg for your sake. And you realise with your heart beating frantically in your chest that you can also hear her hushing a baby you had not realised was crying this whole time. Your baby.

“Your mother is sleeping now…” You can hear her say, tears building in your eyes when you hear how damaged her voice sounds. “She is strong, your mother. She will wake and see what a beautiful baby boy she has waiting for her… it won’t be long now. I promise.”

You try as hard as you can to open your eyes, yet your attempts prove to be impossible. Yet somehow, you manage to utter two words to your lover while your lower half screams in pain at you.

“Thank you…”

Daemon Targaryen:

It was no surprise to anyone when after a few mere moons after your marriage to the rogue Prince Daemon, you were announcing you were pregnant with his child.

The king had said his congratulations and announced a feast in his nephew or nieces name, and even Daemon had to admit the whole ceremony was wonderful.

Yet like everything in life, all good things must come to an end. The announcement of the first babe of the rogue prince turned sour as news quickly spread about how much pain you were in from them.

The babe refused to let you rest for even a second. All it did was kick and kick, and make you feel shitter than any other possible ailment in the world. You almost felt like having a conversation with the stranger after one too many bouts of particularly bad spells.

“You must let your muña rest ñuha trēsy… let ñuha jorrāelagon rest…” Daemon murmurs one night against the swollen bulge of your stomach. The warmth his dragon like body providing you with being possibly the best thing he’s given you since the day you married him.

“You know I do not understand a single thing you say in that tongue of yours…” You say, eyes closed as you relish in the lack of kicking and blinding pain. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was at least obvious now that your child had chosen favourites.

“Just because you cannot understand something does not mean you cannot understand the beauty of it.” Daemon murmurs, his voice gentle and nurturing as he continues attempting to soothe you.

His words to others would be considered strange and out of character. But as you’ve come to realise over the time of your betrothal and marriage, even though that shared time has lasted around only a year, you know deep down beneath the hardened dragon scale skin of his is a heart that bears solely for the life of those he loves. The latest addition being of course the babe of his own blood nestled in your belly.

It was such a lovely moment, and yet it seemed that would be the last of its kind the rest of the time your babe was steadily growing inside. The more time passed the less Daemons unusually warm body worked in soothing your unrelenting aches and pains.

“Are you okay ñuha jorrāelagon?” He asks one evening, his brows furrowed in what has become a near constant state of stress and worry for you. For is has now nearly been a full nine moons of pregnancy, and with that, it means the babe will hopefully be born.

“Unless you can get this child out of me with no pain,” You grunt, mentally cursing Daemons cock for being what it was. “Then I suggest you leave me be and allow me to wallow with the seed you yourself placed within me!”

For the first time in a while, Daemons worried stricken face turns cheery as he laughs at the familiar wit of yours that helped him to fall in love with you in the first place. The rest of the day is filled with similar circumstances, as while the babe continues to make your days a misery, Daemon is right by your side never ever venturing too far away from you.

You suppose it is why he insisted on being by your side when two days pass and you were on the birthing bed, his hand locked firmly in yours while your screams echo off the walls. You swear you can feel your cunt tear and drip with blood, yet with how much you screamed you honestly couldn’t be able to hear it.

“Please Daemon!” You beg, a multitude of tears running down your face. “Please make it stop!”

“It’ll be over soon ñuha jorrāelagon…” Daemon tries to comfort you with soft words and a tight reassuring grip, and yet his face clear as day is struck with fear and nervousness.

“You said that hours ago Daemon!” You sob, screaming even more as you feel the dragon spawn within you break even more of your innards. “I just want it out!”

“You will my love you will! You are strong and brave and a fighter! You will not die today do you hear me!?”

Daemons hands envelope the sides of your head to force you to look and him, and yet he’s utterly horrified when your eyes roll to the back of your head and your hand that was once clutching his shirt for dear life falls limply by your side.

Daemons words reach no bounds as he insults the maesters and common people alike, swearing if his wife was to die then all shall die with her. So even in the seven hells his wife can make sure she achieves the justice she deserves.

Yet it somehow enrages him further when by the next hour, the maesters have managed to successfully take out the babe from within you, and present it to him as his first born, whilst other maesters make quick work of stemming the bleeding and disposing of the evidence.

Daemons eyes watche as a wet nurse moves to take his son into her arms and takes him into another room so she can clean his son, and it’s not until they’ve left does he begin to shout.

“IS THAT ALL IT TOOK? MY WIFE WAS SCREAMING IN AGONY ON THE BED, BLOOD POURING OUT, AND YET IT IS ONLY WHEN YOUR LIVES ARE THREATENED DO YOU HELP HER?!” He yells, his hand clutching the hilt of dark sister as a reminder that he has the upper hand. He’s the prince of the realm. The rogue Prince. If he wanted to kill people then he will fucking kill someone.

The maesters faces turn ashen as they stand there, practically shaking as they fear for their lives. Daemon is almost tempted to actually kill them. To send a message that no one fucks around with the rogue princes wife. That is however, until he hears a stir behind him and feels a familiarly soft hand clutch his own that previously had clutched dark sister.

“My love!” Daemon breathes, his face one of pure joy as he drops the sword hastily and moves to clutch your still weak body in his arms. “I was so worried!”

“What have you done with my Daemon?” He can hear you say, the laughter in your tone surprising considering what had just happened.

“Don’t worry ñuha jorrāelagon, he was here a few moments ago, about to kill some pathetic fucking maesters…” Daemon begins, turning with a dark glare when he sees the said maesters still standing where they were before in fear. “But I suggest they scarper before dark sister becomes hungry for rat blood once more!”

This time, Daemon doesn’t turn back to watch them all practically run from the room. Not when there is someone in front of him so much more important.

“Where are they?” You say, your movements still sluggish as you wince while trying to turn your body to look around the room.

“Where is who ñuha jorrāelagon?” Daemon asks, preoccupied with finding the cup of milk of the poppy one of the maesters had said was somewhere in the room. A hum of satisfaction slipping his lips when he eventually sees it and grabs it, before placing it by your lips to try and force you to drink it.

“Where’s our baby?” You murmur, wincing again when the bitter taste of the drink runs down your throat. “I want to see them!”

“I will get him for you jorrāelagon.” Daemon says, moving to the direction of where the wet nurse had taken his son too. When he does find her, he does not care for whatever she has to say. Instead just moving to take the boy in his arms and walk back to you, who’s already sat up through the pain ready to see your son.

“Oh Daemon…” You breath, your eyes focused solely on the babe in his arms. “He’s beautiful…”

“He takes after you…” Daemon murmurs back. A soft smile on his face as he moves the boy into your arms. “What shall we name him my love?”

“What about Aenor? First of his name…”

“I love it…” Daemon murmurs, kissing the top of your sweat soaked head and moving to perch against the edge of the bed transfixed by the holy sight in front of him. “I love you…”

Aemond Targaryen:

Your husband wasn’t anything except attentive. Every moment after finding out you were with child he spent within meters of yourself. Even when you slept, his hand was always placed on your stomach.

“I would never allow myself to live if you were hurt ñuha vēzos.” Aemond would murmur against your skin, amongst other Valyrian words this time against the curve of your slowly swelling belly. Each one sending your skin further and further aflame with desire and love for your husband.

The whole pregnancy though, for the most of it, was smooth and ordinary. The baby had begun to kick a little after the fifth moon of your pregnancy, and Aemond was eager to experience every part of it. Yet when you’d passed the eighth moon, that was when everything began to turn on its head.

Pain was blooming in your stomach nearly everyday, and even with the maesters having to forcibly pour milk of the poppy down your throat, you had resisted firmly, not wanting the babies health to be put as such risk especially so close to the due date. Especially when you have been in the presence of the king, who openly abused the opioid near daily.

Yet the maesters with stern eyes and unwavering faces, claimed that if anything, it was the pain inside you that would risk the babies health. So whilst you wished pain on the maesters, they stood there stiffly with a near full to the brim cup of the drink. They watched every time you were needed to drink it. Even going as far as to make you open your mouth wide to make sure you weren’t resisting.

Aemond though like he had done so earlier in your pregnancy, was never as far as an arms reach. He never said anything to maesters face to face, yet he certainly did not hide his anger from you when the two of you would lay in bed holding one another in a close embrace.

“If it weren’t for the babe, I’d strike them where they stand…” He’d begun to murmur. Starting his now usual evening moan about how according to him, they weren’t good enough to care for his pregnant wife. Sometimes it’s sad as you realise how he at his lowest points believes even he is not good enough for you.

“Don’t let that stop you…” You indiscreetly murmur back, a clear glare on your face as you try to drink something to wash away the bitter taste of milk of the poppy.

“Dont you tempt me now ñuha vēzos… I very much can and will make my way to wherever those men lie and slaughter them before it’s time to break fast tomorrow.” Aemond chuckles, a comforting hand on your stomach where near instantly you can feel the babe kick twice. As if the babe was eager to say hello to its father.

“That’s right ñuha valītsos… kepa is here…” Aemond murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your very spine. If you weren’t already eight moons pregnant, you very well would be eager to take him right at this moment and take his seed deep inside till it takes root.

“You are getting distracted valītsos…” Aemond says, smirking at the dark blush that spreads on your face. It matters not how long you’ve been married to Aemond for, since he’ll always manage to find a way to fluster him. You suppose it’s as fun for him as it is for you to fluster him. Though you suppose by doing that is how you ended up in this position in the first place…

“How can I not, when theres such a beautiful man in front of me?” You say, grinning triumphantly when Aemonds own face turns a light pink. It’s not as dark as your own, but even seeing Aemond blush without him trying to hide himself away counts as a win to you.

The two of you revel in the rare soft moment between you both, and it’s not long before you both fall asleep holding each other.

It felt so perfect at that moment, as all the previous worries about the babe swept away. The both of you honestly didn’t think the whole ordeal could get worse. That is however, until your waters broke and you were lying on the birthing bed. Your screams breaking Aemonds heart as he tries his best to comfort you to the best of his ability.

Yet his controlled anger and frustration comes out in waves as your screams continue further and further into the day, and the maesters it seems are no further to helping you than from when they started.

Aemond withholds every single urge to kill them for their insolence for your sake, given that they are supposedly they best men available to help bring his and your child into the world. Though when he sees your eyes roll to the back of your head and your body go limp after attempting to push the babe out again per the maesters instructions, all hell broke loose there and then.

“What have you done!?” Aemond yells, his voice whilst commanding also torn with how scared he feels at that moment. His uncles wife, and his grandsires wives had died in childbirth attempting to bring a child into the world. He cannot have such a thing happen to you.

“You are meant to help my wife not fucking kill her! If she is to die today then so shall all of you! Your blood shall stain these walls if she dies do you all understand!” He yells, tears brimming in his eyes from how emotional he currently feels. Aemond refuses to let go of you hand as the maesters scurry around like rats to appease him.

It’s not long before the sound of a babes cry brings him from his sorrowful thoughts.

“It’s a daughter my Prince.” One of the maesters says, before handing her off to a nearby maid presumably to go clean her off of all of your blood and other bodily fluids Aemond most certainly does not wish to be thinking of right now.

Instead, Aemond chooses to grab a lone damp cloth free from any uncleanliness, and carefully uses it to wipe away the sweat on your face. Yet even with all of that Aemond still believes you to be as beautiful as when he first ever saw you.

The sound of your blood onto the floor that Aemond had tried to ignore for his own sake earlier finally stops, and he’s grateful that the maid comes back with his daughter then so he doesn’t have to think about any of that.

“I will give the baby to a wetnurse my Prince for her first feed.” The maid begins to say, about to walk away. That is however before she feels the princes hand clutching tightly on her shoulder forbidding her to leave.

“She will feed from her mother.” Aemond says firmly, moving to take his daughter away from the silly woman’s grasp. “‘Twas a decision me and my wife made and you shall respect that. Now leave.”

The maid stands there a moment surprised, even looking to the maesters for guidance in the situation. But when Aemond looks up at them with a cold glare on his face and a sneer on his lips, both the maesters and the maid make quick work on leaving the Prince with his daughter in his arms and his unconscious wife by his side.

He does not know how long it is till you finally begin to stir, and yet it does not matter. All that does matter is that you woke at all.

“How are you feel ñuha vēzos?” Aemond murmurs, his daughter in one arm as in the other he holds the cup holding the milk of the poppy he makes you drink. Making sure you don’t waste a drop.

“Like I’ve given birth…” You simply say, suddenly focusing on the baby in Aemonds arms. “Is that-“

“Yes ñuha vēzos. This is our daughter.”

Aemonds hands her to you, and when she begins to stir it’s almost instantly you bring down your dress and place her near your breast. Hissing slightly as she begins to immediately nurse from it.

“She’s beautiful.” You find yourself saying, refusing to take your eyes from her. “She looks like you sweet husband.”

“She may look like me but I believe she has her mother’s beauty.” Aemond says, moving to hold your hand in his. “What shall we name her my love?”

“What about Elaenor?”

“It’s perfect…” Aemond says, kissing the top of your head. “She’s perfect…”

Jacaerys Velaryon:

It appears Jacaerys was ever as loyal as they say. As even after being married in an arranged fashion, and finding out you were pregnant with his child after consummating the marriage, his presence was never far from you.

When in the middle of the night sickness plagued your body, it was Jace who was right there next to you with a bucket in hand. Even going as far as to hold your hair back with his hand so no sick could ruin it.

“Is this what it is like for all women?” Jace asks, attempting to smooth you while you once again throw your dinner up into a bucket, groaning whilst you do so.

“Only the lucky…” You moan, about to turn to look at your husband before you find yourself immediately needing to throw up again.

At first, it was strange to you to have a husband be so close and eager to be by up side, given the stories that your mother had told you. Yet now, you honestly could not think of your marriage without the little services Jace provides you with.

Whenever you find yourself craving a certain food, no matter how bizarre or disgusting it may seem to him, Jace was always willing to call a maid and inform her to make it for you.

“Thank you husband.” You sigh in delight, chewing on some honey dipped carrots in the comfort of yours and Jaces bed.

“It is no problem my lady.” He says, awkwardly perched by the edge of the bed covers while he watches you eat.

“You can come closer Jace…” You laugh, patting the side of the bed indicating your want to have him closer to you. His warmth comforting. His smile kind. “You have seen me naked before. I do not think you have the ability right now to be shy. Call me by my name Jace. It is only fair since I have been calling you by yours.”

“Of course… wife.” Jace smiles, a strange girlish sounding giggle leaving your lips as he moves himself closer and opens his arms so he can enclose you in them. “Has the babe been bothering you much today?”

“Only as much as usual.” You sigh, choosing to invite his pointed stare in honour of eating another one of your special foods. “Though not as much as I have been eating these.”

“That is good.” He simply says, softly kissing the top of your head as he touches the skin of your arms with his hand. “That is good…” He repeats again more gentler than the last.

The next few months all went smooth as they could go. You were still throwing up in the mornings and some evenings, and experienced some horrible cramps once every few weeks. What was the most difficult and painful thing you had to endure however, was the birth of the babe itself.

It felt like it was ripping out of you. Screams pierced the air as it felt as if the babe was determined to take your insides out with it.

“It hurts!” You cry, holding Jaces hand so hard he has to hide any audible winces in pain, as whilst he is not the most experience man with women, he knew at that moment to not even think about saying his own pain. Not when he could tell his pain was like a mere headache compared to your own.

“It will soon be over!” Jace says, trying to squeeze your hand in an attempt to comfort you and let you know he is here. But with how much pain is flowing through your system he honestly doubts you can feel it right now.

“I just want it out!” You yell, screaming again as the maester intruders you to push. It’s almost like a rhythm, as when the maester tells you to push, you push. And when you push, you scream at the top of your lungs. It’s like that for what feels like hours and hours on end.

Yet soon, it’s finally over, as the maester finally steps away from you holding a crying baby. The maester looks at him, and shows him his crying daughter.

“A daughter my Prince.” The maester says, placing her in Jaces arms. Your husband’s eyes unable to tear away from the smallest child he thinks he’s ever seen. Possibly smaller than Joffrey from when he saw him as a child.

He turns to you to show you with a smile on his face, but that soon disappears when he sees your face.

“My love?” Jace begins, looking worriedly at your pale sweat layered skin. “You do not look well…”

You try to answer, and yet you even with all your strength you cannot even find yourself able to move your lips, your head even.

That though is when Jace turns his own head and sees the frantic moving of all the maesters and ladies in the room. It’s when he hears a most frightening of sounds. The sound of your blood falling and dripping onto the stone floor. It’s almost worse when he sees how deeply stained your dress is by your own blood.

He’s frozen as he stands there, completey horrified by what he’s seeing and hearing and yet he cannot find himself able to move. His daughter still in his arms, only it’s when she begins to fuss and make sound does another lady in waiting take her into her own arms to put her from the room.

The maesters are beginning to yell now. At the ladies in waiting mainly but to each other a handful of times too. They sound too loud. But that may be because Jace hasn’t said a word since you collapsed against a bed. He does not know what it is he should say. He does not know what it is he should do. His mother has insisted he be in the birthing room alone with his wife, and yet here he is standing alone in the middle of it looking like an idiot.

Yet while he’s thinking, it’s like some sort of driven force when he suddenly realises he’s been holding your hand. Your skin feeling cold and damp from sweat, and Jace stays there the entire time holding onto your hand and staring at you face. He commits to memory the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, and the feeling of your heartbeat in his hand. He blocks out the sounds of chaos and panic, and chooses to focus on you.

Jacaerys slowly watches the colour bloom back into your face when the maesters finally manage to stem the flow of your blood and keep it inside you. Yet when he sees you open your eyes sluggish and exhausted, he cannot help but have his heart speed in happiness and joy. The smiles may have to come later though.

"My love, how do you feel?" Jace asks, still clutching your hand as he edges himself closer to you.

"Like l've given birth.." You simply say, even smiling as you slowly turn your head to look around the room. "Where is the babe?"

"She is with one of the ladies in the other room, if you wish me to fetch her I shall." He asks, watching as your eyes widen and your mouth fall open in what he can only say in a comedic fashion. Not that he'd dare mention that here though that is.

"We have a daughter…" You say, so silently that he barely even heard you. "Yes. Yes I want to see her!"

"I will go get the lady." Jace says, letting go of your hand for the first time in hours and admittedly as soon as he escapes your sights wipes the thick layer of sweat lingering on his hand on his shirt.

When he arrives back with his daughter in his arms though, he cannot help but smile as he watches your entire face light up at the sight of the babe with what could only be utter awe.

"We did that..." You say, reaching out and immediately rocking the small girl when she's in your arms. "We made her..."

“Yes…” Jace can’t help but agree with you, placing his hand on you as he sits beside you on the bed, watching you as you hold his and your child closely to your breasts. “We made her…”

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aemond x reader #Aegon Targaryen/reader #aegon targaryen x reader #Rhaenyra targaryen/reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon Targaryen/reader #alicent targaryen #alicent hightower #Alicent Hightower x reader #Alicent Hightower/reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #Jacaerys Velaryon/reader

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fragileheartbeats · 15 days

Text

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀꒰͡ ⠀ ִ 𝐵 𝐿 𝐿 𝐾 𝑀 𝑒 𝑛 𝑥 𝐹 𝑒 𝑚 𝑅 𝑒 𝑎 𝑑 𝑒 𝑟 ⠀ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

♡ㅤ𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝅄ㅤೀ

— 𝘠𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘪, 𝘔𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶, 𝘙𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘢𝘦, 𝘙𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦, 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘪, 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘰, 𝘚𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘰, 𝘙𝘦𝘰, 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶 <3

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐘𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 | 潔世 ─ 𓇼 . ♡𝆬

With trembling hands, he gently held her face, His eyes reflecting love's eternal grace, He leaned in closer, heart ablaze, Anticipating her touch, his soul would raze. Her lips parted, soft as morning dew, A sweet surrender, a dream come true, He tasted bliss, a moment pure, Time stood still, as souls entwined, secure. As seconds stretched into a timeless flight, Their kiss ignited a passionate light, Whispers of love danced upon their breath, A symphony of hearts, a bond till death. The world melted away, they were lost in embrace, Two souls united, forever entwined in grace, With every gentle touch, their love grew strong, A kiss that promised eternity's song. And when the final moment arrived, too soon, Their lips reluctantly parted, a lingering tune, The taste of love still lingered on their tongues, A memory etched, a story forever sung.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 | 蜂ばち楽 ─ 𔒌 . ♡𝆬

He meets her gaze, a lover's plea, Her eyes reflect his soul's bright utter, A symphony of love, for all to see. His lips descend, a gentle touch, Soft as petals 'gainst the summer air, A whisper of devotion, so much, A promise sealed beyond compare. Her breath catches, a moment so pure, As his lips linger, a timeless delight, A tapestry of emotions, secure, Woven together by love's gentle might. With each lingering second, love's embrace, Strengthens the bond they hold so dear, Their souls entwine, time and space, A timeless kiss, banishing all fear.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍 | 凛りん ─ 𓐐𓎩 . ♡𝆬

He gently leaned, a stolen delight. Her lips parted, soft like summer rain, As their souls entwined, a sweet refrain. Like petals unfurling in the gentle breeze, Their kiss was a promise, a timeless ease. Every touch a language, unspoken and deep, A symphony of emotions, a love they'd keep. Time seemed to stand still, a moment enshrined, In the sacred realm where their spirits combined. The world melted away, replaced by a flame, A burning desire that consumed their every frame. With each passing second, the kiss grew more bold, A stolen treasure that they would forever hold. Their hearts pounding with anticipation and awe, As they poured their souls into each tender draw. Like a whirlpool of emotions, the kiss spiraled high, A vortex of passion that reached for the sky. In that sacred embrace, they found their release, Their love ignited, a radiant masterpiece.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄 | 冴さえ ─ 𓇢𓆸 . ♡𝆬

With reverence, he traced her curves so fine, Each touch a whisper, sweet and crystalline. Her eyes, like stars, reflected his desire, A symphony of passion, an ethereal fire. His lips descended, soft as petals strewn, Upon her own, a moment to swoon. Their souls intertwined, a tapestry of bliss, As time stood still with each stolen kiss. With every touch, a ripple of delight, A promise etched in shadows of the night. Her breath entwined with his, a gentle sigh, As love's sweet melody soared ever high. The world around them faded into haze, Lost in the depths of their intimate maze. A single kiss, a stolen moment's bliss, A testament to love's timeless abyss.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 | 練れん ─ ☘︎ . ♡𝆬

He moved towards her, soft and slow, Her lips, a petal's tender kiss, Inviting him to taste the bliss. As dawn's first blush began to gleam, Their lips met, a tender dream, A fusion of souls, sweet and divine, A testament to love's unmatched shine. With gentle pressure, he drew her close, In silent concord, their emotions rose, The cosmos whispered, 'This is true,' Love's potent elixir, pure and new. The world outside faded from their sight, As they reveled in the purest delight, Their hearts had found their perfect match, A bond unbreakable, a timeless catch.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐇𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐈 | 千切豹馬 ─ 𓆉 . ♡𝆬

With trembling lips, he leaned in, slow and sweet, His gaze a flame that burned with love discreet. Her eyes sparkled like stars, reflecting his intent, As their breaths mingled, an unspoken sentiment. His lips brushed hers, sending shivers through her soul, A moment frozen, the world losing its toll. Time stood still, as if in a celestial dance, Where the symphony of their hearts played a tender trance. Each gentle touch, a caress to behold, A language whispered, a story yet untold. With each passing second, their love took flight, As their souls entwined, bathed in celestial light. He whispered words of adoration into her ear, Promises of forever, as clear as the tear. Her laugh tinkled like windchimes, pure and sweet, As they shared a kiss that banished all bittersweet.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐎 | 龍聖 ─ 𓆤 . ♡𝆬

Their lips entwined in sweet embrace, A symphony of love's gentle grace. Time stood still as they lost themselves, In the depths of longing's priceless wealth. The kiss was a tempestuous storm, Raging with emotions that couldn't be borne. It whispered secrets too sacred to tell, As their souls soared together, free from hell. With every touch, their hearts ignited, Embers of desire, brightly cited. Their bodies melted into one, A testament to love forever begun. The kiss lingered, a timeless bliss, A moment etched in love's abyss. When they parted, their gazes met, Their hearts filled with a love that had no sunset.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 | 凪なぎ誠 ─ 𖤣𖥧 . ♡𝆬

His breath held captive, emotions aglow. Her eyes, a beacon, guide his way, Promising a love that knows no sway. Her lips, a whispered invitation sweet, A sanctuary where their souls shall meet. He leans forward, time slows its flight, As their first kiss ignites the starry night. Soft as petals, his touch takes hold, Melting away all barriers untold. In that moment, the world fades away, Leaving only love's enchanting sway. Their lips dance together, lost in bliss, A symphony of passion's purest kiss. Each touch, a gentle whisper in the air, A testament to love that knows no despair.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎 | 御影玲王 ─ ✉ . ♡𝆬

With lips of velvet, soft as air, He brushed against her, banishing care, A moment suspended, time stood still, As passion's fire began to fill. Her breath entwined with his so sweet, A symphony of hearts, their spirits meet, Each kiss a whisper, soft and low, A secret language they both did know. Like petals kissed by morning dew, Their bodies swayed, their love grew, A gentle touch that set their souls alight, A tapestry of passion, painted in flight. As stars above began to glimmer, Their love burned brighter than a winter, A kiss that sealed their eternal bond, A sanctuary of bliss, never to be fond.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋 | カイザー ─ ☆ . ♡𝆬

With every touch, a symphony arose, Whispering sweet nothings, banishing all woes. The air grew misty, laden with desire, As love's embrace set souls afire. His breath mingled with hers, a stolen quest, A moment frozen in time's tranquil rest. Like fluttering wings, his lips moved low, Tender words whispered, a heart's gentle flow. He kissed her with a fervor chaste and true, A symphony of emotion, old and new. Her body swayed with grace, a yielding flower, Lost in his caress, enveloped in his power. As lips met lips, a spark ignited bright, A fusion of two souls, bathed in purest light. The world around them faded into naught, Only love remained, a vibrant, lasting thought.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐈 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔 | 照英 ─ ♬ . ♡𝆬

He holds her tight, as if she'll slip away, His kisses branding her with love's fierce sway. Each touch, a battle cry, a plea to stay, In this realm where love and danger sway. Her lips respond, meeting his with equal force, A storm within a storm, their wills clashing with course. Their kisses dance amidst the chaos, wild and free, A raw symphony of desire, a tale to be told with glee. In each embrace, a battle's aftermath, Their hearts sore yet satisfied, their passion's path. For in this rough guy's kiss, a beauty found, A love that defies the boundaries, knows no bound.

@ 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 . 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.

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dcxdpdabbles · 1 month

Note

Do you ever plan on continuing the Adoptive Son Au?

This wasn't just a mission anymore.

Dick lays perfectly still, staring up at Crowne's bedroom ceiling. Besides him, Crowne is found asleep, and his soft puffs of breath are the only sound to be heard in the room. As always, the other man is curled up facing the wall, one fist under his cheek and the other clutched to the warm set of blankets.

It's something Dick noticed the first night he slept over.

Awake Crowene took up so much space with his commanding aura, steadily leading his team into the future like a king upon a throne—as if he were larger than life.

Asleep, Crowne seemed to grow smaller, a shocking reminder that for all he's accomplished, he too was only eighteen like Dick.

His face softened, and the invisible weight that seemed to be resting on Crowne's shoulders vanished once he slumbered. It surprised Dick, the first time he watched him sleep, to see how gentle the man could be. How innocent he appeared.

It was a reminder of how inexperienced Crowne was regarding relationships.

The mission had gone on longer than he'd ever planned it to. Dick was worried about how far he was going to go with the honey pot aspect, even with his suggestive comments and more daring flirtations. None of his other missions have gotten so far, always stopping at a few cuddles and kisses.

Thankfully, Crowne hesitated to go further. He had agreed to the hotel room, leaving Drake with Nancy for the night, and as Dick was desperately trying to think of an escape as they climbed up to the room, Crowne had grown more and more angsty.

They had kissed against the door and stumbled their way to the bed with heated breaths and whispered moans, but when they actually landed on the hotel bed, Crowne had sprung away. He had burst into tears, shamefully admitting he wasn't ready.

Dick had been so grateful for the out as he gathered Crowne into his arms and promised to wait till the time was right. He would wait until the CEO was ready, wiping away tears and kissing his cheeks dry.

He gave himself more time by admitting he also didn't feel comfortable moving forward yet, and Crowne looked at him with such tenderness Dick forgot about the mission for only a minute.

Instead, the two somehow ended up chatting the night away, lying side by side, whispering to each other against the pillows. None of what they spoke about was useful for the mission, and yet he found himself holding the little facts about Crowne close to his heart anyway.

He learned about Crowne's insecurities, some of the bullying he endured as a kid, the loving parents he missed, and the sister he lost. He even spoke about his fear of failing Drake or the rest of the people at his company who depended on him, how sometimes that fear of failure would creep in and freeze him in place.

In turn, Dick found himself talking of the circus, whispering what he missed and what life was like before his parent's death.

He shared his role as team leader—though not what the team was—and how sometimes he felt like he was still attempting to find his place in everyone's lives. Shockingly, he even admitted that he feared Bruce would never see him as soon, hiding his tears in Crowne's neck as he pushed out the words.

He never opened up to anyone like that, which terrified him of how far he may have lost himself within the lie.

They fell asleep together that night, curling around each other fully clothed, and it was far more intimate than anything he had ever done with anyone else.

The following day Dick had been able to spot love in Crowne's eyes whenever he looked at him. It made him sick. He tried to not make too much eye contact following this, for they had yet to find the missing children, and he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the devotion of a man he was playing for information.

Now, four months after they agreed to go slow, he slept on the right side of Crowne's bed, which had become his side, watching the snow gently fall outside the window of the new house Crowne had purchased. The mission had far surpassed the expected wait time, as Christmas was quickly approaching, and Crowne had made comments of spending it at Wayne mannor.

He had seen a shopping list with Bruce, Jason, Damian, and even Alfred's names on Crowne's desk, and a couple of gift ideas were written next to them. Because he knew that to Dick, they were his family, and he wanted to make a good impression on them.

The mission had begun in spring, but Dick couldn't find a way to untangle himself from Crowne. He had been heavily involved in the gym Crowne was setting up with Drake, seeing that he adored possibly being a gymnastics teacher more than he ever planned.

Bruce occasionally commented that he shouldn't let himself be swept away by the lie.

He knew the truth.

This domestic bliss he was spending with Crowne was an illusion. It was bound to burst the day they found what they were looking for, but by the gods, Dick honestly thought they were wrong.

They had to be.

Crowne's mysterious rise to power, extortionary science, brilliant business mind, and unexplained funds all pointed to darker, evil intentions.

But Danny? The man's eyes soften by children's laughter. He made silly puns when he wanted to cheer up Dick. He curled around Dick, holding him through nightmares and never asking what they were about.

Danny stepped up for Tim Drake and gave him a home when all signs clearly pointed to the Drakes neglecting their son. Danny was the one who anonymously paid off medical debt, asking nothing in return, not even acknowledgment. Danny was the one who could name all the stars in the sky, yet looked sad when staring upwards.

Danny was the one Dick was in love with, but Danny was also Crowne, and the Bats were gunning to lock him up for the rest of his life.

It tore him to pieces, but Dick pushed himself out of the warm bed. He patted his way to the boxes that still needed to be unpacked. He was the one to convince Danny to buy a house outside the city, knowing the man wouldn't bother to pack appropriately.

This meant he would likely carelessly throw evidence into random boxes—the evidence he needed to finally put him away.

He looked over his shoulder to ensure the other was still sleeping before going through the items. He went through the first five without finding anything, angry at himself for feeling relief until he came across the last box.

Inside were notebooks.

Some date back to the first year Danny was adopted by the Crownes. There were systematic experiments and notes on the portal making, but the worst of all were the files.

Files of the street kids he had moved. With each page turned, Dick found profiles of the kids, where they were found, what they were going through, how they were taken, and where they were placed. There were even several phone numbers of social workers who helped him move the kids about.

A leger of the trafficking ring. All were written in Danny's handwriting. It was a lie, Dick knew, but it was still devastating to realize how evil the darkness within Crowne indeed was.

The very last thing in the box was an engraved ring with Richard Grason on the inside, sitting inside an elegant ring box.

Dick felt sick as he reached up to his earpiece pressing it three times. Bruce picked up with a soft greeting that quickly turned to worry when Dicked choked out through his tears.

"We got him."

#dcxdpdabbles #the adoptive son #Part 5 #Angst #Dick and Danny were falling in love #They spent almost a full year togther #Danny wasn't going to propose until a year latter but he saw Dick as his forever #Now the Bats got what they wanted

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emsvertigo · 2 months

Text

Be My Angel ⋆·˚ ༘ *

"holding on to you, holding on to me, holding on tight 'till my love is crossed."

summary & genre — fluff. a slow morning wake up with paul, perhaps it'll bring confessions of love.

warnings — mentions of pregnancy, sexual references, brief descriptions of death & injury, me being in love with paul

character & pairings — paul atreides x fem!reader

word count — 2.4k

a/n — this is a bit of a shorter fic than the others I'm planning as i'm trying to get back into the swing of writing after so long! i couldn't resist writing this about paul as i have fallen back in love with one of my favourite characters. i hope you all enjoy! <3

find my masterlist here!

˚ · • . ° .

You awoke to his fingertips drifting their way across your frame, peppering the freckles and moles on your skin with smooth motions. His calloused fingers were careful not to apply heavy pressure, ghosting along your body, in fear of disturbing your slumber, something he had subconsciously accomplished.

The sunlight was trickling through the sheer curtains, material floating in the warm breeze that the Arrakis air had blessed you with. Shimmers of gold danced their way into the cascade of blankets that shrouded the two intertwined bodies in a covering of comfort. The tangled mess of limbs beneath the protective silk sheets radiated warmth, something that was in plentiful supply in the desert world. The bustle of groups in the courtyard below the haven where you rested began to rise in volume as your ears adapted to the surroundings.

You moaned sincerely, exhaling for as long as your lungs would psychically allow without a cough erupting from your throat. Your eyes slowly open in a drunkenly sleepy state, the sunlight from outside temporarily overwhelming your perception of the world for a moment, squeezing your eyes shut while your body lets out a whine of a yawn. You stirred, flushing your hips and rear against the build behind you, Paul breathed deeply in response sending tingles up your neck and into your thoughts.

His warm hands continued their travels around your body, wrapping their way around your shoulders to hold you close. You found your lips turning in a delirious smile, as you imagined the drowsy figure of devotion behind you, nestled against your warmth and the pillows behind him. Your back pressed into his chest as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, a careful whisper falling from his lips; “I did not mean to wake you.”

He tenderly planted a kiss against the skin that lay there, softly rubbing his cheek against the blemishes decorated along your skin, soaking in your very human spirit. You feel the curve of his jaw drift along your nape as his gentle, slow, kisses make their way along your neck, breathing in every inch of your scent he could take. You moaned in response, opening your eyes totally this time, your body used to the sudden shock of being alive.

“I’m glad you did.” You responded, your voice still groggy, clinging to the last linger of your immobile delicate state. You lay, basking in the calmness that enveloped your being, gently sneaking one of your hands along the front of your nightgown, careful not to disturb Paul’s peaceful position, as you brought a finger up to itch at your eye. His warm breath hummed into your neck in response, your heartbeat aching for him once more. A breath fell from your lips as he held you tightly, taking in the moment as he merged your bodies together into one tenderness engulfed by his power and strength. You savoured the moment like a sip of sweet wine after a hectic meeting, swirling the droplets of love like rivers of drink.

The room around you bathed in your tranquillity. You found your legs moving with your newfound sense of cognition, intertwined in your lover’s frame. The pools of light from the arched windows gushed down the side of the windowsill, soaking the bed and the corner of the room in a stunning haze of molten gold, almost blurry from the waves of blistering heat. The light reflected beautifully off the bed frame, dripping down the carved animal shapes etched within the golden slab, blinding your gaze as your eyelids fluttered. You breathed in, a wave of zesty air running through your nostrils, cleansing the inner workings of your mind with the very soul of the planet.

As you took your sudden breath, you felt Paul's hold shift beneath you under the weight of your slight movement. You seized the moment, taking advantage of his sudden loose grip, adjusting your position and surrendering the window for a better more perfect view. Paul followed your movements as if you were conjoined in thought, his strong arms instinctively enveloping your back, holding you close against his chest in a protective embrace, even though there were no instantaneous threats nearby. You felt his heartbeat slow against your chest, steady and reassuring, his bare skin shining in the light.

As you now faced him, you couldn't help the smile that thrived on your lips, taking in the sight of your betrothed so close. The boy you once knew had transformed into a man before your eyes, a thought which made your heart ache in the face of growing up, leaving adolescence behind. His jawline was more defined, leaving pudgyness behind him, cheekbones higher and his features so handsome and distinguished. A real Duke's son. You felt a sudden rush of rich emotion as your hand traced its fingertips along the side of his jaw, marvelling at how he had grown and changed. His eyes quivered with the sudden light pressure of your skin against his bones.

“Hello.” You beamed softly, his features soaked in the glitter of gold, sparkling along his face and drooping down his perfect nose. The side of his lips began to upturn with a small smile, a flash of his crooked teeth blessing your vision for the smallest second before they were covered by his beautifully pink lips. His eyebrows furrowed as he gazed your way, eyelids almost fighting to stay open, threatening to close because of your close proximity. His hair, messier than usual, fell in delicate strands around his face, framing the perfect bone structure laying there, his cheeks hugging the curls close to his flushed skin.

“Hi.” He breathed, the air fanning across your face as he left a short kiss on your nose, lingering for a moment longer than needed before retreating back to face you. Your heart fluttered, still slightly dozy, but ever so alert for your man. Your special, special, man.

The relationship between you two hadn't sprung up overnight, it had been a cocktail of emotions dancing in the embers of a powerful childhood friendship. However, every subject, noble, royal, or warrior thought the former, that your relationship had been a strategised plan by two houses in desperate need of strength. The concerns of your emotions had been thrown in a heap in favour of their taled hearsay, sheltering your true desires for one other behind a mask of misleading plot and scheme.

From the moment you had first met Paul, soft cheeks that burned deep crimson, green eyes that shone like emeralds in inquiring and thoughtful gaze, baby fat still hanging from his frame, you had known he would be yours. You had taken his hand, being the older of the duo, and whisked him through the castle grounds in which your residence was kept. You documented how he had blushed when your finger outlined his hand when trying to imitate your mother's palm reading practices, thinking it hilarious when he had goggled at you in disbelief when you had told him his death was nigh, throwing your head back, laughing at your own foolishness. You didn't know it then, too sheltered by the shadows of youth and innocence to understand the burning ache that overpowered your every meeting with the delicate boy.

Although caught in the memory, you pondered how these feelings had never been addressed between the two of you. Only acted upon in burning frenzies, unmarried and improper. The naked warmth laying beside you, arms holding you close, was a byproduct of one of these moments. Parents and advisers oblivious to the intense lust you two harboured for one other.

“Did you sleep well?” He pondered, retreating to face you, his eyes darting from eye to eye unable to focus on one, desperate to take in all your features at once. The shimmering green of his eyes almost opaque in the light, shining a shade of hazel into the retinas.

“I did.” You smiled, recollecting the dream that flooded your mind when nestled in between the pillows and Paul’s figure. How real it had felt, “I dreamt of you.”

He hummed in response, as your hands continued their journey along his beautiful jaw, the stubble of manhood ghosting over your fingers as a reminder of his age. The dream had been simple, a premonition, a glimpse into the future of you and your sweet boy.

The sand beneath your feet had glimmered, Spice dancing over the sunburnt dune in which you had been perched. Paul looked different, older, wiser, almost an image of his father, standing proud and bold against the Arrakis rays. His frame was larger as if he had started taking his role as sole heir to his house's name seriously, the unquestionable probability that his father may not be alive forever finally sinking into his mind. He wore a Fremen stillsuit, fitting him like a glove and hugging his newfound larger muscles in a promiscuous yet savage way. Your hands had interlocked as you looked out into the vast desert, your body also adorning a suit of a similar nature, modified presumably by Paul to fit your frame and protect your body's water, storing it for later consumption. A small tent village was buried in the sandy dip below you both, lights and laughter emulating in the dying sun.

When your fingers had interlocked Paul turned to face you, the difference in his features striking you. His hair was longer, as though it hadn't been cut for a few months. The curls still framed his face, which was now older and worn, blemishes patterning the skin from work in the daylight, the planet consuming his once delicate and prince-like qualities. Small wrinkles lined his face, and his mouth turned up in a small treasuring gin, the corners of his eyes creasing in a look of eternal gratitude. But his eyes.

Oh, his eyes. Plunged into the deepest pool of oceanic blue, the colour reaching all across the sclera of his optics, swimming in his iris like a monumental wave on Caladan. A trademark of the Fremen, indigenous people of Arrakis, a sign that he, even you both, had been in their company for a period. He had drawn you in for a kiss, closing his eyes and pressing your lips together softly. One of his hands had gradually reached down the front of your suit, landing carefully on your stomach as if you may break of fragility.

"How is she?" He had whispered, the tube in his nose directing filtered air into his lungs, a massive smile now plastered across his face. You looked down to the small bump in your suit, peaking out in a reminder that you were his forever, and your family was about to start growing.

At this sentence you had awoken, your precious lover’s hands roaming around your arms and as you faced him now, you allowed yourself to smile, a wide preposterous smile.

"Why are you grinning?" He pondered, his hands rubbing along your back. "Was the dream that good, perhaps a premonition?"

A sudden urge ravaged through your body at the sight of him, the gentle sound of his voice. Perhaps the dream had made you hormonal, the thought of pregnancy clouding your judgement in a flash of beautiful white light. Your heart soured, the beating now frantic in your ears, tiredness dripping from your brain as it filtered its way out of your consciousness. For the first time in what felt like years, you were thinking clearly. The flash of the tomorrow, speeding through time at a pace unimaginable to those lacking your incredible power, the Bene Gesserit bloodline rushing through your veins, a path which you could have easily chosen, but instead preferred your heart. The adoration you harboured for this young man, his hair messy, was enough to make your sanity blank.

"I love you." The confession dripped from your lips, carrying the weight of an over decade-long friendship shattering with it. Most would ponder, question, how the friendship was not ruined when Paul first carried you to his room, your arms wrapped around his neck as you planted small drunk kisses against his sweaty skin. The breathless gasps and tender touches could not be shared between friends, mere friends did not know what it felt like to bed each other, bound eternally by an action you frantically clasped when you were mere late teenagers. How, when he came of age, you found yourself laying in these very sheets, starkly bare before his lean figure.

The words hung in the air the two of you shared, your heart beating tighter and quicker than it ever had before, thumping in the back of your mind as you impatiently awaited his reaction. Yet, Paul did not flinch, did not squirm when the three words left your breath in a tiny whisper, barely audible. His eyes maintained their movements between your two visions, still unable and frustrated that he could not drink your very body immediately, he believed it would be more deadly than the Water of Life, it would destroy his very being from the inside out with the amount of admiration he felt within his gut.

He brought his figure forward, interlocking his lips with yours, needy for your taste against his tongue. Your hands scratched down the side of his cheeks, trying your hardest to pull, engulf, him in your worship. You were suddenly reminded of your premonition, the blink into the future, his lips feeling the same as they would then. The thing that would return the man with you now to you at any moment, his love returned you to your shared youth, his palm against your hand as you read his future. But now you saw it, you saw it oh so clearly, and his mortal peril was your last concern when you had him so vulnerable, only yours until the stars exploded into supernova and the planet's moons crashed into the sands.

When he pulled away, his hands retracted from your back to cup your cheeks, running his thumb along the underside of your eye, removing a piece of sleep under his tender grasp. As your proximity caused your breaths to mingle, he answered your statement, the words dripping like saccharine from his tongue. Your sweet boy.

"I love you."

˚ · • . ° .

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throwaway-yandere · 6 months

Text

𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 (Yandere!Neuvillette/Reader)

a/n: this was inspired by my favorite childhood TV show, House MD & Oedipus Rex. The plot was supposed to be something else but dingleaf happened one 4AM ago. Anyways, welcome to our first Throwaway-Thursday this End of Year Blues!!!

Unreliable Synopsis: Everyone held their breath when they heard ex-defense attorney (Y/n) say these words: "Your Honor, I would like to challenge Champion Duelist Clorinde to clear my charges."

CW: yandere themes, reader has so much spite I can fry an egg, hurt/NO COMFORT. Please prioritize your mental health if these CWs are triggering to you. (Note: The plot happens a month before the Fontaine AQ, so he doesn't know about what happened to Vautrin.)

“Why the pale expression? Has the trial last week caused you tremendous pain?”

"Such pallor is caused by pity, not grief.” Neuvilette made his fragile excuse to reassure Furina, but the words did not reach her ears. The ringing of raindrops outside was louder, more convincing. Fontaine is vexed with storms near-daily. The sad verdant earth will soon sponge and dry the hydro dragon’s tears as always, but every man hopes they won’t drown first.

At first, he was convinced what he harbored was pity. For the pessimists, Fontaine is a nation where virtuous pagans paraded themselves as rich and devoted ran amok. Absolute justice is a cartoonish ideal– lack of entertainment is the death sentence.

Lady Furina was starting to believe he lives his life by a certain suspect’s final envoi:

Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.

"Are you insane?!" Navia held your shoulders, eyes wide.

This was the worst thing you could ever do to your best friend.

"Maybe I am." You told her, chuckling slightly as your thumbs caressed the nerves behind her palms. Navia, as intimidating as her occupation was, never once gripped you this hard.

You wish you could hug her fully.

But these prison bars are holding you back.

"Can you blame me, Nav?"

"Don't." She glared. "Don't do this."

Navia trembled.

"Please, don't follow Dad..."

The blonde woman was reduced to a young, hopeless girl. You saw a reflection of the small Navia who lost Callas, and that short glimpse was stretched into a whole tragic spectacle.

"I'm begging you, (Y/n). Please… d-don't go away. Don't leave me too…"

This was the cruelest you've ever been to someone you love.

But also the kindest you've been to yourself.

"There's nothing else I can do, Nav."

"W-We can always do something! There must be a way!" She screamed gutturally. "We'll find a way to make that Chief Justice pay instead. If there's a will—"

"But there's none. There is no will in me left."

"Then hold on to mine, for Archon's sake! Depend on me!"

"What for? We both lack the means to grasp our Archon's hand." You shook your head, grinning without life.

You wiped the tears off her cheeks. In a small fraction of time, you trembled, showing a bit of soul.

"Our Goddess has abandoned me. Everyone and everything but you had." You said. "Dear Navia, don't make this harder for yourself. Let me go."

"(Y/n)..."

Her grip relaxed.

Navia finally let go.

But that was not the scene's last word.

Clorinde sprinted towards your cell, seething in electric rage. Navia stepped back. Their relationship might be less than cordial, but Clorinde was also your friend.

And after all these years of friendship, she never would've guessed you would elicit such melancholic frustration within her.

She knows she'll come out of this duel victorious.

She knows if she doesn't say a word, she'll be the one to bury you six feet under.

Clorinde's fists clenched and her breathing grew harsh and difficult, unable to accept your inhumane gaze.

"Is this your solution, (Y/n)?"

From the tone of her voice, this would not be a pleasant conversation. One wrong word, and you'll see a side of the Champion Duelist not even her court opponents knew.

You nodded.

"Yes."

"State your reason."

"Because this is the only way I'll die with dignity."

…

"Die… with dignity?"

Something inside her cracked.

"Yes." You nodded again, becoming uncertain. "At least with this, there would be something Neuvillette cannot decide for me. And (Y/n) (L/n) chooses a dignified death."

“DEATH HAS NO DIGNITY!!!”

You and Navia flinched at the sudden sound.

Clorinde screamed, feeling her eyes burn. Her veins became more prominent in her face and her skin reddish. The sheer force of her scream was enough to bring your full attention to her, yet to the duelist, her uncharacteristic outburst meant nothing.

“DEATH WILL ALWAYS BE UGLY!!! DEATH– DEATH IS NEVER BEAUTIFUL!!! IT IS ALWAYS SINISTER— LOATHSOME AND VILE.”

"Clor—"

She pulled you by your collar.

“There– there is only dignity in living.” She trembled, casting her gaze down. “You can live with dignity– but you can’t die with it.”

For a while, only her unsteady breathing could be heard.

Clorinde eventually calmed down, her heavy sighs and frantic pants slowing as the red hue of her face somewhat returned to its usual pale complexion. She couldn’t afford a second more to process her growing grief.

"Find another duelist."

As a successor to the Marechaussee Hunters, there's no one else you need but her.

"But I want you."

"(Y/n)."

"You've always been my idol, Clorinde." You told her solemnly. "I always thought you at least made my clients have a clean death under your blade."

Clorinde paused.

That, she cannot deny.

She did spare mercy to the people you defended. But she doesn't understand how you fail to comprehend why she couldn't bear to bring herself to enact the same reprieve for you.

"Retrieve your gloves. I don't and I won't accept your challenge." Clorinde closed her eyes. "Live your days in the Fortress instead. Death is not the solution."

You laughed. As if you'd let yourself be under Wriothesley's guidance when you can smell from miles away that he's one of Neuvillette's lap dogs.

"Isn't this suffering enough?" You spoke with a casual lack of self-preservation. "I don't want to live under Neuvillette's scrutinizing eyes. Not anymore."

You looked up.

That empty smile was no longer on your face.

And that was somehow more frightening than it should be.

"So do your job as a champion and end it all, just like what you've done to Uncle Callas and the others."

Your last conversation with the Duke was not as memorable as when he caught you spiking the Iudex’s cup, yet you’d give his personality credit where it is due. His was certainly a memorable one.

Wriothesley stood a few steps away from the bars while you purposefully cornered yourself. The distance was noticeable. It was clear that neither of you was close to each other. This was mere formality brought about by one of your should’ve-been victims.

“So, you sure don’t want to be roommates?” Wriothesley asked. "Or you know, see old friends and family down there?"

"I'd rather not disappoint them with my presence."

“So, you're a coward?" He asked, intending to provoke you.

"Maybe?" you answered, mimicking his tone. "Wouldn't know. Last time I checked, I was an honorable defense attorney. But suddenly, the Iudex had a change of heart."

"Neuvillette didn't have a change of heart. You are a terrorist."

You laughed sardonically, "suppose so."

You both weren't entirely wrong. Friends and foe alike know you've turned to rebellion after the justice system had failed you repeatedly. Neuvillette's lovestruck fixation was merely the final straw.

“You’re walking on a death sentence.”

“No shit,” you clicked your tongue and continued. “What else do you think this is for?”

“The Iudex was convinced that you’re acting out because you had a guilty conscience, and he’s very willing to drop those charges and forgive you.”

“Guilty conscience?! HA!!!” You laughed. “As if I felt guilty for what I’ve done. If anything, I’m rejoicing.”

Wriothesley smirked, but it faded quickly.

“I told him the same, but then he says if that were true, you’re probably just masking it to play the villain’s part.”

“Do you believe every word he says?”

“No,” Wriothesley did not hesitate to answer. “I know a criminal when I see one. And I also know when a criminal can get away with their mess.”

“The jury thinks otherwise– the oratrice cannot be wrong.” You snickered. “I’m as guilty as they come, hands filled with arsenic and all.”

"You can still get out of this. Sure, you'll get a stern talking-to— a lecture on the virtue of honor and respect. But in the end, he'd give you a second chance. He's still hoping that a mutual agreement will arise in the end."

You expressed your disinterest with a droopy-eyed “Blah, blah, blah…”

Wriothesley frowned.

“You’ll make him depressed.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“And you think I care? Fontaine can flood next month. Just as long as I die tomorrow it’s none of my business.”

…

“Well, it’s your call,” Wriothesley said. “If you’re willing to throw your life away like that, then you probably wouldn’t survive a week underwater.”

He wrapped a hand around one of the bars.

“You know, (Y/n),” the Duke looked at you dead in the eye. “Marriage with the Iudex isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

You laughed.

“What makes you say that?” You smiled through gritted teeth. “Are you his second spouse?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “You could’ve just lived a bit more silently.”

You glared.

“Are you saying I should live like a caged bird? That I should accept that our system here is rigged?”

“I’m saying you should’ve been more grateful with what you have.”

You scoffed.

“Wow.”

An awkward silence followed after. It wasn’t as if a quip was hard to form– but the historical context behind whom you were speaking to made weighing empathy over spite a challenge. You knew of his past, his name or lack thereof, and quiet allegiance to Neuvillette. Sigewinne had made sure you knew of it to glorify the adoptive “father” of the Melusines. Wriothesley owes him his survival.

But "Wriothesley" of all people should've known that those who know morbid truths cannot be silenced forever.

And Neuvillette owes you a peaceful death.

… The Duke sighed, noticing that his admiration for the Iudex did not align with his current morals.

“We’ll forever agree to disagree on this, won’t we?” He asked.

“Hopefully not forever, I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”

Wriothesley chuckled at your morbid joke. But before he could walk away with a less-than-heavy heart, you shifted from your corner.

“Hey, Wriothesley?”

He turned to look at you– your hand specifically.

It’s a letter.

“Mind handing these to the authorities?”

Wriothesley’s eyes widened.

“Is that–”

“It’s a written confession,” you chuckled. “Don’t ask me how I got a pen and paper. I know that damn bastard forbids anyone to lend me anything that’ll help me write a final will. Gotta say, at least his etiquette lessons had some use. At least my last words are in pretty cursive.”

He didn’t say another word.

…

The Duke left the room, empty-handed.

…

No one wants to see the Iudex more heartbroken than he already is now.

The interrogation room was small, but not to the point that there was a minimal budget for its construction. You sat on one end behind the glass divider after one of the guards took your letter. There were only plain walls and two lightbulbs on the ceiling. At the center of the room is a table with two chairs on either side, no pen or paper.

Nothing but an empty table.

But the quiet comfort was gone when the man of the hour closed the door behind him. As the ticking of the clock becomes more softer, the two individuals would be forced to sit for the duration of this “interrogation.”

It was none other than your husband, the Iudex, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, and the bane of your existence.

Monsieur Neuvillette.

His back was straight; his eyes, “stern” and focused. He clasped his hands together, fingers intertwined. His gaze searched for something— regret, remorse, anything that could make the upcoming nightmare disappear.

Neuvillette's voice was “calm” and “collected.”

But you didn’t buy it. Not with his messy hair, his forlorn look, his frown. You rarely saw him cry. You had a gut feeling he hides it by standing amidst heavy rain, but this time the redness of his eyes and puffiness of his cheeks says it all.

It’s a heavy downpour outside.

He can’t be bothered to hide his tears from the public eye anymore.

"In your own words, please explain why you had attempted to poison me."

Your eyes lit up. He immediately wished he could take those words back.

So, he’s still in denial. Neuvillette seriously didn’t think you wrote the letter. He probably didn’t think it was your handwriting. It was almost insulting.

“Oh, Monsieur! You are as generous as they say, finally letting your spouse speak for themselves!” You grinned sarcastically. “And they say chivalry is dead! DEAD!!!”

He cringed at your pointed enthusiasm.

You recount the day you attempted to murder him, describing how you had slipped the poison into his favorite cup. How you didn’t really care to hope it wouldn’t be noticed since what mattered more to you was his death over your own freedom. The more detailed you became, the more it suffocated him.

“But, as you can see, you’re alive and I am behind this glass window,” you tapped the divider. “Away from you, at last.”

He bit his lip.

“(Y/n)—”

“I hate you.”

He breathed in shakily.

“I know.”

“And yet you still fell for it.” Your voice suddenly softened.

“Why?” You continued. “Why did you believe my act for the past month? I know you had your suspicions, so why? You knew I was just playing along to get your guard down– to act like some loving housewife so I can find the opportunity to smother you with a pillow– so… why?”

“Maybe…”

Neuvillette took a deep breath.

“Maybe it’s because dying by your hands would be a dignified way to go.”

Your eyes widened. The air turned to glue. Breathing became a challenge.

He looked up, meeting your gaze. Monsieur Neuvillette was serious. No shifting position can make you feel comfortable.

Because Neuvillette in his most sincere form of speech is the most brutal.

“I just wished to be loved by y-you,” his voice cracked. “Even for a moment, even for a lie, I would die to know I was loved by you.”

His face crumpled, tears flowing freely. He reached a hand out against the glass window, his palm marking the divider. Neuvillette was breathing erratically, desperate to hold you. The pain in his chest was getting heavier, much like the rain outside. You almost couldn’t hear him from all the background noise, and you wished that was what happened.

This was the man who took your clients' happiness. The man who took Uncle Callas away with his rationale. The reason for your unhappiness.

And yet, you couldn't think of any other person who would love you as much as he does.

“Y-You know me for who I-I am,” he gasped out. “I am but a weak and beaten down man w-who couldn’t express himself like a human being. Y-You were there, you comforted me with not a smile, an umbrella, or thoughtless words of encouragement— you accepted me for who I was with a warm embrace.”

You hated it.

You hate how your heart ached for the man that made your life a living hell.

“I was the leader of the Revolution and I needed intel against you, nothing more.” You spat. This time, you were the least convincing one. “It was an act of kindness I shouldn’t have done.”

“Yet it has helped me more than you had accounted for.”

“And never before have I ever regretted playing savior.”

“I was merely attempting to reform your life,” Neuvillette breathlessly spoke. “I wished to set you on the right path. You were a gifted individual with great connections. Your peers had high expectations of you. For you to throw that away for nonsense activism— no— terrorism is heartbreaking. And I—”

Neuvillette gulped.

“I didn’t want to face you on the other side of the courtroom.”

You laughed.

“Some things are just fated to happen,” you said. “An old astrologist told me that. She told me I was bound to get myself in deep legal trouble. Growing up, I figured it might as well be a cause worth doing if it’ll lead me to that path eventually. Why else did I become a defense attorney in such a hellishly political land?”

He trembled, tears falling at a faster rate.

You almost wanted to reach out and wipe those tears away.

Almost.

“Must you treat your life as though it is disposable?” Neuvillette asked, choking slightly. “Why are you…”

You digressed. “You’re not going to retract those charges are you?”

“I did.”

You frowned.

“But Lady Furina would not allow it,” he shook, frustrated. “She found out about your past, your hatred for her so-called incompetences and published lese-majestes.”

“Good for her, good for her.”

Neuvillette’s hand slowly slid down.

“I can’t… I cannot watch this…”

You felt a surge of confidence, for Neuvillette was indeed devoid of hope. You've never seen him with his head hung low. What went through Neuvillette's mind remained uncertain. Perhaps, just a small piece of him knew you could never be his. Perhaps he knew that you were destined for a doomed fate.

But it doesn't matter.

All that mattered was that you were free.

That was a month ago.

The rain had been going on nonstop for thirty days, and the Hydro Archon had every right to worry.

“I can’t sleep…” Neuvillette thought he spoke out loud, but it was just a whisper. He’s growing weak, his sleep deprivation catching up to him.

“Then come lay your head down,” she yawned slightly, fanning her breath. “Such heavy thoughts need a place to rest.”

“An irresistible offer,” Neuvillette mused humorlessly. “But I must decline.”

“Oh Neuvillette, when will you relax from this role you carry?” The archon spoke rhetorically.

Neuvillette chuckled sadly.

The heavy downpour wouldn’t stop.

Perhaps…

Perhaps when the day comes and he is stripped of dignity.

Maybe then, he’ll have his rest.

Neuvillette had already forgotten why he was crying that fateful day. But in those memories, he recalls he was callow and unformed. Was it due to an unfavorable trial? The problem evades him. His recollection remains only in how the people reacted around him. Many asked if he was okay and he'd reply with a simple "I'm fine". And he was, until he could no longer convince himself with that lie. He was certain he was about to dip his toes in another cycle of nihilism.

And then you came.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?”

The rain was pouring out in the cemetery. You were there; your presence questionable. He knew that you arrived intending to probe whether or not he was a sovereign dragon, but he gave you the nod of acknowledgment.

“Greetings, Mx. (Y/n),” he answered, “I trust you’ve been well? Is there a person whom you’re visiting?”

He asked in sheer politeness despite knowing your motivations.

“...”

You frowned.

“How long?”

“Pardon?”

“How long have you been carrying that loneliness, Monsieur?” You asked, voice louder. “How long?”

His lip quivered.

“Centuries, perhaps,” the Iudex thought he could pass it off as a light joke to catch you off-guard, but it came off as too sincere. “I do not keep track.”

You cautiously and awkwardly approached Neuvillette, and without a word, wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace.

Just like what Uncle Callas had done for you before.

Your existence here was anathema and your words were seditious. His initial reaction was to resist because he knew you were just like Vautrin. He knew you were secretly seeking vengeance because the oratrice unfavorably judged numerous friends and family.

But he needed it. He needed this badly.

It was then that the Iudex decided that he needed you. That he will keep you.

Neuvillette cannot handle another Vautrin— he can't handle another Carole. So, he'll do it right this time. He'll keep you safe, from your illegal associations and even from yourself.

And it was a selfish yet necessary need.

A lump formed in his throat as a tear fell, trickling down his cheek slowly. He allowed himself to melt in your hug, trembling.

“You’re going to need all the hugs you can get if you’re planning to stay as Iudex for centuries more,” you whispered. “You’re resilient, but in this world, that solitary resilience won’t be enough, won’t it?”

Unable to maintain his stoic facade any longer, Neuvillette gripped you tighter in that embrace, his vulnerability finally resurfacing physically rather than Fontaine's rains. Surprised by his sudden tirade of sobs, you embraced him with all the warmth you could muster. At that moment, you had an epiphany. Despite the enmity of their positions, they were the same. Both of you were victims of a nation that demanded more in your assigned roles than you could bear.

“If you'd let me, I'll be the person you’d come to if you ever need a hug.” You weren’t sure if you said it as a devious plan or an act of empathy. “I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”

You've made yourself important to him now.

Neuvillette cannot lose you too.

As he clung to the solace you inadvertently provided, you can't help but wish you never extended that small comfort months later. Every inch given could be exploited, and when you offered him a shred of empathy, he had seized it and turned it into a mile-long advantage. The vulnerability shared in that hug was the dangerous crack in the sword you've worked so hard to maintain.

And so, when the time came you faced Champion Duelist Clorinde with it, the gaps broke the sword completely and with its death came soon the end of your life.

She was right. There is no dignity in dying with a broken hilt.

But there was peace.

And as much as you hated Neuvillette, you wish he’d have it too.

"I've made it this far, and all I've ever done was in accordance with what fate and others wanted of me. In my demise, let me do something for myself." “After all, I’ve learned from watching Uncle Callas when he fought Champion Duelist Clorinde— an encounter I’ll surely experience in the next few days— that there is beauty in the end. In his last moments, my much younger self saw what expression he wore.” “He was content. The most content I had ever seen in someone's face.” “It was then that I had an epiphany. One that I hope my “husband” Neuvillette will remember, and I care not if it will bring him comfort or pain.” “What I learned was simple:” “Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.”

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added on the other three fics!): @ayadikreino @kireeen, @pebblemacaroon, @thelostpanta, @vennnnn-diagram, @sagekun, @vadelma-yatta, @detectivei @sugarplumcutiepie @sunhareskies @dxprived4-starboys @unloadingdata @harmonysanreads (amen.) @atomicsoulhumanspy @sangoqueenkoko @pix-stuff @dilucragnidvr

#ansy-writes #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere male #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #yandere #male yandere #yanderecore #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere scenarios

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