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arcielee · 5 months

Text

Hae iksā

Summary: Aemond has been tasked to find himself a wife. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 3.8k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, grinding, p in v, overstimulation, loss of virginity implied, fat phobic comments are made and a Lannister acts like a cunt. Author's Note: Hey everyone! This story is based on this request:

And I took inspiration from the prompt from @writings-of-a-hufflepuff 💜 Thank you so much to my beloved beta reader @annikin-im-panicin for your insight, for your help, Ilysm 💜 Valyrian translations: Hae iksā is as you are, Sȳz riña is good girl 😈 Dividers by @saradika 💜

You never expected to catch the eye of Prince Aemond Targaryen, much less be wrapped in his arms as you both glided across the polished dance floor. It was a moment that came from the fairy tales with how he swept you away with his graceful lead.

It felt surreal to think how this was the very same prince whose notoriety began with the first bloodshed that inevitably threw the realm into civil war, and how it solidified when he brought it all to an end with his victory in what was now known as the Battle Above Gods Eye. He continued his regency until his brother, King Aegon II, had healed enough to ascend the Iron Throne once again.

The king decreed that the title Protector of the Realm remain seeded to Aemond, a new namesake that shadowed the last whispers of kinslayer. With his heroism now renowned, and ballads created to commemorate his bravery, it was the king who suggested that Aemond continue his bloodline.

There was the announcement of a grandiose festivity which began to breathe life back into Westeros’ economy, with ravens sent to every noble house, extending an invitation to every eligible noble lady.

This was how you came to King’s Landing.

It was the possibility of any bloodline to knit within the Targaryen dynasty that your father could not deny, and you were soon boarded onto a ship to Lannisport, taking a carriage with your septa to follow the Goldroad to the capital, your House flag and its embroidered kraken whipping in the air.

With your travels, your septa reiterated your purpose, an almost daily affirmation repeated, but your mind was also aware of all the ladies that would be in attendance and the probability of a moment alone with the prince was… well, not something that you would hold your breath for.

In truth, you were actually excited to visit the capital, the opportunity to meet and befriend the other noble ladies, though this optimism soon soured after your arrival. Road wearied, you were ushered by your septa and handmaidens assigned, washed and dressed in one of the many gowns stitched for this occasion: a bodice tightened to flatten your soft stomach and your chest pressed up for display. Though your whines were ignored as the corset strings were pulled, you felt rejuvenated, albeit breathless, when you were finally escorted to meet with the bevy of nobility from every kingdom, dressed in their finery and their murmured pleasantries.

At first you were aglow with the socializing prospect, though your excitement withered when you realized the quiet that washed over, the cruel curl of their lips as their eyes narrowed, their brows raised in mockery. Any attempt you made at conversing was met with an echo of patronizing response, but it was the hurtful comment of the Lady Lannister who boldly spoke, “I suppose even a swine wrapped in silk is allowed their chance,” that made you excuse yourself, slipping away to wander the corridors until you found an ornate oak doors propped open, leading into the athenaeum.

Here you found your salvation amongst the rows of shelving, your unshed tears drying while your fingertips brushed over the leatherbound spines.

“Have I been found?”

It was as if your soul ripped away from your body, flooded with the burning realization that you were not alone.

Prince Aemond Targaryen was tucked away in a window seat, a book resting on his lap. Though his expression remained severe, his tone did not indicate if truly was annoyed with your presence. Instead, he watched you, his lavender eye flitting with curiosity, perhaps, while his sapphire stone reflected in the sunlight that poured through the bay window.

“Forgive me, I had only wished for a moment alone before I was paraded as a prize to be won…”

This made you laugh, your hand quick to clamp over your mouth to muffle the sound, and you would have sworn you saw the flicker of amusement wash over his sharp features. “My apologies, your grace, I had not meant to impose,” and you blushed from his steady gaze. “I also am hoping for some solace with a good book, though I find myself on which to choose with this selection at hand…”

What you had not expected was Aemond pushing to stand up, towering over your steps as he took it upon himself to walk you up and down the shelving, taking the time to point out his personal favorites and listening when you spotted your own. When you finally settled on Iron and Rubies, you noticed his brow knit with his question. “Warrior women?”

“I must learn if I am expected to survive this–” and you paused on the word choice, bevy of bitches, held back by your good propriety, caged behind your teeth, and instead you chose to say, “–these festivities being held in your honor.”

The prince was watching you carefully as if he did not believe your words, but he did not press and instead offered a smile. It was warm, it was genuine, and you tucked this moment away in the pages of the book in your hands.

But moments like these would repeat itself through the sennight, with your days finding its repetition: it began with a parade of skirts that flounced to capture the attention of Prince Aemond, with their indifference towards you allowing you to slip away and return to the library.

Every day you found him awaiting you, a question poised on his lips about your opinions on the book you were reading, or sharing his complaints of the tasteless tactics shown by the ladies in attendance. You saw the loneliness that haunted the severity of his expression held, like a mask worn to keep everyone at bay; there was a pain hinted with the little he would share when you two were alone, and his confidence in you made your heart soar.

You could not help but cherish this time shared, your wit striving to hear his laughter which would weave into your heart, this intimacy writing itself in the marrow of your bones. You already knew you would revisit these memories when you grew old and gray, all too aware that the prince would still be expected to take a wife by the end of the week.

It soon came to the final night and his grace, King Aegon, had called for two sets of minstrels to be rotated for a continuous play of jovial melodies that the guests could dance too. The night swelled with the clash of instruments resonating through the arched ceiling, of laughter and the clinking of crockery as every mouth partook in the feast that took a month to prepare.

When you arrived, you were nearly ambushed by the very same Lady Lannister, pulling at your arm, almost pinching at the flesh shown past your quarter sleeve as she pulled you aside. “I am aware of your dalliance with the prince, Lady Greyjoy,” she began with a tone that struck cold against the length of your spine. “I am aware of your…friendship with Prince Aemond and feel compelled to impart some advice.”

Your back was to the celebration, the sounds of the lords invited trying to capture the attention of the ladies who were searching for the silver haired prince muffled in this moment. Your eyes narrowed onto her. “What advice would that be?”

“My dear girl, I truly believe your stocky size would have you better suited for a broodmare,” her painted lips continued with a sneer. “A comely lord, of course, for your status sake…”

“Shall I gift her your tongue?”

You had barely processed her insult when his distinct timbre cut through as sharp as the blade of Dark Sister which hung at his side. You saw how the Lannister girl pale before she turned towards the prince, falling into a curtsy so deep, that her knees nearly touched the marble floor.

“Your grace,” her spiteful tongue now stammered her words, “I was unaware that you had arrived–”

“Or perhaps I should have her fed to Vhagar so she can no longer offend my sight?” He interrupted, his gaze settled on you alone, watching for your response.

There was a sense of exhilaration that trilled your spine with this momentary power he presented so flippantly in this moment. You could not stop your smile. “There is no need, your grace. I would much prefer a dance than to sour the belly of a dragon.”

He then reached for your hand, his large palm enveloping yours to tuck into the crook of his arm and leading you out to the dance floor. Here, he showed that the grace he held with a blade translated seamlessly with the waltz, and your head swam with the close proximity to him, of the woodsy amber musk that held onto his doublet.

You then burned with the realization that every set of eyes were trained to watch, to gawk at how tenderly he held you in his arms.

I suppose even a swine wrapped in silk is allowed their chance.

When it ended, you curtsied, quick to escape out to an enclave, to be met by the night and fresh sea air that rolled from the Blackwater Bay, the crash of waves muting the party you left behind. Your hand pressed to your chest, your heart beating against your bones, and you focused on slow, deep breaths.

“Are you all right?”

Your blood began to rise to the surface as you spun on your heel to face the prince. He was dressed in black, sleek and tailored to his leane frame with his house sigil embroidered onto his chest and a cape draped across his broad shoulders with a forest green underlay that peeked with the breeze. He was poised, his arms knitted behind and rested on his lower back, his silver hair glowing in the silver moonlight.

You looked back over the bannister, your grip tightening on the stone. “Please, your grace, you have done more than enough for me this night–”

“Aemond,” his low tone halted your words and you looked back to see his large hand pressed to his chest. “Please, my lady, with how well we have gotten to know one another, I would wish that you would call me by my name.”

You could not help your incredulous noise to his request. “Forgive me, Aemond,” and the emphasis added on his name caused his lips to curl upwards, “but I am confused as to what game you are playing. We are both aware of what is expected of you–”

“That I am to find a wife,” he again interrupted.

Your lips pressed into a line, barring the frustration that threatened to spill, exasperated by his amusement that seemed to replace his usual stoicism. “Aemond,” your voice was strained, “I have truly enjoyed our time together, but now I must implore that you find your formidable wife as is expected, as I am certain she must exist,” and your hand waved flippantly back towards the entryway that led into the hall, into the sea of skirts swarming, “somewhere within the Keep.”

“I have already, Lady Greyjoy.”

You did not dare meet with his gaze, your eyes dropping to watch his leather boots take slow steps to where you were rooted on the terrace. It was something inevitable, something that you knew would happen, but still his words began to burn into your chest. “Oh. Then may I be the first to offer my congratulations.”

His amusement was still apparent in his tone. “For myself or for you?”

You blinked. “Aemond, you could not possibly pick…” and you faded away, still mulling over his words.

“Would it have ever occurred to you that I find all of you attractive?” Aemond pressed closer, his arm reaching, and you allowed him to take your hand, watching his slender fingers curl to hold, his thumb running along your knuckles. “I would not pick and choose parts of you that I love, and just ignore the rest. I find that you, as a whole, are exactly what I have been hoping for,” and a sly smile played on his lips, “in a formidable wife.”

It tore the air from your lungs, but his warmth kept you grounded in this moment. “Love,” was all you could manage. It was not a question, but you were unbelieving still.

He leaned forward, the silk spill of his hair, his gaze locked onto you. “Yes,” his finger touched the underside of your chin, holding your attention. “I believe it began from the moment we met in the library, but it has become a certainty as we continued to cross paths. If you would have me,” you now noticed the pink stain to his cheeks, “I wish to announce that you would become my wife.”

“Me?” You felt numb from his confession, from the nip of the cold air.

He hummed again, stepping ever closer. “Yes. I love you,” and you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks, “just as you are.”

With the announcement of your betrothal, the Red Keep was emptied of the excess nobles to begin preparations. Your fingers felt numb when you wrote the letter to your father: Prince Aemond Targaryen has chosen me to be his wife. The freedom you once shared in the library was now monitored under a spyglass; Aemond remained respectful, of course, though you noticed how his touch lingered, his palm pressed to your lower back or his lips to your knuckles with his kiss.

His subtle gestures were for you alone and it left you wanting more.

The ceremony was intimate with only his family and your septa present. You felt dazed from the attention shown that day, scrubbed raw and hair prepared, the corset tightened around your silk chemise before your heavy gown was placed over. Your ears burned as your septa tried to prepare what wifely duties would be expected, a trepidation curling at the base of your spine.

The vows were exchanged with a chaste kiss, and soon your fingers were tucking into the crook of his arm, his large palm covering your own as he escorted you towards the marital chambers, a party in tow. It was then you saw the dragon that thrummed beneath when his voice commanded the room to empty, finally leaving you alone with your husband.

There was a moment and he stepped further into the now empty room, while a bashfulness crept into your bones, your hands trembling to remove the cloak as your eyes fell towards the bed made. You were now painfully aware of the intimacy that would be required and your eyes dared to look over to Aemond.

He was already bare from the waist up, his doublet and tunic removed and draped over one of the chairs, his hands pausing at the laces of his trousers when his gaze met with yours. He pursed his lips a moment, his neck bobbing. “Would you…like me to help you undress?”

You were choked on your breath with the sight of Aemond, as he seemed to be carved from marble, lean and lithe and marred by silver scars of the battles won, decorating across his chest. He was waiting, the gleam of the candlelight on the sapphire placed in his scarred socket, and when you gave a shy nod you saw the shimmer of his hair that spilled over his shoulders with his slow steps to close the space between you.

Your eyes fell to the lines that cut into his hips, dipping below the waistband of his trousers that rested on his slender waist; your eyes widened at the laces already loosened, at his bulge that strained against the crotch.

Aemond was now close enough to touch, his hands warm as always, returning your attention to his bicolored gaze. You were burning with his heady gaze, from the fire you knew to be knitted with the ichor of his veins. He leaned forward until his brow touched with your own, your breathing a sweet exchange with the scent of the Dornish wine served.

“I would not wish to hurt you,” his hum punctuating his pause, his vow to you, “I will go with whatever pace that you set.”

And so you kissed him.

Aemond hummed again, his lips soft and sweet and so very warm against yours. It was not chaste like in the chapel and you dared to deepen the kiss, feeling his grin against your mouth and his clever tongue curling to taste.

You gasped softly and his arms wrapped to pull you flushed to his chest, enveloping you in his warmth, in his woodsy musk of sandalwood and ash. A heat began to pool at your lower back, slowly permeating throughout, sending your heart aflutter. When he pulled away, you could not control the small noise you made and it was met with an almost roguish grin, his hand taking yours to lead you to the bed.

Aemond turned to face you and you nearly choked on your nerves as his fingers began to gently unfasten the latches and laces confining you within your gown, pulling away the layers until all that remained was your chemise and the smallclothes worn under. Your arms folded across your chest to shield, to shy away, but he was quick to wrap his large hand around your wrist, pulling lightly until your arms dropped back to your sides.

It was then that you noticed the black that eclipsed the lavender of his eye.

“Gevie,” he breathed, closing the space once more to capture your mouth. His kiss devoured you, his passion pouring into you and you were all too willing to drown. His hands roamed to peel away the remaining layers, a red stain to his sharp features and his lips kiss-swollen and parted as he looked over your nakedness.

“Gevie,” he repeated, pulling you to lay back onto the bed.

You sunk into the pillows and he climbed on top, now bare himself, his tongue relentless to lave every curve, every roll of your skin showing until the heat prickling began to consume you, his love bites flushing their dark plumes against your skin. You writhed beneath him, breathless and flushed, before he finally settled between your thighs, his fingers dimpling with his hold.

His exhale tickled the warmth that pooled between, and then Aemond pressed forward to place an intimate kiss to the bloom above your entrance. Your lips parted with a wordless cry as his tongue began to taste, his low groan reverberating your bones beneath.

“Just as sweet as I imagined,” he murmured between your folds and you were burning with how his clever tongue now pulled you towards an unknown edge.

You gasped, louder than before, with the gentle prod of his fingers that were slick with his spit, curling with purpose within your velvet walls. You nearly cried out as sparks of white danced in front of your eyes, the heat that had been pooling now coursing throughout and returning to tighten in your lower abdomen.

Aemond continued his ministrations, his tone growing husky with his encouragement, “Yes, my sweet wife, just like that,” as your pleasure began to spill, pulsing around his fingers that continued to coax you through your completion.

It was otherworldly and you only felt grounded with the welcomed heat that permeated from Aemond, feeling him shift to slot his slender waist between your thighs. You cant your hips to cradle him in your hips and Aemond lowered to press his length against your silken folds with a delicious pressure that had you shudder.

He swallowed your soft whimper with a sweet kiss, his hands roaming to hold you close for the slow rut of his hips against you. You felt raw from your prior release, and the mixture of pleasure and pain was now amplified when his head dipped lower, his kisses tickling and tasting the sheen of sweet across your chest and neck.

“Aemond,” you gasped and he hummed again, his perpetual smirk playing across his lips that captured your own again.

His mouth trailed your cheek, pressing to the soft divot below your jaw, and the rekindled heat began to lick at your spine, spreading in response. “Are you all right,” he murmured against your skin and you could only nod an eager yes, your words gone along with the trepidation from before, wiped away with his mouth and his tongue.

This earnestness seemed to please him and his low timbre praised you. “Sȳz riña,” and you burned with embarrassment for being unfamiliar to the foreign tongue he spoke so sweetly to you.

His arm then moved between and you felt a blunt pressure at your entrance. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades, beckoning him forward, and he followed with his gentle thrusts, pushing slowly past the slight resistance and sinking into your wet warmth.

You sighed when he fully sheathed, a pleasant stretch to accommodate his girth, and only when he saw your contentment did Aemond relax, melting against your softness. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, his low groan chorused your sweet sounds to this new sensation.

Aemond then stilled, waiting until your hands moved to cup his jaw, your thumb careful to trace, and you whispered words, “I am fine.” You assured him, you begged him for more, and he responded with a slow rut against you.

Your pleasure began to build with his pace, a passion that was rooted even deeper, and your thighs lifted to tighten around his waist, your soft cries encouraging him to quicken. Aemond snapped his hips against yours, and your pleasure began to expand, returning with the flutter of your walls as he continued, hitting a spot within that has your swearing that the stars now shone bright above the marital bed.

It consumed you both, with your tears pearling in the corners of your eyes and Aemond following after, his thrusts sloppy as he spilled inside of you.

You both stretched onto the mattress, flushed and spent, a comfortable silence punctuated with the crackle of candles that had been lit in the bedchamber. After he caught his breath did Aemond move to grab you, pulling you against his chest, his fingers trailing over to follow the length of your spine and back, his sweet murmured concern for your wellbeing.

You felt flustered from his attention, promising him that you felt fine, that it was nothing more than a delicious, dull ache between your thighs.

His large hand then cupped the side of your face, his chin tilting forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “Gevie,” Aemond hummed, a low rumble in his chest.

You could not help but ask him. “What is that word?”

His thumb stroked your cheek with his translation, “Beautiful.” It was stated as if it was the most obvious thing, your chest swelling with an emotion, bursting at the seams as he kissed your lips again.

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the-daily-dreamer · 30 days

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The targaryen ruled 130 years without dragons. And the most capable kings were all targaryen. After them it was a decline for the throne. Robert, joffrey, tommen, cercei were all sith ruler .

I see targ stans are investing in high quality air to fill their heads lol

But anyways. “The most capable kings were all targaryens”. You know who else were targaryens? The worst rulers of Westeros. Robert, Cersei, Joffrey, and Tommen aren’t even close to the worst kings and queen to rule. And bringing them up as evidence to show that the targaryens are good is so disingenuous.

Maegor the Cruel, Aegon the Unworthy, The Mad King Aerys, Rhaenyra (yes, I know that’s controversial), and Daenerys (yes, I know that’s even more controversial) are all far FAR worse than anyone you mentioned.

Maegor killed his wife and her entire family. He was a usurper (apparently it’s good when the targs you like do it lol), a kinslayer (also a thing only good when it’s targs you like doing it), raped and tortured many people, wiped out entire houses, killed any and everyone that he saw in any way as deserving, and created a huge war with the faith of the seven.

Aegon the unworthy was corrupt and lazy and legitimized his bastards leading to the blackfyre rebellions that led to endless bloodshed for 5 generations.

Aerys was so bad he had a rebellion staged against him that ended his family dynasty. He burned fathers and sons together. He tortured people and burned them alive. He abused and raped his wife when he would burn people alive. He wanted to kill the entire city of kings landing.

Rhaenyra (who like it or not went down in history as one of the worst rulers) known as maegor with teats taxed her people to starvation. She had daily executions. She had knights inquisitors hunt down and punish people.

Daenerys burnt down kings landing, was complicit in the rape and enslavement of hundreds, ruined city economies so badly slavery was a better option, then profited from said slavery, abandoned the people she conquered (no doubt ensuring they will be enslaved much more harshly after supporting her), raped a “free” slave that she admits still acted like a slave because that’s all she knew, oh yeah and again, SHE BURNT DOWN KINGS LANDING. And this is after the people you listed.

And this isn’t including non Targaryen rulers that ruined lives like the blackfyres. Or rulers that are bad but weirdly beloved like Aegon I who basically conquered people by threatening to kill them and everyone they loved, subjugating a country for hundreds of years.

The best rulers I admit were Targaryens. But that’s because they were the only rulers save for 4 people. Of those four, two were bad and two were incompetent. Not nearly the sadistic “mad” people I described above. And funnily enough, as soon as a Targaryen came back to power…things got worse again. Funny how that is.

Oh and by the way. Going with the histories of Westeros. Guess who is among the best rulers according to small folk Aegon II and Alicent. Seethe :)

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robertreich · 9 months

Video

youtube

5 Crises Republicans Made up to Distract You

Here are five totally made-up “crises” Republicans have invented to distract from the real crises facing Americans today: the growing concentration of wealth, the worsening climate crisis, and the undermining of our democracy.

Fake crisis #1: Anything they claim is “woke.”

Although Republicans struggle to define what “woke” even means, they’re constantly using it as a weapon to combat anything that seeks to foster tolerance and acceptance.

Pride flags? Woke!

Books about Rosa Parks? Woke!

Green M&M’s? The wokest!

Fortunately, most Americans think being informed and aware of social injustice…which is what being “woke” really means... is a good thing.

Fake crisis #2: The panic over trans people.

Trans people just want the right to exist safely as their true selves, like everyone else. And despite the lies spewed by some Republicans, there’s not a shred of evidence that they are a threat to anyone. But they’ve become easy scapegoats for the GOP, who vilify them and threaten to criminalize their very existence.

Fake crisis #3: Critical race theory

In reality, critical race theory is mostly taught in universities — like quantum physics or philosophy. It's really not taught in K-12, nor is it dangerous.

It’s merely a framework to understand the role that race and racism have played in shaping America’s laws and institutions. But Republicans have deliberately turned this obscure academic phrase into a weapon to silence any discussion of race they don't like.

Unfortunately, this includes teaching many basic historical facts.

Fake crisis #4: “Couch potatoes.”

Republicans are whipping up anger over welfare recipients supposedly abusing the system.

The reality is most people who collect benefits already hold jobs and work exceedingly hard.

Like Ronald Reagan’s claim about so-called “welfare queens”, the “couch potato” myth is a cruel racial dog whistle. In fact, the vast majority of Americans who receive government benefits are white.

We should be asking why so many jobs pay such low wages that workers need government help to get by?

Fake crisis #5: “Out of control government spending.”

Another lie. Apart from mandatory spending like Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid, government spending has actually fallen more than 30% in the past 50 years as a percentage of our total economy.

[9.6% in 1973 vs. 6.6% in 2022, a decrease of 31.25%]

Yes, the national debt is a problem, but in recent years, among its biggest drivers have been the Bush and Trump tax cuts, which have added nearly $10 trillion to the debt since their enactment.

All five of these so-called crises have been manufactured by the GOP. They’re entirely made up.

Why? To deflect attention from the near record share of the nation’s income and wealth now going to the richest Americans.

As the wealthy pour money into politics — largely into the GOP — they don’t want the rest of America to notice they’re rigging the economy for their own benefit, that their greed is worsening the climate crisis, and they’re undermining our democracy.

So the game of the Republican Party and their major donors is to deflect attention — to use fake crises to disguise what’s really going on.

Don’t let them get away with it.

#youtube #videos #video #politics #Republican #Trump #Taxes #government

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cripple-punk-dad · 9 months

Text

Controversial but I don't think you should have to read centuries worth of political theory to recognize that our current economy is unsustainable and cruel. That reeks of privilege. It is a privilege to live within a safe bubble of denial when people around you are dying from obviously unjust systems. I don't need to understand Marxist dialectical materialism to go volunteer at an animal shelter or to treat homeless people like human beings. Get off your asses get out of your cushy home libraries and go throw a brick at a cop or some shit. Theory means jack shit without praxis and so many intellectual anarchists don't get that.

#anarchy #anarchism #marxism #theory

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yerimbrit · 21 days

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lovergirl : m. danielle

synopsis: even after she left you, you still came crawling back.

# : pairing ! danielle marsh x gn!reader

# : tags ! angst with a happy?? ending, this is set in like 2026, i'm... sorry(?)

# : wordcount ! 3.6k

# : warnings ! none i think just swearing

do you know why you're at the airport?

you're 21. she's probably 21 around this time too, since her birthday was last month. you wonder where she is now, if she's doing well. but knowing her, she's probably thriving, unlike you, stuck behind deadlines and finals.

you see her everywhere. not just on billboards, advertisements, and songs, but also in the little things around your neighborhood. the small candy shop around the corner, where your parents took you and her when you behaved. the local family-owned diner, where you and her stopped by on the weekends. the playground that connected to the park in the heart of the city, where you and her played on the swings after curfew.

instead of elation that hit you when you saw these things, though, it was bittersweet nostalgia.

...she didn't even say bye before she left.

it's not like you could blame her, though. she knew that you would convince her to stay, to not leave you alone because she was your everything. that you would take her hands in yours and look at her like she puts the stars in the sky, whispering sweet nothings into her ears like the world was going to end after midnight.

she wasn't there for graduation. or at least, you didn't see her there—she was promoting her first comeback album, or so you've heard. you'd muted nearly everything that had to do with her. it was cruel, you know that, because she hasn't even done anything wrong. but it was for the sake of your heart. you never did get to confess to her properly.

sheltering your heart was the least you could do, in the process of recovering from your heartbreak. but if you knew if you saw her again, that shell would be broken instantly.

so no, you don't know why you're at the airport, on the way to seoul to go to some fansign that you heard about just two weeks ago.

the air of the crowded gate is suffocating, a reminder of how you felt whenever a video of her showed up on your for you page before you blocked the fan account and muted all the tags.

you breathe in, hearing a familiar-sounding laugh behind you, and you whip around only to see two random strangers talking to each other.

'not good,' you grit your teeth. if you saw her right now you would've broke down.

cacophonies of conversation between the crowd rang in your ears, and you groan, covering them. you couldn't wait to get on the plane so you could put on the noise-canceling headphones that you'd bought specifically for this 14 hour flight.

thankfully, your wishes were granted, and you were allowed entry onto the plane. it was a cheap economy seat—you were still a student, after all. your parents offered to pay when you told them you were going to korea, but by then you'd already bought the ticket.

two hours in and it hits you that you're an idiot. a big idiot. you know nothing about the group she's in. buying multiple albums to go to a fansign for a group known worldwide, without even knowing the names of the members?

you pull up their page on kprofiles and start reading, assimilating yourself with the world of... kpop. yeah. you've never bothered with kpop, even though she was an idol. it's not like you hated it, you just didn't bother getting into it. plenty of your friends were avid listeners, pouring details after details about their favorite groups to you, and that was fine. you didn't mind.

'kim minji,' you read to yourself. 22, the oldest... representative animal is a bear... yeah, you can see it. the next was hanni, the vietnamese-australian member of the group. two aussies? what a coincidence.

you read on, studying each member thoroughly before moving to the next. you make a note to watch videos on youtube about them when you get to the hotel. you read about haerin and hyein, the youngest members, then scroll back up to the member you skipped.

'danielle marsh.'

you knew what she looked like already because of how popular the group was, but…

'she still looks the same after all these years.'

the same smile, the same eyes. you wonder if anyone else has ever seen the way her eyes twinkle under the moonlight after dark.

'hobbies: drawing, listening to music, swimming... guess she's the same girl after all.'

your seatmate nudges your shoulder, and you almost jump. "hey, are you interested in newjeans?"

he looks at you excitedly. he seemed about the same age, maybe a bit younger than you. figured there'd be at least one of their fans here. why'd you have to get seated next to one of them?

"um," you hum, "something like that."

you don't bother to tell him about your past with one of the members, or the fact that you bought albums for a chance to see them without any knowledge of who they were, because it was none of his business. god knows what would happen if you told him the truth.

he starts blabbering about how he was a fan since debut, and you tune him out, closing your eyes and putting on your headphones. it's not like he noticed, anyway. maybe you can catch up on some sleep you missed while studying.

you dream of her during your impromptu nap, waking up with tears in your eyes. the guy next to you stopped talking too, fortunately. at that rate, you thought he would've continued after the flight.

you check the time on your phone. surprisingly, a few hours have passed, and the flight is almost over. you must've passed out completely once you shut your eyes. the flight attendant comes by to remind you to unplug your phone from the power outlet, and you patiently wait for your plane to land.

one look outside and you could see fluffy white clouds perfectly set in the air, like a painting or piece of art you could find on social media. you swear you see a rabbit shaped cloud. or maybe you've been staring too hard.

("look, y/n! doesn't that one look like a bunny?

"nah, it's definitely a cat. where are you getting bunny?"

"where are you getting cat? it's most definitely a bunny!"

"okay, okay, fine. you're right, it does look like a bunny, dani."

"see? told ya!")

'fuck,' you shake your head. you try to think about something else. the seat in front of you. the loud sound of the airplane taxiing on the runway. the aircraft marshaller directing said plane.

breathe in. one, two, three, four, five. breathe out. one, two, three, four, five.

you and your seatmate get up to exit the plane, and he flashes a polite smile at you. you offer a tight-lipped one back. the aisleway is cramped, as it always is when you fly economy, and you bump into some people. there's a gross spark of electricity every time you brush shoulders with someone, and you shiver, suddenly reminded of the need to shower when you check in to your room.

the first thing you notice when you step into the airport from the ramp is that there are many products with an idol's face plastered on the front. twice on a candy bag, bts on a bag of chips, le sserafim on a sports drink... the list goes on. it's like they worshipped these people.

...whatever makes them happy.

a crowd comes stampeding towards your direction, causing your survival instincts to kick in. you take refuge in a nearby gift shop to avoid them. the airport was already loud, but the noise increased once the crowd came bursting through.

"minji-ssi, look here!"

"hanni! i love you!"

"please do a heart pose with haerin, danielle!"

"hyein-ssi, over here please!"

your hand twitches. it's not like they were going to see you, but you inconspicuously make your swift escape anyway. there's a bittersweet twist in your stomach at the mention of her name.

instinctively, you whip your head around just in time to make eye contact with her. her mouth is agape and her eyes are widened, and she looks as if she were going to say something, but you turn back around and start power walking to the nearest exit.

does she still remember you? maybe she does, considering the expression she made when you two met eyes. and you can't help but to think, 'does she miss me?'

does she think of you the way you think about her, 24/7, 365 days a year? does she remember the memories you made together, all those years ago? and does she treat them like precious jewels in a well-kept box, or like a constant reminder of what could've been, like you do?

but you also can't help but to think about how beautiful she looked. she's matured, something that you could only sense outside of the pictures provided by the internet. and she holds herself in a poised manner with an air of elegance, but also with a sense of cheeriness and innocence well-placed.

it has been 6 years since you have seen danielle in person.

6 years since you have lost the light of your life.

and you would do anything to change that fact, but, alas, it would never come.

you think you've memorized all the members by now, binging videos of them for three days straight. of course, you went out and explored, since you were in a foreign country, but even when you were out you were still trying to learn everything you could about the group that she's in.

the night before the meeting, you don't sleep well. you wake up on your back, sweating, because you've just had a nightmare. a nightmare where you reunite with her, but she said that she never liked you, and walked away. with every step you took, the distance between you two only increased.

wiping your sweat, you take a few gulps of water from the bottle on the nightstand, taking deep breaths to try and calm your heart. it's around 7 am, looking at the digital clock on the table. the meeting starts at 12, and you have to get there by 11 before it gets too busy for you to even get in.

you walk over to the bathroom with a sense of dread, intending to take a refreshing shower to clear your head.

(it did not help. your mind remains clouded with thoughts of her. impending doom awaits you in four and a half hours.)

not knowing what else to do since you woke up too early, you get dressed and go for a walk. there's a nice, humble café two blocks down the street from your hotel, and you get a warm welcome when you walk through the doors of the establishment. the bells chime in a familiar tune, lifting your spirits ever so slightly.

of all the places you've been to since landing in korea, more than half of them have played at least one newjeans song as background music. and, lucky for you, this one is not. although it is a bit jarring to hear smooth jazz rather than the energetic voices of the girls you've been seeing everywhere.

the café is mostly quiet, aside from the clacking of the dishes and the soft chatter of the few customers also spending their morning here. you mark it as somewhere to visit again, if you ever come back to korea.

with every sip of coffee, there's an added chill to combat the blazing heat that the sun is emitting outside. the sun reminded you of her, who shines just like the sun that breathes us life. the moodmaker between the two of you, who cheered you on even on days where it felt hopeless.

but the iced beverage also filled you with energy, giving you confidence to make it through the big obstacle of the day. (and also the entire reason you even came all this way) you could face her. it's been 6 years. and, well, if it doesn't go well, then at least you'll have an excuse to never come back.

with newfound courage, you exit the café with long strides and return to your hotel room, preparing for the journey ahead. a charger, cash, and a water bottle are all secured in your small crossbody bag.

it's 10:15.

your uber comes in around 10 minutes, and you decide to wait outside in the front to save time.

the drive from the hotel to the venue is about 30 minutes. during that time, you listen to the playlist full of newjeans songs that you made on the day you landed, and take a brief power nap. 'hurt' is the last thing you hear before you drift off to sleep.

you don't feel like you belong here. there's dozens, maybe around a hundred fans talking amongst themselves. from your limited korean, you could tell they were talking about their excitement for the fansign that's about to start in 15 minutes. you really wish you could share the feeling, even though you tried to get into them for three days straight.

a fan approaches you, tapping your shoulder, and you jolt. what is with people and sneaking up on you?

"hey!" oh, they're speaking in english. that makes this easier for you.

"hey," you echo, waving to them. upon closer look, you could see that their tote bag is decked out in merch, from keychains to stickers and a... hanni photocard? you think it's hanni. it's hard to tell when they change their hair colors every comeback.

they notice you staring, and smile at you. then they reach into their bag and pull out a clear goodie-bag containing some stickers and a lomo card.

"would you like one? i ran out of the others, sadly, but i do have hanni and danielle," they say, pulling out another bag which you presume has the other member mentioned.

the iridescent glow of the transparent bag shimmers in your eyes, and you blink. "oh," you start, "i think i'll have hanni."

the goods are handed to you, and you exchange friendly goodbyes. you wistfully look at the card inside the bag, mixed feelings swirling in your gut. it's for the better.

you have a couple more interactions with other fans, some giving you freebies like the first one, and some enthusiastically chatting to you about the group. your initial feelings of discomfort, are, admittedly, still there, but there's an added layer of pleasantness on top now.

weaving through the crowd to get to your assigned seat, you clutch the strap of your new tote bag containing all the things fellow(?) fans have given you.

the tote was another one of the things given, and you think the design is pretty neat, with a nicely placed logo and slogan in a chic style. you might actually use it after today, too.

the announcer calls for the fansign to commence, and five girls file in from a side entrance, their managers and bodyguards following alongside. immediately, the venue erupts in cheers from the audience, shouting affectionate phrases to the members, similar to what happened at the airport.

influenced by the majority, you cheer as well, although it was cut short when you realized that internally you were so out of place.

the group begins with some simple conversation starters, such as 'how are you' and 'have you eaten?' with as much energy as when they came in. you don't exactly know what's happening, so you sit and wait patiently for the event to start. everything seems so daunting.

finally, after around 5 minutes of greetings, the actual signing is starting. you're seated in the middle, which works out in your favor; not one of the first ones to come up and have to face her, but also not one of the last ones and lose your courage. you watched the interactions, the delusion-inducing actions that each of the girls provided, and the poses that they did together. the people around you were either taking videos, pictures, or excitedly talking to their friends beside them.

as the amount of rows in front of you remaining to go up and talk to the girls dwindles down, your heart sped up, thudding against your chest. an even bigger sense of dread instills in you, legs unmoving when the row directly in front of you comes back to sit down. you get nudged by the person next to you to move, and you shakily bring yourself to apologize and get a move on.

what would her reaction be? would she be shocked? happy? maybe mad, because if she actually wanted for you to be involved in her life all this time she would've said goodbye to you, or kept in touch. maybe you should just leave. you got yourself in this whole predicament, anyway. no one even told you to do it.

your palms are sweaty as you make your way down the velvet stairs, and you wipe your hands on your pants in nervousness and fear. eventually, the line slows down once your row reaches the table that the girls are sitting at, and you take it as a chance to try to relax.

breathe in.

five things you can see. seats, the person in front of you, the ground you are standing on, the album that you're holding to get signed (in your extensive research, people usually brought theirs to be signed on), and the table that seems so close yet so far from you. okay.

breathe out.

four things you can touch. the album, your shirt and jacket, and the bracelet on your wrist.

in...

three things you can hear. the increasingly obnoxious whirring sound of the air conditioning, the buzz of the audience, and...

fuck.

"hey, how are you?" a somewhat familiar voice asks. you say somewhat because you've only heard her voice in videos. you find yourself now kneeling in front of minji, the oldest member of the group. she's a lot prettier up close, all of them are, but it's a bit jarring to suddenly see her with your own eyes.

you clear your throat, blinking rapidly to try to focus yourself on the girl. "i'm, i'm gooth-"

...you bit your tongue. you try to laugh it off, awkward giggles slipping from your lips, and thankfully she joins you in laughing.

"that's good," she smiles, and it puts you at ease. no wonder people idolize these girls. she signs the front of the album, asks about your life, and you tell her about your school and how you're a newer fan. she waves at you with another gummy smile once your two minutes are up.

the next is haerin, who is the more reserved and quiet member of the group. there's a pair of cat ears sitting on her head, probably a gift from one of the previous fans, and she blinks at you owlishly, almost like she knew you, before a small smile settles on her face.

it is slightly unsettling, but the more you converse with her the more that feeling dissolves. she really is reserved, and the two of you exchange witty remarks with knowing grins. she signs your album just before the two minute mark.

hyein is super friendly, very high energy. you feel like she'd be a great person to be around on any given day. your conversation with her is mostly centered around food, and how she wants to visit australia again once you mentioned where you're from. she signs the album in the middle of your discussion about the best korean foods to try during your stay.

your time with hyein ends with a staring contest. (she won) and you give her a handshake after, joking about how you would win the next time. you think the sparkles in her eyes are very endearing.

hanni signs your album as soon as you set it down on the table. she's a very likable person in general; you think you could've been friends with her if she went to the same school as you. you also share the same music taste, spending your time together talking about the latest sza album and comparing hand sizes (yours were bigger, unsurprisingly)

but nothing could prepare you for the girl at the end of the table. her laugh rings in your ear from diagonally across from you, and you get a splitting headache. you mask it well enough for hanni not to notice, though, and you're able to finish the interaction smoothly.

how could anyone ever hate danielle? definitely not you. as much as you had reasons to hate her, you just couldn't bring yourself to do so much as dislike or be angry towards her. instead, you just drowned yourself in your sorrow and confusion.

she's perfect. the exact opposite of you, and yet she stayed with you until she didn't. those memories that you have together, they're so engraved in your mind, and you don't even know if she feels the same.

you slide over to the next slot, keeping your head down as you placed your album back onto the table.

heartbeat thudding in your chest. cold sweat running down your cheek. teeth biting your lip. is this the end for you? because it sure does feel like it.

when you finally do look up, and make eye contact with danielle, it feels like time has slowed even though it's really only been five seconds. her expression is mirroring yours: widened eyes, lips slightly parted. you gulp.

tears well in the corner of her eyes, and fuck everything, because you made her cry.

she blinks them away, and clears her throat, taking a second to regain her composure, and timidly calls out to you.

"y/n?"

a/n : 🤗 not the best at writing angst i hope this is ok !

#newjeans x reader #newjeans #danielle marsh x reader #danielle x reader #mo jihye x reader #danielle newjeans #danielle marsh newjeans #gxg #girl group imagines #girl group x reader #newjeans imagines

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dottores · 10 months

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine.

notes: i forgot it was friday SOBS i got distracted reading a new book so we're a little late but anyway <.< its time also i’m gonna answer asks tomorrow i promise 😭

THE DOCTOR

You sighed softly, smoothing out the cloth draped against you as you took a look in the mirror again. There was nothing left to fix--your hair was done, the jewel of your necklace laid neatly in the middle of your chest and your gown was fitted perfectly. You thought you should be alarmed, you didn’t know how the masked person had all of your measurements. You assumed that they had been the one to drop off the gown at the inn you were staying at in Snezhnaya City so you could be properly dressed for the event at Zapolyarny Palace.

You rose to your feet, gnawing at your bottom lip as you looked into the mirror one last time. They had given you a purple gown to wear--and not just any purple, the color of your family, the exact shade. You didn’t like it. You wondered if it was on purpose or just a coincidence but you figured that nothing about this person was a coincidence. They knew everything about you from who you were to the reason you came to Snezhnaya, a secret that you thought had been kept safely between you and your grandfather.

Your eyes turned to the window, catching a rather fancy looking carriage making its way down the stone road in the direction of the inn you were staying at. You figured that was going to be him--whoever the aristocrat was that the masked person had said would be bringing you to the event.

How?

The events were invite only, strictly moderated, how this person had managed to get you in was a mystery. You didn’t know what to expect--you didn’t know how many people would be there nor did you know if all of the Harbingers would be attending. You assumed that they would so you could prepare for the worst case scenario but you hoped that they didn’t.

You didn’t know much about the Fatui Harbingers, just what your grandfather had learned from one of the few networks of intel he had access to that weaved through Snezhnaya. There were eleven of them, but only ten were active--ranked by strength, they struck fear and awe in the hearts of their subordinates. There were rumors that some of the higher ranked ones could rival even the Archons in power. Your grandfather warned you of a few before you left for the north: the Doctor, the Balladeer, the Fair Lady and the Friar, all brutal and dangerous and unforgiving, should they learn of your plans in the north, you would quickly find yourself a fallen pawn in whatever game of chess they were playing against the rest of Teyvat.

You thought your best bet might lay with the Regrator. Evidently, he was the most recently promoted Harbinger of the active ten and focused more on the economy and politics than anything else… or so was assumed, at least. Snezhnaya had prospered since his promotion--the creation of the Northland Bank and its expansion across Teyvat had catapulted Snezhnaya to match the wealth of Liyue, they were even trying to set one up in Fontaine but were failing miserably. You were sure he was just as cruel and vicious as the rest of them but you thought that at least you wouldn’t be dealing with unfamiliar topics.

How you were going to ensure that you were placed with him… or even placed at all instead of being killed on sight, you didn’t know. You figured that was something important to know before you stepped foot in Zapolyarny Palace but you excused the lack of preparation by telling yourself there was no way for you to prepare for something when you didn’t know what to expect. You would figure out the plan as soon as you got there and knew who was there, what the event was for, and what you could do to ensure your survival and success.

Your head hurt but the carriage had come to a stop at the steps of the inn you were staying at and you knew you had to get moving. You let out another heavy breath as you took one last look in the mirror before making your way out of your room and down the steps of the inn.

You gave a soft smile to the elderly man working the front desk as you made your way through the wide lobby, hesitating only for a second when you saw a tall figure ducking out from inside of the carriage. Swallowing thickly, you pushed the doors open, wincing at brisk air stinging your face as soon as you stepped outside.

A brown head of hair whipped around at the sound of the doors shutting behind you, an awkward smile pulled at the lips of your date for the night, warm brown eyes focusing on you, “Hello,” he said, his voice was a bit hesitant and nervous, holding his hand out toward you. “I’m Artem.”

You placed your hand in his, watching as he bent his head down to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” Artem interrupted, then flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, they… already told me who you were.”

They, you repeated silently as a particularly harsh wind swept through the city, the streets eerily silent.

“They…” you murmured to yourself but Artem suddenly looked nervous, brown eyes flitting around before he motioned for you to join him in the carriage. You inhaled the bitterly cold air as you stepped forward, taking his hand as he helped you up into the carriage before following you in, shutting the dark door behind the two of you.

“You shouldn’t talk about stuff out in the open,” Artem said quietly. “There are always people listening.”

Great, you thought to yourself, gaze twisting around outside. The streets were barren but even you knew there was something off about this city that you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, you caught sight of a figure standing in the window of one of the apartments across the street. You couldn’t make out their features against the backlight but you knew their eyes were directed toward the carriage.

You’d been in the city for two days now and it felt eerily similar to the streets of Fontaine. You didn’t often leave the palace of the Hydro Archon, everything you needed was within it: food, water, libraries, the gardens, but every once in a while, you would escape to go watch a show at one of the theaters. The Hydro Archon liked to keep the nobles of the nation ignorant to the perils of the rest of the civilians and it worked when you were in the ivory tower of the palace but when you were down in the streets, it was impossible to miss how the civilians were on edge, eyes constantly darting around in an anxious panic. There were eyes everywhere--in every window, in every alley, in every corner and crevice and no matter how aware you were of them, there was no hiding from them.

Snezhnaya City was just like that.

Oppressive. Tense. Heavy. Cold beyond just the air around you. But unlike Fontaine, Snezhnaya was not your home. Your name and title held no weight in this city and the threat of the Fatui and what they could do to you weighed on you like the sky had fallen.

“What is this event?” you finally asked, fingers playing with the fabric of your dress as you watched Artem from the corner of your eye.

“They’re filling the last spot,” Artem responded, staring ahead. He didn’t look excited or pleased and you couldn’t help but wonder what the political climate was like here, the relationship between the Snezhnayan aristocrats and the Cryo Archon and her followers--maybe it was something you could use to your advantage… or maybe it would be something that would just damn you even further, showing up with one of them. “For the Harbingers, they’re promoting someone to fill the Eleventh seat.”

Oh, you realized what exactly he meant by filling the last spot, an intense dread sweeping through you because that meant that yes, all of the other Harbingers would likely be there. Instead of dwelling on the subject, you said, “You don’t seem too happy about that.”

Artem turned his head to look at you, evaluating you carefully before shaking his head, “What’s there to be happy about?” he asked dryly. “The stronger they get, the weaker my family gets.”

They’re not united, you realized, and they’re not afraid to admit it.

That was interesting. Artem’s face didn’t twist in regret after he said that nor did he look ashamed, if anything he looked resentful… but then doubt began to stir. If the Fatui knew about the dissent, why would they invite them to their elite events?

“They let you guys into their events knowing… that?” you asked, side-eyeing Artem, wondering if you had dug yourself a bigger hole by showing up with him.

“They don’t know all of it,” Artem said, “and even if they did, it’s more of an intimidation tactic than anything else. They bring us there to show us their strength, scare us into submission. That’s all it’s about.”

“All of it as in?” you pushed, figuring that if he was going to be so open with information, that you might as well get as much as you can so you knew exactly what you were walking into.

Artem gave you a look as if you should know what he meant. “They think that the Triglav was the only organization we had to fall back on--the Regrator tore it apart a few years ago.”

Why are you telling me all of this? You wanted to ask, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Brown eyes met yours at the silent question, he knew what you were asking.

“They told me who you were,” he said again, except this time, you felt a bit more cold, realizing he knew more than just your name. “I figure they want you to fumble around in the Snezhnayan courts for their amusement but it’ll get you killed--I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” you questioned. You didn’t know if you could trust him or believe his words and you felt so damn alone and lost that a part of you wanted to jump out of the carriage and flee back to Fontaine--you didn’t know what you were thinking, you were a damn noble girl not some secret agent, super spy who could successfully infiltrate one of the most dangerous organizations in all of Teyvat.

“You want the same thing as I do, don’t you?” was all Artem responded with. “No one knows what they want, what their goal is or anything, but they promised to restore the aristocracy and to do that, the Fatui needs to be weakened… so I figure the more people working for this, the better.”

Your nose wrinkled, “You aligned with these people without even knowing who they are or what they want?” you asked in disbelief.

“Didn’t you?” Artem countered sharply.

You felt hot, called out for your hypocrisy, “That’s not the same. I was desperate.”

“So are we,” Artem said, lips pressed together as he turned away.

The carriage was approaching the palace, as large as the one back home in Fontaine and just as magnificent. Where the one in Fontaine City was lined with gold, stunning beneath the rare show of the sun, Zapolyarny Palace glittered white beneath the moonlight, like a million diamonds coated the surface--beautiful, but possibly the most daunting sight you’d ever come across. The sky that weighed on you tripled in weight, you thought you might throw up.

“What should I expect in there?” you asked quietly, breaking the sudden tension between the two of you. You figured it was not the best idea to antagonize your one ally in this place.

Artem sighed, looking back over at you, “Just stay by me,” he said. “Of all the aristocratic families in Snezhnaya, mine is one that’s heavily aligned with the Fatui… at least in their eyes. We’ll probably have a few of their more important subordinates coming over to talk to us but the Harbingers will be focused on the more antagonistic families to make sure they don’t pull anything. We’ll keep away from them and hopefully, keep their attention off of us. As long as we skate by without having to deal with any of the Harbingers, we’ll be good… I’ll try to find some opportunities for you to slip away and do what you need to do.”

What I need to do, it echoed in your head. The palace was right before you and you still had no idea what you needed to do to prove your stepfather’s hand in your father’s death. You had to find evidence. But how? You figured that there weren’t a lot of Fatui spies in Fontaine--too many would draw too much attention, it would be easier to just have one embedded deep in the courts… which would make it an important, covert operation. They had to have records of that somewhere.

“Do you know what each of the Harbingers do?” you asked.

“Like what they oversee?” Artem questioned, brows furrowed, you nodded. “Vaguely.”

“Intel?”

“Internal intel? I’d say the Regrator or the Rooster. External? The Knave, the Marionette and the Friar all deal with it, as far as I’m aware.”

You went quiet, letting out a shaky breath at his words. Three different Harbingers who could be overseeing your stepfather in Fontaine--the Fourth, the Seventh, or the Tenth. You shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. The palace would be crawling with Fatui operatives, how the hell were you supposed to sneak through them all and figure out where the information might be.

Instead of letting yourself become riddled with anxiety, you asked the last question that had been weighing on your mind.

“How don’t the Fatui know about these people?” you asked quietly. “I figured they knew everything that goes on in Snezhnaya, you’d think an organization with this much influence…”

Unless there’s someone hiding it from the inside? But what were the chances of that?

“I don’t know,” Artem admitted. “Maybe they do and we’re all just getting played, or maybe the Harbingers are blind to a rat right beneath their noses.”

“You could do something beyond just standing there,” a cold, dry voice said from behind him.

Dottore didn’t even bother to turn around and face her, instead watching the scene before him carefully. The aristocrats had been steadily arriving for an hour, filling up the ballroom, mingling with one another. Most kept a wide berth from the Fatui who had come out for the event. It was the largest event the Fatui had hosted in decades, twice as big as Pantalone’s promotion because it was signaling the completion of the upper echelon, the start of what would be the final preparations for war.

“I don’t see you rushing to join in the celebrations,” Dottore responded, gaze finally shifting from the wide double doors to Arlecchino, who had come to stand next to him, arms crossed against her chest as she watched Columbina’s fingers fly across the piano.

“I plan to,” Arlecchino told him, “I have a feeling tonight's going to be more interesting than we think.”

Dottore eyed her carefully as he digested the cryptic comment, trying to figure out what exactly she meant, before simply saying, “I hope so, at least then it will be an entertaining waste of my time.”

Arlecchino only let out a huff of laughter, but there was no amusement behind the action, “What do you think of the boy taking the Eleventh Seat?”

“He’s a child.” Dottore waved off the question, he cared not for the boy.

Capitano evidently saw potential in him but Dottore only saw an unpredictability that they shouldn’t be risking this close to the beginning of their real purpose. He only advocated for him because he thought he would get the chance to study him but Pulcinella was being careful to make sure that he was never in the capital long enough for Dottore to get to him. The only boon that came along with promoting him was that he was eager to please, willing to take on the jobs that none of the rest of them wanted to deal with as a means to prove himself.

“Then his moniker is fitting,” this time there was a scathing sort of amusement in her tone, “but even a blind man could make that observation. I asked you for your opinion of him.”

Dottore’s lip twitched in irritation. “That is my opinion of him,” he said coolly. “He is a child. He is immature and foolish, abuses the technique he learned while in the Abyss. He will die soon because of it. I would like to run some tests on him before then but I suppose life isn’t particularly necessary for them anyway… just more convenient.”

Arlecchino scoffed. “All you care about is your research, hm? Not even a hint of concern for those whom you call comrades?”

Dottore leveled his gaze on her. “No,” he said firmly, “and do not pretend as if you do. We both have seen what lies beneath that false face of yours.”

Arlecchino smiled, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the ballroom, “Fair enough.”

“Don’t you have something better to do than bother me, Knave?” Dottore asked, a sardonic tone seeping into his words as he continued, “like to go fetch your pet before he makes an embarrassment of us again.”

He turned his attention back to the ballroom floor, pointedly looking in the direction of Brighella, busy trying to woo the daughter of one of the aristocratic families who was giving Pantalone a hard time.

“Speaking of pets,” Arlecchino said, a mocking tone to her voice that Dottore didn’t quite like, “do you plan on getting rid of yours because of his failure to get you the funding you wanted? … I overheard your conversation with the Jester the other day, shame to hear about how poorly all of your projects are going.”

Beneath his mask, Dottore’s eyes hardened, turning his head to the side to look at Arlecchino again. He wasn’t sure what he was more annoyed by: the fact that she had listened in on his conversation with Pierro and he hadn’t even noticed or the fact that she was making a dig at his research.

“Not quite as poorly as the decline of the House of the Hearth. How many of your orphans have gone missing in the past few years again?” Dottore countered lowly, watching as Arlecchino’s eyes flashed with fury for just a moment, needling right through her cold mask.

It wasn’t even like his research was going poorly. It was just the typical pattern of adjusting to failures to find the right set of combinations to perfect the formula. Pierro was just impatient because he did not want to send three of the Eleven out to their missions with delusions that were still sapping their vitality. He had made enough progress so that they were no longer life-threatening with significant use, and as far as he was aware, the Balladeer was going to bring the old, faulty delusions down to Inazuma once Arlecchino’s agents wove their web through the Commissions.

Dottore didn’t even understand why this was all necessary, frowning again as he looked out at the aristocrats. Pantalone had already torn the Triglav apart at its seams and the aristocrats were floundering with no shield to protect them from the Fatui. There was not much consolidation of power left to do in Snezhnaya. If anything, this was just excessive—making sure they knew just how strong the Fatui was so that they didn’t get any bright ideas when they began to focus on obtaining the Gnoses.

“I have the House of the Hearth under control,” Arlecchino said, voice icy. “Can you say the same about your segments?”

Dottore smiled thinly, “Yes.”

Especially now that he had finally made contact with her. If he had known that the barest conversation with her would lead to even the Theta segment doing as he asked with little pushback, maybe he would have reached out sooner.

Maybe.

An odd feeling settled in his chest as his thoughts fell to her again. He didn’t like thinking about her for too long but he hadn’t heard anything from her since that night Rho lost her. He knew she wasn’t dead, the thread still hung from his finger and the mark between his shoulder blades was still a bright purple. He wondered if she was just ignoring him or if there was something else going on. He had tried to look into it but hadn’t been able to find any previous examples of something interfering with a bond… which led him to believe that she was ignoring him, maybe as payback for all of the years he went ignoring her.

Either way, he didn’t like it.

Arlecchino abruptly stepped forward next to him, eyes narrowed. Dottore followed her gaze, eyes falling on the livid expression that Sandrone wore as she spoke to Capitano, standing near the piano Columbina was playing at, motioning in the direction of the double doors of the ballroom. Dottore tried to figure out what had her so angry but nothing stood out--Scaramouche was nowhere to be found and usually he was the one to set her in a foul mood by insulting her automatons, otherwise it wasn’t often that her temper was set off because she simply did not care for anything else.

Arlecchino immediately set off in their direction and Dottore, curiosity piqued and hoping to make the night pass faster but entertaining himself with whatever had Sandrone set off, followed after, watching in amusement as their subordinates and the few aristocrats who had crossed the floor to intermingle scattered at their approach.

Capitano raised his head once he caught sight of the two of them, motioning them over. Sandrone pressed her lips together, staying silent until they were close enough to hear what they were talking about. Columbina’s fingers still flew across the keys of the piano, focused on the sonata, but Dottore knew she was listening too: there was a soft smile gracing her face, one that screamed amusement and not the mere enjoyment that came with playing the instrument. Dottore thought that if Columbina was amused by something, then it might spell trouble for all of them, the eerie comment she made about his soulmate a few months back suddenly ringing through his head.

I would like to meet her when she gets here.

Dottore felt unsettled, raising his head to look out across the ballroom floor to look for something but he didn’t even know what he was looking for. All it took was Sandrone opening her mouth once, and the entire world around him froze and shattered.

“One of the aristocrats brought one of the Hydro Archon’s dogs to our event as his date,” she spat out. “This needs to be handled now.”

There were eyes on you.

You didn’t dare to turn to look so you could figure out who was watching you, the last thing you wanted to do was bring more attention to yourself but you couldn’t smother the growing anxiety. You kept your back to them, feigning interest in whatever conversation Artem was having with one of his cousins so that they didn’t know you were aware of their scrutiny even though every inch of you itched to look behind you.

The ballroom was packed to the brim, you thought that every aristocrat in Snezhnaya must be attending this event. It almost reminded you of the balls back home in Fontaine City. The paintings lining the walls were stunning and the ornaments glittered prettily beneath the dim lighting. No one had made their way to the smooth hardwood floor to dance yet despite the quintet of musicians playing in the corner of the room, a beautiful symphony that was not quite harmonious with the eerie piano being played somewhere behind you.

If you weren’t so nervous, you might be able to appreciate the beauty of it… but Fatui lined the room--agents and mages and captains, they were unarmed as far as you could tell but you had a feeling that could change in a moment’s notice.

You felt trapped, like a cornered animal.

There was no way for you to slip away, not when you were being watched and not when the Fatui seemed to be guarding each and every exit. Everything was crumbling around you and you had only been there for a half hour. You tried to calm yourself down, force yourself to think and figure out a plan but every time you tried to do that, you were interrupted by some Snezhnayan noble who wanted to greet Artem.

What did you expect? You spat at yourself angrily. For the Fatui to leave holes in their defenses right at their heart? For you to just walk right in and be given the information you wanted by your stepfather’s superior?

You would leave empty-handed at this rate--the one opportunity handed to you on a silver platter slipping away like water between your fingers. You had to figure out what to do now because there was nothing you could do if you left the palace without the evidence you needed. Zapolyarny Palace was impenetrable, everyone you had come across had made that clear, you would not get another chance like this. This was your easy way into the palace but what could you do? Even if you managed to slip past the guards into the hall, making an excuse to use the bathroom or freshen up, it didn’t change the fact that somehow, you had already drawn attention to yourself.

How? What had it been?

You had not made any sort of scene. You were not overdressed or underdressed, nor did your colors stand out. There were people dressed in bright red gowns, different shades of purple and blue and green, blacks and whites. Artem was not from a contentious family so there was no reason for him to have drawn attention.

What had done it? Was Artem unaware of some conflict between his family and the Fatui? Or was it something else…

Did someone know who you were?

You felt a bit sick at the thought, smile faltering as your grip on Artem’s forearm tightened. You noticed him cast a brief, worried glance down at you but you were too preoccupied to reassure him that you were okay.

Did someone know who you were?

The question echoed through your head over and over again and you realized, slowly, that it was very, very possible and it was something that you had not even considered could be an issue. Your stepfather shouldn’t know where you were going, you hadn’t even confirmed to your mother that you were leaving for Snezhnaya--you had insisted it was Mondstadt--but if he had taken a picture of you and sent it to his superior in Snezhnaya as intel he was passing along about your family and they recognized you when you walked through those doors with Artem…

Suddenly, the urge to turn around and pinpoint who was watching you skyrocketed because if it were true, then that was how you were going to know which Harbinger was supervising your stepfather’s mission--the first step in finding the evidence.

You let out a quiet breath, about to turn your head to the side just a bit to see if you could catch a glimpse of whoever was staring at you but before you could, a hand brushed your forearm. You masked the irritation you felt as you turned your attention back to Sonia, Artem’s cousin’s wife. She smiled at you, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder as she asked:

“So how did you and Artem meet?”

You smiled, leaning into the man and looking up at him, hoping that the gesture came across more adoring than the brief spike of panic you felt. The two of you had intended on going for a simple story: you had met while on the Snezhnaya-Fontaine border and instantly fell for one another, love at first sight, a classic romance… but now you weren’t sure if admitting that you were from Fontaine was the best course of action. Artem was confused, you could see the glimmer in his eyes as he smiled down at you, and you didn’t know what to do.

The split second that had passed since Sonia’s question felt like eternity and finally you responded with a soft laugh, “We met on the border between Snezhnaya and Fontaine. I had gone a bit north to find a nice present for my siblings, their birthday is coming up. I ran into him while shopping and he helped me find the perfect gift. I thought all of those romance books were exaggerating when they talked about love at first sight but I became a victim of it just like that.”

You were only half listening as Sonia cooed and leaned into Artem’s cousin, talking about how the two of them met at a seaside village in western Snezhnaya. You decided that going with the original story was for the best. If, by chance, the Harbingers did happen to know that you were a noble from Fontaine already then it would only draw more suspicion if it got around to them that you were claiming to be a Snezhnayan commoner or even from another foreign nation.

So many ifs. You hated uncertainty.

Lost in thoughts, you were only drawn back to reality as your forearm stung--the telltale sign that your soulmate was reaching out, again. Your lips pressed together in annoyance.

He had been persistent the past two weeks. Every day, he would ask where you were and what had happened but even if you wanted to, there was no way of telling him where you were--he should know that--but the thing was, you didn’t want to. You thought that he had no right suddenly caring about where you were and if you were okay and you were mad at yourself for giving in and responding when you were hurt. He went twenty years ignoring you when you tried over and over and over again just to get to know him, the person that Celestia had tied you with, and he constantly disregarded and even rebuffed you.

You had never heard of someone being rejected by their soulmate until yours had rejected you. It was humiliating, even if only the two of you were aware of what had been said, but more than that it hurt. You dedicated years to him, your whole life was centered around him from having to hide the fact that you had a soulmate to the years you spent in libraries trying to understand him in hopes that it would somehow make him care about your existence, years that you could have spent with your father.

You looked down as discreetly as you could, reading the scratchy words painted on your forearm:

Where are you?

You barely withheld the roll of your eyes as you turned your gaze back up to Sonia, smiling as she laughed at whatever Artem’s cousin had said.

Artem looked as if he was about to speak up but before he could, there was a sharp rap of metal against glass from the front of the room. Instantly, conversation silenced and all heads turned in the direction of the noise--finally, you could turn to see who was staring at you but it was too late; whoever they were, they had already looked away.

“We are here today to officially announce the occupation of the Eleventh Seat,” a low, male voice announced. Your eyes shifted to him--half of his face was covered by a black mask, white hair long and slicked back--you weren’t sure who he was, you hadn’t been given descriptions of the Harbingers, but you figured he was high ranking if he was making this announcement.

“The Jester,” Artem said under his breath. Your eyes widened just a bit. The Jester, you recognized, the leader. “The rest are…”

All around him, you finished silently, your throat closing up as you caught sight of the daunting figures standing around the stage at the front of the room. You didn’t have to know what they looked like to know who they were, their presence and way they held themselves was evidence enough. An unnerving woman with long black and pink hair leaning on the piano, a man wearing a helmet where the face appeared to be an endless void, a woman with an empty expression, silver hair and a blade strapped to her side and…

“A recruit who has proven himself time and time again: felling our enemies without question when we were faced with the threat of a Natlan tribe on the southern border, protecting our people when the Great Wyvern of the northern caverns awoke from its slumber to terrorize our villages, and defending our integrity when called into question by the former Duke of Costesov…”

The Jester was still talking but your gaze had focused in on a familiar man standing off to the side, a bit aways from the small group at the piano--masked and with wavy blue hair, the Fatui subordinates in the area kept a wide distance from him.

It was him, you realized, a cold feeling settling over you, the man who had attacked the inn you had been staying at.

It was her. His soulmate.

Dottore was barely able to mask the torrent of emotions tearing through him. He had known it even before he reached out to her to confirm it, watching her look down at her forearm as soon as he had asked her where she was, and he didn’t know what to think, or do, for that matter.

Around him, the other Harbingers were still talking amongst each other--Arlecchino making snide comments and Sandrone’s letting loose livid remarks about the sheer audacity the Hydro Archon had to a spy so blatantly to their main base. They were talking about handling her and Dottore knew very well that the only way the Fatui knew how to handle things was by getting rid of them.

Getting rid of her. He couldn’t let that happen--he didn’t know how it would affect him and… Something unfamiliar and uncomfortable tugged hard at his chest as his eyes fell back on the girl in the purple dress, watching as she leaned into a boy from one of the Snezhnayan noble families, listening to Pierro’s speech. This was why he didn’t like thinking about her for too long but now he didn’t really have a choice.

“How are you so sure that she’s a noble from Fontaine?” Dottore asked, cutting off Arlecchino mid-sentence as he looked at Sandrone.

Sandrone’s lip curled up, not even bothering to hide the irritation and disgust as she spared Dottore half a glance. “I’d recognize a member of the five families anywhere,” Sandrone said coldly, nose turned up at him. “I was born into one of them.”

That’s right, Dottore remembered vaguely. Sandrone had come from Fontaine. The Harbingers had long given up their names and old lives, they rarely mentioned their pasts--he wasn’t even sure some of them remembered their pasts, he sent a short look toward Capitano at the thought.

“She’s part of the third family, the one that controls the prisons. You know what her family’s talent is?” Sandrone asked sharply, looking back in the direction of his soulmate. “They learned to utilize their hydro vision in a way that lets them twist up peoples’ insides. They usually use it for interrogation but do you know what else it can be used for?”

The third family. Dottore knew enough about Fontaine’s structure to know what that meant: Fontaine had five aristocratic families that were held above the rest, each one of them controlling one of the five main institutions of the nation. No wonder she had to hide her mark.

“Assassinations,” Capitano finished, voice low.

Dottore scoffed loudly. “Her?” he asked dryly, nodding in the direction of his soulmate, dismissing their deductions instantly. “An assassin? She looks like a newborn deer, not a killer.”

She did, Dottore noted offhandedly, eyes drawing back to her for just a moment. She was trying to hide her anxiety and she was doing a good job at it but every now and then, she slipped up, hands shaking just a bit more than they should, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she looked around. Dottore thought a bit of fondness might’ve been stirring the longer he looked at her so he immediately looked away and quashed it, forcing his attention back to the other Harbingers.

“Appearances can be deceiving, Dottore,” Capitano said quietly.

Not hers, Dottore wanted to spit right back—the girl that spent hours on end trying to talk to him and get to know him, undeterred by his lack of response, was no damn killer but he had no way of explaining that to them without admitting who she was to him and he simply refused to open up that weakness to them.

What should he do? He had to interfere but he didn’t know how to do that without making them question why he was stepping in. Dottore cared for nothing but his research--if this was any other person, Dottore wouldn’t have even bothered to give input into the conversation and he was sure that he was already making them suspicious.

“Whether she’s a threat or not, this has to be handled quickly,” Capitano finally said and Dottore felt cold, mind racing to piece together a plan but nothing was feasible. “We can’t afford to risk anything, not here and not now.”

Dottore’s anxiety began to shift into anger the more he dwelled on it and realized that he was backed into a corner because of her, wondering just how stupid his soulmate was showing up to this event on the arm of some random aristocrat. Livid, his gaze shifted to the side again, watching as she leaned into the man’s arm and smiled up at him.

Betrothed, Dottore suddenly remembered one of the things he had recalled from one of the dreams he had of her life. Is this…

“Who is the man she is with?” he interrupted abruptly, voice tense.

“Artem Melnyk,” a new voice said from behind him, Dottore glanced over his shoulder as Pantalone came to stand next to him. “I take it you all are discussing our unexpected, foreign guest.”

Pantalone looked at Dottore as if he knew exactly who she was--maybe he did, Dottore didn’t know if that was for better or for worse. He felt like a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the first perceived attack.

“He will have to be handled,” Dottore said tightly. “I’ll deal with that.”

Dottore thought he would enjoy having this particular new subject in his labs.

“The more pressing matter is the girl,” Sandrone spat out, her one-track mind stuck on Dottore’s soulmate. “She needs to be taken out.”

Dottore thought this might be it, he was about to lash out, but before he could, Pantalone raised his eyebrows. “A bit rash, no?” he asked, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “How will that make us look? Executing a foreign noble for no good reason besides attending a ball with her lover?”

Lover, Dottore was appalled, turning his head to look at Pantalone. Pantalone, evidently, was incredibly entertained by the situation, smile widening just a bit as Dottore looked at him, making him feel as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

“What do you suggest we do then, Regrator?” Capitano questioned. He did not sound half as amused as Pantalone did.

“Send someone out there to feel her out,” Pantalone said as if it were obvious. His voice took on a more exasperated tone as he continued, “Snezhnaya is in such a poor diplomatic position already specifically because you all tend to kill first, ask questions later. Have we not been trying to rectify that? In what world is killing her the best course of action?”

Sandrone did not look happy, lips pressed together tight, and Pantalone was looking at Dottore, violet eyes expectant as if he was waiting for Dottore to offer to be the one to go talk to her. Dread began to build in his stomach again, realizing that if he went to go talk to her, it would be the end. All of the time he had spent ensuring they would never meet, all of the years he was working severing the bond, it would all be for naught.

“Fine,” Arlecchino said before Dottore could open his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Dottore didn’t speak as he turned to look at Arlecchino, barely catching the frustrated look in Pantalone’s eyes. Arlecchino was staring right at him, the red x’s in her eyes boring right into him as if she knew something that she shouldn’t, expression cold and unreadable.

Dottore suddenly felt as if he had made a mistake not speaking up immediately.

Just as Arlecchino moved to make her way to his soulmate, Columbina finally spoke up, long, pale fingers wrapping around Arlecchino’s wrist. “No,” she said. “The Doctor will handle it. You promised to play a song with me.”

Dottore thought he liked that even less than Arlecchino’s immediate offer to speak to her but he wasn’t going to give the Knave any time to argue with Columbina, scoffing as he took the opportunity to turn on his heel and walk in the direction of his soulmate and her date.

Pierro’s speech had ended and the musicians were picking up the volume of their piece--soon, couples would make their way out to the ballroom floor to dance but for now, they parted as he crossed the hardwood floor, giving him a wide berth as he walked directly to her.

What was he going to do?

He wondered if this was her plan all along, if she had somehow figured out who he was and what he was a part of so she could throw herself into a dangerous situation and he’d be forced to act. Not for the first time, Dottore felt like he was being played as a puppet except now he didn’t know if it was Celestia holding the strings or her. He had half a mind to let her deal with the consequences of her own actions, let her face one of the other Harbingers and try to convince them she was no threat, but he couldn’t risk letting anything happen to her because it would affect him.

He would have to make sure she knew who he was to her. The last thing he needed was her making a scene if she realized it mid-conversation, assuming she didn’t know already.

She was oblivious to his approach, back turned to him as she talked with Artem Melnyk, but he was not as oblivious. He caught sight of Dottore over her shoulder, expression shifting into one of fear—something that ordinarily would have had him amused but now, just as for the past half an hour, he could only focus on her.

She turned as she noticed Artem’s change in attitude and Dottore wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he wasn’t expecting the anger that followed the confused expression on her face, eyebrows knit together as she stared at him, a hint of anxiety painted in the rage but just that, only a hint.

No recognition and no familiarity--not a type that signaled that she knew she was meeting her soulmate, at least.

Dottore wondered if that meant she had no idea who he was to her and if that was the case, what the hell was she doing there?

For the first time, Dottore’s eyes traced his soulmate’s face. He couldn’t help but notice that even with the anger, her eyes were still gentle and her expression was still soft. You don’t belong here, he wanted to say, not in this place and not with me, but instead, he only held his right hand out to her and watched, waiting for her to take his hand and finally take notice of the thread that connected the two of them.

She hesitated only for a second as she glanced down at his hand, placing her own in it and Dottore watched the double-take, the way her eyes widened just a bit as she looked down at their connected hands, at the thread connected to his thumb that she could see. His grip tightened just enough to force her attention back to his face before she could make a scene.

There was still anger as she looked up at him again but it was diluted beneath a type of astonished adoration that had never before been directed his way. He knew it was just the shock of finally meeting him and that the anger would return when she remembered the years he went ignoring her but it didn't mitigate the unwelcome feeling rising in his gut. He wanted to look away, uncomfortable under the affectionate gaze and uncomfortable even just touching her because he knew deep down that it felt right and he refused to give into this bond.

He refused to play Celestia’s game.

He leaned down to brush his lips against her knuckles, “Dance with me?” he murmured, loud enough just for her to hear.

He figured that once people began to flood the dance floor, he would be able to speak with her without as many unwanted ears able to listen in.

“You’re-” she began, breathless and stunned--distastefully, he noticed that Artem was still holding her arm, as if to protect her from him. The thought itself would have amused him in any other circumstance but now it only irritated him even more.

Dottore cut her off, giving her a thin smile: “The Doctor, Second of the Fatui Harbingers.”

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