#OC- duke (mentioned)

[raepritewrites]

If Heather were ever to write a memoir about being a superhero, she was going to include an entire chapter about what to do when you get sucked into a portal, because it was a surprisingly frequent hazard of the job and was confusing as hell if you didn't know what you were doing.

Fortunately, she’d been through this song and dance a few times, so she started with gathering the basics. Who, what, where, how, and when?

First, who? Some c-lister villain who called himself Vibe. The team had been working on a case of break-ins where banks would be robbed through some sort of portal technology. In and out, easy as pie, with almost no trace left behind. The guy was slick she could give him that.

Nightwing had theorized the guy might have a teleport ray, judging by the tachyon readings they were getting. Further investigation, however, and a quick conversation with Flash had revealed that Vibe was a meta created from the particle accelerator explosion of Central City, which had given the speedster his own powers. It hadn't been too hard to track the guy down from there.

Second, what? Well, bad guy plus warehouse equals superhero fight. It had just been Nightwing, Superboy, and herself who went to track down and capture the meta. The rest of the squads had all been busy on other assignments, and really, how hard could it be to take this guy down with three of their heavy hitters on it?

Apparently, harder than they'd thought.

Vibe, it seemed, was just as slick at evading capture as burglary. The idea had been for Nightwing and Scarlet Spider to wear the guy out and keep him distracted until Superboy could get in a final hit. It had briefly worked, and then everything went wrong.

Scarlet probably shouldn't have antagonized Vibe so much, but it was fun winding bad guys up. She and Nightwing had come up with some good lines as they danced around the teleporter. She had so much experience fighting alongside Nightcrawler that she assumed she could guess this guy's next move without any trouble. He would zig, she would zag. She'd been... a little too confident. Her spider sense had warned her of the danger as she swung towards Vibe for one more kick to the gut, but her momentum had been too strong, and there was no avoiding the inevitable.

Vibe had realized the game they'd been playing with him and grabbed Superboy as he'd tried to sneak up from behind, flinging him over his shoulder and into her. They'd crashed into Nightwing in a pile of tangled limbs and curses.

By the time Scarlet Spider looked up, Vibe had a new portal open behind him. "As fun as this has been, I'll be taking my leave now. This earth has always been a little too hero-happy for my tastes," the man smirked and saluted them, stepping backwards into the swirl of blue and white light.

If Heather had a nickle for every time she made a very stupid last-minute decision, she and Bruce Wayne would be in the same tax bracket. This was just another five cents in her fictional bank account. She sent a webline to the ceiling, propelling her up and off of her teammates and into the portal, which promptly closed behind her.

Third question, where?

On the other side of the portal, it dawned on Heather very quickly how stupid she was as she found herself free-falling. High-rises and skyscrapers rushed past her in a blur as she struggled to orient herself.

Some part of her brain that sounded a lot like her step-father screamed at her to throw a webline, and after two desperate attempts failed to land on anything, her third try caught a gargoyle. Her arm wrenched in its socket from the abrupt change in trajectory, and she gritted her teeth to stifle the howl of agony that crawled up her throat. She looked around desperately and spotted a rooftop not far away that she could reach.

Her landing was less than ideal, tumbling head over heels before rolling to a painful stop on the tarmac. She lay for a moment to let the panic subside, panting heavily from the spasms radiating from her arm and down her torso. She stared up at a smog filled night sky and the glowing neon sign of an office building as her brain rebooted.

Once she could hear more than just her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, she took stock of her situation. While she'd torn a few muscles in her arm, the damage was minimal compared to being a smear on the sidewalk. She'd twisted her ankle when she'd landed, and it throbbed in a familiar way - not broken, but definitely sprained. Everything else seemed negligible; cuts, scrapes, and general bruises. She would deal.

She sat up slowly and frowned at the office building's sign, declaring it to be one of Wayne Enterprises' headquarters. Why Vibe had thought running to Gotham was a good idea was anyone's guess.

She checked her comm, but only received static in reply, no matter what frequency she tried. Maybe it had been damaged in the fall? Her phone worked, but had no signal at all, not even wifi. That was strange; WE had public wifi available at all there buildings. She needed to reach the team somehow to let them know her status, and that despite her best (very stupid) efforts their suspect was in the wind. She wasn't sure where the closest zeta beam was from here, but maybe she could reach Nightwing a different way.

Did Heather feel bad breaking into the department store? Yes, a little, but desperate times and all that.

She'd grabbed a pair of jeans, a belt (because of course the jeans didn't fit right, but she didn't have the luxury of time on her side to find a pair that did), and an oversized sweatshirt. She dropped a pre-paid credit card on the counter with the tags of the items she was stealing, hoping the owners wouldn't be too mad at her. She then made triple sure that all the cameras she'd covered in webbing were still technically functional -just ineffective for a few hours - and grabbed a shopping bag from the register to stuff her gear into it.

Outside the store, it had begun raining, because this was Gotham and she had Parker luck. It was only natural. After trudging through the rain for a few blocks, Heather finally hailed a cab in a more populated part of the city. The clock on the dash of the taxi read a little after four am, and the driver looked like he wasn't thrilled to have found a customer.

"I need to get to Bristol," Heather told him, trying to be short but polite.

The cabby raised an eyebrow at her, blowing smoke from his cigarette out his cracked window. "That's going to cost you, lady," he told her flatly. "If you hadn't noticed, this is the Diamond District, that's a long drive."

"If you can get me there quickly, I'll pay you double the fare in tip," Heather promised.

Both eyebrows went up at that. "You're the boss," he shrugged and pulled away from the curb.

Once they reached Bristol, Heather had the cab drop her off at the Drake Estate, a few miles from Wayne Manor. She didn't think the cab driver really cared about where this woman in ill-fitting clothes was going at the crack of dawn out in the most expensive neighborhood in Gotham. But just in case someone asked him about it later, she didn't want him saying he'd dropped the weird woman off at Brucie Wayne's mansion. Never could be too careful.

True to her word, Heather had tipped extra generously, and the cab had taken off as soon as she was out of the backseat.

She glanced down the Drake's long driveway to where their modern estate could be seen peaking out between the tall trees and frowned distastefully. Shaking off her feelings towards Tim's parents, she settled into a fast walk and headed towards Wayne Mansion in the thinning rain.

By the time she reached the front gates, the rain was just mist that was slowly being burned off by the morning sun, and she was soaked to the bone. Wiping water off her face, she buzzed the intercom and hoped Alfred wouldn't be mad at her for the early morning call.

"Wayne Residence, may I help you?" His British accent came through the intercom sounding slightly tinny.

"Good morning, I need to speak to Dick Grayson or Bruce Wayne. It's Heather Reilly."

There was a long pause, too long. "Do you have an appointment?"

Heather frowned. "No, not exactly. Listen, I know it's early, but I really need to talk to Dick or Mr. Wayne."

"Master Wayne is a very busy man, young lady," Alfred began, in a clearly dismissive voice.

"Wait, please! It's..." she frowned harder, brow furrowing as an uneasy feeling filled her gut. "It's Heather, Mr. Pennysworth. You know, Heather? Dick's friend? We've... I mean, don't you know who I am?"

"I'm afraid your name is not familiar to me, and young Master Dick no longer resides here at the manor. Good day, young lady." The intercom clicked off and Heather stood blinking at it for several seconds.

"What the actual fuck?" She finally muttered.

Alfred Pennyworth did not know who she was. He had dismissed her with the same polite but frosty way she'd seen him dismiss hopeful gold diggers who hung off of Bruce at parties. As her brain processed this information, something else occurred to her as well.

Vibe. He had said something just before he disappeared. That their earth was too hero-happy. Their earth. As if there was more than one.

"Well, shit," Heather sighed sharply, rubbing at a pounding headache that was beginning to build behind her eyes.

Apparently, Vibe wasn't just a teleporter like her fiance, and perhaps their assessment of him as a c-lister villain was a bit hasty. Because apparently the sucker could warp not just around the world, but also apparently around the freaking multiverse?! And Heather, dumbass extraordinaire, had followed him to a parallel universe. Which meant that the only way she was ever going to get home was to find the bastard again, and there was no way she'd be able to do that on her own.

Fourth question, how?

Heather felt significantly more guilty sneaking onto the Wayne Manor estate than she had breaking into the department store.

She hoped that her Dick and Bruce - if she ever saw them again - would understand that she hadn't meant to memorize the defenses around the estate. Really, it was more Bruce's fault than hers.

She'd spent so much time working for the man, digging through the batcomputer's files and doing the menial grunt work to help hone her skills, that of course at some point she'd gotten bored and started studying the layout of the grounds and where all the motion detectors were hidden. She was only human... well, kind of. Sort of. Not important right now.

She didn't know for certain that this version of Bruce Wayne would use the same layout for his home's defenses. Hell, she wasn't even certain that this version had even become Batman. Maybe the man actually was a clueless socialite in this universe. But Heather had a gut feeling that she couldn't shake.

Like, sure, maybe there were universes out there where that was true. But... could there really be a universe where Bruce Wayne had never become Batman, and yet he'd still taken in Dick, who then would coincidentally also have a falling out with the man and move to Bludhaven? The whole reason her Dick had moved to that awful city was to establish himself as Nightwing.

Heather knew she was holding onto a thin string of hope here. But if she was wrong, she might never make it back home, and that possibility was too terrifying to even consider.

Her universe had found multiple ways to kick her in the teeth and drag her down, over and over again. Yet, that universe was her home, and she was still standing. She'd gotten back up each time with the help of her family and friends. She would figure this out, and she would come home to them.

There wasn't an option for failure.

By the time she was standing in front of the massive doors of the manor, her shoulder and ankle were starting to throb in time with her heartbeat. The sun had burned off the remaining rain and she estimated it was closer to six or seven am now. Despite knowing she looked like a drowned rat, Heather attempted to have some dignity as she straightened her clothes, pushed back her slick hair, and reached up to knock.

"I'll get it, Alfred," She heard a young male voice on the other side of the door, and she had just enough time to think Tim when a seventeen year old boy with dark hair opened the door.

Heather blinked. This... was not her Tim. Her Tim was still thirteen and only recently reached her shoulder in height. Yet, the haircut, the blue eyes, the sharp features, all of it definitely screamed Tim Drake.

The boy frowned at her. "Can I help you?"

"Uh," Heather floundered for a second, unsure. She hadn't anticipated speaking to anyone other than Alfred, Dick or Bruce. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It's um, it's been a rough night. My name is Heather Reilly. You're Tim, right? I'm a friend of Dick Grayson's, and I really need his help."

"You again?" Alfred was suddenly behind Tim, wearing the most severe frown she'd ever seen on the man.

It immediately made her step back a half pace and her shoulders hunch. No one, not even her own parents, could make Heather feel like a small naughty child the way Mr. Pennyworth could. There was a reason even Batman deferred to him. "I was quite firm young lady. How did you manage to get past the front gate?"

Translation: How did you avoid all of Batman's security? Heather thought, but of course they wouldn't know that she knew about any of that.

"Please, Mr. Pennyworth, if you just let me explain the situation," Heather began, trying not to wither under his stony stare.

"How do you know Dick?" Tim interrupted. He looked just as suspicious as Alfred, but there was something else in his stare, curiosity or something like it. Tim, like Bruce, was a detective and Heather could tell she'd piqued his interest.

"Dick and I are old friends," She said quickly, latching onto Tim's interest like a lifeline. "We met when we were teenagers. We, uh, had a lot in common. Listen, if Dick isn't here could I at least use your phone? I lost mine, and if I can't talk to Dick, then I need to try and call another friend."

"Are you in trouble?" Alfred asked, looking a modicum less severe than before.

"Very much so, sir,'' Heather nodded, shifting her weight only to wince as she placed too much onto her bad ankle. "Shit," she hissed, unable to keep the curse in.

"What happened?" Tim asked, opening the door wider.

"I... fell," She said lamely, scratching the back of her neck. How could she explain that it was from a height of several stories? Oh, right, she couldn't. "Twisted my ankle. It's fine, I'm a fast healer."

Tim and Alfred exchanged a long look, and only years of working with the bats helped her parse out its full meaning. They didn't trust her, clearly. They thought she might even be lying, but they weren't going to leave someone soaking wet and obviously injured outside on their doorstep.

Alfred hummed, still displeased, "You may use the phone in the library, follow me. Master Tim, would you please bring me the first aid kit?"

"Sure, Alfie," Tim sent one more scrutinizing stare her way before disappearing into what she knew was a supply closet.

She followed the butler into the library, wincing as she dripped rainwater onto the expensive rugs. He led her to an antique secretary desk with a rotary phone on it, because apparently in every universe Bruce Wayne was that kind of old money rich, and insisted she sit down on the oak desk chair. Tim reappeared shortly, carrying both a first aid kit and a towel, the latter of which Heather took gratefully as she sat her plastic bag full of gear onto the floor.

Heather carefully squeezed water out of her hair, mindful of her shoulder as Alfred looked through the kit. "If you would remove your boot, Miss Reilly, I will check your ankle."

"Oh, I mean, you don't have to-" Heather began, the towel now draped over her shoulders.

"I insist," Alfred said firmly but not unkindly.

"You might as well let him look," Tim said with a chuckle. He was leaning against one of the many floor to ceiling bookcases. "He won't take no for an answer."

"Right, I knew that," Heather muttered, shaking her head. She missed the puzzled frowns Tim and Alfred shared as she reached down and started unlacing her combat boots.

Spider-Man and her father preferred their costumes with matching boots and gloves, the web design visible from top to bottom. But she'd long ago chosen steel toed black boots and fingerless black leather gloves for herself. She liked that it made the uniform her own, along with a modified version of her father's blue hoodie - cropped, slightly darker in hue, and made of a resilient Kevlar. The Scarlet Spider silhouette was still recognizable as the one Ben Reilly once wore, but she'd made it hers, and she knew her dad would have approved.

She got the boot off and peeled off her wet sock, hissing as the fabric stuck around the swollen ankle joint before finally coming free. Of course, it was the ankle she'd broken previously, that was just her luck.

"Okay, it's a little worse than I thought," she admitted quietly as Alfred examined the injury.

"You seemed pretty confident it was just a sprain," Tim observed casually.

Bruce hasn't taught him all his tricks yet, Heather thought as she considered how to answer Tim's obviously prying question. "Not the first time," she said as she watched Alfred pull out a roll of bandages. "I'm clumsy."

Before Tim could form his next question, a voice called out, "Drake? Pennyworth?" This was followed shortly by a boy, maybe fourteen years old, coming into the library. He was also dark haired, but much tanner than Tim and his eyes were brown. There was something oddly familiar about the kid that Heather couldn't put her finger on.

"Who is this?" The boy demanded.

"Manners, Master Damian," Alfred chided him as he finished wrapping Heather's ankle. "It's best you remove your other boot as well, Miss, to give them a chance to dry out."

Heather nodded, "right, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Damian, this is Heather. She says she's a friend of Dick's," Tim explained.

"Richard has never mentioned you," Damian said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. He spoke with the slightest accent, something Middle Eastern that Heather couldn't pin down, and the more she looked at his face the more she was sure she knew him from somewhere.

"We're, uh, very old friends," Heather explained awkwardly. "We haven't seen each other in a long time." Or ever, in this universe's case.

"Tt," Damian scoffed, sharing glances with Alfred and Tim. He wasn't even attempting to hide how suspicious he thought she was. It was sort of refreshing. "Richard isn't home. He's running errands with Father."

Now Heather was narrowing her eyes, her head tilting to the side as a memory came to her. Of a painting that hung in her universe's version of Wayne Manor featuring Thomas and Martha Wayne posing with their young son. Bruce was solemn, even as a child, and Damian had the same set to his jaw.

"Oh my god," she breathed as it clicked, suddenly standing as she pointed at the boy. "You're Bruce's kid. Like, his bio kid, aren't you?"

The others gave her various confused reactions. Alfred raised one eyebrow, Tim frowned, and Damian crossed his arms haughtily.

"Of course, I am," the younger boy snapped, like he thought Heather was an idiot. Which was fair. She kind of was most days, even she could admit that. "How do you not know who I am?"

"I -" She dropped her arm and rubbed her neck. "Right, yeah, that's an excellent question." She sighed. "Okay, truthfully? I am friends with Dick, but... not your Dick?" They frowned at her, and she couldn't blame them.

"Look, I'm going to level with you. I'm not from this universe. I work with Dick on my earth with a team of heroes. We were fighting this guy - Vibe? I did something monumentally stupid, and I ended up here. I didn't realize until I was already talking with Alfred that I was even in the wrong universe because my Alfred has known me for years. I worked with Batman for a while when I was a teenager, back when Dick was still Robin, and-"

"What are you talking about?" Tim interrupted her nervous ramblings. "Why do you think we know anything about Batman?" He added angrily. Damian looked ready to commit murder, and Alfred had disappeared at some point.

Heather groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, let's just cut past the song and dance, okay? I know all about Bruce, I have for years. In my universe, he gave me almost full access to the batcomputer's files. I trained with Robin in the batcave. I know about the entrance behind the grandfather clock in Bruce's study-"

Heather realized a few beats too late that was probably not the best way to break the news.

Damian was suddenly in her face with a knife at her throat pulled from seemingly nowhere. She reacted instinctively, grabbing the boy's wrist, twisting it down until he dropped the dagger. She pushed him into Tim, who'd been pulling out his collapsible bo staff. She'd turned with the intention of escaping through the library's other exit, but only made it a few strides when the sound of a shotgun being loaded stopped her dead in her tracks.

Right, that would be Alfred, she thought numbly, lifting her hands up as high as her injured shoulder would allow before dropping to her knees.

"Do not move," Alfred ordered.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"How did you disarm me so easily?" Damian demanded, stomping around to glare at her.

Heather gave him a small smile, which only made him angrier. "You remind me of my sister," she said instead of answering.

"I don't know what your game is," Tim told her, "but we're not playing. What do want with Dick?"

"First, poor word choice," Heather smirked at him over her shoulder. He glared back at her flatly, and she rolled her eyes. "My Tim has a much better sense of humor. I already told you exactly why I'm here. I'm in the wrong universe, and I need Batman and Nightwing to help me get home."

"Why do you keep insisting my father is the Batman?" Damian asked.

Heather sighed. "Look, we could keep going around and around on this all day, but I don't have that kind of time. Either call up Dick and Bruce so we can discuss this like adults, or-"

"Or what?" Alfred asked, suddenly reminding her there was a very protective butler with a gun pointed at her.

Heather pursed her lips, considering. "Why don't you take me down to the cave? You guys probably have a holding cell like my Batman does. You can keep me under lock and key until I can convince you I'm telling the truth, or until you can get someone from the League to come down who can wipe my memory if I can't."

"Or we could take you to Arkham Aslyum now," Damian suggested.

Heather took a deep breath, trying to be patient. Not like it could hold me. "It's up to you," she finally said.

Damian walked behind her so the three could share a whispered conference. Heather tried very hard not to hear them by humming under her breath, but it was a lost cause. Damian was coming up with some very creative forms of interrogation tactics, but was ultimately overruled by Tim and Alfred.

"Alright, let's go," Tim finally sighed. "Hands behind your back, and just keep in mind Alfred is a very good shot." She saw him pulling a pair of handcuffs from the corner of her eye.

"You're going to want to use something stronger than that," she told them mildly as Tim grabbed her wrists and yanked them behind her back. Tim hesitated for a moment, before Damian handed him something she couldn't see. She bit back a hiss of pain as they used what felt like metal cording from a grappel gun to bind her hands, then used the remaining cord to wrap around her arms and chest.

Better, she thought as Tim and Damian pulled her to her feet, but still not enough. Ah well, I'll let them have this one.

They blindfolded her before taking her to the batcave, maybe so they could still have plausible deniability. Heather let the boys lead her to the elevator, her spider-sense keeping her aware of Alfred's shotgun aimed at her chest. When the elevator stopped, her bare feet were treading the rock of the cave's floor as the boys prodded her along, her injured ankle really resenting the cold seeping into her bones. She couldn't surpress a small shiver, suddenly aware of her still soaking wet stolen clothes that were clinging to her.

"Relax, we're not going to hurt you," Tim murmured, misinterpreting her shudder.

"Unless you give us a reason too," Damian added, less meanly than he could have.

Huh, maybe the kid wasn't as blood thirsty as he seemed. I wonder who his mom is? I don't think it's Selina. He doesn't look anything like her. Heather pondered this little mystery until she heard a metal cage door opening and she was gently pushed inside the holding cell. Someone pulled off the blindfold before they locked her in. She blinked her eyes to help them adjust to the new lighting, taking in the somewhat familiar landscape around her.

"Good to know the giant penny and t-rex are consistent in every universe," Heather observed. "Still ridiculous, but consistent."

"Master Bruce and Master Dick are on their way," Alfred said, lowering the gun slightly but not putting it away.

Heather nodded. "I figured. So... bio kid, huh?" She added, conversationally.

Damian narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't reply.

"I totally see it now," Heather admitted, taking a seat on the cot in the cage. She brought her legs up to fold beneath her, trying to get comfortable. "I thought at first that Bruce's adoption habit was worse in this universe."

"What makes you think I'm adopted?" Tim asked, taking a seat on a stool he'd brought over.

Heather blinked in surprise. "Oh, my mistake, sorry. My Tim Drake is, so I guess I assumed."

"What happened to your Tim's parents?" Tim frowned, but there was something in his expression that Heather couldn't read.

Heather pursed her lips, considering how to explain. "They were very neglectful. At first, Bruce just had emergency custody of Tim while the state investigated why he was being left alone for long periods of time with only a maid checking on him. When they realized how shitty the Drakes were, that's when he put in the paperwork."

"So they're... still alive?" Tim asked in a much quieter voice.

Heather's heart stuttered painfully. "Oh... I'm so sorry."

Tim shook his head. "Not your fault," he said it like it was something he told people a lot, which only made Heather feel worse.

"I really am sorry. This world is so different from my own," Heather said, mostly to keep the conversation moving. She'd always hated awkward silence. "My Tim is younger, and I've never even met him before." She tilted her head towards Damian. "I mean, he might exist on my earth. Who's your mom?"

Damian tutted again, which she was beginning to suspect was a habit. "Not that its any of your business, but my mother's name is Talia Al Ghul."

Heather blinked and sat forward. "I'm sorry - the daughter of the Demon's Head is your mom? One of the most dangerous women in the world, and the next leader of the League of Assasins?"

Damian gave her a haughty nod. "I see my mother's reputation precedes her even in another universe."

"Okay, mental note," Heather muttered. "Interrogate Bruce when I get home to make sure he actually knows how condoms work."

Tim let out an involuntary snort and Damian's pride disappated back into disdain as he muttered something in Arabic that she was sure was unflattering.

"Alrighty, anyway," She sighed. "I'm assuming you have questions you want me to answer?"

"I am not sure what we could ask you that could prove your worthiness," Damian snapped. "You are a stranger to us."

Tim nodded reluctantly. "I've never heard Dick mention anyone like you." He picked up the plastic bag they must have brought from upstairs that had her gear in it, pulling out her mask and frowning at it. "What's with the spider webs?"

"On my earth, I'm called the Scarlet Spider," Heather explained, waiting for any hint of recognition on his face, but nothing came. "You know, ally of Spider-Man? Friend of the Avengers?"

"Who?" Damian asked.

"Whoa, okay, I didn't think our earths were that different," Heather shook her head. "Wait, if Spider-Man and the Avengers don't exist in this world, does the Justice League exist?"

"Of course," Tim and Damian answered almost in unison, then glared at each other in annoyance.

"That's a relief. So the team must exist too," Heather said, only to receive another frown.

"You mean the Teen Titans?" Tim clarified.

"No...? I mean the team. We work for the Justice League? But, like, covertly. We handle missions that the League doesn't want a lot of attention on, but that still needs a lot of skill." Heather explained, "There's me, Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Robin, Batgirl, Bumblebee, Beast Boy-"

"I only recognize some of those names," Tim admitted.

"Weird," Heather muttered.

"This is a waste of time," Damian exclaimed, "She's clearly lying, Drake, we should take care of her before she can reveal our identities to anyone."

"Let's pump the breaks on the murder, alright Shortstack?" Heather couldn't help but snap. "Does your Batman actually kill? Because that's seriously messed up."

"He does not," Alfred confirmed, giving Damian a reprimanding glare.

Damian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, muttering to himself. Tim and Alfred couldn't hear it, but Heather could perfectly. "This never would happen with Mother and Grandfather."

Tim's phone suddenly chimed at the same moment Heather heard tires crunching on the gravel outside the manor. "I'm guessing Bruce is here?" She asked Tim as he checked his phone.

"How did you-?"

"Lucky guess," Heather deflected.

Alfred finally lowered his gun and left, presumably to meet his employer and pseudo son at the door. Damian seemed to take this as an invitation to take out another dagger from some pocket and begin fiddling with it. Heather guessed this was his way of intimidating her, or it could have been a nervous habit. She didn't have the heart to tell him it was more cute than anything else.

The kid looked like he'd barely hit puberty. He reminded her of her own little brother and sister, which just made her homesick. She wanted to pull her phone out, just so she could see her photos and reassure herself that they were still out there, waiting for her, but she stopped herself from snapping her restraints. She needed this world's Batman to trust her, or she'd never get home.

"I'm assuming you're a meta human?" Tim asked her after he finished sending another text. He put his phone in his pocket so he could focus his attention on her fully.

"In a sense," Heather said reluctantly. "It's complicated."

"I have a friend who's the daughter of a demon, try me," Tim challenged.

"It's not that I'm refusing to answer the question, it's just seriously complicated," She explained. "Does this world have stable cloning technology?"

"Are you somebody's clone?"

"No- well, yes and no," She shook her head when he gave her an exasperated sigh. "Complicated! Ugh, okay, so my story starts way before I was born. On my earth there's a hero called Spider-Man. He was a regular guy who was bitten by a radioactive spider, giving him super powers."

"Usually when someone has a backstory like that, they turn to a life of crime, at least in my experience," Tim commented.

"Yeah, well, he didn't. I mean, he used his powers to win money in wrestling matches at first," Heather admitted, rolling her eyes. "He was young and dumb, don't worry about it - not important. The important thing is years later, Spider-Man gets a new rogue who called himself Jackal. The guy was crazy, but brilliant."

"We are familiar with the type," Damian commented quietly.

Heather snorted. "Trust me, I know, but unfortunately he was way less Nygma and his puzzles, and more like Crane with unethical experimentation. The guy manages to clone Spider-Man, except - plot twist - Spider-Man suddenly has a case of amnesia and he and the clone can't remember which of them is the real deal."

Tim whistled, "complicated."

"Oh trust me, tip of the iceberg," Heather complained, shaking her head. "I'll skip forward, or we'll be here for hours. The clone, he went by the name Scarlet Spider, eventually comes to a truce with Spider-Man and they become allies. In the meantime, Scarlet Spider and the woman who was once Spider-Man's fiance fall in love. Eventually, they have a kid." She shrugged as much as her restraints allowed her to.

"That was you," Damian guessed.

"Yep," Heather nodded. "Again, I'm going to skip forward for brevity's sake. I developed powers as I aged, but then suddenly one day my body freaks the fuck out. My DNA wasn't completely stable, being half human and half - er, clone slash radioactive meta slash freak lab accident." She sighed. Sometimes she couldn't believe this was her life. "My body mutated."

"It didn't kill you?" Tim asks, surprised.

"It almost did," she admits quietly. "Spider-Man saved my life. I was only nineteen."

"How old are you now?" Damian asked, almost politely.

"Almost twenty-four," Heather smiled. "My fiance, Kurt, is trying to plan a surprise party for me with my Dick Grayson's help. They're not succeeding, but it's adorable to watch so I'm letting it go for now."

"You weren't lying when you said you were close with him, were you?" Tim said, almost sounding like he was talking to himself.

"Robin was always one of my biggest heroes," Heather admitted. "When we finally met, he became one of my closest friends. He's practically my brother."

"That's why you were sure he would help you," Damian concluded.

"He's my best shot," Heather admitted as Bruce finally stepped into the cave, Dick right behind, followed by an Asian woman with short dark hair, and finally an African American teen about Tim's age.

Heather tilted her head at the woman and teen in confusion. The woman only smiled mildly and waved, while the teen mirrored her frown. Well, that's definitely new. Maybe this Bruce does have more of an adoption problem than mine.

"You got my message?" Tim asked.

"Yes. We've been watching the security cameras," Bruce muttered, eying Heather like she was one of the Riddler's newest puzzles. Which, ow.

"Hello," Heather said, giving a cheery smile despite the increase in suspicious eyes on her. "I'd get up to greet you, but..."

"Oh, this one has jokes," Dick said, coming to gently take Damian's dagger away. "That's refreshing. Last time we got someone from a parallel universe, they weren't any fun. Remember Bruce? The Stephanie doppelganger?"

"Dick," Bruce reprimanded before his eldest could go off on a tangent.

"Oh yeah, no, that one was no fun," Tim agreed, ignoring Bruce’s sigh. "This one says she's known you since you were Robin."

"Hey, I have!" Heather protested. "C'mon, we were all getting along so well. I mean, aside from the stabby child over there... but I have a feeling he's like that with most people?"

"We're trying to break him of the habit," Dick commented dryly.

"Did Damian stab her?" The black teen asked.

"Not quite," Tim shrugged. "She's fast."

"Aw, thanks Tim" Heather beamed. "That's like the nicest thing you've said to me all day. When I get home, I'll be sure to tell my Tim you were nice. Even if you do need to lighten up a little."

"What makes you think you're going anywhere?" Dick asked, but Heather couldn't hear any real threat in the words. She had a feeling this Dick had just as big of a heart as her world's.

"Look, obviously me being here is upsetting for multiple reasons. You guys love your privacy, and you hate having someone around who compromises that, I get it. Not to mention, it's probably not a good idea for someone from the wrong multiverse to stay here long term. I mean, I'm a biochemist not a theoretical physicist, but I'm assuming it's probably bad," Heather shrugged as much as her bonds allowed. "So, the way I see it is, you help me get back home, and we're all happy in the end. Right?"

"How can we trust that you're telling the truth?" Tim asked again, but she could tell Bruce was thinking it over.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Timmy," Heather told him honestly. "I mean, I could sit here all day telling you things that are true of my universe? Like, I know that Dick’s first pet was Zitka, the circus elephant. I know that my Tim basically blackmailed Batman into making him Robin. I know that my Alfred never uses cloves in his cooking because Bruce is allegic, which is why he never drinks the eggnog at the Justice League's Christmas party. Is any of that true in this universe? I don't have a clue. What I do know for certain is that you all are my only shot of getting home. If you won't help me..."

Heather swallowed, staring at nothing as the despair of that possibility hit her full force. "I'll never see my family again, and Kurt will never know what happened to me. Please, I'm begging here, help me get home."

Bruce crossed his arms and looked at the Asian woman that hadn't said a word so far. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, a little younger than this world's Dick. Heather had tried not to let it bother her, but the younger woman had been watching her intently the whole time they'd been talking. Heather couldn't help feeling like she was missing something as she watched the woman turn to Bruce and smile.

"Not lying. I trust her," She finally said.

The words were stilted in a way that normally Heather would associate with learning a new language, but the woman had a distinct Gotham accent. It almost reminded Heather of how her little sister used to talk when she'd started speech therapy, like the woman wasn't sure how to put her thoughts into spoken words.

"Okay, as much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, I have to ask - who are they?" Heather asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

"You don't have a Cassandra Cain or Duke Thomas in your world?" Dick asked.

Heather shook her head, "Doesn't ring a bell, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. Like I was saying earlier, my timeline seems a little skewed from this one. My Tim is younger, and as far as I know, my Bruce doesn't have a bio kid. It's just Dick, Tim, Babs and me around."

"What about Jason Todd?" Bruce asked quietly, and if she hadn't known another version of this man so well she might not have heard his trepidation for the answer.

"That's... I mean..." Heather blew out a somber breath. "Jason was murdered by the Joker," she admitted reluctantly. Every face in the room fell, but there was an air of recognition to the grief. Clearly, the same fate had befallen their Jason as well.

Heather continued after a moment, "That was a few years ago. Recently, he, well... came back. Things are still a little delicate, so he's been staying with me and Kurt for the time being."

"Why isn't he home with us?" Dick asked.

Heather grimaced. "You have to understand, he wasn't in his right mind. He - well, he attacked our Tim and hurt him pretty badly. They're both doing better, but Jason hasn't forgiven himself and still has things to work through, and Tim needs time to recover mentally and emotionally. We're giving them both space until if and when they're ready to be in the same room."

"Wow, what a concept," Tim deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Bruce and Dick looked uncomfortable. Heather narrowed her eyes but decided not to ask. Not her circus, not her monkeys. She could only do so much for the Wayne family in her own universe; she couldn't possibly fix an entirely different one as well. Especially when she didn't have the complete picture.

"Ya know, I kind of wish we had a version of her," Duke spoke up. "That's like the most level headed decision I've heard from someone in this family in... no, scratch that, ever."

"Don't give me too much credit," Heather smiled, but it was self-derogatory. "I've had my fair share of screw ups, too. Sometimes, you just need an outside perspective." She sighed, wishing she could rub her eyes. "Look, I get that this is a lot to ask, but I have to track down Vibe before he disappears from this world, too. I can stay right here if it makes you all feel better, but I need help finding his tachyon signature so I can catch him and make him take us home. The batcomputer is my best chance."

"Quick question," Dick lifted a hand, frowning at her. "What do you mean by 'make us feel better'?"

Heather clicked her tongue and stood up, walking to the far wall of the cage, opposite the door. She flexed her muscles, snapping the metal grappeling cord like it was dental floss. As the cord fell into a pile on the floor, she reached forward and using two fingers on each hand, bent two of the steel bars towards each other into an 'x'. She stepped back from the cage wall and put her hands behind her back, shrugging sheepishly.

"You could escape at any time, couldn't you?" Duke guessed.

Heather nodded, chewing her cheek.

"You could have broken in here without alerting anyone, gotten what you wanted, and left without a trace," Tim added. "Just like how you got passed all of the security on the grounds."

"Well, I don't know about completely leaving without a trace," Heather hedged, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm not Kurt, I can't teleport, and I don't have invisibility either."

"Hn, perhaps you could explain your powers to us in detail while we start searching for your missing rogue," Bruce said.

She didn't know this Bruce or what had happened in his life to alter it from the man she did know, but she could hear the world's greatest detective in his voice and it made the anxiety in her chest melt. They weren't going to abandon her, they were going to help.

The only question left, was when?

#fan fiction #my writing #rae writes #young justice x marvel #dc x marvel #spider man mentioned #oc heather parker #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #dc robin #cassandra cain #dc orphan #dc signal #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #dc multiverse #parallel universe #aka heather fell through a portal and has a bad time #scarlet spider #ben reilly #oc heather reilly #part 1 of ? #i may post this to ao3 i havent decided #ao3 writer #wayne family adventures

[donna-medusa-gorgon]

Fuck it, Hazbin textposts

Donna, encouraging me to draw for the new series: Come on, use those artists techniques you worked so hard for!

Rosie: She stopped drawing years ago!

Donna: Why did you stop drawing?!

Me: I was sad still am

-🐍🌹-

Donna: I hate you

Alastor: The feeling is mutual

Rosie: Hello my two favorite people in all the rings!

Donna: I will hate you silently

Alastor: Likewise

-🐍🌹-

Aurora, making a friend: Lets keep this a secret club

Aria in the background: It’s not a secret!

Angelo in the background: We’re going to tell everyone!

-🐍🌹-

Donna: Alas, I cannot remember even my name and I am cast into a world of punishment and hatred. Oh well, I shall try to live the best possible life down here

Donna, five seconds later: That didn’t work so I’m killing everyone

-🐍🌹-

Aria: You’re my best friend now. We’re having a picnic and killing your dad again

Lugos, who literally just died: ....okay

*And so they were best friends*

-🐍🌹-

Donna: They say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but it’s much easier to get it through his fifth and fourth rib cage

Donna: I’m joking

Donna: Just dump the whole body no one wants that-

-🐍🌹-

Rosie: Oh sweetie, oh honey, oh sugar, oh egg, oh half a stick of butter, one cup of flour, teaspoon of vanilla, fold inward, bake at 350 degrees

Donna: Thinking of ways to eat me again?

Rosie: You would just be so delicious I know it

-🐍🌹-

Donna: Is, is there a Missus Rosie or or….?

Carmilla: Are you flirting with the fucking cannibal-

Donna: SHE’S FUCKING. H O T.

-🐍🌹-

Rosie: And it can be just us too darling…

Voice: Oh yes that would be wonderful! *Aria pops out of bushes*

Rosie: Three? *Aurora pops out* Four? *Angelo pops out* Five?!

Donna: Yes Madame Rosie, these are my children

Rosie: Oh! How sweet~<3

-🐍🌹-

Emily: Hi! I’m Emily, it’s so nice to meet you! Im technically your aunt but that’s weird considering you’re older than me, but also technically younger so you can just call me your cousin! And I’ll make sure you have the best time of your life in Heaven!

Angelo, about to achieve the fastest time for getting kicked out of Heaven: I’m going to teach you so many swears

-🐍🌹-

Sera: You had, children. With a fallen angel.

Donna: Is now a bad time to tell you it gets worse

Sera: HOW COULD IT POSSIBLE GET WORSE

-🐍🌹-

Sera: Oh my god it got so much worse

-🐍🌹-

Donna: There is nothing you can say that will convince me to join your little project Charlotte

Charlie: Your children can get redeem?

Donna: Alright you’ve convinced me here’s my entire fortune

-🐍🌹-

Alastor: Rosie, darling, listen to me. You can do so much better.

-🐍🌹-

Donna: Lucifer, honey, look at me. You can do so much better.

-🐍🌹-

Locus + all the other side characters I made: Hello what about me?!

Me: No, you’re not in these nexts posts I’m so sorry

-🐍🌹-

*In a room with all of Donna’s partners*

Rosie: WOW you’re an idiot

Nazzo: Hey now that’s too harsh

Perseus: As harsh as trying to kill your wife who you just found out was super powerful?

Nazzo: Okay well at least I didn’t call her a monster and then killed myself immediately after

Andromeda: I was grieving my emotions was running high! What’s your excuse you’d realize you really belong in the tar pit?!

Nazzo: Oh I’ll show you where you belong bitch-!

-🐍🌹-

*as the partners duke it out in the next room*

Donna, on the phone: Adam. Adam listen to me. I need your help. You need to kill me-

-🐍🌹-

Nobody:

Me, in your walls: I WAS FUCKING R I G H T FOR LOVING ROSIE ALL THOSE YEARS AGO-

#hazbin hotel #hazbin oc #hazbin hotel oc #donna gorgon #donna medusa gorgon #aria gorgon #angelo gorgon #aurora gorgon #hazbin rosie #hazbin hotel rosie #Rosie~<3 #People draw realistic Rosie and GOD I’m in love with her #Hazbin Alastor #hazbin lucifer #implied radioapple but platonic okay #im a crack shipper at heart and that ship is so. funny to me #I adore it #Alastor and Donna duking it out for their siblings #okay ocs mentioned #Nazzo #locus #Perseus and andromeda #lugos #I’ll work on them…one day #I’m loosing the motivation to draw again please send help #but in the meantime #have at thee #and by thee I mean memes #I actually want to draw out several of these texts I think they’ll be funny

[runeofgold]

OC list, for those interested in my character's :)

Adeian, the Noble Blue Blade of the Palace: Adeian was actually my first ER OC! He's the holder of the Wolf Rune, and has a long story of how he ended up as he did. Long story short, Adeian was raised by a cult that in the end sacrificed him for their own benefit after he took on the Wolf Rune. Adeian actually ascended to godhood, became a giant wolf-man, and ate them all :).. All except one.

Aegar, the leader. He chained Adeian down in the throne room with a god-repellent collar and chain, before leaving him there, doomed to be alone for eternity. Adeian, once a noble knight, is now but a howling beast.. Awaiting his freedom. Once free, he is more or less his noble self, a righteous knight by nature, now the only remaining soul in the abandoned city of Lunashallow.

Goldenwolf Graeivikk: The Goldenwolf is exactly what he sounds like! He's a tall, gold and white wolf-man! He's got a prosthetic leg and hand, as he lost them fighting a dragon. And then, with said dragons bones, made himself prosthetics. He is the son of the Wolf God, Haustas, and the Golden She-wolf Loahnn. Graei is said to be sort of, a God of Fate, and he has a sword that can sever one's fate, but to do so.. You must re-write your own destiny in your own blood. He's a charismatic fellow! And loves looking at the night sky.

Daedra, the Eclipsed Wolf: Daedra is my Tarnished! He's basically got a flat face all the time, and doesn't really put his emotions out there. He's pretty aloof, and doesn't really get close to anyone. But, that's due to an unspoken event in his life, whether it actually happened to him or no, he lost someone so near and dear to him, that he feels that very loss everywhere he goes, is constantly reminded of his loss.

So, he's a guarded, somewhat prickly fellow. But! He's a good guy at heart, and feels sympathy for those in the Land's Between who suffer. Daedra, while being his own soul and person, is very closely connected with the Outer God of Life and Death.

Daedra dreams of what was, and never will be again. But as well, other strange worlds he never seen..

Cyrus Daegal Marius, the Outer God of Life, Death, Beginning, and End: Cyrus sounds very over powered, but in truth, he is just an overseer of all things to to do with life and death, he doesn't fight, or even ends up in the Land's Between without Daedra and Fia capturing his attention. Cyrus existed before the Land's Between did, of course! He is an Outer God after all!

Cyrus didn't appear in the Land's himself, he plant's two of his eyes unto the land. Daedra, being one of them actually. Cyrus is very.. Blunt. He oversees not only life and death, but a realm called the Everlasting Abyss, where souls that completely died, being removed from the very plane of existence, go to rest for eternity. Now, these souls can be retrieved, but a deal must be made. Cyrus can't have a bleeding heart for all the souls he sends to sleep.

Before Daedra, there was Loustatt. Loustatt is Cyrus' Right Eye, and thus was rather expressive and creative. He was an Empyrean, and was dubbed the Silver Hollowslayer. I'll talk about him under Cyrus. But. He dies, and when he returns to Cyrus, is when his memories become the God's. Cyrus, flooded and overwhelmed by sudden emotion, sheds one, singular tear.

Loustatt, the Silver Hollowslayer: The most noble of men, an Empyrean with such strength, Marika claimed him as her knight. He fought with her, against the dragon's, and aided in her ascension to Queen. Loustatt has been alive since the beginning of the Land's, and has seen much, if not all there was to see. Loustatt is a man with a heart of gold, a stern hand, and knowledgeable mentor to Godwyn, who he is later entrusted by Marika, to guide Godwyn in life and teach him the ways of Gold.

Yet, even being who he was, Loustatt died with Godwyn on the Night of the Black Knives. He died trying to protect Godwyn, but still he failed. He fought valiantly, but in the end bled out as the Black Knives carved into Godwyn. His soul returns to the Everlasting Abyss, to Cyrus, and it is then the impact of his life brought the God of Life and Death, to shed one singular tear.

Haustas, was Loustatt's loyal beast in life. But, with Loustatt's death, the wolf lost it's purpose, and left. To die in the wilds, free of any master, devoid and lost of any purpose.

Ruhérlann Dahrmann (Rooh-here-lann Dahr-mann), the Self Proclaimed Duke of Raya Lucaria: Ruher is the fourth child of Rennala and Radagon, and was born just before Radagon leaves Rennala for good.. Rennala, heartbroken, did her best to raise and love Ruher like his three older siblings. But.. For the most part, he raised himself. Ruher is reclusive, and very prickly. He spent years studying scrolls, and gathering what little information there was of Radagon.

Ruher proclaimed himself the Duke, and often visits his mother to sing to her, and play her songs on musical instruments. One of which, is a stringed instrument. A song he likes to play, reminding him of being small, is a song that Radagon would play on the same instrument.. But Ruher once idolized Radagon, as a child, now despises him. Thinks of him as a scoundrel, a no good low life who didn't deserve his dear mother.. He's constantly got a migraine, and his back hurts. Don't expect thanks from him, as he's kinda got his head stuck up his own ass. While a tough nut to crack, Ruher can still be cracked open, to reveal he's just sad, and tired, a man who's still a boy that yearns for his family to be whole again..

Goldenchild Hadrian: Also known as Haddie! Hadrian is the son of Godrick, from before the Shattering. He was a wee little thing, and sheltered from everything but Godrick. Pre-Grafting, Godrick hid the world from Hadrian, and Hadrian from the world. With golden hair and eyes, Godrick seeked to protect his shred of gold. And so.. He locked Hadrian away in an inaccessible tower, guarded by two grafted guards to keep him safe. Hadrian's other parent, is said to be the God of Love and Dreams, and so he possesses some strange power's. But he has no clue how to use them, so wings and a tail occasionally pop out of nowhere, if he's feeling strongly.

Hadrian is a sweet guy, he couldn't hurt a fly.. Because he never learned how to fight, or even hate in that matter. Ruher meets him later in life, and calls him a 'Dream-Striken Lollygager'.. Whatever that means. Haddie is willing to learn anything! He's jovial, and polite. Kindest man you'll ever meet.

Tennren, the Cowardly: Yet another Tarnished! Ren isn't the bravest, or most courageous man out there. Quite the opposite, with a potty mouth. He screams, he flees, he's a pathetic little man! He believes in the Golden Order, and wishes to follow the path of Righteousness.. Eventually.

He is a great big procrastinator, and travels with Daedra for some time. Daedra got sick of his shit real fast, and kicked his ass after Tennren abandoned him during a crucial fight. At some point, Ren does get his shit together and cleans up his act a bit. But that's when he and Daedra's paths diverge, and they seperate. Ren is of Numen origin, and isn't exactly always down to earth, so to speak. He zones out, his head in the clouds.. A good finger snap, or slap to the face brings him back.

And last but not least, Verdan, God of Love and Dreams: Not much is truly known about him, other than his appearance differs from person to person, and that he has ALOT of children, and never stayed to raise the child. Verdan causes a effect on everyone around him to become very.. Affectionate. Twords him, eachother, whoever! He just causes everyone to love and be loved.

He's not a human scumbag, and seeks to create a world of love and happiness. But.. He's also incredibly lazy. Tennren and Hadrian are notable children of his, whether they know it or not.

And there you have it! My OC's :) feel free to interact with them/ask to RP with them! Feel free to ask what they look like as well! The only ones who lack appearance are Loustatt and Verdan. But i plan on drawing them, one day 😅

#runeofgold: mod mori #oc: adeian noble blade #oc: goldenwolf graeivikk #oc: daedra the eclipsed wolf #oc: cyrus daegal marius #oc: loustatt the silver hollowslayer #oc: ruherlann dahrmann the self proclaimed duke #oc: goldenchild hadrian #oc: tennren the cowardly #oc: verdan god of love and dreams #i have WAY more ocs #i also have other fan children but im not sure if i should mention them #theyll be posted one day-im sure #oH oop #rune of: out of character #elden ring #elden ring original characters #rune of: character creation

[elfboyeros]

Returning

@jj-pines @lerenee @meowthefluffy

Read the First Chapter or Read Other things in other places with the help of this

Rowan felt great waking up to silence. They were used to hearing screaming, yelling, or even being hit with something. Granted, Hecate did love to slip her feline self into their room to impede their sleep. 

Today, she decided to tap Rowan's face until they finally woke up.

"Alright, alright," Rowan groaned, petting Hecate somewhat aggressively, "I'm up."

Hecate mewed as Rowan got up and made their way to the bathroom to wash their face, before heading to the kitchen. They saw Indigo and Calvin enjoying a peaceful morning, the mage was sitting at the kitchen island, with the blacksmith standing across from her.

"There you are," Calvin remarked to the black cat waltzing into the dining room to receive her breakfast. “Here you go, short stack," the healer sat down a plate of wet cat food in front of her. Hecate scowled at him before eating. “Morning, Rowan."

"Bonjour, jellyfish," Indigo muttered into her coffee cup.

"Good morning," Rowan yawned, as they sat down on the barstool next to Indigo.

"Cinnamon roll?” Calvin asked.

"Yes, please."

It was pleasant living with Indigo and Calvin. The ability to be in an extremely safe environment, and not having to worry about personal items being touched or broken was always a dream, but now that was a reality. Plus, the added comfort of Indigo and Calvin's presence was something Rowan never knew they needed.

"Do you want to tour the college today?” Indigo asked as Rowan ate their breakfast.

Discussions about the college felt slightly heavy since their first night home, the melancholic teen was now more cautious of the institution given the circumstances. However, Rowan was more open to touring the college rather than just enrolling without care, "Isn’t that something you do when the college is like open... it's Saturday?"

"You forget we work at the college," Calvin chuckled, "Plus, with the college closed for the winter break, the weekend would be the quietest the college will ever be."

"Classes start the second week of February; half of the staff and students have most likely traveled home."

Rowan thought for a moment before nodding, "Let's do it.”

Indigo and Calvin smiled at one another as the morning continued, everyone getting ready for the day, stepping out the door, and heading toward the college. 

The January air was cool and crisp, with winter winds that were harsh against the face, as they traveled down frozen paths and streets. 

Rowan knew the college was large, although seeing the building in person, it was much much larger than they realized. It was so dark and intimidating against the cloudy sky. 

The college’s dark tan and ointment colors were covered by moss and foliage, sitting behind a large, closed fence with two Newfoundland dogs sleeping in front. Hecate sat in front of Indigo, Calvin, and Rowan and meowed loudly.

"Mistress of the old night, maiden of the far lands," a booming voice mocked.

Hecate looked at the dogs with narrow eyes and growled as they yawned, cracking open their eyes slightly. Rowan assumed that the voice came from one of the dogs, if not both, and was shocked to see neither dog had pupils or irises leaving their eye sockets as completely void.

Watching Indigo pull out large dog treats out of her pocket; Rowan was left wondering who the dogs were talking about. The gates opened and the dogs stepped aside, "Who were they talking about?"

"Hecate," Calvin chuckled.

"Familiars picking on each other," Indigo replied.

"They speak, but she doesn't?"

"If she does speak, I have never heard her do so," the mage replied.

"I read in a book once that a training mage's familiar shapeshifted into a human form, can she do that?" Rowan asked.

"Things like that only happen in fiction, not in our world, jellyfish."

"I'm gonna be honest, this all feels like fiction," Rowan remarked.

"Marquis very much seems like it pulled out of a fairytale," Calvin added, as they passed the front doors of the college, "Welcome to Bridgehid College of Magic and Alchemy!”

The interior is similar to the outside, large and in shades of brown, white, and cream. Marble floors and statues, large dark staircases leading to the second floor. Everything was very ornate, under the watchful eye of the namesake goddess. Her giant figure loomed over them in the middle of the hall.

"Alchemy classes are held to the right, Magic classes are to the left, general classes on the second floor," Indigo informed, talking with her hands, "The cafeteria, the infirmary, the library, et cetera are down the center on the first floor."

"Where do you wanna start?" Calvin asked.

"Uhm, the left... no the right..." Rowan answered, unsure, "No no, the left."

Indigo and Calvin chuckled before leading Rowan down the left wing of the college, showing them the different magical track-specific additions before heading towards the other side, which wasn't much different from the previous side, with classrooms in similar places and the walls still a dual white and brown, yet with alchemy track specific additions in the right wing of the college.

"I have a question," Rowan remarked, "What exactly am I allowed to study?"

There was a small moment of silence, "Anything you like," Calvin answered.

"You can enroll in whatever track of study that you would like," Indigo added, "Whether that is magic, alchemy, or even the general track, you get to choose. Although you will have to take a history, science, mathematics, and grammar class to graduate, no matter what track you are in... unless you're me."

"What track did you enroll in?" Rowan asked the mage professor.

"I wasn't really enrolled in a pathway, although I took mostly all the magic, grammar, and all the history classes," she replied.

"How many science and math classes did you take, angel?" Calvin snickered.

"4," the mage mumbled as they reentered the main hall to head upstairs, "I wasn't fond of the sciences or mathematics."

"Would that have anything to do with the fact that you took calculus one and two," the healer added, making Rowan's eyes widen, "or organic chemistry?”

"You took organic chemistry…. How are you alive? What grade did you get?" Rowan asked her in shock.

"I got a... B," Indigo answered.

"You're joking," Rowan gasped with a laugh.

"I believe you got As in your calculus classes," a disembodied voice stated, "Your calculus professor thought you could be an incredible mathematician."

This voice, which does sound friendly and inviting, gives Rowan chills as if they have heard it in a much different tone before. The voice came from behind, and for some reason, Rowan was frozen in place, unable to turn and see who was speaking, they managed to look at Indigo, who wasn't pleased. 

"I don't remember inviting you into our conversation," the mage complained with narrow eyes and a burning scowl.

"I see you have returned," the voice remarked as Rowan turned around, "Despite Mrs. Corals' dismay, 'ay Rowan?”

Their name sounded unnatural, coming from the fair-skinned man towering in front of them. He's dressed in navy blue slacks, a black turtleneck, and matching dress shoes, with his black hair done haphazardly in the back, giving him a look that made him just the slightest bit unkempt.

"What do you want, Duke?" Calvin asked, Rowan could tell by the tone of his voice that he'd stopped smiling, "We’re a bit busy."

"Apologizes for ruining your little tour, but I need to borrow Indigo," Duke remarked, "In my office."

There is this moment of uncomfortable silence, a moment frozen in time. 

Instinctually, Calvin grabbed Indigo's hand, as if that would keep her from leaving. “What for?” she asked.

"College business," he replied simply, "Now come."

"I'll meet you there in a second," Indigo stated shortly.

"That's not what I ask—"

"I will meet you there in a second," the French mage scoffed, "Goddess, you're like a toddler."

The sound of Duke clicking his tongue and his footsteps descending away echoed through the main hall, leaving Rowan to turn back to Indigo and Calvin.

"Just don't go," Calvin muttered.

"That would be more of a hassle than it is worth," Indigo muttered back.

"Who... who was he?" Rowan asked.

"The dean of the college, Duke," Indigo mocked, with venom in her voice, "I'll go see what he wants, you two continue go ahead and continue the tour! I'll meet up with you later."

"Be careful," Calvin sighed, kissing her forehead, "I don't trust him."

"No one does," Indigo commented, finally letting go of Calvin's hand and heading towards Duke's office, "I'll be back, I promise."

"If I think things are amidst, I will come and find you," the blacksmith mentioned.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," the mage called back, blowing her husband a kiss before leaving Rowan and Calvin alone.

"You wanna head upstairs, like we were planning?" Calvin asked.

"Yes, please!"

While the two of them traveled through the upper floor, Indigo entered Duke's office, the design of his décor seemingly disconnected from the rest of the college, everything black and gray, along with being old and covered in dust.

"What is it this time?" Indigo asked, keeping her distance from the man who stood behind his desk.

"They seem to be doing well."

"No thanks to you, meurtrier."

"I have a task for you," Duke noted.

"I'm already doing one of your many tasks," Indigo sneered, "What is going to be different this time?”

"You are going to give the orientation speech."

Indigo folded her arms close to her chest, "Isn't that reserved for professors that are retiring?"

"Surprisingly, no one is retiring this year," Duke answered, taking a seat at his large desk, "You are my personal choice, which should make you feel most accomplished, the youngest professor on staff, giving one of the most inspirational speeches for many young people!”

"The ones you want to survive," Indigo commented, "Isn't this more a job for Sloan? Why me?"

"His ward isn't a freshman."

Back in the ancient halls, Calvin and Rowan were descending one of the many staircases before passing what seemed to be a combination art and music room. The recreation room was filled with a small group of people, presumably friends, all having a conversation with one another, "I thought you said that no one was here?" Rowan wondered aloud.

Calvin hummed, before looking toward the studio, "Oh, well… some students have extracurriculars and use the studio for their workspace," he waves at one of the students, sitting on an artist's stool, "Don’t worry, those kids won't bother you."

There was a clattering of items ahead of them, pulling Rowan and Calvin's gaze from the large windows looking into the studio. The two of them found themselves staring at a blonde and pale individual, now surrounded by books and papers, dressed in what can only be described as casual yet whimsical wear, "Casper, are you okay?" the healer gasped as he ran to the individual's side to assist them.

The individual, seeming to be of the mystical type, then began to speak with their hands, gesturing to Rowan in sign language at a fast pace that the teen could not comprehend, "Yes yes, that's Rowan. Casper, buddy, you got to slow down a bit, I'm not my angel eyes," Calvin replied to the individual's waterfall of rapid-fire questions, "Rowan, this is Casper, he's a friend."

Rowan waved, in the smallest way possible, "do you know sign language," Calvin asked.

"A little," Rowan answered, "I'm not that good at the signing part."

"Signing isn't the important part, although it is a very useful skill," Calvin remarked, picking up the last of Casper's fallen items, "I’ll fill in the gaps if you need help."

Casper's smile seemed to grow even larger, "Hi, I'm Casper! I knew you back when you were little," the stranger signed slowly.

"Did you know my mother?" they asked, making Casper frown quickly.

He nodded, “...I'm sorry," he replied, "although my sympathy does little."

"I see Sloan has you running his errands," Calvin butted in, thankfully changing the subject.

"It's not running his errands if – Oh, oh - Sloan!" Casper signed, turning to Calvin and then back to Rowan, "Sloan will be so thrilled to see you! Calvin, please, can they see him?"

"Who is Sloan?" Rowan asked.

"He's Indigo's, and I guess, your mom's best friend and an alchemist professor," Calvin answered, "He’s in some of the pictures Indigo gave you. If you want, we can go see him."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Casper commented.

Rowan thought for a moment, wrapped up in the idea of meeting yet another person that had a connection to their mother, thinking of that dark-skinned man with an eyepatch and black hair, "That’s fine," they stated, "I could learn more about alchemy, I guess," they added as a joke.

Casper claps his hands together before leading the way, taking Calvin and Rowan back down the alchemist wing of the college and then into one of the hidden offices, revealing that same man from Indigo's old photos, sitting at his desk, his uncovered eye wide at the sight of Rowan in his office door.

"Goddess," he gasped, standing from his chair, "you're so big."

"That happens when you age," Calvin chuckled, sitting all of Casper's forgotten items on Sloan's desk, while the whimsical blonde ran off into a side room.

"Shush," Sloan wavered passing the blacksmith to stand in front of the half-confused teenager, "You look so much like her, my goddess," he picks up their hand without asking, his hands are rough, with scraps and starches in his skin, "It’s like you two have the same hands..."

Rowan stayed silent, growing uncomfortable at this man's closeness, only seemingly calmed by his thick and deep voice, "I'm sorry," he stammered, letting go of their hand.

Rowan was finally able to place his accent in their head, it was Jamaican. 

“You… have no memory of me, do you?" he asked, seeming to be disheartened.

They shook their head, "No, I'm sorry…”

"No, no, it's fine!" he said, making sure to put distance between the two of them, "I'm just glad to see you safe, and in good hands," Sloan then turned around to address Calvin, "Where is Indigo, the two of you are normally a pair?”

"Duke's office," Calvin scoffed.

"Ah," Sloan sighed as he walked back to his desk, Casper reentered, placing a tray of tea down on Sloan's desk before smiling.

"While we wait for Indigo," the blonde signed.

Rowan nodded, taking a seat on one of Sloan's office coaches, next to Calvin. Taking in all the dark academia décor in his office, which was equipped with a lit fireplace, several shelves full of books, as well as alchemist equipment, and just a few home plants. 

They were regaled with tales of their mother from Sloan's perspective as they waited for Indigo to return. Nothing too shocking or of much importance, although in this short time of being in Indigo and Calvin's care: Rowan's thoughts and the idea of this woman, this Esma, their mother changed almost daily.

"I've been meaning to ask," Rowan announced, "What did my mother study, like what pathway?"

"Mhm, she was a natural path," Sloan responded, "She said when she enrolled that everything was so appealing, she wanted to learn it all, it ended up making her a great huntress."

"What was she hunting?"

"Have you heard stories of failed alchemy experiments, or the magical and mystical beings corrupted by the dark arts?" the alchemist professor posed to which Rowan nodded, "Your mother made a career out of clearing our whimsical forest of those creatures to protect everyone on this island."

"How did she die?” the huntress’s child asked, thinking of the macabre possibilities of their mother's death.

"I... I don't know," Sloan clamored out, "I know it was caused by," he cleared his throat, "college negligence, but other than that, I have no clue how she died…”

There is something about the way he presented the statement that makes Rowan wary. It was almost like he was lying about the details or possibly leaving key points about. Although he was more confident in saying the cause was “college negligence,” so that must be fact.

"Thank you for telling me about her, regardless," Rowan said, looking down at the empty teacup in their hands.

"I'm more than happy to tell you all the stories I have of your mother, Row," Sloan replied, with a sympathetic smile.

There was then a knock on the office door, "Come in.”

Indigo then stepped through the threshold of Sloan's office outwardly drained of any energy she had before being pulled to Duke's office.

"What has he done this time, love?” Sloan questioned as the mage sat on the armrest of the couch just to be by Calvin.

"I'll tell you later, dearest," she quickly stated before giving Sloan a look that Rowan couldn't place.

They can also hear the French whispers beside them, of Indigo and Calvin having a private conversation, "How long have you two known each other?" Rowan asked.

"Indigo and I met 14 years ago," Sloan answered, "We were the youngest of scholars together."

"It's hard to believe that there was once a time where you were also a troublemaker," Indigo commented, looking towards Sloan with a smirk.

"I was not a troublemaker!"

"You’re an unbelievable liar," Indigo laughed. Rowan laughed at the back-and-forth Indigo and Sloan engaged in, although despite all the stories and homeyness they were being bundled up with, there felt like there was an unspoken vice in the air. This corruption was affecting everyone's judgment and actions, and yet it seemed to find itself around Rowan, with this end tied to the death of their mother. Even if it is not the truth and it is instead all just a feeling they had, this chilling feeling isn’t something Rowan enjoyed.

#oc #shelter #indigo x calvin #calvin #aesthetic #indigo #rowan #duke #sloan #casper #mention of Georgia Maverick Elias and Nemo #Bridgehid #Bridgehid Secrets #stories #my stories #original character #original writing #original works #original characters #elfboyeros #writing

[blue-haired-grace]

“I just want to be alone right now” - Sketch :)

Thank you so much for the prompt, Terra! I didn't find a place to insert Sketch into my last prompt, so I'm so happy to have gotten this one!

From this ask game. Also, guys, writing this angst is so much fun, so please feel free to send in more.

Warnings: child abuse (physical, verbal, and emotional).

Sketch huffed out another angry noise as he stormed into the Guard barracks behind Pillow, Ghost, and Morale. There was no way he would've let them get back behind him, not after what had just happened.

The four of them had been excited to go to 79's for the first time. When they had still been on Kamino, sometimes older brothers from the frontlines would talk about Coruscant and 79's. Sketch knew Pillow and Morale had been exceptionally excited, though Ghost looked like he could've taken it or left it.

Now off Kamino - finally, Sketch couldn't help from thinking with a chill - and in the Coruscant Guard, they had just gotten their armour painted and dried when they decided they would go to the bar. Morale had informed their Sergeant, Karma, who had seemed nervous about it. Mere minutes after meeting her, Sketch hadn't thought he would ever see her nervous. She had tried to talk them out of it but, realizing how stubborn they were, had asked some of the older vode to go with them.

Sketch had been offended at the thought of Sergeant Karma not trusting him to take care of his squad. He should've listened to her and found something else to do while off shift.

He looked up from the ground when he heard Pillow hiss in pain. Morale was trying to gently examine his right eye, which Sketch could see from where he was standing, was definitely swollen. He wondered if his left eye looked any better, as it was currently throbbing.

"Maybe we should take you both to the medbay," Morale fretted, gaze going back and forth between Sketch and Pillow.

"It'll be a black eye, at worst, Mor'ika. Don't worry about it," Pillow assured him. "Besides," he scoffed, only to flinch a bit, "he barely got me."

Morale bit his lip. "If you say so..."

Ghost sighed, annoyance clear. "Did you have to punch him, Pillow?"

Pillow glared at him. "He deserved it; he was gonna make Morale cry!"

Morale had been so happy for the first half hour at 79's, along with Pillow. Sketch had decided it would be best not to stay too long, as Ghost had been looking overwhelmed and annoyed by the noise. Still, Morale had been excitedly talking about how much he liked being in the Guard, both because of the new vode he'd met and just being off Kamino. Then, a brother in blue armour, likely drunk from how he'd been walking, had come over to their table, only to start hurling insults at Morale himself, the others at the table, and the Coruscant Guard in general. Their youngest had looked ready to cry, Pillow jumping up to throw a punch and Sketch had frozen at the insults - Can you not even protect your squad, pathetic little clone? - and hadn't snapped back until the vod in blue had been aiming another punch at Pillow. Sketch had jumped between them and gotten punched.

At least Sketch was finally doing something to protect his brothers, and a pang in his chest went out to Duke and Trick, who he had continuously failed.

"Sketch?" The oldest of Spark Squad was broken from his thoughts by Morale, whose voice was soft and eyes were wide with worry for him.

Sketch didn't deserve it.

He jerked away when Morale laid a hand on his shoulder. "Go away, Morale."

"Ori'vod-"

"Leave me alone! I just want to be alone right now!” Sketch yelled.

The other three just stared at him, shocked. Sketch almost never lost his cool. He groaned, rising to his feet when the others made no move to leave. He left the barracks, ignoring them calling for him to come back. They would be safe in the Guard headquarters.

He made his way through the headquarters to what he'd heard older troopers call the breakdown closet. Despite his anger and sadness, Sketch wasn't stupid enough to leave the barracks after what happened at 79's.

Ignoring the noise form the training room, Sketch knocked on the closet door. When there was no noise beyond it, he opened it and went inside, barricading the door so no one could disturb him.

Sketch sat down, put his arms on his knees and his head in his hands. Why was he such a fucking failure? He'd had insults hurled at him and his brothers his entire life, why was it only now that he froze like that?

Then, both he and Pillow had gone and gotten into a fight. Fighting wasn't allowed. What was going to happen to them? What punishment would they have to undergo? Sketch inhaled. He didn't want Pillow to go through any pain; Sketch was familiar with the pain that came with punishment, he could handle it. He knew how to take it, but Pillow didn't.

The smack that echoed through the room did nothing to hide the sound of Sketch crying out as the cold, hard instrument struck his arm.

"CT-6759," The trainer intoned, grabbing the young boy's chin to force eye contact. "You are your squad leader; any failure is your fault. You will keep your squad under control. There shall be no more defectiveness."

They had already grabbed Duke, dragging him away kicking and screaming. Sketch knew he would never see him again. He wouldn't let that happen to Pillow, Ghost, or Morale. "Yes sir."

Sketch lost track of how long he was in the closet. Eventually, he unbarricaded the door and opened it. To his surprise, right across from him, was the rest of Spark Squad, fast asleep on the floor. Pillow was leaning against the wall, head tilted back in a way that couldn't be comfortable. Ghost had his head on Pillow's shoulder. Morale was laying with his head on Pillow's lap.

His gaze softened at the sight of them.

I'm so sorry. I'll protect you, I promise.

#oc sketch #oc pillow/throwpillow #oc morale #oc ghost #oc duke (mentioned) #oc 43/trick (mentioned) #you can learn more about trick in the prompt i did for hadiya #coruscant guard oc #79's #coruscant guard #ask game #fanfiction prompts #tcw #sw tcw #child abuse #spark squad #my writing

[mavisartstuff]

Redraw time! (The third is the old one absjsjs)

#bl00d mention #remeber the time I did requests for a bunch of fake covers? #did a redraw of one #also lmk if you'd want to do those again hahahaha #mavis art #oc stuff #oc art #oc duke #ibispaint art #2022 redraw

[lyomeii]

the other woman

->warnings: yandere themes, cheating, manipulation, divorce mention, afab! reader, implied nsfw (but it’s very very implied.), reader’s husband is named vincent (oc), regis and Amelia have another kid.

->request by anon! Hello can you do Mistress Pregnant reader and Yandere Regis Adri Floyen when Regis is still with Amelia and Mistress reader is actually Jubellian real biological mother? I want something fluffy TVT

->a/n: fluff but with a touch of angst, my favorite thing to write. and remember, cheating is never okay and if you do that, everyone will hate you :) I know you said mistress, but I got carried away while writing this one, so please forgive me.

-> when regis married amelia, everyone was so surprised. none of the workers nor his friends expect to a man who loved another woman to marry her, it made many wonder of why of that decision. the servants whisper to each others about their theories of the suddenly marriage between the two of them.

-> what few people did knew it was how the true love of regis is you. a noble woman from another nation who meet him during a visit to the empire. he was enchanted with your actions, voice, speech and gentle touch on his skin. he would’ve ask you to marry him immediately if you weren’t already married to another. a man named Vincent who is a Duke back there.

-> the moment he realize that you were married was his down break point. regis cried to himself instead of sleeping and of course, he begged you to divorce and marry him instead. In the end, that failed and in return, you told him you have one more night before returning to your nation.

-> and he took advantage of this. regis and you spend the night together in his bedroom, you thought that would be the end of the little meetings with him, yet regis knew otherwise.

-> once you returned back to your nation, you quickly find out to be pregnant with his kid and as much you tried to hide from your husband, he found out about it. Vincent cried so much and screamed at you for doing such act with another man.

-> you knew you are the one to blame and even asked him if he wished for a divorce, but vincent decided to stay married with you and let you give birth to a little girl (whose appearance is literal a copy of regis). the three of you become a family, much to vincent coldness at beginning, he warmed up seeing the little girl calling father.

-> as the times goes on, you alongside vincent and jubelian travel to the nation where you met regis. you desperately tried to avoid that place by anything, yet with the invitation of the emperor, you had no other option than going back there and met regis.

-> regis knew you were pregnant with his child before you left him years ago, yet he never expected to see you again and still married to vincent. his bright eyes were full of shocked when seeing his daughter calling that man father.

-> he wanted to throw everything and walk to you, yet amelia and his son were next to him. both unaware by the fact that you and regis had an affair years ago that lead to jubelian existence. The man can only watch you from afar, dancing with another man who isn’t him.

-> vincent, in other hand, is aware that regis still in love with you. the black haired man loves you so much, although you hurt his heart by sleeping with that man and he hopes that you won’t leave him, not now that you guys are going have another child soon.

-> the little bump in your stomach is more than enough to shake regis back to reality, you aren’t coming back to him, aren’t you? he loves amelia and his son, yet you were his first love that he can’t seem to forget anytime soon…he is living a curse and no matter how hard he tries to forget you, you always will be in his dreams for as long he lives.

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

#yandere headcanon #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere manhwa #yandere manhwa x reader #manhwa x reader #regis floyen x reader #regis floyen imagine #yandere regis floyen #regis floyen #yandere regis floyen x reader #yandere father i don’t want to get married #father i don’t want to get married x reader #father i don’t want to get married imagine #father i dont want to get married

[slaybestieslay946]

Dream Girl

Summary: Paul has dreamt of a girl all his life, and when he reaches Arrakis, he finally discovers her to be the assistant to Dr Liet Kynes.

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Fremen!OC

Word count: 2500

Warnings: Slight mentions of violence, pretentious writing style.

A/N: just need to get this out because im so obsessed with him its becoming unhealthy. hope anyone reading enjoys and has a nice day! You never know i might add chapters if i feel like it lmao.

Paul had seen her in his dreams many times over the years. She had been with him throughout it all, from the cradle until now, as he began to bloom into adulthood. 

He’d never thought he’d really see her in front of his eyes. Over the years he’d dismissed her as a mere fantasy; the leftovers of a child’s overactive imagination. Blue eyes that couldn’t quite be real, and a beauty that only existed in daydreams. 

Yet, here she was, standing stoic beside the ‘judge of the change’, surveying the approaching group with those piercing blue eyes. Paul had to remind himself to breathe before he collapsed from lack of oxygen. 

“My Lord Duke.” The older woman greeted his father, bowing her head, and so did the dream-girl, except the fire in her eyes never faded. 

“Dr Kynes. Thank you for agreeing to take us out.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, sire. This is my apprentice and pilot, Nami.” 

Duke Leto acknowledged the dream-girl, no, Nami, with a quick nod. She responded in kind.

“Now,” Kynes began, “We must check your stillsuits-” The two women stepped forward in sync to aid the group, but were stopped by Gurney’s blades at their necks. 

Paul couldn’t help but admire the way she didn’t flinch as a blade was held to her throat, merely raising her chin in defiance. Few would have the gall to glare at the soldier in such a way. 

“Gurney, no need. Let them work.” The Duke asserted, and Gurney lowered his sword, albeit rather begrudgingly. 

They then approached the group of outworlders to adjust their suits. Paul had to force himself to breathe normally as Nami approached him and the two locked eyes. He quickly tore his gaze away from hers, as she began to check his suit was on correctly. 

All the while, Kynes was going on a long and probably very interesting spiel about stillsuits and their benefits, but he found it very hard to concentrate when he was face to face with the girl he had been dreaming about all his life. 

“You’ve worn a stillsuit before?” Nami suddenly asked, inspecting some of the straps on the front. 

“No, this is my first time.” 

“Hm,” She cocked her head in confusion, “Your boots are fashioned slip-fast at the ankles. Who taught you to do that?” 

“Just seemed like the right way.” He said, trying to work out what was going on inside her head. 

Their exchange had now caught the attention of the rest of the group, and Nami turned to Kynes, muttering a few words in a different language, shaking her head slightly. 

It took Paul a few moments to realise that they were speaking in the language of the fremen. 

“You’re fremen.” He said plainly, like it had been obvious the whole time. 

“We are accepted in both sietch and village, yes.” Nami said, nodding. 

Before he could ask anymore questions, Kynes began to lead them to the aircraft, explaining that they would be travelling to the nearest harvesting field north of Arrakeen. 

The group all entered one of the small aircraft, and Paul watched as Nami began to sit in the pilot's chair, but was stopped by his father. 

“If you don’t mind, Nami, I’d like to pilot.” He said, with an almost childlike smile upon his face. Paul remembered his fathers admission that he had once wished to be a pilot himself. 

“Of course, my lord.” She bowed her head, and shuffled over to the co-pilot’s seat. 

The group all strapped themselves into their seats, grabbing a headset and preparing for take off. 

Duke Leto soon began to press several buttons, and Paul’s dream-girl followed suit, adjusting switches here and there. The Duke soon pulled up off the ground and turned in a near-perfect manoeuvre that left his co-pilot impressed. 

“You’re a pilot?” She asked. 

“Yes I was, in my youth. It has been many years though.” He smiled, regarding the desert beneath him in what looked like wonder. 

“You are very talented.” Nami complimented simply, and Paul watched as a newfound respect bled into her eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of yearning for her to look at him in the same way. With respect earned by his own deeds, rather than the kind that stemmed from a generations old name. 

Kynes then began her narration as they moved over dunes, towards the spice fields. Paul chipped in here and there with a question or two for her. 

“Why don’t they just shield the crawlers?” He asked, looking down at the desert below, where one of the crawlers was moving. Was this the desert power his father had been talking about?

“Shields are a death sentence in the desert.” Nami chipped in, turning her head momentarily to look at Paul, who tore his face away in embarrassment when he felt a slight heat rise to his cheeks. 

“Yes,” Kynes continued for her apprentice, “It attracts the worms and drives them into a killing frenzy.” 

“Is that one of the worms?” His father asked, pointing at a vague cloud of dust on the horizon. 

Kynes picked up a pair of binoculars from her lap and peered into them for a moment, before answering, “That’s a worm alright. And a big one. Nami, call it in for me?” 

“On it.” She replied, and began speaking into the headset in various codes, asking for any carriers in the area. 

It didn’t take long for one to appear, and it began making its way to the crawler below. Paul watched in awe as it made its descent. He knew spice harvesting was dangerous, and of course accommodations had to be made, but the technology used was truly fascinating. How was that tiny carrier going to lift that enormous crawler?

He would, unfortunately, never find out. Because as the carrier attempted to attach itself, one of the arms snapped. Suddenly an influx of frenzied shouts came over the radio in confusion, as Kynes chipped in to explain the situation. 

The Duke then snapped into action. 

“How many men on that crawler?” 

“A crew of 21.” Kynes replied. 

“Our ships can only take 6 each. That leaves 3 men.” Paul added. 

“We’ll find a way.” His father responded, flicking a switch before dropping into a nosedive, the other two ships following suit behind him. 

Soon, they were landing just beside the crawlers, and unbuckling themselves from their seats inside the aircraft. Paul was the first up and moving. 

“The shield generators should weigh about the same as a few men.” Paul said, waiting for Gurney to finish undoing his seatbelt. 

“Good idea,” Gurney said, “I’ll toss them out, go instruct the men.” He said, patting the younger boy on the shoulder as he moved to get rid of the shields, Paul slipping past him and onto the sand below. 

As he dropped onto the sand of the desert for the first time, he couldn’t help but pause. Something about his boots on the ground felt natural, and as he looked down at the swathe of gold, he had never felt more at home. 

What snapped him into action again was the thud of a shield generator falling from the aircraft, and then Paul was moving, running towards the groups of men coming out of the crawler. 

“7 over there, 7 over there, move!!” He shouted, pointing to the various aircraft waiting for them and waving them over.

And then a cloud of sand engulfed him. 

Paul quickly brought his mask to his face and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the stinging pain of millions of grains of sand hitting him. And then suddenly everything around him seemed to still, and he brought his mask down away from his face, opening his eyes. 

He was surrounded by a cloud of dust, and he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. 

Paul took a deep breath in, feeling the way his nostrils tingled as he inhaled, and noticing the sparkle of the dust around him. 

He wasn’t standing in dust, but spice. 

 Before his eyes the real world melted away, and he was overtaken by visions. Visions of violence, death, the dunes of Arrakis, a blade, and finally Nami’s face, blue-blue eyes staring into his own. 

Then she began to cry, tears streaming down her face. The face that had seemed so stoic in the real world was not so in his vision. 

Then his vision began to return, and through the haze of spice he heard something familiar, before realising what it was. 

“I recognise your footsteps old man…” Paul whispered, jolting awake as Gurney clapped him on the shoulder, hauling him to his feet. 

“C’mon!” He shouted, glancing to the side. Paul followed his gaze, and was immediately spurred into action as he saw the fast approaching sandworm. 

Immediately he was sprinting towards the aircraft, locking eyes with his father through the windshield as he began to take off, spinning so the open door was facing them. 

And there she was. 

Gurney was the first to reach her, and she quickly hauled him up into the aircraft, pushing him in while not taking her eyes off Paul. 

“Atreides!” She shouted, holding out her hand for him to take, evident concern in her eyes. 

He pumped his legs faster than he thought possible, catching up with the aircraft and grabbing her hand, watching as the sandworm emerged from the very place he had been kneeling, overtaken by visions. 

Eventually he pulled himself away from the sight of the desert, clambering up the ramp towards Nami, who quickly shut the door behind him. 

“Thank you.” Paul said to her, still slightly breathless. 

“No problem.” She replied, dusting a few grains off his shoulder before returning to her seat beside the Duke, slipping on her headset and reporting their re-entry into general airspace. 

Paul moved back to his seat just behind her, trying to ignore his fathers angry gaze, as well as quell the aggressive beating of his heart. Their trip had been more eventful than he thought. 

Soon the aircraft was landing, and Paul stood to get up, wanting to get away from one of his fathers lectures, but not before saying goodbye to Nami. 

“Thank you, again.” He said, quickly.

She smiled this time, her face softening ever so slightly, “Take care, Paul Atreides. I pray we meet again.” 

He nodded, unable to form words in response as his tongue had grown heavy in his mouth. And then he ran away, jumping out of the aircraft as quickly as he could before he blurted out anything stupid.  

*

Paul whipped around taking in the sudden appearance of so many Fremen around him and his mother. They must have seen them running from the sandworm. 

“Do not run. You will only waste precious water.” A man said from above him. He seemed to be a leader. Upon closer inspection, Paul realised it was Stilgar, the man who his father had received. 

“Stilgar? Do you remember me? You came before my fathers council.”

“Ah, yes. The Atreides boy.” 

“Stop wasting time, we need their water!” A cry came from above, and as Paul looked up, he saw a man, and beside him, his dream-girl. 

“Quiet Jamis. You know we cannot harm him. He is Atreides. Besides,” Nami jumped down from one of the ledges to stand beside Stilgar, “I will vouch for him.”

Objections erupted from the rest of the Fremen, but her eyes remained locked with Paul’s. Stilgar quickly jumped in to quiet them. 

“That is fine. The boy is young, he can still learn our ways. However, the woman cannot.” He declared, and Paul looked to Stilgar in horror, moving backwards to stand in front of his mother protectively. Although, it was mostly meaningless, as he knew his mother could protect herself perfectly well. 

“She’s too old to learn?” He asked, his voice harsh. 

“Atreides…” Nami said softly, almost like a warning not to push further. 

But he didn’t have to, as the Fremen were already drawing their knives, and Stilgar was removing the outer layer of cloth he was wearing. And then, his mother was leaping out from behind him, and she and Stilgar became locked in battle. 

Paul took the opportunity to gain the upperhand, climbing up to a higher ledge and stealing a maula pistol from one of the Fremen warriors, but not before shooting Nami an apologetic glance. 

As he looked back down, he saw that his mother had made quick work of the Fremen leader, holding his own blade to his throat. Nevertheless, he activated the pistol and kept it pointed at one of the nearby Fremen.

“Peace, woman. You did not tell me you were a weirding woman and a fighter.” He sighed. 

“Our conversation ran short.” She snapped, not letting go of him. 

“Peace. I judged you too hastily.” 

Jessica then released Stilgar, handing him back his blade, meanwhile Paul lowered his pistol.

“The woman is under my charge until we reach sietch Tabr. Nami, are you still willing to vouch for the boy?”

“Yes.” She said firmly, and the rest of the Fremen sighed, making a cutting notion on the top of their wrists with their blades, before sheathing them. 

Once that was done, Stilgar began climbing up the ledge to approach Paul, holding out a hand for the maula pistol. 

“Come now. You will get your own when you have earned it.” He said, and the younger man sighed, returning the weapon to him, albeit begrudgingly. 

That was when ‘Jamis’ decided to chip into the proceedings once more. 

“I will not have them.”

“Jamis, I have spoken,” Stilgar said, “Be still.”

“You talk like a leader, but the strongest leads. She bested you. I invoke the Amtal.” 

Paul’s mother stiffened beside him, and although he did not yet know what that meant, he knew it did not bode well. 

“Jamis, you may not challenge her-”

“Then who will fight in her place?”

“Jamis,” Nami piped up, “Do not do this, the night is fading.”

“Then the sun will witness this death, Nami. Where is her champion?” 

Paul now understood what was going on, and if anyone was going to fight for his mother it would be him. 

He stepped out from behind Stilgar, and walked towards Jamis in the way he had been taught to as a Duke’s son, back straight, head held high.

“I accept her champion.”

Stilgar sighed as Jamis brushed past them, but soon followed suit. As did the rest of the Fremen, his mother included, until it was only him and Nami left. 

“So, we meet again, Atreides.” She smiled, her voice slightly teasing. 

“Mhm. I see you’ve been praying.” Paul smirked, hoping to get the upper hand over her.

“Have you not?” She asked in faux shock, and it sent Paul spinning, because although he had not been praying, he had dreamt of her every night since he last saw her. 

“Besides,” Nami continued, not noticing his sudden flush, “I am beginning to regret my prayers. You are causing trouble already.” 

“It’s in my nature.”

“Evidently. Now, come along, you have a duel to prepare for. Jamis is a good fighter, if you try hard you may just die with honour.” She declared, a wry smile on her face as she turned on her heel and led him further into the rocks of the desert. 

#x reader #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides x you #dune part two #paul atreides #dune movie #dune #dune part 2 #fanfic #writing

[r0-boat]

Instinct

Male! Dragon! OC x AFAB!gn!reader

Feat: Yandere OC Silas

Cw: possessive behavior, yandere character, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, animalistic behavior, biting, claiming bite.

NSFW

Thank you @devotion-disorder for this lovely art piece I'm so glad I commissioned you!!

You smell good.

So good.

Your Skin;

So Soft to the touch,

smooth and unblemished,

just begging for a mate to pin you down and sink his fangs into. Your mere presence was tempting.

Silas knew full well that as the months got warmer and the snow melted, more primal desires started to call to him. An animalistic need that demanded satisfaction. However, a Duke dub Cedric from a neighboring kingdom invited him to a ball and offered he could not refuse even if he wanted to. The Duke was kind enough to Grant him a plus-one, and now, standing before you in an outfit that the maids and tailor specifically prepared for you, how the woven silk fabric hugged every part of your body, oh, how he wishes he could forget that stupid party and rip your outfit in two and ravish you right here in this carriage.

His hungry eyes did not go unnoticed by you. Even now, as elegant and princely as he looked, Silas looked like a caged, starving animal. His eyes were only on you the entire night, even as other more elegant women wine and flaunted their bodies to get his attention, only to clutch their pearls in frustration when the prince only had eyes for you.

Silently stalking behind you like your shadow glaring down upon you like a premium steak on his plate ready to devour you.

But Silas held back his urges for the sake of his reputation, as all Noble eyes were on him. He stopped following you around like a lost puppy and began mingling with Sir Cedric. Talks of trade business gossip from other kingdoms were a much-needed but small distraction from the burning in his core, but now and then, he would sneak a little glances at you. His pupils waning into slits as he watched the other attendants stare at you with the same hungry eyes he had been.

Veins rush with adrenaline when one of the Nobles who had been eyeing you gets the courage to approach you.

The conversation becomes background noise as he tries to concentrate on what that man is saying to you, glaring daggers at the noble, making you smile and chuckle. The dragon in him hissed and snarled, becoming more and more restless. To it, you are an unclaimed potential mate being pursued by a rival.

Silas feels his claws threatening to rip out of his gloves. He clutches his fist with images of the noble's blood painting the walls of the ballroom, Imagining the taste of his flesh on his tongue. He quickly storms out as the Duke is still talking to him.

You look over to see Silas approaching the both of you.

Eyes burning with fury, be prepared yourself for a gruesome site only for it to never come.

" Excuse me, gentlemen, my apologies for interrupting your conversation, but I believe I asked this lovely person to dance with me."

Silas said politely, eyes still burned with a jealous rage that you were all too familiar with. A small, gentle smile on his face, Which only made him more unsettling. And his hand ever so gently stroking your hip, has he pulled you closer to him.

The man, a kind soul, really, took the hint. If he were to stay within your presence any longer than he'd had, this Prince would make him disappear.

"Ah, Sorry, Your Highness, I hadn't realized they were taken already."

Yes, taken… They are mine

A shiver goes down your spine when your eyes meet his, giving off a slight draconic glow of violet piercing into your very soul.

As you danced with him, his hold around you was tight, and his touch was borderline sensual as he caressed your parts in ways along with notice. You flushed, knowing that you couldn't do anything while Silas was feeling your body in public. Even as you try to look away, he moves his head to keep your eyes on him.

"Don't look away from me." He whispered a husky, demanding tone, his thumb gently pressing against your bottom lip as he forced your head back to him. His thumbs wipes across your bottom lip. His fang sinks into his, Imagining the taste of your lips upon his

"Eyes on me, dear."

With the last of his self-control, he lasted from the dance the carriage ride home, letting out a low-throated purr, seeing your small body sat pretty in his lap, his large veiny hand underneath your clothes grasping at your bare thigh. He stayed eerily quiet even as you tried to talk to him. He'd only give one-word answers or hums, his mind thinking of only one thing. His gaze focused on your unblemished neck, shoulders, and collarbone. You feel his hand squeeze your plush thigh, fingers dipping dangerously close to your core. Silas's breath tickles your neck, gently pressing kisses up until he nibbles on your ear. Finally, he whispers.

" As soon as we get out of this carriage, you are coming into my bed tonight. Do you understand?" He smiles as he sees you nod obediently.

When the carriage finally does stop as at his Castle, he immediately has you in his arms, carrying you like a bride, to his chambers, throwing you onto his large bed, going back to the door to lock it.

When you sit up, you see him breathing heavily, his face flushed red, looking back at you with that familiar, hungry look. Silas slowly begins to peel off his clothing one by one as he makes his way closer to the bed to you.

"Do you know what you do to me?" A growl rips from his throat, now half naked, his fingers playing with his belt.

" all night, as I suffer, you sit pretty looking up at others with those big doe eyes.

He creeps closer, hands pressing against the mattress as he leans into your face.

" walking around and then gorgeous outfit men drooling over you like panting dogs. Unaware of who has already claimed you.

He caresses your cheek before his hand slides down, grabbing the collar of your outfit. Pulling you downward, your forehead rested against his.

"Strip."

Claws dug into the fabric. If this weren't off in five seconds, it would be torn off your body.

He watched you slowly shimming out of your outfit. With each delicious amount of skin exposed, he touched and caressed.

Your thighs, your hips, your stomach, your chest. The Prince couldn't keep his hands off you. He could barely hold back when he pressed you into the mattress, a hand secured firmly around your throat.

Fingers trail down your stomach, slipping beneath your undergarments. Thick fingers press. Play with your core. Pressing gently at your tight entrance, fondling your walls, listening to the sweet sounds of your insides as he stirs them. He releases your neck, caressing your cheek as he leans down to taste your lips. His breath shakes as he goes down for another. His tongue is sliding into your mouth as he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair pulling you deeper. He presses his entire naked body against you. You could feel how hard he was straining his pants.

"I want you."

His voice shakes in desperation

"I want to be the only man you look at.

"I want to claim you as mine, to make it so everyone knows who you belong to."

His hand slips to his belt, undoing it, while remaining eye contact.

" I need to be inside you,"

He keeps looking at your core, licking his lips.

" But first, it has been a while since I've tasted you. Let me make you feel good."

Grabbing your ass, he lifts your lower half with ease. He lets out a feral growl as he goes down onto your core, eating you like a starved beast. His eager tongue tastes all of you because he puts his whole mouth on your little body. Lewd noises of his lips slurping your wetness fill the room, which only turns him on more, his feral growls turning into whimpering moans, grinding his hips against nothing in particular. You clenched the bed sheets, wailing and trembling, your body trying its best to squirm away from the intense pleasure only for him to hold you tighter.

You were not getting away from him.

Silas needed to make you cum to taste your essence on his tongue. He needed to feel that satisfaction of knowing that no other man could make you feel the way he feels.

His eyes rolled back when your hand tangled in his hair, pulling on his long jet locks as you braced yourself for your own orgasm. He holds his mouth in place, drinking every last drop of you. Finally, finishing his meal, he drops you like a rag doll, wiping his mouth with his hand before licking his fingers. He was no longer a man at that point, with only one thing on his mind: he flips you over, a firm hand on the back of your neck, pressing you down. He slipped his cock out of his pants, his big hand manhandling your ass open. Your entrance is wet enough with the saliva, cum, and juices, even with his vast draconic cock. He forced himself inside with one motion, mounting you like an animal. You felt his breath already against your ear as he put his hand around your throat. His pace was rough and relentless, grinding his hips with each thrust, trying to drill as deep as he could.

"Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! All mine!"

He repeats like a mantra. You can feel the tip of his dick pressing against the sweet spot inside you, making you clench around his thick rigid shaft feeling every monstrous and inhuman ridge on his dragon cock. His cock felt hot, threatening to burn you out from the inside. You cum again on his cock. Silas is lost and in pleasure, mercilessly fucking you through your orgasm. He removes his hand from your throat, snaking it till around your mouth, muffling your sweet screams when you feel his teeth sink into your neck, his sharp, beastly fangs piercing, breaking your skin as the taste of your blood feels his mouth; he explodes inside you, his whole body is shaking the sheer pleasure making tears well up in his eyes. His hips still as he grinds every last drop deep inside you, claiming you for himself, claiming you in the most primal way any man can. You go limp into his arms, and he catches you, supporting your entire body in his arms. Silas, in a daze licking the new wound on the back of your neck, gently suckling the red liquid from the new mark; his cock throbbed deep inside you, still hard, and his body still felt hot.

"I need more."

#smut #yandere men #yandere oc #Ro.ocs #oc: silas #yandere male #yandere oc x reader #dragon prince #male yandere #tw blood #tw yandere

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Tangled Hearts - Fitzwilliam Darcy X Female Reader

Title: Tangled Hearts

Fitzwilliam Darcy X Female Reader

(Could be seen with either BBC Darcy or the 2005 Darcy; I personally see it as the 2005 version/settings based off the 2005 one)

Additional Characters: Reader's parents, Charles Bingley, Caroline, George Wickham (Mentioned), Jane Bennet (Mentioned), Georgiana Darcy (Mentioned), other random people (Mentioned), Albert Wright (OC), Mr. Took (OC) (Mentioned), and Duke Phillip Colston (OC) (Mentioned)

WC: 7,526

Warnings: Typical Pride and Prejudice era misogyny and so on, toxic parents, Reader is mentioned to wear dresses and heels, Reader hates balls, society sucks, Caroline, banter, gossip, arranged marriages, Darcy's in love, scandals mentioned, yelling, crying, Charles is the voice of reason, itty bit of suggestion (time period wise), angst, and fluff

Pemberley. Your home away from home. The large country estate was gorgeous, surrounded by vivid green grass, and which sat across a crystal clear lake. You loved Pemberley not only for its beauty, but because the place had become your own haven of peace and solitude. It was where you could be yourself without worrying about being judged or ostracized. 

Though, during the time, you always were forced to look so prim and proper, on days where you had no other responsibilities, you would sneak out to sit on the soft grass outside. That was the only time you really felt free.

As a child, you visited Pemberley more often than not. Your family were great friends with the Darcys and Bingleys, resulting in you spending a lot of time at the residence and within their presence. You had become close friends with Charles Bingley - his sister, Caroline, not so much - George Wickham, and Fitzwilliam Darcy. 

During your later adolescent years, you had briefly traveled to the Longbourn estate, where you had grown close to Jane and Elizabeth Bennet, despite your parent's wishes. Your mother specifically didn't want you spending time with those in the Middle Class. That didn't stop you though.

Out of the three, Charles, Caroline, and Fitzwilliam, you spent most of your time with the latter. And eventually Georgiana Darcy in the later upcoming years. Ever since you were a young child, you would travel to Pemberley with your parents, occasionally playing with the young Darcy if you were both not in lessons with your shared tutor.

You never really understood why both you and Fitzwilliam were tutored together, you never voiced your questions out loud, in fear of being scolded. But, during your many years in the company of Fitzwilliam, the two of you became very close friends, which was only natural having grown up together.

As the years went on, your parents began forcing you to attend balls, and at the age of twenty-two, you began to realize that they were actively looking for a suitable husband for you. You had a distaste for the idea, but were forced to comply, knowing that they would not end the search, no matter how many times you had voiced your own wishes.

Thankfully, Charles, Caroline, and Fitzwilliam were usually always attended. And occasionally, you'd spend time with Jane and Lizzie when they attended the same events, but otherwise, you would stand on the sidelines with Fitzwilliam as everyone else danced.

Your personality, though more reserved, wasn’t lacking. You had a great sense of humor, a sharp intellect, and an excellent memory. You enjoyed reading books and watching plays and operas; at a time wishing you could play a part in either one. You were kind, and generous to a fault; which, when you were younger, had gotten you into some trouble at times. You were very free-spirited, not afraid to speak your mind in certain situations; which your parents thought resulted in you spending too much time with Elizabeth Bennet. 

Fitzwilliam, though holding many similar interests, his demeanor was seemingly unfriendly, aloof, and unapproachable. He kept to himself, rarely engaging in social activities and never participating in conversations unless spoken to first. And while he was a bit arrogant and proud, he was actually very caring and understanding towards the ones that he held in high esteem. He still remained distant from most people, preferring to watch them from afar with a critical, often anxious - though, he was rather good at hiding it, gaze. 

You usually stood on the sidelines with Fitzwilliam at balls, only occasionally dancing with some random man your parents wanted you to dance with; in hopes some spark ignites. But, you disliked dancing, especially with strangers, and preferred to read books and relax in your room. Fitzwilliam, ever the gentleman, would start up some sort of conversation with you, albeit awkwardly. Though it happened rarely, it was always welcome; all the balls that you have ever been to have always been dreadful, but less so with Fitzwilliam there.

Balls had become associated with finding suitors and respectable husbands, rather than having fun and enjoying yourself, and you were beginning to resent that aspect of life. You knew that there was going to be a very low chance, or none at all, that you would be allowed to choose your own husband; or even have any say in the arrangement in the first place. If you did have a choice, you would choose Fitzwilliam. A few years prior, you noticed that you had developed feelings for him, feelings that were growing every single day. 

You greatly admired Fitzwilliam, his intelligence, kindness, gentleness, handsomeness, and overall good nature. But you said nothing of it. You knew you had no choice in who you were going to marry - whether you liked it or not. So you kept your head down and tried not to think of it too much. Though, it was hard to not think about him, you spent a lot of time with the man after all. But, being a very respectable and composed young woman, you didn't show most of your emotions to others.

As an Upper Class woman, you were required to follow every rule laid out by your parents and society. You also had a duty to act demure in public, especially during formal events, and to appear to be a perfectly poised young lady. This was something that you hated, not being able to express yourself freely, or to be your true self. But, you were really good at it. Being taught to hold unwanted emotions at bay, which you had learned to hold certain romantic feelings for Fitzwilliam in a tightly controlled manner.

Sitting in one of the many sitting rooms in Pemberley, you quietly sipped your tea with Fitzwilliam and Caroline. It was silent, aside from the occasional clink of a tea cup being placed upon a small saucer, the sound of Fitzwilliam's quill upon the parchment, and the sound of you turning the pages of your book as you read. Whilst your mind was elsewhere, you hardly noticed Caroline as she read some letter about a scandal some banker was in before hearing your friends, Elizabeth Bennet's presence being announced.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Shutting your book, you let a small smile grace your features as Lizzie entered, her hair down and mud on her shoes. She gave a polite smile, looking around the room as Fitzwilliam stood and gave a curt bow of the head. Setting your book on the table before you, you walked over to the young woman, greeting her with a quick hug.

After a moment of silence, Caroline quietly gasped, "Good lord, Elizabeth. Did you walk here?”

"I did..." She answered as you both pulled away from the hug.

"Lizzie, it is so good to see you. Are you well? It has been ages since we last spoke." You asked, "I hope you won't become ill. It was rather chilly out this morning."

"I am well, thank you. And yourself?" She asked softly.

Clasping your hands together before you, you nodded, "I am doing marvelously, thank you. We will have to have tea together sometime soon, I miss our riveting conversations."

Lizzie's smile widened, "Of course." After another slightly awkward moment, she continued, "I'm so sorry, how's my sister?" She brought her eyes to Fitzwilliam and Caroline.

"She's upstairs." Fitzwilliam answered and Elizabeth nodded.

"Thank you." With one last look and smile towards you, she left the room with haste. 

Letting out a small sigh, you walked back to the table, sitting back down in your seat and reopening your book. "My goodness, did you see her hem? Six inches deep in mud. She looked positively medieval." She mocked with amusement in her tone, and you rather hoped that she would finish speaking, but she wasn't done. Caroline then turned to you, and braced yourself for her words, "That was rather unlady-like, wasn't it?" She asked, as you flipped to the next page of your book.

"May I ask you to elaborate, Caroline?" You asked, barely giving the woman a glance as you continued reading. Ever since you were a young child, you and Caroline had never seen eye to eye. You weren't exactly fond of each other, and you didn't care to try getting along any better than you already did.

"Greeting her in such a manner." Caroline responded as she picked up a small finger sandwich.

You flipped to the next page, "Isn't it rather unlady-like to bring yourself into one's business, Caroline?" You asked, looking up to look at the women with a raised eyebrow. She only said nothing, letting out a small scoff as she looked away. "Oh, Caroline, dear... You have a little bit of something..." You began, lightly tapping the side of your mouth; even though she had nothing even blemishing her face.

Caroline quickly snatched a napkin from the table, dabbing the corner of her mouth. If she was embarrassed, she didn't show it, but you could tell by the way she fidgeted slightly in her seat that she was anything but pleased. Before going back to your book, you glanced over at Fitzwilliam, who had sat back down minutes ago, a very, very small smile on his face; his eyes held some amusement. Smiling lightly yourself, you went back to your book and tea.

~~~

It was a particular sunny day, birds singing in the trees, and clouds rolling through the sky. It was a beautiful afternoon, and you were enjoying it immensely. The weather was perfect for taking a stroll in the countryside, and if you were being honest, you loved being outdoors. The sun felt warm and inviting against your skin, the breeze gently blowing past you caused your dress to flutter a bit in the breeze. Carrying your book in your hand, you found a nice grassy spot to sit, not too far from Pemberley, but close enough to the lake that you felt at ease. You opened your book to where you had left off earlier and took a deep breath, trying to clear your mind of any unpleasant thoughts. 

You did not know how much time had passed before you heard footsteps, but you didn't bother looking up. When the person then took a seat beside you on the grass, you moved your gaze away from your book, looking up. There sat Fitzwilliam, his expression unreadable. "How may I be of service, Fitzwilliam?" You asked, placing your bookmark between the pages of your novel, closing it gently and setting it in your lap.

"I had been looking for you," He began, staring straight ahead, "May I accompany you for a while?" He added, and you nodded.

"As you wish." You replied, "I'd love the company, Fitz." He didn't say anything else, just giving you a short nod, a barely visible smile before looking off at the lake.

You went back to your book, opening it once more to where you had left off, but you didn't feel like continuing. It seemed that he had something on his mind, and it seemed that he wasn't in the mood to talk about it. Perhaps it would do him good to get it off his chest. But you knew better in asking him to do such, though he was pretty open with you in general, Fitzwilliam was quite reserved when it came to matters of the heart; he'd hide things behind a façade of calm and composure when talking to those around him. So you didn't say anything, didn't push him, allowing Fitzwilliam to take his time.

After a couple of minutes, he finally spoke, "What is it that you are reading?" He asked, turning his gaze to the book in your hands.

Looking up, you meet his gaze, "It's called 'Emma.' It speaks of a young woman who thinks of herself as a matchmaker." You replied softly.

"Ah. I suppose I should not be surprised that your reading has led you to romantic literature." Fitzwilliam commented.

"Well, I wouldn't say that." You countered. "I simply find them fascinating, as they give me new perspectives." You explained, tilting your head to the side slightly, "Have you read this publication?" You asked, motioning towards the book in your lap.

"No, I have not. I believe Miss Caroline had mentioned it in passing once." He admitted, and you gave a small hum in response. "Though she was not seemingly fond of it."

You lightly scoffed, turning to stare at the lake before you, "I would suspect that she finds it distasteful." Another silence washed over the two of you, and you found yourself looking at Fitzwilliam. You could sense an uneasiness in his gaze, though there was something else there, as well. You wanted to ask what was bothering him, but you decided against it, knowing better than to pry into the affairs of another person. However, you were curious, and as you watched his eyes dart across the water, you knew you needed to speak. "Are you feeling alright, Fitz?" You questioned softly.

Fitzwilliam looked over at you, staring at you before speaking, "I apologize if you feel that I am acting peculiar..."

"Do not worry. You are not behaving strangely." You assured him, smiling slightly, "I am just worried that something might be on your mind." 

Fitzwilliam pursed his lips briefly, his blue eyes locked with yours. The way you looked at him caused his stomach to flutter nervously, your overall presence made him nervous, and the overwhelming pounding of his heart was deafening. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was completely and utterly hopelessly in love with you. How could he ever resist you? He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms, kiss you until the world disappeared, and tell you everything. But that would be highly inappropriate and perhaps even selfish, and he knew that. He had no right to ask such of you, and he knew that; he pushed those desires aside immediately and forced himself to think rationally. 

"Would it be presumptuous of me to inquire as to if you are going to be attending the ball this fortnight?" He finally asked, his voice low, his eyes flickering over your features.

Your heart skipped a beat upon hearing the question, and you could not help but swallow dryly. "Yes, I will be attending. As you know, my parents wouldn't allow me to miss the event, even though I would much rather be reading in my room." You answered, trying to keep the trepidation out of your voice.

"I must agree with you. I would much rather be alone in my room as well." He replied quietly, lowering his gaze back to his own lap. 

"Well," You sighed out, grabbing your book once more, "At least we will have each other's presence to distract us from the tedium of the events." You said in an attempt to lighten the air, but he only offered a small chuckle before he turned his gaze back to the lake. 

Silence fell over the both of you again, with the soft sound of the wind rustling through the leaves and the birds flying overhead filling the space between the two of you. The atmosphere was peaceful, as it always was whenever you were together. For you, the silence was comforting, and Fitzwilliam enjoyed the silence as well. It was rare when the both of you had the chance to have a quiet moment together, so this was always a treat for you both.

~~~ 

Standing at the edge of the room, in your best dress from the newest season, you stood beside Fitzwilliam as the ball was in full swing. Your eyes surveyed the large room, glancing from the dancing couples, people chatting amongst their family, friends, etcetera, and finally, your parents. They stood, speaking with a man, whom you couldn't quite place his name on. From where you were, you could not understand fully what they were saying, which worried you slightly.

And it seemed that Fitzwilliam had noticed your straying gaze on your parents, and how your satin-gloved hands fumbled together nervously in front of you.

"Do not mind them." He muttered to you, leaning slightly towards you so you could hear him over the music.

"It is hard not to, Fitz," You spoke, turning your gaze away from your parents and back out upon the dancing. "They've been trying to find me a husband for the past couple of months. I am hoping at some point they will give up in their search."

"By the way that you speak, it would seem that you do not wish to marry." Fitzwilliam said, and you turned your head to look up at him.

"You know me, Fitzwilliam." You sighed, shaking your head slightly, "I do not want to marry someone I am unsure of. Besides, there were many whom were willing to offer marriage to a lady like me, and many of them, if I must say so myself, were handsome in all senses of the word. But from the few who have offered me marriage, I have turned away. I know that they had only seen my wealth, status, and looks rather than my personality. And I find that I cannot fathom the idea of marrying someone so shallow, or lacking in depth and solidity for that matter."

"I admire your strength of character." He said, looking down at you.

"Thank you, Fitz." You smiled sweetly up at him. "I admire your kindness and integrity." You added, your smile becoming genuine as he returned your smile with one of his own; though hardly noticeable.

"Daughter," Your gaze swiftly moved from your long-time friend to your mother, who stood with your father, and another gentleman you have never met before. "I would like you to meet Mr. Albert Wright. He's the owner of the Wright & Co. bank here in England." She informed you, a smile on her face, but her eyes held such excitement.

This Albert fellow was certainly some character, judging by his attire. His suit had a deep black waistcoat, a dark green vest, black breeches, and black shoes. And despite his clothing being quite plain, he did make an imposing figure; he was tall and broad, with a strong jawline, and he appeared to be very well built. His hair was dark brown, curly, and cut short, and his eyes a brilliant green.

You curtsied to him, trying to be as polite as possible, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wright." You greeted, forcing a smile upon your face.

"Please, call me Albert." He spoke, his voice deeper than you expected. Surprising you further as he bows his head and then offers you his hand. "May I have the honor of asking you to dance, my lady?"

The thought of taking his hand made you nervous, yet you took it regardless; not wanting to cause a scene or to upset your mother and father. Fitzwilliam stood helplessly as he watched you being led across the room by Mr. Albert just as another song began; his frown deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched as you danced with Mr. Albert. 

"Lovely match, don't you think, Mr. Darcy?" Your mother asked Fitzwilliam as she watched you dance with the banker.

Fitzwilliam reluctantly spoke, "I suppose so." He responded nonchalantly, averting his gaze momentarily before looking back over at you once more. Fitzwilliam had recognized the name Albert Wright from a couple of weeks prior. Having heard what the name had done, Fitzwilliam couldn't stop himself from warning your parents about Mr. Albert Wright's past scandal. "Madam, I understand wholeheartedly that you wish only the best for your daughter, but I feel that I must inform you that Mr. Albert was a part of a scandal many years ago regarding an older woman, whose husband was a respected merchant."

Your mother's eyes widened at the news, her hand coming to be placed upon her chest in shock, "Where did you hear of this, sir?" She inquired, your father mirroring his wife's expression, but he said nothing.

"From Miss Caroline, madam." He explained, turning to face the dancing crowd, his eyes following your figure.

Her mouth parted in surprise, her eyes widening further, "This is absolutely unacceptable! Our daughter should not associate with a man like this!" She exclaimed, her tone raising to one of anger as she glared at Mr. Albert.

By the end of the dance, Albert raised your hand and pressed a kiss to your gloved hand, bowing his head as you curtsied. Finally, you had thought, saying your goodbyes and thank yous to the man before heading back to your mother, father, and Fitzwilliam.

As you got closer, your eyebrows furrowed slightly, seeing your mother and father's angry expressions as they spoke to one another. Finding your spot next to Fitzwilliam, you leaned slightly towards the man to speak. "What has gotten my parents in such a temper?" You asked him, noticing his shoulders tensing slightly.

He glanced over at you briefly and shook his head lightly, "I am afraid I don't know. Perhaps it concerns Mr. Albert." He mused softly, keeping his eyes locked onto yours.

"But why is Papa so enraged? I haven't seen him this red since Mr. Took had tried to cheat him out of some money." You commented softly, looking up towards your parents once more.

"I believe it has to do with the fact that Mr. Albert had been a part of a scandal many years back." Fitzwilliam answered, making your jaw drop slightly, your hand coming up to cover your shock.

"And where did you hear of such a thing?" You asked quickly, wanting to know more details as to what scandal that Mr. Albert had gotten involved in.

Fitzwilliam looked down at you for a moment, turning back to the dancing, "If my memory serves me correctly, Miss Caroline had read upon it in a letter."

Trying to hide the smirk on your face, you lightly cleared your throat. "Well, isn't this unexpected," You muttered, amused. "And I could only assume that you had mentioned such news to my parents?" You asked, looking up at the name, eyes glinting with amusement.

Fitzwilliam looked down at you, nodding his head slowly, thinking, "Yes, you would be correct." He confirmed, saying nothing else which only made you smile.

"Well, thank you, Fitz," You began, "Without you, I wouldn't doubt my parents would have me married off to the man." You joked before another peaceful silence engulfed you both - that is, it was peaceful for you. 

Fitzwilliam looked down at you from beneath his eyelashes, studying you carefully, almost as if he were trying to memorize every feature of your face. When he realized that he was staring, he quickly turned away, clearing his throat lightly as he gained the courage to offer his hand out. You looked over, looking up at the man, to his hand, and back.

As you raised your eyebrow in question, he finally spoke, "Would you like to dance, my lady?" He asked softly, and you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. You had your shock well, but you were surprised that 

"That sounds lovely." You whispered, placing your hand into his gently.

~~~

The sun was shining brightly as it peeked through the clouds, causing the water to sparkle with each droplet of rain that hit the surface. You love it when the sun's shining and it's raining at the same time. You had started your day as you usually did when you stayed at your family estate; waking up in your lavish bed, before getting ready for the day. Choosing one of your favorite day dresses, you style your hair neatly, grabbing a new book before leaving your chambers. Before breakfast, you did your daily practice on the piano for a moment before sitting in one of the sitting rooms and reading your book. 

Joining your mother and father for breakfast, you ate delicious small cakes, breads, and hot coffee. Breakfast was pretty peaceful and quiet, aside from your father occasionally speaking up. After a while, the topic shifted from the conversation regarding your plans for the afternoon, which included spending the time walking about the grounds, as you had previously intended to do earlier in the morning. 

You hid your feelings well, but you wished that you were at Pemberley at the moment. You had never really felt comfortable or a part of your family's estate. You loved both your parents dearly, but they were rather strict compared to how you're used to life at Pemberley. In truth, you missed staying there; however, you were happy that you were able to stay with your family once again and you didn't want to disrupt their routine. So, you continued to smile politely through your father's comments and continued to eat your food.

You had begun to zone out at some point of your father's speech, nodding along when you thought necessary when suddenly, you heard your name being called. You snapped your head up to see your mother with a small frown on her face. "Your father had asked you a question, young lady." She informed you. You bowed your head and apologized for spacing out. Your mother sighed, placing her small fork down on her fine China plate. "Your father had asked if you desired to attend the upcoming ball at Pemberley?" Pushing your shoulders back, your mind racking at your mother's words. But before you could answer, your mother cut back in, "We know that you don't have a fondness for such events." Your mother included, which you found odd and surprisingly thoughtful, that she was aware of your dislike for socializing, and was finally letting you have a choice in the matter.

Though, you couldn't help but wonder, why now? What had happened or what had been said that would allow your parents to change their minds? Looking up, your eyes met your mother's, "If I may, mother, I had thought that you would want me to attend such gatherings. Has something happened to change your mind so?" You asked her, tilting your head slightly as you spoke.

Your mother nodded her head, her smile widening with excitement, "Precisely so, but we have splendid news for you." Glancing to your father, he then decided to speak, clearing his throat before doing so.

"Your mother and I have found you a suitor. We have met with him many times over these past few weeks and we have deemed him to be most suitable. We have decided to arrange for your engagement with him." Your father announced.

Your breath caught in your throat, unable to utter even a word. You felt as if the world had begun to crumble around you, all your efforts of being independent forgotten as your father's words sunk in. You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole, the sky to open up and spit you back out, and any other form of escape would be welcomed by you. Your heart ached as your father finished speaking, your fingers twitching slightly as you grasped your fork tightly; your knuckles turning white. 

Your lips and mouth felt extremely dry as you opened your mouth and licked your lips, a shaky breath escaping you, "Who have you arranged me with?" You asked, "... If I may inquire?" Your voice was shallow and quiet, your gaze directed downwards.

"Duke Phillip Colston, a very wealthy gentleman who lives here in England." Your father replied, watching you closely as if waiting for you to react. "I believe you'll make a very respectable wife for him, just so as long as you do not cause him too much trouble. He is an eligible bachelor after all." Your father added quietly.

Sighing inwardly, you lifted your head to look at your parents, swallowing heavily, "Do I have any say in this?" You questioned, your voice still weak as your hands clenched into fists under the table. You could feel tears building in your eyes, and you desperately blinked them away, refusing to let them fall as you tried your hardest to keep yourself composed.

"I am afraid not, dear," Your mother answered, "We have gone countless months trying to find you a respectable and kind suitor - a man who is willing and able to take care of you and provide you with all the comforts of society. And yet, all of our attempts have failed." Her tone grew seemingly irritated. "Every man we had brought to you, offering marriage, you have turned away." Her voice rose into one of anger. "You are at a point where men will not even be interested in marrying you, your refusals are becoming the talk of the town, gossip, and blather, and I will not have it." She practically spat angrily, looking up at you with fire in her eyes, a fire that you could not seem to extinguish. 

You stared at your mother silently, a slight pain throbbing through your heart as you took in her words, "I understand wholeheartedly, mother," You began, pushing your chair back to stand, and setting your napkin onto your empty China plate. "I will say this, that I have no desire to marry such a man; duke or not. My heart belongs to someone who is worthy of it." You stated firmly. You then turned on your heel, walking out of the room without saying another word.

Once you were out of their sight, knowing that they weren't going to follow you, you ran. Rushing out into the hall, you ignored the odd looks from your family's servants and maids, swiftly making your way to the front doors and stumbling out into the chill air. Breathing heavily, you felt everything rushing through your veins and blood; flowing throughout your body. Without a second thought, you stepped out into the light rain before running once again. 

You kept running and running, your feet stomping into the wet grass, hair plastered to your face, cold rain falling onto your face; soaking your dress. You didn't care nor have any mind to where you were running or where you were, you just needed to get away. Away from them. Away from them all. Your life, you had no power, no control over it; no matter how hard you fought against it, you could not escape fate. 

You had known that at some point, your parents would grow tiresome of your constant rejection of the men they had brought to you. You knew it was going to be only a matter of time before they would just arrange for you to marry someone else. It was bound to happen sooner or later, considering your age. You weren't getting any younger, and no one wanted a spinster for a daughter.

Still breathing heavily, you came to a stop in a dewy field, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. Finally, you let the tears fall from your eyes, your vision blurry as the water streaming down your cheeks. You wiped your cheek with your sleeve as a sob escaped your lips. You collapsed to the ground in a heap, feeling as if your heart was breaking all over again. The day of the shining sun and the falling rain, something that you had once adored, now only seemed to mock you. As you cried softly, ignoring how cold and drenched you were, you did not hear the sounds of hooves, and someone calling your name. Only when you felt someone touch your shoulder, did you look up.

Fitzwilliam's usually stoic expression was long gone, replaced with worry and concern. His brows furrowed together as he looked at your tear-stained cheeks, and your dampened dress. Fitzwilliam slowly helped you to your feet, helping you lean against him as he guided you to his horse. You did not remember much of the ride back to Pemberley, nor entering the large estate, nor when you were rushed off with a couple of housemaids. You felt numb as you were in the bath, hair being washed and skin being scrubbed. During that time, you had only wished the bath water to be scalding. 

You were quickly dressed in an afternoon dress - one of the dresses that you had kept in your room for when you stayed at the estate - swiftly, you were brought to your room. You sat on your bed, in the home that you'd grown to love more than your own, gazing out the window as the rain began to slowly cease, revealing a beautiful blue sky. A sigh left your lips as a knock sounded upon your door, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Enter," You muttered, surprisingly loud enough for the person to hear, as they opened the door.

Turning your attention from the window, you looked over to see Fitzwilliam, the same worry on his beautiful features as when he had found you in the field in the pouring rain. Silently, he sat beside you, leaving enough space to make you feel comfortable. It wasn't long until Fitzwilliam's curiosity and urgency to see whatever was the matter got the best of him. He watched as you fiddled with your fingers and sighed deeply, "What troubles you? Why were you sitting among the fields?" His voice was soft, filled with concern, and you raised your hand to your hair; brushed but not styled. 

You felt your eyes well up with tears once more, a breathy sigh leaving your lips before you spoke, "I have been arranged to marry Duke Colston." You answered, a voice at the same level as the man beside you. You couldn't even bear to look at him, if you did, you were sure that the tears in your eyes would become a waterfall.

There was silence for several moments as you awaited Fitzwilliam's response. When finally, you glanced towards him, his gaze was locked straight ahead as if lost in thought, "Is this something that you are unhappy about?" Fitzwilliam inquired, his voice calm.

"Incredibly so," You answered with a breath, "I do not wish to marry that man, nor ever." You said, your words laced with bitterness, looking down at your lap, "But I do not know what to do. Despite everything, I cannot bring myself to refuse." You admitted, feeling guilty as soon as you finished speaking. Though you did not agree with the society that you lived in nor the repressing of women's voices, you knew that this was something that had to be done. Not for you, but for your family, no matter how much you detested the idea. "I will have to go along with the matter, for it pleases my family." 

Fitzwilliam stared at the side of your face, subconsciously admiring you as he thought. In his heart, he despised that you were forced to marry someone who was unworthy of you - you did not deserve that, you deserved far better. But what could he do? Again, Fitzwilliam was hopeless. He was unable to do much of anything. Right before him, you were miserable, and he could do nothing but sit here and offer you comfort. He did not even know which he could offer you at this point. He could only watch helplessly as you felt like he was watching you crumble right before his very eyes. His time was up, his hopes diminished, his dreams crushed.

~~~

Fitzwilliam sat in his office, staring down at the many papers and letters before him on his desk. The ticking of the grandfather clock was loud within the silent atmosphere, its deep, heavy, and unenthusiastic noises echoing around the room, as Fitzwilliam tried to force himself to focus. He was not successful, however, as his mind drifted to you every time he closed his eyes. Every time, he would imagine you, dancing with the Duke, marrying the Duke, starting a family with the Duke. Everything that Mr. Darcy himself had desired with you. 

He sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead, closing his eyes briefly as images of you danced across his mind. You, in his arms. Dancing at the ball from only a month ago. You looked up at him with those eyes, those eyes that held his heart. You laughed, and he swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep you happy and laughing; he could not lose you. But he did. Why did he not ask for your hand?

A knock sounded at his office door and Fitzwilliam snapped his eyes open, turning his head to face the door. "Enter." He called out, clearing his throat. He watched as Charles Bingley, one of his friends, walked in, bowing slightly before giving him a small smile.

"Her parents have sent a carriage," He spoke to Fitzwilliam, "She'll be leaving soon, Darcy."

Fitzwilliam nodded, placing his quill back on top of his desk as he stood, walking over to the window, peering down at the carriage, "How long before she leaves?" He asked, but before he could receive an answer, he watched as you entered his vision, seemingly thanking the driver, and though reluctantly, stepping into the carriage.

Charles walked over, standing beside the man as he watched you leave. The man then glanced at his friend, observing him. The stoic look on his face, though more brooding, did not mask the sadness and pain that resided in his eyes; clearly, he cared deeply for you. Charles, and anyone else close to either of you, could have seen that. 

"You care for her," Charles spoke softly, Fitzwilliam's shoulders stiffening slightly at his words, "I believe that you might even love her, Darcy."

Fitzwilliam turned toward Charles with an odd look on his face, "What makes you say such a thing?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

"The way you look at her, the way you speak to her," Charles paused, smiling warmly at Fitzwilliam, "There is no one else that looks at her the way you do," Fitzwilliam said nothing, turning his gaze away from the window and heading back towards his desk once your carriage was out of sight. "You should go after her." Charles said suddenly before leaving the room.

Fitzwilliam sat back down at his desk, letting out a deep sigh as he let himself slouch a little. Charle's words were ringing throughout his mind, causing him to frown deeper. He didn't know how long he sat there as he stared at the paper and his quill in front of him before he suddenly stood and grabbed his coat.

~~~

Sitting in the sitting room, book in hand, your mind could hardly focus on the words written in the book. Your thoughts were all on Fitzwilliam, all on the future, and your upcoming marriage with another man you did not love. Your mind already distracted, you snapped your head over to the study's entranceway, hearing muttering coming from down the hall. You could not make out anything, only hearing that it was two men speaking, but you furrowed your brows; hearing the muttering quiet before hearing the closing of another door. Curiosity was clawing at you but you turned back to your book, trying your hardest to get back to reading it.

But as two hours passed, having checked the clock every ten minutes or so, you began to grow restless. Shutting your book, you stared at the doorway, trying to strain your ears to hear anything, but you could not make out anything. The large estate was quiet, aside from the hustling of the servants. You looked over at the clock on the wall, about to stand to practice the piano to calm your nerves before your mother walked into the room. 

She stood, tall and poised as usual, a small smile on her face. With a small gesture, she told you to stand and follow her. And you did so, forgetting your book on the velvet loveseat and following your mother to your father's office. With a steady knock, the door opened and a small gasp left your lips. 

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood beside your father, who sat at his office desk, leaned back, and with a thoughtful expression on his face. Immediately as the door opened, Fitzwilliam turned to face you, bowing respectively, as you glanced from your mother and to your father. Looking back to your long-time friend, you tilted your head to the side slightly, "Mr. Darcy, this is a surprise." You then looked to your mother and father once more, "Whatever is the matter?" You questioned.

Your father gave you a soft nod, "Please, join us." More than confused at this point - bewildered - you stepped further into the room, your mother leaving your side to stand next to your father at his desk. "Mr. Darcy here has come to inform us of something rather pressing." Your father answered finally, standing from his leather chair with a small grunt. "We shall leave you both to converse," He added as he made his way out of the room, followed by your mother.

As soon as they were gone, you turned to Fitzwilliam, "Whatever is going on, Fitzwilliam?" You asked as the man in question took a step towards you. 

And though he had a small frown on his face, his blue eyes held such vulnerability, such tenderness. "My lady," He muttered, his eyes searching yours, "I must confess that I am… Somewhat troubled." Letting out a small breath, he continued as you stared up at him, "For many years, I have found myself longing for you, and I can not seem to help but fall in love with you…" At his words, your eyes widened, and your lips parted slightly as he continued. "I have come to speak with your father about your arrangement. I can not force you to continue, nor can I force you to end it. But I can only hope that you could consider me as a potential suitor - husband rather, if that is agreeable to you."

You felt your breath hitch, your heart racing as you stared at the man you loved confessing that he had feelings for you, as well. After a moment, you managed to regain your composure, though you still remained speechless. Licking your dry lips briefly, you spoke, "It is," You breathed out. The words were barely above a whisper, and yet it seemed so loud to Fitzwilliam. He blinked rapidly, almost surprised at your response. You brushed the stray tear from your cheek, a small crawling sensation taking residence in your stomach. "I would be honored to accept your proposal, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

And though it was brief, you saw his smile before he took a step forward and hesitantly took your hand in his. The skin-on-skin contact, though usually forbidden between a gentleman and a young woman, caused butterflies to fill each of your stomachs as you both pressed your foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut. 

~~~

The sun was shining brightly today, as were the birds who were singing their songs in the tree branches, which were swaying lightly in the breeze; the light rain drizzled down from the sky. A content smile spread across your face as you leaned against the railing, overlooking the beautiful gardens that surrounded the estate. Your smile only widened as you felt a pair of arms slowly wrap around your waist, tugging you back into the warmth of Fitzwilliam's body. You hummed and rested your head upon his chest, your hands coming up to cover his. 

His arms tightened around your body, pulling you closer to him. "Good morning, my love." He spoke softly, planting a gentle kiss upon your temple. His lips moved along the soft skin of your cheek gently, causing you to shiver as goosebumps rose along your skin.

"Good morning, Fitz," You whispered in return. "I do declare that this is the most beautiful day I've ever experienced." You sighed out as he chuckled, nuzzling into your neck before pressing his lips to the skin there.

"That it is," He agreed before lifting his head and looking into your eyes. He gazed at you lovingly, brushing the hair from your face before leaning in and placing a soft kiss upon your lips. You sighed as he pulled away, allowing his forehead to rest against yours. Your fingers ran through his short hair, gently scratching his scalp as he hummed contently, enjoying the feeling.

"What is the time?" You asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced at his pocket watch, "Just past eight," He stated, giving you a fond smile, "Shall we head to breakfast?" He then suggested, earning a nod from you. Taking your hand in his, you brought it up to your lips, pressing your own kisses to his knuckles before he began to lead you from the balcony.

Behind the both of you, outside the window, just as the rain began to fade away... A rainbow slowly appeared.

#cute #fluff #slight angst #x reader #fanfiction #x female reader #fanfic #x you #x y/n #pride and prejudice 1995 #pride and prejudice #pride and predjudice 2005 #mr. darcy #mr. darcy x reader #mr. darcy x female reader #fitzwilliam darcy #fitzwilliam darcy x reader #fitzwilliam darcy x female reader #fitzwilliam darcy x you #fitzwilliam darcy x y/n

[undercoverpena]

welcome to jo’s march madness master list

i have LOVED reading all of these wonderful fics, and I wanted to put them in a place where others could enjoy them. i've tried to break them down into characters, but I've not highlighted content warnings, so please check warnings/ratings.

MARCH MADNESS DOESN'T END UNTIL 1ST APRIL. HOWEVER, I WANTED TO SHARE WHAT I'D BEEN READING TO SPREAD THE LOVE BEFORE THE END OF THE MONTH (IN CASE ANYONE WAS LOOKING FOR RECS). THIS NOTE WILL DELETE ON 1ST APRIL.

some links ⥄ all my fic recs ⥄ are you after some less than 3k fics? check out @goodwithcheese's quick pic fic here

FRANKIE MORALES

delta landscaping 14 + 15 by @rhoorl [triple frontier multi characters]

love language by @trulybetty

adrift with you chp. 8 + 9 by @morallyinept [frankie x ofc!jude]

always there for you by @pedroscurls

home by @dancingtotuyo

life is but a by @wordywarriorwrites

hold fast (series) by @jeewrites

imbued by @morallyinept

the melting point series (up to chp. 11 currently) by @penvisions

against the apples by @kteague

the study by @superhoeva

acts of service by @swiftispunk

he with the dark curls, you with the by @hellishjoel

tonight you belong to me chp. 3 by @intheorangebedroom

it's about the way you... by @penvisions

paper airplanes by @littlemisspascal

JAVI PEÑA

call me javi by wildemaven

safe place by @gnpwdrnwhiskey

every inch by @javierpena-inatacvest

señorita chapter by @lavendertales

take the weight off his shoulders chp. 8 by @thetriumphantpanda

JOEL MILLER

mine by @secretelephanttattoo [joel x tess]

denim on denim by @fuckyeahdindjarin [joel (in shiv's world)]

just to see you smile by @gnpwdrnwhiskey [joel x oc!bee]

a lovers pinch by @hier--soir

honey, i won't be home by @trulybetty [jackson joel]

rookie mistake by @fuckyeahdindjarin [seams!joel]

new perspectives by @thetriumphantpanda

the duke's illicit affair by @hellishjoel

northern lights by @morallyinept

raw edge by @fuckyeahdindjarin [seams!joel]

adoration (bodies series) by @morallyinept [tw: mention of breast cancer]

thirst for beauty by @psychedelic-ink [plus size!reader]

MARCUS PIKE

second chances part 1 + 2 by @pedroscurls

i'll crawl home to her by @ezrasbirdie

DAVE YORK

love at first... sight by @goodwithcheese

out of sight by @goodwithcheese

DIN DJARIN

this is the way by @psychedelic-ink

a rule of three by @5oh5

JACK DANIELS

southern nights by @secretelephanttattoo

#jo: marchmadness24 #my fic recs #jo: monthly list

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART ll

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 1,658

Warnings: dark themes, abuse, and arranged marriage

Summary: Deceit leaves you waiting in doubt, while also allowing you a glimpse into the violence that is house Harkonnen.

"It's been days."

Sitting at the metal dining table, you stare down at the meal sitting on your plate; a platter of strange meat and fruit. It's late evening and yet you've still to see the sky. The duke sits the table opposite of you, troubled with a face equally as displeased as you sound.

Three day's have passed since your arrival to Giedi Prime.

That's how long you've been waiting to hear from the Barron. That's how long he's been making the envoy wait, with little to no news other than the fact his nephew is nearing to the planets orbit.

Feyd-Rautha was never here.

We've travelled time and space only to be left in disillusion. Stranded and seething in what is only another insult. The Barron had denied all your fathers requests to speak. We're to simply wait the coming time for the ceremony to take place.

"Is he dead?"

The question slips from between your lips, more as a suggestion than a question. In these last few days you've been contemplating the delay in your marriage to the Harkonnen. Your mind couldn't help but wander to the faint possibility.

You're father glanced you and then to the female servants. He utters, "Don't say that?"

Turning your eyes to the women, you observe how still the three of them stand. Their bald heads are bowed lowly, their eyes everted as if it were forbidden to look upon us. Neither of them spoke, a noticeable trait amongst these walls. It's terribly quiet.

"Do you think they listen?"

The duke sighed with a gesture, "All of you, leave us."

Immediately, the three women scurried from your site and out of the dining room. It leaves only the two of you now. Taking your glass of drink, filled with a substance you could only describe as strong - alcoholic - you take a sip.

"Don't get comfortable," he counselled. "They all listen. The servants. The guards. The walls. There's nowhere here you can ever believe is secure."

"Then why do we stay?"

He paused, "You know why."

Getting up from your seat, you headed towards a decorative wall ornament. A silver plate, rippled and bent into an unusual disk. The shiny chrome reflects the jarred image of your pale face.

"I'd accepted my fate from the beginning," you started whilst refusing to look at him. You can feel the emotions bubbling within your chest. "I'd made peace and readied myself for our arrival - and for nothing - to be made a fool."

"If he didn't need our alliance, then we wouldn't be here."

"You think he'd kill us?"

"Yes, and yet we still breathe," replied your father. "Whatever it is that's happening, it's not without reason. I don't believe this is the Barron's doing."

"Then it's true."

"What is?"

Your turned around, "Feyd-Rautha."

The duke tensed at the mention, before looking away with a sigh of defeat. It haunts him. Your father never wanted to speak of the marriage. It was your mother who came to you after the fact, confessing the identity of your match.

Your father is too shamed. Surrendering to the enemy and going so far as to parlay with his only daughter. It had hurt the mans pride, not only as a duke but as a father. He wanted better for you, better than a monster.

"He can't hurt -."

"Don't lie to me," you interjected. "As soon as it's done and I'm alone, there's nothing he can't do to hurt me."

"He won’t kill you."

"No," you mutter bitterly. Pausing, you emptied your cup with a last mouthful. "That would mean mercy."

Pursing your lips, you flare at his poor attempt to reassure your welfare. There's paths worse than death, and murder is too clean. Striding across the dining hall, you exited hastily without properly bidding him goodnight.

It angers you.

This waiting game has brought you to the edge of sanity. As you said before, you'd made peace with the situation, but now you're unsure. You're stuck in a twisted purgatory; neither free from this place nor bound to it.

Navigating the abandoned hallways, the click of your heels echoes amongst the wide tunnel like space. The palace is endless and vast, and sometimes you wonder what you might discover if you were to steer from the trail.

There's much the other houses don't know about the Harkonnen's. They're a secretive and sly race, who don't take kindly to sharing their technology and resources; other than the exorbitant production of Spice.

"Why are you following me?"

Pausing in the middle of the hall, you waited for the hidden figure to emerge from the shadows. You had herd them trailing you from the moment you left the dining room. Their mind is far too active for you to ignore amidst the emptiness.

"It's only polite to mind one's guests. The palace walls can easily deceive the unfamiliar."

Piter appears the dank recesses of the hallway, still clothed in traditional black. The two of you have barely associated after your initial contact upon arrival, but you aren't at all surprised to find him lurking.

"And what might I find, if I were to stray?" you asked daringly. "Perhaps the truth?"

"The truth isn't always worth it's labour."

You're gaze narrows, "Tell me what you want."

"Answers," he simply responded. "It's my function to seek answers - even to questions still yet to come."

"Isn't it only inevitable."

"In a manner, but why not reach for the power of foresight?"

Stepping towards him, you inch closer to the mentat; until you're merely inches from one another. Although he doesn’t move, you can see the uncertainty in his face. He expects you be otherwise, but you react differently; a miscalculation.

“Tell me my future.”

He looks at you with hesitation, before answering. “Your future is your own creation. But,” he adds whilst looking you up and down. “I do expect it be bleak.”

You scoff beneath your breath. He’s blunt, but at the very least he shows honesty. It may not be on the most respectful of terms, but it's better than you expect. Eyeing him once more, you leave Piter alone in the darkened hallway.

Walking back to your room, you're quick to take notice of the servant standing idly outside of your doorway. This one’s different. You’ve not see her face before. There seems to be quite a few, following you like shadows.

“A bath,” you instruct, to which she obeys.

Opening the door to your room, you enter first while she trails afterwards. Swiftly she maneuvers herself to prepare the bath in the adjoining room. It’s gives you time to breath, and you do so deeply.

The weight on your shoulders is overbearing. A force to be reckoned. You’ve been on constant guard the moment you step foot on this rock, and although you know you shouldn’t allow yourself to slip, you bring yourself at ease.

If only for a moment.

The servant returns, helping you undress from the layers of clothing that've been shielding you from the many faces. They’re not to see you before the ceremony, but you’d rather they don’t see you at all.

It’s easier to hide.

Slipping into the hot bath, you submerge down into the milky white water. It smells subtle but flowery, not a smell you first expected to breath in a place like this. You'd expected something unpleasant and sterile.

They say the Barron himself bathes in vats of black oil. They dredge it from this very terrain. It's supposedly a mineral enriched concoction. A way to heal the mans fowl wounds and morbidly ill health.

Improbable.

Rotating your neck, you ease the taut ache within your muscles. The ceremony will be soon, if not tomorrow then surely the next. You’ve not seen their ways of marriage, but you imagine it to be cold and emotionless; savage.

It’ll more akin to a fete, than a true celebration.

Sponging along the length of your arms and shoulders, the servant carefully washes you as if you're made of precious material. Leaning over, you cant help but catch site of the bruised flesh at her collar.

“Stop.”

Immediately, the woman stills like a statue. Your damp fingertips running across her soft but marred skin; the color of deep purple. She flinches when you press the tender wound. It's recent enough.

“Who did this to you?”

Remaining quiet, her unmoving eyes stare into the distance. Fear or loyalty. Either way she refuses to reveal the abuser. The artery at her neck throbs with the increase of her heartrate.

“Speak.”

She stumbles at the sound of The Voice. It brings her to her knees, hand splashing against the waters surface as she tries to steady herself. The answer you compel comes unwillingly and to a surprise.

“Ne-Barron."

Frightful eyes gape up at you, body shaking as she tries to come to terms with the power that'd overcome her freewill. Disorientation. As much as her instincts beg for her to flee, she makes no move to runaway; to scream in horror and obscenity.

Instead, she collects herself as much as she can, before retrieving the sponge to continue bathing your flesh. There's no need to force for further elaboration. Her words came accompanied with a testament of emotions.

Torture.

Torment.

A common endurance on this planet. Resting in the bath, you only need to imagine as to why the brute would decide to leave the servant so obviously bruised and battered; only the reason hardly matters. Logic is for the sane.

Feyd-Rautha is psychotic.

Your only real concern is, if he's so willing to inflict pain and suffering to that of his own people, then what might he do to you; an outsider. An Atreides. Those bruises hold no shame or remorse. They stand as his representation.

Would he make you walk among them as another?

A symbol of his dominion.

#fanfic #female oc #fanfiction #feyd rautha #joe x female oc #dune #house harkonnen #feyd rautha harkonnen #Atreides!Female OC #feyd x you #dune 2024 #dune part two #series

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

''Fight and Die'' PART THREE Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss. blood, loss of maidenhead, abuse (not aemond) and overall just tragedy and stuff.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got.

🔷Wordcount: 5065

Warnings: Abuse and manupilation (but its not aemond doing it) mentions of blood and sex, loss of maidenhead and marriage abuse (but its not happening nor is it aemond, only the fear that aemond might do it)

When you were a little girl, you never imagined you one day would wake up in a castle so big you would never know it fully, with more servants to attend you then you can count, and blankets and sheets so soft that just touching them makes you feel as if you are dreaming. 

It is because you have always known the gods are cruel to those who dare to dream, and even crueler still to those who dare to hope. 

As a little girl you assumed one day you would marry a powerful ally to strengthen your brother’s cause, to help aid your ruined house and restore honor to the Marthyralys family. A Lord, perhaps. A duke, maybe. But you never assumed it would be a Prince. And especially not one that belonged to House Targaryen.

So, when you wake after your consummation with Prince Aemond, wearing nothing and wrapped in the sheets of his bed, you first need to verify if you are not dreaming. 

Prince Aemond scared you, at first. He seemed a dangerous, selfish man and according to your brother, he would rape and hurt you every remaining night of your life. And who would possibly come to your defense if he would? Not your brother, that is for certain.

There was always a reason you feared the consummation. There was much to be scared of. From the pain, to the possibility you might end up pregnant and end as your beloved mother, bleeding out on your birthing bed. 

But from the moment he undressed you to the moment he went inside of you, Prince Aemond had given you no reason to distrust him or to doubt his vows. He didn’t rape you, he didn’t shame or insult you. Instead of that he waited for you and he listened. No one had ever listened before. No one.

You turn on your side, expecting to find your husband nestled warmly against you, his silver hair spread out as a halo around him on the soft pillows.

But fate had other plans.

Your husband, Prince Aemond, is no longer there. 

You sit up straight, wide awake. You quickly look around in the bedchamber, near the fireplace and the chair. But there is no one to be found.  It causes anxiety to grow and for worry to take root. Why did your husband leave your side so suddenly? Had it something to do with Fyrand? Did he grow tired of you already? Does he perhaps hate you? Do you snore?

So many questions plague your mind and not one answer appears in return. You try to sit up straight, your legs and lady parts reminding you you are no longer a maiden. You lift the blankets and stare at the blood spot between your legs, likely proof of your maidenhead and the rough sex you and Aemond had prior.

It was perhaps a bit too rough for starters but you enjoyed yourself. You never imagined you would.

You thought you would always endure it as a duty not see it as a privilege or a pleasure. 

You feel terribly alone in the moment and worry if it wasn't all just an act on his part. An act to make you comply so he had an easy victory. Did he mean the promises he made to you, or is this just another monster, disguised as a prince?

You are overwhelmed by the thoughts and how fast your life is changing. You also have a slight discomfort between your legs, and pain in your hips whenever you move or turn. Tears begin to form in your eyes as you helplessly try to blink them away.

The door of the room is thrown open, and no other than your brother, Fyrand, heir to House Marthyralys walks in, a broad smirk on his lips. You uneasily back away against the headboard, barely containing your tears. ‘’My little sister!" He grins as you quickly cover yourself with the blankets that are within your reach. You notice someone put another soft blanket near where you were sleeping peacefully. Likely a servant.

He sees your skittish eyes look back and forward to the door so he quickly blocks your path with a grin. ‘’I assume you were a big girl last night and have given yourself to the Prince?’’ Given. As if you are a mere toy. A object. A quick glass of wine to enjoy before the consumer throws the glass away.

You did your duties and you enjoyed yourself doing it. But you feel ashamed you have to admit this to your own brother, your own flesh and blood.

‘’I have.’’ You respond in a soft small voice.  

Delighted, he chuckles. ‘’And?’’ he asks, more cheerful than usual.

You feel tired, a bit confused and have trouble following the conversation, reading what he wants from you based on his expression alone. So you ask him what he wants instead. ‘’And what?’’ 

His smile dies the moment you have spoken the words. His usual scowl comes back up as crops rotating one another in a field. His tone is nothing but snappy, degrading, angry that he has to explain himself. ‘’Did he seem pleased? Was he enjoying himself? You had tasks to perform. Do not tell me you failed them.’’ He warns you. 

You recall the smile of the Prince as he kissed you, as he took in your breasts for the very first time and how gently he spoke to you, calling you his Lady, his Wife and his Princess multiple times, as well as your name. You remember when you were bent on your knees, his manhood filling you up when he panted and groaned in your ear, repeatedly crying out your name against your neck as he likely reached his height.

In all accounts, he appeared to be happy. Which is why it is so confusing to you that he has left your side so quick and sudden.

You shake your head as your brother approaches, all too familiar with his short dangerous temper.  ‘’Prince Aemond is very happy with me. If he was not, I wouldn't have woken up today.’’ 

Fyrand thinks and nods, accepting that you are right. ‘’Hm. True. He would have strangled you in your sleep.’’ You gulp and to that he smiles, folding his hands on his back.

‘’Show me. I want proof.’’ He says, raising a brow slightly. You tremble, lifting the blankets so your brother may see the bloodied sheets you are laying on, as well as the dried cum that is still on your legs.

He lets out a soft gasp, pretending to feel sorry for you. ‘’O, he was not very gentle with you, was he, little sister? It will be a while for your body to become used to this savagery.’’ Savagery. You didn’t see it that way.

Your brother turns to leave, and you stop him before he can. ‘’Have I made you proud?’’ He is your last family member. You must treasure him whether you like it or not. And you want his approval. Whether you should care about him or not.

‘’That depends. Did you pleasure Aemond? Did you touch him at all? Or did you just lay there as a useless corpse and got fucked in your cunt time after time?’’ That was what happened. You don’t recall laying a finger on him. You found it terrifying as it is, you didn’t need to make things worse by touching him.

One look at you and Fyrand knows just what has happened. He leans a little closer, and you smell the drink he had likely not so long ago. He grabs hold of your throat when you turn your head away, choking you until you are sure his nails have left marks. ‘’You will make it up to Aemond. He is important. Keep him happy for now. It is all I ask of you.’’ He asks so much.

He does not seem to understand that Aemond has been kind, gentle, sweet and noble to you. He thinks Aemond is some sort of monster. ‘’Aemond seems gentle and kind. He didn't…’’ 

Fyrand sighs, annoyed before he slaps you across your face, tilting it in another direction. You feel your cheeks, shocked and humiliated, tears rolling now freely over your face. ‘’I quite don't care how kind he is. You spread your legs and let him fuck a silver haired son inside of your womb.’’ Hearing that makes you feel so much worse. Your own mother died birthing you. You don’t wish to follow her.

Your brother touches the spot he hit, laughing as you flinch under his touch. ‘’And perhaps, he is in the mood for something more too. Perhaps you'll soon suck his cock, get fucked in your ass, perhaps you even experience a bit of motivational little smacks to make sure you stay in line. I shall discuss it with Aemond, that you become a good woman. I'm sure the other things he already has come up with.’’ Your nod.

But he is not finished yet. ‘’Keep him happy, entertained, and loyal, little sister. Surely you don’t want Aemond to bore himself with you, hm? You do know what happens to princesses when their princes are bored of them?’’ You would not know. Most stories about princesses and princes have a happy ending.

‘’No?’’ you mutter afraid of the answer.

He laughs, delighted that he can tell you this.

‘’O, they get killed. In horrible accidents. Aemond likely will have you fed to his dragon, the sick bastard. I can’t think of a more fitting ending for you. So do not mess this up.’’ Fyrand leaves the rooms finally, and you now just realize that he is no longer bound in chains as he fiddles with his hands, slightly rubbing his fingers as is a habit when he is nervous.

You try to sleep a bit more, and luckily the blankets and pillows only help. You are cold, so you put on a nightgown that has been put on the blankets. But you keep worrying, regardless. Where is Aemond? Will he listen to Fyrand? Who unchained him? Was it Aemond? Given their late conversation, unlikely. Aemond seems to find it difficult to forgive and forget.

The noon sun is upon you, casting light into the bedroom. And at that moment, the door is gently pushed open once more. Three in green dressed ladies enter the room, each of them wearing gowns with matching hair nets to avoid their hairs getting messy. You blink as they approach rapidly, spreading out and taking each side so you can not escape them.

‘’Who are you?’’ You demand, your voice shaking. The tallest of them does not speak but she does not need to. One look and her ladies take each arm of you, pulling down your gown, and baring you naked. ‘’St-stop!’’ You manage to squeak out.

The tall lady makes her way to your bed, smiling when she sees the blood spots on the linnen. You never saw anyone smile at the sight of blood, and it terrifies you. ‘’We are your ladies maids.’’ She reveals to you, as if that is supposed to say or mean something to you.

You would not care if they were the Queens of Dorne or the rulers of Volantis: You already suffer so much and they will just make it worse. ‘’I don't need ladies maids.’’ You tell her. It is true. You can dress, bathe and wash yourself. You have done so for years when you were in exile, anyway.

The tall lady steps closer as her ladies drag you to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, opening the doors and throwing out the one after the other dress in your size. ‘’The Queen and King and your husband beg to differ. You are uncivilized and wild. You need handmaidens, ladies maids and perhaps even a septa to mold you into the perfect wife for the Prince.’’ You flinch as she touches your wrist, familiar to where your brother often squeezes you.

You like to believe that Aemond told you the truth last night. But the longer you are awake and alone, the more doubt begins to creep. ‘’Aemond thinks I am perfect the way I am.’’ You mutter.

That causes all three to laugh out loud. A brown haired girl picks out a blue dress with ribbons and throws it on the bed, clearing comparing it with a red gown with a inviting neckline. ‘’And you believed him? Naive little girl.’’ She snickers. 

You feel heat rush to your cheeks, so you avoid looking at anyone, still embarrassed and naked. This can’t be allowed. You are a princess now.

‘’I want my husband-’’ You ball your hands into fists, ready to sound commanding.

‘’He's not here. He is training and doing his duties. Or perhaps he's visiting a brothel.’’ You hear yourself gasp, followed by a whimper as you break into tears. Your husband did not need even a day before he betrayed you with another woman. What does that say about him? And what does it say about you?

The tall lady inspects the two gowns that the other girls selected before scoffing. ‘’Blue and Red? She’s Prince’s Aemond wife. Not one of the bastard breeds.’’ She huffs. She walks to the closet with dramatic steps, yanking a green gown with a high collar and a dull bodice out. It is plain, dull, boring. You miss sparkles, perhaps embroidery, or lace. You miss soul, character.

‘’I don’t like that gown.’’ You say. ‘’I like the blue one better.’’ You pick it up from the bed, but your hand is smacked down the moment you touch it. You flinch, back away and whimper.

The tall lady laughs at that, she leans in smiling sweetly but her eyes are hollow as a skull. ‘’Prince Aemond wants you in that gown. Do you want us to tell him you disobeyed? Do you know what happens to wives who disobey their husband's wishes? They get punished.’’ You consider your options. 

‘’He has been nothing but kind.’’ You say, mostly to yourself. But that does not matter. They have seen your doubt, smelled your fear and sensed your insecurity. You are their prey, their victim now. They surround you and begin dressing you in the tight green ugly gown.

‘’Because you allowed him to fuck you. You are naive and blind to trust him.’’ The girl with the brown hair snickers. ‘’Just don’t be surprised if one day you wake up to find one of your eyes gone.’’ The gown is finally laced up and the corset is tightend. You can barely breathe.

The door opens again and this time black boots, a leather coat, and the man wearing them enters. You barely look at your husband, tears running down your face freely.

Aemond pauses in front of you, slightly frowning at the dress. He reaches out to touch your face, but changes his mind at the last moment. He takes notice of your tears. And turns on his heels, facing the tallest lady right away.  ‘’What is the meaning of this?’’ He asks, his voice increasing. It is still soft but enough to make you flinch. 

The tallest speaks, spinning lies easily. ‘’Your wife was being disobedient. She does not put the gown we selected for her. She also threw her food on the ground and tried to escape.’’ You did no such things. 

Yet Aemond nods, turning to you, one of his brows raised. ‘’Is that so?’’ You open your mouth to speak, but can’t utter a single word to defend yourself. You feel so scared, so helpless and hopeless.

The brown haired girl speaks. ‘’I'd say it's for the best that you teach your new wife how it works here. She has not been here a day and she is ungrateful for the food, the clothing, the protection and all she needs to do is spread her traitor legs and yet-’’ 

Prince Aemond silences her by raising his left hand, giving her a glare so cold and deadly it could make the Stranger relieve themselves in fear.

‘’That is my lady wife you are speaking to. My lady, my wife, my princess.’’ You feel more heat rise to your cheeks, aware of your worries slowly dying. ‘’She is worth your respect. So you either show it to her, or I'll send you to the dungeons to have your tongue removed for your treasonous insults.’’ That seems a bit harsh to you, but it feels nice that he takes your honor seriously.

‘’I apologize, my prince-’’ The brunette tries her best at making a curtsy but Prince Aemond does not care and seems more annoyed every moment that passes by.

‘’Not to me,’’ he spits out. ‘’You will apologize to Revaera for your unkind words. She is facing enough as it is, she does not need this as well.’’ 

The brunette glares at you as if its your fault that Aemond lectured her. ‘’I am sorry, my lady.’’ She finally blurts out, despite her own wishes. She knows what the consequences are if she does not.

You ignore her, paining her more with the insecurity of the thought that Aemond might throw her into the bricks after all. Or worse, take her tongue. ‘’Apology accepted.’’ You say, after enough time has passed.

Prince Aemond huffs, looking at the dresses on his bed, your ripped nightgown on the floor and the dress that you are wearing. He does not seem to care for it, and his first priority is you. ‘’Tell me what else have they done?’’ You hear the ladies gasp and you feel powerful for the very first time in your life.

You play with your nails. ‘’They uhm dragged me from my bed.’’ The moment you have spoken the words, you see Aemond’s face change from calm and collected to indescribable fury and rage. ‘’But they...don't harm them.’’ You beg him. 

He turns around to face the ladies. One is trembling, the one who insulted you is crying and the tallest lady smiles, a bit to play it off as a joke. Aemond folds his hands on his back. ‘’If you were all men you'd all hang. I don't see the difference. I believe in equality for all. You laid your paws on my wife.’’ He hisses, through his teeth.

‘’She didn't comply when we begged her to come out.’’ The tall lady tries. ‘’Your wife didn’t want to put the gown on. It is all true.’’ But this time, you defend yourself.

‘’No!’’You righteously speak up, causing Aemond’s head to turn in your direction, curiosity written across his elf-like face. ‘’That's not true, Aemond. They came in unannounced when I was still in bed. I asked multiple times who they were but they didn't even tell me and undressed me by force-’’ You stop your rambles as you see your husband take one more step toward the ladies. Two are now crying. And one has stopped smiling.

‘’You dared to strip her?’’ He asks, his voice a low, husky groan. ‘’You dared to strip a Princess of the House of the Dragon? You dared to strip and harass my wife?’’ He hisses. 

The tallest lady falls down to her knees, begging Aemond for mercy. ‘’We only did what was right! She is a traitor. She has no pure Valyrian blood. It would be wrong to sire a child with her. Her ancestor-’’ The emotions you feel are strong and pure. 

Aemond raises his dominant right hand, aiming for her face but you beat him to it. His slap would have been discipline, perhaps hard but firm, calculated and thought out well. He practices fighting. You, however. You do not.

Your slap is a mix of rage, insecurity and lack of power you try to claim through needless violence. It is supposed to inflict fear and your slap has lost its precision, its accuracy. Your intended slap becomes a fist, hooking the lady in waiting on her perfect little nose. And judging by the screams that follow and the blood that comes streaming out, and the pain in your knuckles, you broke it. 

Prince Aemond sighs deeply, and you feel ashamed that you stooped that low. The lady clutches her nose, screaming bloody murder as two guards storm in. ‘’My Prince! Are you both-’’ Aemond simply folds his hands back on his back. 

‘’Out. All of you. Take the screaming swine and her kind with you.’’ You hear yourself chuckle slightly because of that insult and watch your bloodied fist, impressed by the power you apparently hold.

It is not physical power. But the mental power that impresses you. You stood up for yourself. You defended yourself. You never did that before. You never dreamt of doing any of that before. 

‘’I am sorry.’’ You mutter the moment the two of you are alone. Instead of dragging you to his bed and smacking your head against the stone walls, he simply steps a bit closer, caressing your face before leaving a soft kiss.

‘’We try to not hit our servants unless they do something unforgiven. I lost my temper, in that moment.’’ He says. ‘’I wanted to defend you, as is my duty. Yet you seem more than capable of defending yourself.’’ You feel relief crashing in as waves.

‘’You aren’t mad?’’ You ask one final time to be sure.

He shakes his head. ‘’No, If anything, I’m amused. I didn’t think you had such fierceness in you. Such fire. Such blood.’’ He looks at your dark green gown and smiles, pressing your foreheads against one another, reaching out to rub your fingertips.

The door is opened once more. ‘’For the love of the seven-’’ Aemond shouts, grumpy this moment got interrupted. You both are surprised to see the 3th servant girl standing there. She has a frightened look in her eyes, yet comes before you both. 

‘’What are you doing here? I dismissed you all.’’ Prince Aemond says. It is true. Whatever lured her back in must be serious.

She folds her hands in front of her. ‘’I was worried for the Princess. I didn’t wanted her to endure punishment for something she did not do.’’ She tells Aemond and you both see she speaks the truth easily.

‘’Hm.’’ Aemond sits down in the chair by the fireplace, awaiting her explanation. 

So the servant girl starts telling the truth of what happened. ‘’You see, your highness. Lady Selma lied to you. She called Princess Revaera a bastard, and a …’’ She glances at you now, ashamed. ‘’A whore. I should have said something. But I was too frightened. She even went as far as implying that you were in a brothel, being unfaithful to the princess.’’

Aemond scoffs, insulted. 

‘’The princess only ever asked decent and normal questions befitting the situation. She called for you but Selma denied her this request. Princess Revaera told us as servants that she preferred the blue gown, but Selma lied and said you had ordered her to wear the green one.’’ You stare at the gown, feeling even more furious and more happy you hit that woman on her nose.

‘’I did no such thing.’’ Aemond mutters, looking more and more confused as the moments pass by. ‘’Why would I even-’’ He does not understand. 

The girl nods, too eager and too happy that Aemond understands her. ‘’Exactly, your highness. All she does is lie.’‘’That that would be all of it.’’ She adds, her voice timid as a mouse, suddenly blushing brightly and perfecting her blonde hair.

‘’Apologies I didn’t speak up sooner, my lady.’’ she adds, before giving a final curtsy and fleeing the rooms.

You look at Aemond, curious for his reaction. He just sits there, unmoved and watches the flames lick the firewood. ‘’I have been thinking. I wish to discuss something.’’ He says without looking up. You feel your heart beat faster, afraid this could be your end.

He stands up, and closes the distance between the both of you. His slender fingers touch your cheek, before his good eye pulls down the collar of your neck a bit, revealing the wounds where Fyrand dug his nails into your skin. Quickly, you push him off and away, but he has already seen it. ‘’This is what we must discuss.’’ He says. ‘’I saw it too when you were naked. Bruises, unexplainable bruises and cuts just like these in your wrists.’’ He sounds more angry with every passing moment.

He must be angry you came with bruises. He must think you aren’t worth  the fight he gave. He perhaps wants to kill you too, just as Fyrand said. You consider seducing him, giving him your body once more as a payment to let you live. 

Suddenly, regret and pain flashes in his good eye as he leans closer, caressing the wounds on your neck gently. ‘’I think I know who to blame for this. But I want to hear it from your lips, first. Tell me, my wife. Does your brother hurt you?’’

You nod. You know you are risking upsetting Fyrand but you do not care. ‘’Yes.’’ You confess.

Aemond mutters something in his ancestral tongue. ‘’He said husbands do that to their wives and that he, as my brother, was above my husband. And that he decides how to raise me.’’

You can see Aemond's jaw clench at your words, his right leg slightly twitching in an impulse of him to run off and to likely find your brother. But he remains at your side despite his anger. ‘’My brother will discuss things with you. He wishes for me to be...motivated more.’’ You reveal, your hands trembling. 

Aemond understands what you mean, judging by his disgusted glare at the door as if he can picture Fyrand standing there. ‘’Absolutely not. He can come to me as often as he likes, I won't lay a finger on you. That man is insane.’’

‘’He also said unkind things.’’ You begin to cry again at the memory of what your brother said.

‘’He said you were going to make use of me and to ..take me in my...butt…’’ Your words are cutt off by Aemond.

‘’He tried to scare you. You know why?’’

You shake your head. No. You don’t. You are already scared enough as it is.

He breaks into a grin, touching your lips softly, kissing your forehead, while leaving dozens of tiny kisses all over your face. ‘’Because I may be half blind, but I see a change already. I see you are more confident, free and full of life than you were yesterday. I see a butterfly that finally learned how to take wing.’’ You finally smile back at him, a bit shy perhaps but flattered by his compliment. 

‘’He came for you last night. Did he ever...lay his hands on you in a different way?’’ Aemond wonders. You understand why he must think that, considering your brother came for you at night, during your wedding night, and demanded to see you.

You wrinkle your nose, disgusted.

‘’No. Thank the gods no.’’ Yet you wonder if it remains that way. 

Aemond fills you in on what happened last night. ‘’I sent him away. Whatever it was, it could wait until the morning. You were tired, almost drifting off the moment I had tucked you in.’’

You understand he didn’t have to share that with you. He could have easily kept it a secret. So you tell him a secret too. ‘’I saw.’’

You see many emotions reflected in his eye. Worry, shame, fear. Worry for upsetting you, shame that he hurt your brother and fear this could cost whatever is blooming between the two of you. Yet you wouldn’t know that, of course.

You reach out, gently taking his fingers into your own, touching him for the very first time. ‘’Thank you. I don't know what he wanted, but it couldn't have been that urgent. I'm glad you protected me.’’

You feel it is going well. So you have one final request to make. ‘’I heard you have a dragon. A beautiful fierce green scaled dragon. She is called the Queen of all dragons, isn't she?’’ 

He nods, interested and appearing much happier to you than moments before, eager to talk about his beloved dragon. ‘’Yes. Does that perhaps frighten you? There is nothing to worry about. Vhagar and I bonded. She won't harm me.’’ 

He chuckles. You have never heard such an intriguing sound. ‘’My mother shares your concern and fear. I pretend I don't notice but the King's guard is always near whenever I set out for flying.’’ He says, rolling his eye. You wonder if he still feels that other eye as well, or if this is just all there is to it.

‘’I do...I was wondering, if one day, I could meet her?’’ You understand you ask something big. Vhagar is his dragon. Your family is also accused of stealing dragon eggs for centuries. To see the dragon, would mean that Aemond trusts you.

You watch him look at you for moments, and he is thinking you can tell. ‘’She sounds interesting and important to you. You know about people important to me, I thought: I want to know about my husband's life too.’’ Unknown to you, he is looking at you with admiration. Never met the prince or anyone who wanted to see Vhagar. Never.

Finally, a soft answer leaves his lips, as he puts his hands in his pocket, avoiding looking at your face at all costs. ‘’I'd like that very much.’’ He says, and you would swear he is blushing.

Your moment is interrupted as a guard enters the room once more, addressing Aemond right away.

‘’The Queen wishes to see you.’’ He says. Aemond kisses your forehead once more, before leaving your side as if he is soon facing his final battle.

‘’Actually, Prince Aemond: Her grace insisted you bring your wife with you. She wishes to speak to you both.’’ You and Aemond share a glance and you force a smile but you both seem to think the same thing: What could she possibly want?

as always thank you all for reading the little stories i make

i hope this aemond is nice and not boring. Im always torn between hes too boring or hes too violent lock him up theres no in between.

#tags #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #hotd x oc #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #violence #blood #murder #gore #classicalgotviolence #dark!aemond!

[blue-haired-grace]

“I– I think I need to sit down.” With some of the spark squad boys?

Spark Squad!!!! Thanks so much for the prompt, Hadiya! I hope you enjoy. <3

From this ask game.

Warnings: off-screen character death(s)

Ghost ran through the cloning facility, looking through every nook and cranny that he found. He had spent his entire life, almost eight years, living in this facility and learning the layout, but as he searched for Pillow and 43, his knowledge of the place was vanished into thin air.

Worry sparked through him at the thought of remaining Separatist forces still in his home and that being the reason he couldn't Pillow or 43. What if all he could find of them was a dead body, like the many other brothers that Grievous, Ventress, and the droids had killed? What if they were long gone like Duke?

He swallowed his worry. He knew the likelihood of finding both his brothers alive wasn't high, especially because Sketch and Morale had already been accounted for and were safe. They hadn't even finished their training yet so the Jedi would know they were ready for battle. If trained soldiers from the 501st and Rancor Battalion couldn't survive, how could two cadets?

They had needed as many troopers as they could to help protect Kamino and the little brothers that couldn't protect themselves yet, so Spark Squad had been called to duty early. Ghost wondered if they would be made to run through the Citadel after they had already proved themselves.

Ghost made a sharp turn around the corner, blinking back tears at the sight of more bodies of his brothers. There was a scattering of droids and many of the brothers had slashes instead of blaster wounds. As he made his way down the hall, he was careful to avoid stepping or tripping on any of his brothers. Please don't be Pillow or 43.

Making it further down the hall, Ghost noticed a body that wasn't laid out on the floor like the others. It was sitting upright and not leaning against anything, armour that was once shiny, but now covered in the grime of battle like Ghost's was. Someone alive.

"Hey! Are you okay?" Ghost called out, voice desperate. The brother didn't respond, face turned down as they looked at something on the ground.

Ghost got closer and closer. He was able to catch more features of the sitting brother; head completely shaved and face covered in marks from training. Ghost would know those marks anywhere.

"Pillow!" Ghost skidded to a stop next to him. "What happened? Why..." His question trailed off as he looked down at who, not what, Pillow was looking. Ghost went cold. "Is...Is that 43?" His voice was small.

"Trick," Pillow said, voice low and dull. Ghost can't remember ever hearing him sound like that.

"Huh?" Ghost questioned. "Trick what?"

"That's his name. He told me before he-" Pillow swallowed "-before he died."

Ghost felt like he couldn't breath, so he removed his helmet. Looking at 43 - Trick - with his bare eyes made it worse. Still staring at their dead squad member, Pillow reached up a hand to grip Ghost's.

“I– I think I need to sit down," is all Ghost managed to get out before collapsing next to Pillow, who held him close in a grounding, steady grip. Sitting in Pillow's tight hold for a few silent minutes, even Ghost's tears made no noise, Ghost began to feel a bit more like himself. "W-why Trick?"

Pillow's breath hitched and Ghost was struck by the realization that he had heard his slightly older brother cry in a long time. "He saved me," Pillow admitted, voice so quiet that Ghost had to strain to hear him. "When Grievous came for us, Trick threw himself on top of me when he got slashed by a lightsaber. He played dead until they were all gone. He... He tricked Grievous, for me."

He tightened his grip on Pillow, who reached a hand into Ghost's long hair to begin playing with it. Staring at the dead brother in front of him, Ghost could admit that he'd never been close to Trick; the only one who seemed to be was Morale. Brought in about six months after they'd lost Duke, Trick had very much been a replacement for Duke in the Kaminoans' eyes. Right from the beginning, they all had noticed something off about him. Trick had been skittish around everyone, an obsession with following orders, hadn't wanted a name, and hadn't had many memories of life before Spark Squad. It was only later, overhearing the whispers from older brothers, that Ghost had realized it was reconditioning.

He'd started to grow into himself, though, and move past what hell the Kaminoans had put him through. He's even finally chosen a name. But he wouldn't get to live with it.

Ghost let out a sob at the thought, pulling out of Pillow's grip to hug Trick close to him. He was so happy that Pillow was alive, but why did their brother, who'd started to heal, have to die for it to happen? First Duke for Morale and now Trick for Pillow.

Spark Squad just kept failing their brothers.

#oc ghost #oc pillow/throwpillow #oc sketch (mentioned) #oc morale (mentioned) #oc duke (mentioned) #oc 43/trick (mentioned) #spark squad #ask game #fanfiction prompts #tcw #sw tcw #off screen character death(s) #the battle of kamino #my writing

[cletimz]

| Glimpses of Reality | Chapter 2

Stilgar Ben Fifrawi x OC Fem

Wc: 1834

Paul Atreides was startled a little bit when he heard a familiar voice enter the training room in which he was right now.

“I thought you were going to Arrakis with Duncan” Mileena mentioned as she looked at the room and realized the strong smell of sweat in there “He didn’t want me to go with him, I even told him about a dream I had about this visit to Arrakis and ending with his dead” He replied to her as he kept cleaning the swords used while training with Gurney “Probably though it was a silly dream. You made good by telling him about it. It was up to him to decide what to do next” She sighed at the end and inspected the arms held on display in the walls

“Don't worry, Paul. In a blink, we would be in Arrakis, and you will be reunited with your great love, Duncan '' She added with a smile on her face trying to enlighten the mood of her friend as she knows how much he appreciates him. Mileena always found it funny how Paul would try to follow Duncan everywhere, even as kids he would be the same. “I'm not in the mood for silly jokes, Mileena. You better than anyone should comprehend how these dreams or visions, whatever they are, affect” The future duke responded as he went to stand next to her and accommodate the swords he was cleaning on their respective place “I'm sorry, Paul. You seriously do not need to worry about him. He's a great warrior. Dreams are only dreams. We can make assumptions about them and we would never know if we are crossing the line of reality or fiction until the exact situation happens” She looked him in the eyes and noticed the lost look in them. “We need to focus on the real dangers we are facing. Do you not suspect anything about the Harkonnens and their passive response at the house Atreides taking over Arrakis?”

He nodded as he listened to her question “Gurney was telling me about them. They are wicked. I am not sure what they are planning but the Emperor asked us to go to Arrakis so he is on our side”

“Try not to be too confident about that, Paul. You could never know the real intentions behind a political move” Mileena commented as they moved to the door to leave the room “You sound like one of those old men advising my father. Maybe you should be the future Duke, or may I say, duchess' ' They both laugh at the boy’s reply “The Bene Gesserit would have my head for that' ' The girl commented as they made their way to have dinner.

————————————————————————

Mileena was in her bed reading a book about the Fremen. She admired their way of adapting to the environment they lived in, not only physically, but psychologically. The girl knew about the resistance from them to the Emperor as every man ruling Arrakis only saw the place as a gold mine to be exploited. She wished them the best for their stay at Arrakis. Some gut feeling told her it was not going to be a long one.

When she was about to close her eyes, someone entered her room. It was Jessica. “Did anything happen? Are you fine?” The girl questioned as she saw the nervous look Jessica “The Reverend's mother is here and she wishes to see you” Mileena could not help to freeze for a minute at the mention of the Reverend's mother in the Atreides palace “Get ready quickly. She is going to talk with Paul first and then with you” The older Benne Gessarit commented as she left her room to wake up her son.

The girl was intrigued by the sudden interest of the Reverend's mother to talk with her. The last time they had a meeting was when she was 15 years old and Mileena found the courage to ask her about her mother and the frequent dreams she had about Arrakis. She didn't mention the man in her dreams as something told her it would bother the Bene Gesserit. The Reverend's mother told her that her mother was no useful individual in her growing up. She was no Bene Gesserit. She could not teach her in The Way. Mileena wanted to argue that idea and mention that every child needs its mother, but she knew better, so she did not question any further.

She was waiting in the hall when she saw Paul leaving the room and Jessica Atreides sighed with her head to indicate that it was her time to go inside. Mileena went inside and court to the Reverend Mother “Come” The older Bene Gesserit used the voice on her and her body and mind followed the instruction. “You have grown, what are you eighteen? Nineteen? Save me the unnecessary questions, young girl” Mileena nodded and responded in a nervous tone “I am eighteen, Reverend Mother. This is my last year of training to become part of the Bene Gesserit” The older woman nodded at her statement “That is correct and that is the reason I asked to meet you tonight. Your training with Jessica is soon to be finished. You would become one of us and you will accomplish your duties”

The woman continued examining her “Jessica Atreides was supposed to have a girl who would, in the future, give birth to the daughter of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen” Mileena was shocked at the revelation made to her “I did not know any about that. Jessica never told me” This was something very usual from Jessica Atreides. She would never share personal information with Mileena. “Of course she wouldn't, she was busy raising her son into our teaching method. She believes he is the Kwisatz Haderach. However, I am not here to talk about Jessica and her delusions. As I mentioned, she was supposed to have a girl who would fulfill the duty of breeding a daughter of Feyd-Rautha”

The girl did not like where this conversation was leading. The Reverend Mother continued talking “She didn't have a daughter and now we need someone to fulfill the duty of this absence” Mileena knew what the Reverend Mother was about to ask her, correction, demand her “You will marry Feyd-Rautha and bear a daughter from him. You are going to stay a few weeks in Arrakis until we arrange your arrival to Giedi Prime” The girl was about to protest when the older Bene Gesserit used the voice on her once again “Leave the room”

When she was outside, she could not believe what had just happened. She was furious. She went to her room and started crying as much as she could. She would never find peace under the hands of the Bene Gesserit.

————

The next day they were leaving for Arrakis. Mileena tried to ask Jessica if she knew anything about what the future held for her, but she already knew the answer. She knew everything was planned from the beginning. That is why Jessica Atreides could not refuse to train her as she was in no position to decline because she decided to have a son. The only thing Mileena could do was to enjoy her last days with the people she had grown around.

“What's gotten into your mind? You look defeated” Paul asked her as she noticed the change in her behavior since the meeting with the Reverend Mother “Nothing to worry about. I just want to finally land in Arrakis. I don't like flying” The boy nodded “We will land in a few minutes” and they did. As soon as they went outside of the ship, Mileena noticed the influence of the Bene Gesserit in the people of Arrakis as they were chanting for Paul Atreides as they were told to believe he was the mesias.

As the first days of their first week in Arrakis passed, the Duke’s heir was almost killed. The girl believed it was someone from inside who tried to do that but quickly forgot that as Paul told her they were going to have a meeting with the Fremen leader whom Duncan had met during his mission. She knew how important this was, if house Atreides were on good terms with the Fremen, it was possible they would have a good future in Arrakis.

These days she noticed she stopped having those dreams about Arrakis and the mysterious dream. She thought if she ever stopped having those dreams she would feel like a charge had been taken away from her, but it was the contrary, Mileena missed the caressing and small moments of peace she would feel in her dreams. Her mind keeps wandering about that as she walks through the halls of their new home.

This day was the one arranged for the meeting with Liet-Kynes to check the production equipment left by the Harkonnens. It was obvious they were trying to sabotage House Atreides. Right now the Duke was in a meeting with the Fremen leader. She wishes to meet him and ask him about their people. However, she knew he would probably show disgust for house Atreides and would never answer her questions. However, this might change depending on the outcome of the meeting between him and the Duke.

She kept walking with an absent-minded mind trying to avoid thinking as every worry about her future would fill her head and she would rather avoid that. She was looking at her feet while doing so until she jumped into someone. “I apologize I was not looking where I was going,” She said as she noticed who was the person she had bumped into.

She immediately recognized the clothes as the traditional Fremen vestment; she figured he was the Fremen's leader of the meeting. He mumbled something in another language before he responded “No need to worry. Watch your steps, young lady” He said to her as he moved past and continued his way to leave the place “Wait a minute. You are the Fremen leader, right? Duncan told us about you. I am Mileena, Mileena Almad” she offered her hand to him to shake them “Yes, I am. My name is Stilgar. We have just finished the meeting, your Duke seems to have good intentions”

He took her hand in hers and shook it. As soon as he accepted her salute, Mileena felt a warm feeling of comfort go through her body. She immediately recognized them as the ones she used to feel in her dreams when the mysterious man would caress her. The girl stood frozen in her place and could not say a word. She missed that feeling “I need to leave. I am needed somewhere else. Take care of yourself, Mileena” She watched him go and she was fighting the urge to follow him. She found peace in her mind for less than a second and it was still enough for her.

there are probably many mistakes but I just want to post this chapter and go to sleep, chauuu los tkm💋🧟

#dune #stilgar x reader

[cheriecelestial]

Luminary Pt.1

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Yan Emperor!OC X Swordmaster!OC

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ yandere thoughts. hurt/no comfort. angst. mentions of violence and character death. lovers to enemies.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Reposting a very old piece post editing (not really lol). According to my old a/n this was “very 3am spontaneous writing” meaning the idea was spontaneous not the process. Very manhwa-esque historical plot ig. Please listen to Joel Sunny’s Luminary for the whole experience. like always COMMENT LIKE & REBLOG (☆≧▽^)

Pt.2

Ceaseless noblesse chatter, clinking of glasses and rustling of ball gowns blurred into an unintelligible myriad of sounds. Cecily massaged the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm the pulsating migraine in her forehead. As much as she loved dressing up on her own accord and dancing, she felt much repulsion to high society. Whosoever had compared high society to a sandalwood tree must’ve been a wise person - exquisite and ambrosial smelling but intertwined with serpents waiting to pounce. Her sharp gaze, reminiscent of a relentless hunter, swept the expanse of ballroom to locate her target attendee. He wasn’t here, not yet at least. But he was expected to be here soon, after all what king doesn’t show up to the party he hosted in his own honour ?

Everything the room exuded an elite air of grandeur. Golden tendrils resembling vines creeping up the wall and colluding in a labyrinthine pattern of flowers and leaves against the stained glass ceilings. Lush roses filled each vase placed exactly five meters apart from each other. In the centre of the dome were three collinear alchemy powered faux stars, the centre attraction and the nominative factor of the ballroom — the Syzygy Hall. Leaning against the stone wall, the crisp night air fills her lungs while the stars twinkle in the dark, velvety sky, and she watched them with a nostalgic sense of appreciation. The flashing memories of her stargazing in this very hall with a certain gifted mage tugged harshly on her heart stings but she forced herself to shun them and focus on the task ahead.

Cecily shifted her attention to the noblemen and women drift across the smooth marble floors like clockwork nutcrackers in grandfather clocks. It all looked so beautiful and for the lack of a better word, rich. A part of her would’ve wanted to join to the festivities had her heart not drowned in waves of indignation for the host. But then as having danced her fair share of high society parties — she knew of the incessant debauchery, corruption and vicious yet sugarcoated calumny at the core of this diamond and silk adorned marvel. Nobility was a word that evoked images of artifice, undeserved riches, wastefulness and textbook narcissism. Albeit belonging to the pinnacle of non-royal nobility — Cecily’s lineage was both a blessing and a curse. As the daughter of one of the three dukes in the empire and the daughter and successor of the continent’s finest swordsman , Carlisle Reginald, Cecily was taught to be wary of desperate social climber with saccharine laced tongues at a young age. Just the thought of her family flared the inferno of negative feelings further.

“This far behind enemy lines ? Can’t tell if it’s brave, audacious or plain stupid.” Cecily rolled her eyes at the new admission. “What would you know anything about bravery Marcellus ?” The red haired paladin flinched at the woman using his full name and bit his tongue to restrain himself from answering her verbal jabs.

“I did what I had to do” He muttered quietly with his gaze fixed on the floor as if it was the most scintillating creation known to mankind. “You mean leaving your men to die mid-battle and defecting to the enemy’s side ?” Cecily scoffed at his confession. She couldn’t help be reminded of the past when they were trainee knights and how they were a symbol of valour and justice. The nights they spent at taverns celebrating after successfully completing missions and training. Cecily couldn’t pinpoint when everything changed and when people she knew digressed beyond recognition but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Marcel’s words were slow to come out but he sighed and answered, “I merely chose the winning side . Unlike you, I have a sense of self preservation.”

“Where I’m from , we call it cowardice”

“Probably why that place burnt to the ground,”Marcel was hit with a sense of instant regret the second those words left his mouth. He muttered a quick apology as if that ever solved anything .

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. Genuine care doesn’t suit the self-serving likes of you.” Cecily spat out with anger laced in her seemingly calm tone. Had it been some other place with someone else, she wouldn’t have hesitated to draw her sword. Knowing her temper, he saw fit to change the topic of the conversation, “ It’s a fine dress you’re wearing. But I have to say - had I not known better I’d say it was a wedding gown. One refined enough for a duke’s daughter”

“It is a wedding gown. I just repurposed it since I don’t need it anymore and my other gowns were burnt along with my house. I’m sure you remember, you were there.”Cecily spoke in a monotone as she absentmindedly fiddled with the lace trimmings of her dress and the silver corsage on her wrist.

Marcel gulped at the realisation and looked away to the sea of jolly nobility dancing their evening away but he still couldn’t seem to shake off the chills floating in the air. Luck truly wasn’t on his side today “I know it was a purely political arrangement but Cedric was a good man. You have my condolences.”

His words evoked a humourless laugh from Cecily. Just how shameless could he be ? Leading the campaign that killed her fiancé and still have the guts to offer his sympathies.

“Losing a fiancé ? I’m sure you know what that’s like. Considering how you let Lucia Arden die just to save your own skin.”

Cecily remembered the sweet and gentle field medic who stopped at nothing to consistently heal her comrades and boost her fellow knights’ morale with her encouraging words. And she also remembered watching the radiant light leave her eyes and her skin turn frigid pale after Marcel defected and ambushed his own squadron. Cecily and Marcel were the closest of friends, maybe that’s why his betrayal stung so much. Had someone told about Marcel’s betrayal to her younger self from two years ago, she would’ve laughed at them and wonder if they lost their mind.

“What happened to her was regrettable. I asked her to join me. But she refused. Because she was -” so loyal to you, is what he wanted to say but something told him that not completely the sentence would serve him better. Cecily didn’t respond to him nor did she look at him. Marcel’s gaze fell to her fist which had clenched so tight that her knuckles were turning white.

“I tried you know. I really tried to convince her. That was more what I should’ve done considering what her family did to Genevieve—” despite his attempts to mask his emotions, venomous contempt seeped into his voice.“Lucia wasn’t her family. She didn’t know. She had no part in it.” Cecily countered firmly.

“She was going to be a mother ! And they—”Marcel swallowed thickly, unable to continue. Cecily sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. Genevieve - the feisty barmaid at their favourite tavern who managed to capture Marcel’s heart and subsequently died a tragic death the hands of the Marquis Arden who couldn’t bear the disgrace of his daughter’s fiancé choosing a destitute orphaned commoner over his well-bred aristocratic daughter.

“What happened to her was unjust, but that doesn’t justify your treachery. You let your own men die. The very men that swore loyalty to you. The ones that fought, ate and bled by your side.” Cecily eyed him with simmering hatred. Marcel looked uncharacteristically startled for a moment by the her disdain but covered it up quickly. Silvers of guilt flashed in his eyes when he realised that even if he had managed to secure a future for himself as the commander general of the new king’s knights, he lost something truly important to him. The past him would’ve really hated him now.

“Of all people I thought you’d know what it’s like to lose the one you love the most. But in hindsight, you’re probably worse off than me. I’m sure you know, he isn’t what he used to be. The King’s scouts have been looking for you and the other rebels . You should leave before he sees you.” Warning her was the most he could do for her now. He had sworn loyalty to the new king but standing in front of his childhood friend - he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of conflict.

“Why ? Is he planning to send me and my men to the gallows ?” Cecily scoffed as if impressed that the king was putting in so much effort to locate her. “Your men ? Yes. You ? No. Corrupted or not, not even he could get himself to kill the woman he loves so dearly. But I’m positive whatever his plans for you are, would make you wish that he sent you to the gallows instead. He won’t kill you but beware— he won’t be soft either. He’s changed beyond recognition.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,”she muttered to herself as she watched Marcel vanish from her side and melt into the sea of guests.

For a moment the entire ballroom stilled and she knew he was here. Her eyes swept the length of the ballroom till she met the gaze of the devil himself. Unlike what he used to wear when she knew him, he donned the most lavish robes and jewels she’d seen on a person. His unruly platinum hair were styled perfect to accentuate his looks. The crystalline vivid blue eyes she fell in love with were replaced by a sinister shade of ruby red. He stared intently at her, it is as if his eyes intended to pierce her skin and rip out her soul. Her stomach twisted and the chill in the air sent goosebumps down her neck and back. He never looked more glorious. The corners of his lips curled up into a slight smile as he made his way through the crowd. Her breath shallowed with each step that he took towards her.

“Duchess Reginald. It truly is you and here I thought my senses were deceiving me.” Cecily flinched at the title knowing full well that she never got to ceremoniously inherit the title since the previous Duke died at the emperor’s sword following the coup d’état and the estate was burned to a crisp not too long ago. His gentle expression of adoration cut off air from her lungs and she felt as though the string of pearls around her neck turned into a noose. She wanted to scream, to cry, to seek retribution for all the havoc he wrecked but swallowing her emotions down she placed her hand on her heart and bowed lightly,“Glory and blessings upon the rising sun of the Asterin empire,” Cecily heard melodious laughter as response to her words. Her heart dropped from the sheer impact. Cecily Reginald was a creature of pure control and the idea of losing control, especially just by his mere presence, was offensive to her. Her heart burst into multitude of emotions as she tried to rein them and stay calm.

“And I never thought I’d see you bow. But then, bowing isn’t always submission. Now is it, my dearest Cecily ?” Electricity coursed her veins at the way her name rolled off his tongue in the same tender fashion as he used to when they were younger. He’s changed beyond recognition, Marcel’s words ringed in her ears. Cecily didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eliciting a reaction so she shifted her gaze away. Much to her dismay, her refusal just swelled his need to provoke her further .

“Please don’t shy away duchess. It’s a glorious party, would you be so kind to grant me the honour of a dance ?” The king outstretched his hand towards her with seemingly innocent intent. The emperor’s first dance of the evening, an action that symbolised winning the favour of the emperor. Which was why — traditionally it was done between courting, betrothed or wedded couples. After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and was guided to the centre of the dance floor. The king placed a hand on her waist and interlaced his other hand with hers. The position seemed so natural to them like two pieces of a puzzle that were created to fit together. He actioned the orchestra and the waltz began without a hitch as the band of musicians weaved pleasant melodies into the air.

“You look ravishing my dearest.” Cecily’s breath hitched as the king tugged on her waist, pulling her closer. His smirk widened in satisfaction at her visceral reaction. “Thank you your majesty.” She looked at him with her eyes betraying traces of emotion even though she was restraining herself to her best capacity. But the memory of his touch still fills her heart with longing but she still hated how much the sensation excites her.

“I was informed that troops stationed north of Demaris were brutally slaughtered by the rebel forces spearheaded by a certain raven haired general. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you duchess ?” Cecily’s face hardened and she replied in a sharp tone,“Depends on why those troops were present in the first place your majesty.” The king’s troops were sent to forcefully evict war immigrants that were rendered homeless by the conquests of the previous emperor since he regarded them as a political liability. The villagers were kind enough to house some of the rebels in exchange for protection against the monsters near the border.

Vivacious laughter bubbles from his chest and he responded ,“Very well dearest. And please, drop the formalities. Call me by my name. Your majesty feels unnatural.” She knew provoking him any more than necessary would only spell trouble for it. Her scheme had to work out as planned. “Atticus,” she breathed out with much difficulty. Saying his name was a tougher task than she had initially thought. A pleased smirk made its way onto his lips, leaving Cecily feeling as if she had lost.

“I know blue is your colour but I have to admit, you look utterly angelic in white. You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. What a fine bride you would make.”

Under different circumstances, she would’ve blushed and accepted the compliment graciously. Cecily felt a strange feeling of melancholy and what ifs shrouded her. She was so determined before coming here and she couldn’t afford letting her purpose dissolve just because she was holding onto the ghost of the man she loved.

“What use is beauty when you’re cursed with rotten luck the way I am. I have two dead fiancés on my tab already.” She laughed humorouslessly and eyed him with an insinuating sharpness. Atticus smiled with his evergreen charm before continuing knowingly ,“ Hmm. Maybe it’s a sign from the goddess of marriage that those men and you weren’t meant to be .”

Cecily arched her brow at his revelation. Is that what he was trying to paint them as ? Twists of fate ? She may not have loved either of them but they weren’t deserving of the end that befell them. “I know you’ve taken many aliases in your lifetime but goddess of marriage ? That’s a new one your majesty.” Atticus’ mocking clearly struck a nerve. She half expected him to take offence to her words but instead he looked at her in bemusement.

He clicked his tongue in a ‘ah’ gesture and suggested ,” Well you know what they say m’lady. Third time’s a charm .” Cecily knew exactly what he was implying but she didn’t want to grant him an ounce of satisfaction by giving him a favourable reaction .

“Unfortunately your majesty, I am above wedding kinslayers and dark magic practitioners .” She scowled at him as if testing to see if he had even an ounce of conscience intact . Atticus’ smile faltered and there was a brief flicker of discomfort in him as the implications of her words sunk in. His eyes narrowed slightly at her reaction.

“Ces I —,” but before he could respond Cecily cut him off ,“ And even if they had it coming . It doesn’t change the fact that you killed my father.” Memory of the pain of finding out about her father’s death on accounts of treason was clear as day in her heart. Carlisle Reginald was many things but not a traitor. He was so loyal to the crown that there were times when she resented him for choosing his duty over his own family.

Atticus visibly grimaced and his eyes turned to icy resentment ,“ The same father that abused you and caused you unimaginable pain in the name of training ? The same father who burnt the side of your face to destroy any chance of marriage because noblemen don’t wed women with scars ? The same father that nearly pushed you to end your life because you couldn’t handle the mantle of becoming the next swordsmaster ? Do you truly resent me for it my dearest ?” Cecily felt her throat tighten with emotion. She glanced away as though trying to think of an answer. There is no right answer to that question.

“ I don’t but —,” She admitted, her eyes still fixated on the corners of the room ,“ What about my Silas? Why did you kill him ? He looked up to you. He chose to pursue alchemy over swordsmanship because of you. He was a child . He didn’t deserve it.” The night her father died, the king’s men burnt her family estate to the ground and her brother with it.

Atticus stared at her for a couple of seconds before letting out a pained sigh ,“ My love, you must believe me. I never intended to put Silas in harm’s way . I just wanted to get rid of the duke because he was the only one standing between me and the throne. I was sure that Si would be at the academy. But unfortunately he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it provides any solace just know I had the informants and soldiers who failed to convey that Silas was in there executed .”

There were many things she wanted to say, to vent her frustration and anger but when the time came - her grief was too severe to be expressed in words so she just looked at him, hoping he’d see how much he made her suffer. Atticus tore his gaze away from hers and clenched his jaw as if keeping himself from saying or doing things that would just worsen their situation. Uncomfortable silence befell them as they continued to dance. For the first time she realised, that they were is a ballroom filled with people. The world seemed to have dissolved into nothingness when it came to Atticus but now she was starting to feel the weight of the other guests’ curious stares and whispers. Of course rumours would make their way across high society at the speed of lightning. Two star crossed lovers forced on opposite sides by fate. Cecily and Atticus had love, one for the ages but one chose the duty to her homeland over love and the other chose power over love. Love had no place in this fight of morality and duty. It was quite a pity really.

“But your crimes don’t end there. You delved into a form of magic that was forbidden for a reason, there is always a cost for power that wicked. Always.” She looked straight into his ruby red eyes. The vibrant blood red swirled in a way that resembled shadows obscuring a ravenous beast lurking underneath.

“Is that why you got engaged my brother ? To dispose of me and make him king ?” Cecily felt the temperature around them fall as Atticus’ eyes shone with a newfound sense of fury. Gone was the sweet and gentle man she knew, instead he was replaced by this - this thing. His fingers twitched where he held her waist as if wanting to tear into her skin.

“Sure. Let’s go with that .”She replied cooly. Logic be damned, she just wanted to shatter the mask he was wearing and truly see what he’d become.

“You think I’d let him have you ? Let him make you his queen ? I‘m so sorry if it hurts you my darling but I will slay any man who thinks he can have you . If you really want to be queen, I could make you this very moment. Just say the word.” For the first time, his suave facade cracked. He sounded almost desperate, so much so that Cecily was tempted to believe that a part of the old him was still in there. Regardless of Cedric somewhat sanctimonious and saintly character, he always lacked the vigour and the ambition it took to become king and most of all - to deserve Atticus’ goddess. Cedric was the only pure blooded prince who showed an inkling of kindness to a bastard of the previous emperor so Atticus granted him the mercy of a quick and painless death. But the idea of him wedding his beloved was beyond blasphemous and filled him with unimaginable rage; making him want to give Cedric a slow and painful death instead.

To him, Cecilia Seraphina Reginald was the closest humanity has attained to godliness. The passion she projected in her art and the fire that burned behind her eyes is enough to drive anyone to insanity . She used the sword as if it was an extension of her own body and where most fought with the crude desperation , every movement of her body was deliberate and precise as if she was floating like a butterfly through the air. With each step, she seemed to move through space and time, transcending the boundaries between ordinary and extraordinary. Each slash and strike was like a paint stroke on canvas, drawing a picture of beauty and grace in motion. Her raven hair striking a beautiful contrast against her emerald eyes . Even when her father burnt the side of her face , it barely obscured her beauty. Atticus had seen her in sickness and in health. At what she considered her worst, to his eyes — she was far more enchanting than any of the excessively powdered noble ladies he’d seen in court . There is something religious about the way he adored her. There never was a God in Atticus's life. No one deserved that title after what life had thrown at him since he was little.

He remembered the first day they met when she fended off the third prince bullying Atticus at their first day at the Royal Academy. She never once discriminated against for being an illegitimate child of the emperor. Atticus was born as a result of acts of cruelty on an elite battle mage of an enemy nation who was taken by the previous emperor as spoils of war. Despite his actions, the emperor never even bothered to officially make her his concubine so Atticus’ status in the Royal Palace was akin to that of a servant’s. Throughout his childhood, he had been a prince solely in name. His entire life, everyone looked at him as if he was some sort of abomination — except her. Despite that the dignified and legendary duke’s only daughter, the lady with the highest status after the empress and princesses themselves, when faced disapproval for befriending the emperor’s bastard, she never once turned her back on him. And not necessarily because she was kind but because it was the right thing to do. Cecily was first person in Atticus’ life who made him believe that he was worth being treated as a human.

“What have you become Atticus ? We could’ve—”

“We could’ve what exactly ? Huh ? There was no other way. And you know it.” Atticus spat out through gritted teeth, a look of abject misery flashed by Cecily’s face. He was right, unless there had been some great power intervention there was no way he could become king. It didn’t matter if the most elite swordsmaster or the nouveau rich nobles that supported him, he could never get past the old nobility and the six legitimate pure blooded princes.

“What is worth it ?” She asked with her words dying by the end of the sentence. For a moment, she felt as though she was back when they were kids and how he would talk about making them pay. No rebels or tyrants, no duty or thirst for power — just as Ces and Atty .

Something in Atticus’ snapped as he gripped her wrist tighter,“ Better than anything I ever imagined. They always acted so high and mighty, you should’ve seen how they grovelled and begged . It was worth it, all of it.”

“Was it worth losing me ?” Cecily knew she shouldn’t have asked something she didn’t want him to answer. She knew she shouldn’t have crossed that line. She shouldn’t have because she knew the answer. But she had to— in order to move on, to let him go, to fulfil her duty and destiny.

“I haven’t lost you” Out of all the responses he could’ve given , this was the least expected. Did he truly believe that ? Cecily searched his face for any signs of fallacy or trickery but found none. Her mouth fell open in disbelief and after composing herself she asked ,“ What makes you say that ?”

“The way I feel for you.” He answered without even skipping a beat. Cecily scoffed internally, the way he felt for her ? What a jest. It was common knowledge that the starting price for dark magic is a person’s humanity. Dark magicians were known to not be able to feel anything let alone remorse or guilt .

“That’s not true. You can’t feel anything.” She jeered at him. Atticus didn’t respond and twirled and lifted her into the air in accordance to the rhythm of the waltz. His lack of reaction almost made her think that he didn’t hear what she said, she opened her mouth to say that again but was cut off by his reply ,“Contrary to popular beliefs my darling , dark magic doesn’t completely deprive a person of all emotion. It merely diminishes emotions that were present in silvers and amplifies the most emotions felt by the person. In short, the user becomes absolutely sure of what they feel and what they want. Anger becomes rage , sadness becomes despair , fear becomes horror and love becomes –” As he spoke, he pressed his lips against her hand. She can feel the heat of his breath in the centre of her palm ,“ — unbridled obsession.” Cecily breath hitched as he moved his lips up her wrist to her palm again, tracing her veins with his lips.

"Pray tell, is that how it went ? Your barter of soul with a devil for dominion only to find yourself upon the throne, consumed by anguish not because you killed your family but rather by the realization that your affection for me would impede your ambitions ?"

Atticus got closer to her. His eyes were locked on hers, and his lips had a slight twitch to them. Lust. He was never the type to give into such base urges, but in the her presence - he craved her. A part of him hated this feeling even more than her tormenting comments. If only he could kill her and rid himself of this weakness of the flesh. “You aren’t far from it . You know I never understood the appeal my father saw in my mother but I guess I do see it now. Fiesty enemy general that just refuses to concede and all.”

“And here I thought you said you were never going to be anything like your father. I guess you kings are doomed to repeat failures of your predecessors. After all the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He absentmindedly hummed in response to her words as if neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His eyes were fixated on his thumb caressing her wrist, Cecily noticed it and tilted her head to her side as if silently asking ‘what’re you thinking ?’

“You aren’t wrong my darling. Maybe I am the same as him. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have everything I wanted. Except for a couple things and I don’t intend on stopping until I’ve got them.” Atticus’ eyes gleamed with a glint of great impending danger. He paused for a second as if debating whether he should disclose his plans or not but in the festive atmosphere decided the former. “You’re quite a stubborn little thing you know. I wonder if I were to incapacitate you from wielding the blade ever again, would your resolve shatter ? All the princes are dead, there’s no one to succeed me. I’ve made sure of it. Who would you crown king after me ?” He wondered if he chopped her wrists off so that she couldn’t use her sword again, would she stop resisting then ? Or perhaps if he snapped her ankles then maybe she wouldn’t be able to run away ?

“Incapacitate me ? You think you could do that ?” Albeit Cecily knew she was playing with fire, she wanted to see to what limits she could provoke him before he took extreme measures. They were playing a dangerous game. Both were waiting for the other to make a mistake, to lose their cool and to drop the civil facade and settle the score .

Others might see Atticus as this stone cold man with no feelings, but his heart was beating loud and clear in his chest, seemingly for one purpose. He hoped that his emotional conflict would clear out once he made the deal but it didn’t help. Not one bit. He often found his eyes subconsciously searching for the familiar figure in the crowds of people he’d address every day, wanting nothing more than to reach out and have her with him again. The scent of her skin and the light lavender fragrance haunted him as he tried to sleep, the vivid image of her following him in his dreams. If it were up to him, he’d drag her to the church alter this very moment and make good on the wedding gown she was wearing. He knew she wore that to mock his guilty conscience, that is if he had any left.

“I have my knights stationed at every corner of the ballroom. One action and they’ll attack.”

“You think fresh recruits could even hold a candle against a swordmaster ?” She was right, no matter how trained they would never able to best her. The only one who stood a chance against her skill was he himself. No one else.

He chuckled at her spirit, it was one of the things he adored most about her. “No. Not really.” Cecily smiled with a victorious expression but at the same time she knew if he were to use his magic, things were bound to get messy. Although not their own, but much blood would be spilt and in a room full of the empire’s finest — it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

a/n 2.0 – After reading this my current writing seems so crappy wtf. I guess there is a reason this took three months to write. Tho good to know I couldn’t articulate my thoughts well enough to make a respectable plot even back then. Sorry for the abrupt ending, tumblr kept glitching so I had to split it in two. I’ll upload pt.2 in a week.

#yandere #yandere oc #yancore #yandere core #yandere x oc #yandere male #male yandere #tw: yandere #yandere imagines #oc x oc #songfic #lovers to enemies #hurt/no comfort #angst #historical fantasy #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n