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[thegirlfromaredplanet]

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[randomdragonfires]

Pieces of a Woman | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Even when his life takes a turn for the worse, Aemond Targaryen endures.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Smut; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Miscarriage; Yearning; ANGST

WORD COUNT | 7.2k

A/N | This is my personal favourite out of all the stories I've ever written, reposted with a new header and all that fun stuff! Beta read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs ❤️

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. 

They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. He had watched as her once bright and hopeful eyes became empty and devoid of emotion. He had watched as she was pulled into the darkness completely, becoming a shell of the woman she once was.

As much as he wished he could turn back time, he had accepted his fate. He accepted that he would never have his wife back. He would never hold her in his arms again and never get to lay his head on her lap as she embroidered. She would never read to him in her mellifluous voice ever again, despite the fact that he would give everything he had to have her with him once more. 

What good was all this power and wealth, if he could not protect his own family? What good was his title as Prince Regent, if he did not have her to stand by his side? If he could not protect his little boy?

His hair, once braided to the side by her deft and nimble fingers with love, remained uncared for, left loose in all its glory. Training his one dark-rimmed, tired eye at the crypt that held the ashes of his heir, Aemond Targaryen let the sadness take him - for when his son’s life was brutally snuffed out, his wife’s very soul had been too.

There was nobody to blame for it all apart from himself.

Ever since their wedding, she had been a steady and calm presence in his life. She was the quiet to his rage, the water to his fire. He had always been a sullen and lonely child that harbored resentment for those who had wronged him, but he felt his heart steadily calm down with every moment he spent in her presence.

It wasn't until he met her that he realized he was lacking love and consideration, both of which he believed had never received before - not like this. She gave him an opportunity to be a better man; one that he took eagerly with both arms. 

In return, he was a respectful husband who did his very best. He wasn’t adept at great gestures of love, but he always made sure that his wife woke with a kiss to her hair and his arms enveloping her body. He wanted her to never know loneliness for as long as he lived, he would make sure of it. 

For all his reading and knowledge, Aemond was not good at making his appreciation known verbally. Instead, he would bring her huge tomes from the library so he could read to her. These books covered topics that he was passionate about, so everytime he brought one, he was offering up a part of his soul. Who better to give it to than the woman he has sworn his heart, soul and loyalty to? 

He needed her. He needed her from deep in his soul, and he needed her carnally, always. She was all that was missing in his life, and now that he had her, he would always need her. 

But right now, as her screams erupted through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond’s heart lurched in his chest, becoming heavier with each passing moment. The babe was arriving, and it would seem that the child was taking her for all that she was. Everytime she groaned in pain, he held onto the railing tighter than ever, as though it would make her pain go away.  

They would not let him in, no. Childbirth was a woman’s fight, and the men would have to wait outside - much like the women did when the men went to battle. There was nothing he would not give to hold her hand right now; to tell her that she would be an absolutely beautiful mother, and that all she had to do was summon all her strength and emerge victorious. 

As though she had heard his thoughts, her pained wails slowly died down, replaced by the first cries of a newborn. Boy or girl, the babe had an incredibly strong pair of lungs on them, their mighty cries could overshadow even the loudest of thunderstorms. The cries echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, and the servants outside immediately jumped to work. A new royal babe had been born after all - there was work to be done, celebratory feasts to be organized, chambers to be prepared, nothing but the best for a Targaryen.

His mother stepped out of the chambers and laid a hand on his back in comfort. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled in congratulations. “Mother and babe are well, my son. She has made me so proud. The little one is beautiful, he would go on to achieve many great things. Just like you.”

A son. She had given him an heir to carry his bloodline. How would he ever repay her? 

He walked into the chambers with speed that he did not know he possessed, his purpose made clear with each stride. The midwives and maids moved to make way for the One-Eyed Prince, and in he went. 

She laid in the middle of the chambers, looking like she had braved the worst experience of her life. Her hair was askew, with sweat coating her entire body, her fatigue was palpable. Blood and waters coated the floor, and the chambers smelled like death. The bloody spots on her shift alarmed him, and it concerned him to see his usually happy and energetic wife look so thoroughly worn out. But then she smiled. 

Through all her weariness from the challenges of the birthing bed, she had meekly smiled at him - and all was alright in his world again. He held her cheek in his palm and kissed her forehead, heart full from knowing that she was alright. She reached for his other hand, holding onto it like it was the last thing that kept her tethered to reality.

“Are you well, wife?” 

The seemingly simple question certainly did not project the waves of concern that had plagued him outside while he waited with bated breath, but she knew. She saw it in the crinkles on his forehead and the widening of his good eye.

“I am now.”  

She had braved battle, and had never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. Her voice was hoarse from all the pained screaming, and she certainly had no business being awake right now - but by the Gods, he was the happiest man in the realm. 

The maids were done with wiping the blood off of the babe and had handed the boy to her. Aemond knew right then that he would have to compete for his wife’s attention from then on, for his little son had clearly stolen her heart, and his, within moments of his birth. 

Her weak voice called out to him once more. “Aemond, husband… look what we made.” 

He was exquisite. Aemond reached out to the babe, his son, and his son's pudgy rose finger latched onto his long, sturdy one as he continued to cry. “He has a strong grip. He shall be a storied warrior." She smiles at the possibility, and he cannot help but kiss her hand once more.

"You’ve given birth to a boy as strong as you are, wife.” He watched as she nudged her nose to the babe’s and smiled, her face glistening from sweat and tears. His newborn son’s cries got louder with each passing moment, but despite being a man of silence and solitude, Aemond had never felt more at peace.

“Thank you.”

Aemond would be the first to deny that he was a doting paragon of a husband that the bards would sing about, but he certainly was a good man who loved and respected his wife. 

In the days that followed the birth of his child, he had spent every waking moment that he could spare with the pair of them. Both mother and son had the fierce One-Eyed Prince wrapped around their fingers. Between sparring sessions and battling his family’s idiosyncrasies on the daily, his little family had given him quite the reprieve, one that he was infinitely thankful for. 

But now, his son is gone, and his wife is too.

“The heirs need to be kept safe. The twins, little Maelor, all three of them,” his mother said.

He may be in the middle of a war, but it was moments like these that seemed hardest to him. Aemond sat quietly by the hearth, in the very same chair where he always rested. His wife used to sit by him or at his feet as she embroidered. Now, her absence was a gaping hole each time he sat.

“Aemond…”

He turned to the sound of his grandfather calling out his name, looking cold and calculated.  It did not escape Aemond that he was discussing the safety of his brother's children while he had lost his own child. The irony of it all was stark and jarring.

“Yes,” he curtly responded.

“It is in our best interests that you…” His grandfather paused midway through his words, and Aemond knew well that the man did that only when unsettling news was to follow. “...that you take a new wife. We’re in need of an alliance, and she can be sent to the motherhouse at Oldtown. She will be cared for, she will be fed-”

He saw red. “My son is dead!” The words tumbled out of Aemond’s mouth like shards of glass before he could even comprehend the gravity of his grandfather’s heavy, cutting words. 

"My son’s death is on my conscience, his blood is on my hands. I did not do the deed myself, but it certainly feels like I was the one who wielded the knife that killed him.” The people had taken to calling him a kinslayer, and Aemond felt it in his bones everyday - not because of Lucerys Velaryon, but because of how his rash actions had resulted in the death of his little boy.

“My son is dead, and my wife has not been the same ever since. How do you think I can start a new family, with a new woman, when I know very well that I have caused all the grief that has driven my wife to madness? When I caused the death of my own child?” 

Aemond Targaryen always made for a menacing sight, but his grandfather was not prepared for the kind of anger that his grandson had kept stored in him - for himself, his wife, and his son. They were not here, and he was angry enough for all three of them.

The Dowager Queen watched the entire conversation unfold, and she held her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat become frantic with each moment that she saw her son in distress. She knew how content he was in his wife's presence, and how much he loved her. To watch a child grow and fester in his own resentment - no mother should have to witness it. And yet, the Gods saw fit to give Alicent Hightower the closest view to her son's heartbreak.

“Get out,” he seethed. Otto Hightower took Aemond’s raw and angry words in stride before walking away, his head still held high. 

His mother stood in front of him, held his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry…”  

She wept until she could not, and it took everything Aemond had in him to not do the same.

When he tossed and turned in his bed in the middle of the night, he would always reach out for her. 

She would always welcome his touch and curl into him, her forehead resting on the smooth planes of his chest and her warm breath making goosebumps rise on his skin. He would hold her tight until neither could ascertain where one ended and the other began, and sleep that normally eluded him would come to him faster than anything else.

Tonight, her spot on the bed is empty.

When he woke in a hurry, he noticed the crumpled sheets and the pillows left askew, the only evidence of her having retired to bed alongside him. He quickly rose from the bed and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, wondering as to where she could have gone at this ungodly hour. 

Gods, was she hurt?

He did not have to wait for the divine deities to answer, for his answer came in the form of the sweet humming sounds that he had grown to love. He followed her voice as he walked through their apartments, and it led him to the chamber where his son’s crib was kept. She was sitting next to it in her white shift, her head peeping in as she let her hands rest on the crib. She hummed softly and happily, marveling at how beautiful her little boy looked as he slept - looking much like the man she shared her bed with.

Aemond wanted to ask her to come back to bed immediately. The maesters had advised lots of rest for his wife, given the stress of the labors and the damage her body had taken. But as he watched her and his boy, he knew he couldn’t. He needed a moment to drink in the sight of his wife and son - his entire world, all in one chamber.

He held so much love in his heart for them both despite seeing them only with one eye. Perhaps he’d be able to love them more if he could see them with two.

“He’s going to be there when we wake, wife. Come back to bed.”

She turned to him and smiled, a warm smile that he wished he could brand into his mind for all eternity. “Did I wake you?”

“You did not. Your absence from our bed did.” 

She chuckled softly, and he walked over to her. He positioned himself behind her chair and kissed her temple, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. “I don’t think I shall ever tire of looking at him,” She said.

“Hm.” His gaze rested on the sleeping babe, tired from all his crying throughout the day.

“My son, a dragon prince,” She mused. “He’ll be charming, strong and intelligent, just like his father.”

At that, he chuckled darkly and she rose, turning around to face him. Her hand found his cheek and he leaned into her touch, leaving a light kiss on her wrist as he held her hand in place. “What’s so amusing, husband?”

“Charming is not the first word anyone would use to describe me, wife.”

“Well, you are. To me.” Her whispering siren-like voice was like music to his ears. 

She reached up on her toes and left a light kiss on his brow, and Aemond was quick to hold her to him by the waist, wanting to have this - this quiet solace - all to himself for a time.

Who was he to argue with the woman around whom his entire world revolved? The very one that held his heart in her hands?

He stands in the middle of what used to be their shared chambers and sighs. 

The entire room is covered in pieces of her - fragments of her that he desperately clings to for dear life. Robes and dresses that she had not worn in a long time, but still manage to somehow retain her scent. Quills and ink that she used to write her correspondence with, now left to gather dust. Ten Thousand Ships, her favorite book, one that he had given to her as a name day present, laid abandoned on the bedside table. 

This was the very same chamber where he had claimed her. This was where he had first admitted to loving her. This was where she had told him that she was with child. This was where they had spent countless nights talking well into the night, their bodies entwined and voices coming out in hushed whispers and low giggles. This was where they had discovered and learned of the passions of the marital bed, together. This was where their marriage had grown and bloomed.

If he walks a little further, his feet will take him to the adjoined room where his son used to sleep - but try as he might, he does not have the strength for that. Not yet.

He sits by the edge of their bed, the sunlight passing through the windows in streaks of yellow gold. He closes his good eye, hoping for a little time to adjust to the light. Perhaps if he closes it hard enough, he will be able to picture her sitting by the window with her focused eyes trained on her embroidery or one of his books, waiting for him to come back to her after his daily duties. 

His nose flares at the unearthly reminder that his wife is no longer his by side. She had been full of happiness and life, and she had brought light into his life. He welcomed it for as long as she was around, but now that she was gone, he closes his eye and avoids it like the plague, much like he does with the sunlight that now warms his skin.

Her world has become dark because of him. How can he sit in the light in good conscience, when he knows he has lost all right to it?

The waves crashed by the shores of Blackwater Bay and she sat on the sands, watching them. She had a book in her hands, and a basket of food that she had the maids prepare for them to take.

Her eyes closely followed her husband as he held their baby son’s hands upright, his little pudgy feet resting over his huge boot-clad ones as he led them forward. The little boy’s gurgling and laughing echoed through the wind, and she took a bite of a juicy apple while holding a book in her other hand. 

They were the picture of a happy family, the stories of whom may be immortalized in songs for years to come.

He had not yet begun to walk, and his words were all a blubbering mess - but Aemond Targaryen was not known for being patient. He insisted on guiding his son to his feet so his first steps would come to him quicker, and spoke to him in High Valyrian in hopes that his first words would be in his native tongue.

Her boys had walked all the way toward her with her baby’s toes pressing onto Aemond’s feet harshly. He picked him up and held him then, and his son’s hands landed on his eyepatch. It had become his favorite little plaything these days - the boy took to wrangling it off his father’s head and swinging it with his two fat fingers until he grew tired - that was if he did not notice the sapphire first. By the Gods, if he did, he would insist on taking that off to play with too. His son, like him, had a taste for the finer things in life, it would seem.

“He’s taken well to the waters, I think,” she said. Her fondness for the little lad and her husband was evident in her face as she watched them. Her son had taken to swinging his arms in all directions, occasionally hitting his father’s face.

“Water does not mix with fire and blood. He should not be taking so well to the waters.”

“Suppose he can embrace it all then. Perhaps he’s… special.” She rose to meet her son’s eyes, leaving a kiss on his cheek. The boy smiled, a handful of his father’s alabaster hair in his hands as he pulled. Aemond winced, and she giggled. 

“Zaldrītsos…” Aemond murmured, a quiet plea to his son to stop. It fell on deaf ears, but he did not mind. [Little dragon]

A maid had come to inform them that their presence was requested in the keep, and Aemond handed the boy over to her before walking back to give his wife his hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and rubbed her hand with his before leading them away, their steps slow and relaxed.

“We should have another,” she said. Her smile, the source of all his content, was as bright as the sun. “You should take me tonight,” she murmured then, eyes quickly blackened by lust. He watched as the girl with childish wonder transformed into a seductress, and he lost even before he tried - defeat had never felt sweeter.

He could never deny her anything she wanted.

“Do you want me, wife?” He muttered darkly as he halted his steps, turning towards her. He held her by the waist and kissed her brow, waiting for her to respond. 

“I always want you,” she murmured, eyes fluttering at the closeness of his lips. Her bright eyes sought his lilac one as the sound of the waves rippled through the air. “I also want to bear you another child. Would you like that, husband? Another little babe for us to love…”

He nodded and kissed her, pouring all his passion into it as he devoured her lips. “You do look beautiful, belly round and full with my child.”

That night, he choked her name out like an urgent prayer while he spilled into her, his peak following soon after hers. He then peppered kisses across her face and neck as the smell of sweat and coupling engulfed them, while she held onto his hair and let her hand wander over it in a soothing manner. He rubbed a hand over her belly, praying that his seed had taken. If not, he would seek her out and touch her everywhere once more - he would never be tired of her.

If another child was what she desired, then she shall have it - for how could he ever deny her?

The burns and injuries had ruined any spirit Aegon may have had as King.

He had watched his brother as he grew into a fierce protector of his family soon after being crowned. Ser Criston had made clear the dangers that they posed to Rhaenyra with their very existence, and it was all Aegon needed to grow into his role as the rightful monarch. However, he had gotten ahead of himself and underestimated his skills as a dragonriding fighter and gotten himself hurt.

Aemond’s role as Prince Regent was something that he slid into seamlessly - he had always known that he was the better fit for the throne after all. His first action was to ensure the safety of his own wife, Helaena and her three children.

“They’ve been moved to our father’s old chambers. Deep in the Holdfast, far away from any possible intru-”

“I know where the chambers are, Aemond. Will you shut up? You’re giving me a headache.” Aegon interrupted, words slurred as he sipped on Arbor Red. The wine sloshed in the cup as it moved in his unsteady hands. 

His eyes were trained on his brother, a tired and tested man who was now incharge of running a Kingdom. Aegon knew that the crown was heavy, but it did not compare to the weight of the world that Aemond always carried on his shoulders. It only seemed to have gotten worse since his son’s death and his wife’s isolation.

“Does she fare any better?”

“No.” It is all Aemond wishes to say on the matter.

While he may not want to speak of the family he had lost, Aemond knew that he would protect those he was left with every breath in his body if need be. He may not have been there for his little boy, but he would die before he let a hair on any of his remaining family members’ heads be touched. The regret of being an inadequate husband and father pricked at him like the heat from the bright blaze of the fire in the hearth, and he walked out with purpose.

He knew where he was going next. After all, his feet always carried him to her at nightfall.

When Aemond came home dripping wet from the rain that had drenched him at Storm’s End, he was convinced that he had ruined everything good that he had. He could not imagine a simple scratch on his little boy without feeling angered - how could he expect Rhaenyra to simply accept her son’s death? 

He had to get them safe. He had to keep them safe. He had to keep them safe. Safe, safe, safe.

She had just left the babe with the nursemaid and come to their chambers to find a moment of quiet before her son’s inevitable crying began again. Her eyes widened when she opened the door to find her husband completely drenched, looking like he was inviting death with open arms. He may as well have.

“Aemond..” She rushed to him immediately, hands going to his damp hair and clothes. “Gods did it rain on your ride back home? Let me fetch you some clean clothes and something to dry yourself with.” He reached out to her before she could go too far, and she gasped at how cold his touch was.

It was always warm, and tonight it was not.

“Stay, please.”

“I need you to put on something warm first, Aemond. You’ll catch a chill.”

She was too distracted by his wet state to notice the tears mixed with the raindrops. He said nothing as she walked away and brought back fresh garb for him to change into. She quietly bade that he raise his arms and he obeyed, not having the strength to do anything else. Slowly, each garment fell with a wet thwack to the floor and she took to wiping all the water off of him. 

His grave silence unnerved her immensely, and she knew something was wrong. She would wait for him to say it.

She dressed him in a linen undershirt and breeches and took him to his beloved chair by the fire, in hopes that it would warm him up and encourage him to tell her of what plagued him. He sat in silence for a long while as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her forehead leaning on one of his thighs while her finger drew mindless patterns on the other. 

His hand always reached for her hair when they sat like this, but tonight, that was not the case. She looked up at him with inquiring eyes, and as he caught her vision with his one eye, he did not have the heart to tell her what he had done, but he had to.

“I killed Lucerys Velaryon.” His voice is hoarse and the words are choked out with difficulty, and while the weight of his actions hit him hard, it was harder to watch his sweet wife’s concerned face morph into something else entirely.

“What?”

“He was sent as an envoy. I only meant…” He gulped, and the tears fell freely once more. 

She quickly lifted herself up and straddled him, holding his face in both her hands. Her fingers caught every tear that fell in quick succession. “Tell me, go on.”

“I only meant to scare him. I need you to believe me, I did not mean to kill him.” 

Her husband was a proud man, and it made her stomach churn to see him sound so broken. She feared that she may not like what she was about to hear, but she had promised to be his other half for all his life, and now he needed her. 

He may be fearsome, but he was not a cold-blooded murderer. He did not mean to kill him - but how much weight did his intent hold, now that the boy was dead?

“I believe you. Go on.”

“The dragons…” He let out a hoarse breath and she continued to wipe at his tears with the tips of her thumbs - softness that he right now felt very undeserving of. “Arrax breathed fire at Vhagar and she retaliated, she bit into the dragon’s neck and Luke fell, so did Arrax.” 

She felt light headed with worry. How could she stomach the thought of a young boy falling to his death from the skies? How could she, when she was a mother to a little boy herself?

His uncle, Daemon, was going to come for them, Aemond was sure of that. But he could not bring himself to think of much else as he watched his wife digest all that he had told her, never once ceasing to remind him that she believed him, even if nobody else would. 

When they rose, Aemond’s anger knew no bounds. The possible consequences ran through his mind as he pushed his desk onto the floor with brute force. The sharp edges of her vanity had drawn blood from the back of his hand as he moved in frustration, and she was quick to hold onto him and remind him of her presence. He was not alone, he had her.

“Take me. Take it out on me.” Aemond could not think straight, and she could not bear to see him hurt himself, any more than he already has. It is this very thought that drives her to take his hand and lay it upon her clothed chest.

He took her from behind that night, hands clutching onto her bouncing breasts. Every string that was stretched had snapped with each rough thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping skin somehow seeming too rough that night. “We’re going to be fine, wife,” he groaned - and she did not know whom he was trying to placate - her, or himself? 

“I will keep you safe, the both of you.”

When he was done with her, she was left looking ragged with dried tear tracks on her face. He wanted to apologize - it seemed as though he hurt everything he touched, and after his now dead Stong nephew, his own sweet wife was his latest victim.

She held him between her breasts that night as they both wept, at a loss for words at what he had done. She did not know how to comfort him or rid him of the guilt or paranoia that his mind now played host to.

What she did know is that her husband needed her, and that she was not going anywhere. So when he suggested sending her and their son away, fearing for her safety, she begged him to let her stand by his side.

“If something were to happen to me, there would be nobody to protect you and our boy.”

“If something were to happen to you, our son and I would much rather follow you than brave many years alone.” 

He reluctantly gave in, thinking that an increased guard and his constant presence around them would be enough to keep them unharmed. 

How wrong he was.

He had walked away only for a moment. 

His wife had wanted to eat some cake during the night - he suspected that she was with child again. Little did he know that it was the last moment of their happy marriage. The sight that he had walked back into was something that would never fail to haunt him.

Dead guards, a whole litany of them. His wife in her bloodied white shift, holding onto their son’s decapitated body. All the light in her eyes had dimmed as he stood frozen in place, his eye widened at the harrowing sight before him. 

She wailed as she clutched the corpse to her chest, with no care for the injuries on her own body, or the blood of their babe that was now mixed in with her own.

“My boy, my precious boy…”

The rest of the royal family soon followed and his mother pulled her away from the babe’s lifeless body. He fell to the floor with no one to hold him, and Aemond could do nothing but watch.  Aegon’s angry calls for his nephew’s head to be brought back along with the killers slipped into one ear and slipped out the other, and he went numb as he realized that the consequences of his actions had caught up to him. 

Him, he could understand. But his sweet wife, his little son? What had they done?

A son for a son.

The rational part of his mind would have argued that Luke’s death probably left Rhaenyra feeling the same tragedy that he was faced with - but he was anything but rational in that moment. His fists clenched as his knuckles met the wall, and Aegon had to physically restrain him from walking out to catch the rats himself.

“She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. Listen to me, Aemond!”

Helaena had collapsed onto the chair entirely, repeating ominous words that he did not register at all. 

“Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese.”

Aegon had gone to join in the hunt for his nephew’s killers, and she kept rocking herself back and forth at the sight of the blood that now painted the walls and floors of her brother’s chambers until she was led away. Aemond stood, all alone in a pool of his son’s and wife’s blood. 

When the Silent Sisters were led into the chamber by his grandfather, Aemond froze. His wife had held their lifeless son to her breast as she cried, but he could not bring himself to look at him, much less touch him.

Hours later, with patches of his own son's blood soaked through his clothes, he had gone to see her. He held her in his arms as she sobbed through the night, trying to push him away with each firm hit to his chest. Aemond shushed her over and over to no avail, holding her closer each time she tried to separate herself from him. Sometime during that night, her eyes had become lifeless; a deep abyss. The sight of it finally drove him to tears too, with his good eye becoming a glistening violet ring floating in a sea of angry red.

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment when the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. 

It was right then as he held her, comforting her and apologizing like a madman for tainting her life with his presence. 

The moonlight diverged through the stained glass windows that directly faced the room where she now resided. She had been kept in these chambers before their wedding, and she often spoke of how beautiful the lights were when they fell directly onto the corridors, reflecting the colors of the glass that they slid through. He wondered if she still thought the same. He wondered if she even looked.

In the day that followed their son’s death, they had burned their little boy and watched as his body was wheeled around the streets of King’s Landing for their benefit. Aemond had wanted to retch then, but he held his wife tight as the people empathized with the kind princess whose time as a doting mother had been brutally cut short. 

She fared worse - she looked dead in her eyes, and he was sure she was lost on the inside too. He did not know if she even sensed his hold on her as she kept muttering their dead boy’s name in a series of weak whimpers.

Two days later, she had lost their second child. He held her from behind and rocked her gently as the blood flowed from between her thighs for hours, the babe coming out in clumps of bloodied skin, having never drawn breath. Every moment of his wife’s torture plagued Aemond’s existence, and he questioned his abilities as a protector while grieving his son and his unborn child all alone. 

The Gods were cruel to him in their games. They made him watch as his son’s life was taken, and they took bits of his wife’s mind and soul with each passing day. He supposed that this was the hand that kinslayers were dealt.

It was a slow death for Aemond, and it had begun the day his son was killed. Now he had to watch as his once vivacious wife completely lost hold over all her senses, and lived in a world where he could not reach her.

On some days, she would receive him with love, as though his presence in her life had not destroyed her completely. He would be able to revel in her touch once more, if only to simply be able to remind himself that she was still alive - in body, if not soul. He missed her, his wife, his woman, his entire heart. But his actions had killed her from the inside - did he have a right to his yearning anymore? He did not want to know, for he feared that he may not like the answer.

On other days, she would be the complete embodiment of madness. She would fight the maesters and scream at them, begging for them to let her die and throw herself off the window. She would pull at her beautiful hair, blame him continuously and shriek, mourning the loss of their child. 

When she was done, she'd lower her voice and murmur words into the air. Speaking to no one in particular, almost like a ghost, she'd fidget with her dress and say, "His body twitched after they hurt him. My baby boy suffered. Oh, my boy!"

He may not have wielded the knife that removed his head, but his actions caused it. He may as well have killed his son himself. Guilt was not an emotion that Aemond Targaryen knew well as a boy, but it was all he now knew as a grown man.

She would bawl and cry at him to go away. She would scream at him to leave her alone, and blame him for killing her children - and rightfully so. And though it pricked at his heart, he would come back every night. 

He wonders how she is feeling tonight. He wishes she was ignorant and unaware, for he is desperate for her touch, her company. It has been weeks. He is brought back to reality when the Maester’s gown billows behind him in the night wind. 

“Your Grace.” he bows. 

“How is she?”

“Somewhat calmed tonight and not lucid, my prince.” The old man sighs before continuing. “The Princess continues to ask for her little prince. We have given her milk of the poppy, so she may fall asleep soon enough.”

 “Hm.”

He is mildly relieved to hear that she is not herself tonight - for it allows him to relive some of their happier days. 

In his hand is a book - Ten Thousand Ships, the very one that he had gifted her. He dismisses the maester and his stewards follow behind him. Aemond walks into the room with his mind steeled, ready to be brave - for himself and for her.

“Husband! Come, come!” Her cheery voice is not quite hers, and it unnerves Aemond - her words are not from her heart, and it takes everything in him to not fall to his knees and apologize once more for what he has done to her. “The Maester said our boy’s learning to walk! Did you see him? I was promised that you would bring him tonight! Where is he?”

Gone, where we cannot see him, he wants to say. But how could he, without wanting to throw himself at her feet in regret? “He is tired. All that walking has exhausted him.”

“I suppose, yes! They tried to force me to take that vile concoction once more tonight, I managed to push it away and evade them! Look!” His gaze follows her hand and sees the spilled milk of the poppy on the floor. His wife was a calm and steady woman, and now she was behaving like a child and mistreating maesters.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“You should not do that, wife. It is not proper.” 

He holds her hand and kisses her knuckles, before leaning his head back to look at her. Her hair has not been combed today, and he gently turns her around to run his fingers through her hair, digits trembling at touching her once more. She could come to at any moment and remember who had caused her such distress, and then she would cry until he walked away - the very real possibility rakes at Aemond, so he remains prepared for her to push him away any time now.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

"I know. I drank it the second time. I'm sorry."

He then turns her back to face him and notices the dark rims around her empty eyes. He sighs and lets out a long, heavy breath. If he was drunk enough and she was unaware, he would fool himself into thinking that they were alright. But they aren’t. 

“It is time to go to bed, wife. Will you come with me?”  I love you, I miss you and I am sorry. Will you come back to me? Please?

He kisses both her eyelids and leads her to the bed in her shift. He gently helps her lay down, following her immediately as he lays next to her. She leans into his hold seamlessly and he tightens his arm around her - it hurts him how despite her madness, her penchant to seek out his touch never changes.

He takes the book from the bedside table, and she squeals. “Will you read to me tonight, husband? I do love it when you read to me. Perhaps a quiet moment between the both of us before the maids bring our son back? You know how he makes a fuss and refuses to give us a moment of quiet!” She laughs, and Aemond holds his tears back once more.

“Of course.” He kisses her temple.

He begins reading and the dry sounds of his throat lull her to sleep in his arms as he rakes his fingers through her hair. When she has completely drifted away from him, he allows himself a moment of thought and kisses her on the lips - watching as she murmurs his name.

He had taken her to wife, and sworn to protect her from any harm that may come her way. In the end, the only one she had to be protected from, was himself. He failed her, and now, he would not rest until he picked up all the pieces and put her back together.

When morning comes, she may still be unconscious of her surroundings and allow him some more time, or she may be lucid and scratch at his face until he leaves her alone. The uncertainty kills him, but he will allow himself to enjoy her tonight. 

It was on this very day that he had kissed her for the first time, in the Sept, between the statues of the Mother and the Father. On this day, four years ago, they were married. 

And on this day, he continues to read to her because she had asked, even when she had fallen asleep - for how could he ever deny her?

BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS FIC, HERE.

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!

MASTERLIST

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond fic #aemond #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #aemond angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fanfiction

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏

🍓the strawberry shack masterlist🍓

summary - after getting his heart broken, something leads clark to the strawberry shack, allowing him to release all his anger.

warning - smut, gloryhole, swearing, slight angst, creampie.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Lois had left him, she had packed her bags and walked out the door. Though she wasn’t expecting him home, which explained the shocked look on her face when he walked through the front door, seeing her bags packed and her keys in her hand. Clark watched her leave before flying off anywhere that could keep his mind off her. He stumbled upon a certain building that caught his eye, the flashing sign that read ‘The Strawberry Shack’ caused him to become curious, so he landed and walked in. 

Listening to the woman at the front as she explained things, his face turning red, jaw clenching and his brows furrow as he realised the type of establishment he walked into. “So, sugar. What’s it gonna be? Door one or door two?” 

“Uh… What the hell. Door two.” He pulls out some cash and hands it over before walking toward the door, he can feel his mind go crazy as he enters, never seeing this many naked women before. Clark could feel a pull towards a certain woman, not being able to control his feet as he walks in your direction. He’d have to remember to be careful, not wanting to literally split you open from his strength. “Hello.”

Clark was mad and you could practically feel that radiating off him. So, you spread your legs, inviting him in for him to use you however he pleases. “I can feel your anger, handsome. Why don’t you use me, take it out on me.” 

Clark glares down at your sopping cunt, licking his lips as he feels himself harden in his pants. His hands move subconsciously, taking his cock out and stroking it as he stares down at you. A groan slips from his lips before he begins to slowly push inside of you. Clark’s eyes slip closed as he revels in the feel of a new woman, slowly thrusting in and out of you, hands gently gripping your hips as he feels you squeeze around his thick girth. 

“Oh, you feel so good. Fuck me, please.” You let out a breathless moan, your back arches off the bench as he begins to slam into you, hitting that spot deep inside of you. Clark begins to lose control, thrusting faster and harder, his cock throbs as he really fucks you. He grunts and groans, tightening his grip slightly, his eyes glow red as lasers shoot from his eyes and he quickly blinks.

“Fuck…” His balls tighten, hips jerk as he growls, releasing thick ropes of cum inside of you, coating your tight walls. He continues to roughly fuck into you until his balls are empty, enjoying how you squirt around him. “F–fuck…” He pulls out slowly, cleaning you up before tucking himself back into his pants. “I–I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” Clark quickly worries, hurriedly running out the door and flying off, feeling ashamed for using you for his pleasure. 

You lie there, staring above as you can barely feel your legs, tingling between your thighs as stars cover your vision and a dopey smile rests on your face.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

#imyourbratzdollwork #the strawberry shack au #clark kent imagines #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent fluff #clark kent fanfic #clark kent angst #clark kent oneshot #clark kent one shot #clark kent x fem!reader #clark kent x female reader #henry cavill oneshot #henry cavill #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill characters #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill one shot

[literallykenmaandshoyo]

What About Me?

Peter Parker x Female Reader!

Warnings: Angst. Reader is upset because Peter is off being busy as Spider-Man and he's stood her up one too many times for her liking

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: Guys this is my first Peter Parker drabble! YAY!~ I absolutely adore Peter and I wrote this one up earlier tonight and figured it'd be good to share! I hope you all love it, I'm so used to writing fluff that sometimes I forget that writing angst is really good too! Let me know if you have any feedback or requests by sending in an ask, and remember to request Mod Shoyo to be specific! Have a great night (Or morning) everyone!

Also, PicsArt doesn't have the same scrabble letter thingies that Kenma and I have been using for our headers so this one is just a major WTF. Sorry if this looks ugly lol :,)

~Mod Shoyo <3

Y/N sat by her bedroom window, overlooking all of Queens from the seventh floor of her apartment building. Night had fallen and the stars were out, all of the buildings nearby had some office lights still on, people were probably still working, even at this ungodly hour.

That’s one thing that they had in common with her boyfriend Peter.

Being a web-slinging superhero was definitely not on Y/N's list of why Peter Parker could be so distant and just vanish all the time. However, when they first officially started dating, Peter took it upon himself to lay out all of his cards for her right then and there. Y/N was more than understanding and he thanked God for her every single day. Y/N knew that she said she’d be okay with the late nights and the canceled plans, that she’d be up waiting for him during late hours of the night just to make sure he came home safe.

But there was only so much she could take.

She stared down at her text messages with Peter. She asked him if he wanted to come and stay over at her apartment tonight since she’d been missing him a little extra these past couple days. Not only has Tony been working him to the bone, but the crime percentages in Queens seem to have only elevated since Peter would be out all night stopping robberies, saving people from getting mugged or kidnapped, the whole shebang. 

I’ll swing over in 10 love <3 11:45 p.m

Y/N looked at the top of her screen and saw that it was 1:57 in the morning. She knew that she got herself into this and she told herself that every time that he was late or had to cancel on her. It wasn’t his fault. Peter was just doing his job, what he signed up to do, so she couldn’t be mad at him. But who could she get mad at?

She looked like a lovesick puppy, just waiting at her window to see the red and blue suit that her boyfriend wore to come swinging over to her building. Tears were streaming down her face and she was making herself more upset by crying over something like this. She grabbed her phone off the windowsill and turned it off, chucking it into a random corner of her room and lying in her bed. She got under her throw blanket on top of her covers and threw it over her head. Her sniffles and soft sobs weren’t loud enough to wake anyone, but a small part of her wished that Peter would walk in and hear how devastated she was.

Being Peter’s girlfriend was a blessing. It was something like a mantra that she told herself every single morning when she woke up. She wanted to be the one he came home to, the one that would make all of his cuts and bruises better after she cleaned him up, she wanted to be the last woman he would ever love in his life. She wanted to be his. Forever. But being in a relationship didn’t always mean that Peter was the one she fussed over all the time. She was entitled to her own feelings and how she felt, and right now, she was sick and tired of waiting up for Peter.

As if right on cue, her bedroom window slid open and in crawled Peter. He was panting, short of breath as soon as he ripped his mask off his face. “I’m so sorry love, there was this guy in an alleyway that wouldn’t leave this group of middle schoolers alone and he-”

Peter stopped dead in his tracks as he looked at Y/N's shaking figure under her throw blanket. He raised an eyebrow and walked over to the bed, his ears picking up on the sounds of her soft sniffles and hiccups. He pulled the blanket off her head and saw her laying in the fetal position. Her hair was covering the side of her face and he couldn’t really see her expression, but he knew that she was upset. Obviously.

“Baby,...” Peter pushed her hair behind her ear and could see her puffy eyes and red nose. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

Y/N sat up in bed and fixed her crazy hair, sniffling and wiping tears off of her cheeks with the sleeves of her shirt. She sputtered and tried to speak, but she didn’t even know what to tell him. Part of her wanted to be straight up and just tell him that this is the seventh time she’s been kept up waiting on him, but the other part of her knew it wasn’t his fault and that she was just upset because he’s been so busy. Just because she was always available for him, doesn’t mean that Peter was always at her dispense too, especially with what he does with his time.

“I…”

Peter waited for her to explain, but she just looked down at her lap and started to cry again. He felt awful and he was so clueless. He thought back to the last time she cried and remembered that she had lost a grandfather recently that she was close to. Maybe it was that. He grabbed her hand and held it in his tightly.

“Is this about your grandpa again, love?”

Y/N shook her head and pulled her hand away from his. Now Peter was really confused. He racked his brain trying to figure out what else it could be, but every single option he came up with just came to a dead end. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how hard he was trying to think, and she found it ironic. He was so intelligent, the smartest guy she’s ever known. Yet he’s so oblivious when it comes to the small things, she always thought that maybe his brain was so big, that the most simple of questions really took a couple of seconds for him to think about.

“I’m just tired, Peter.” She finally croaked.

Peter’s heart fell into his chest. His gaze met hers instantly and he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He always thought about how Y/N never deserved to be with someone like him, not when he has the whole Spider-Man thing going for him. It’s unfair to her. And he always felt like one day she’d get tired of it all, but he was praying to God out of his own selfishness, that today was not that day.

“This…” She hiccuped. “This is the seventh time that I’ve stayed up past what we agreed to see each other at just to see if maybe you needed a little more time to come home.”

Now Peter understood. 

“You said you’d only be ten minutes at 11:45 and it's two in the morning now, Peter.” Peter looked down at her hands and noticed that they were trembling. “It’s been so hard for me these past couple times to just tell myself this is what I signed up for. But I miss you so much while you’re gone.”

She broke down in tears again, sobbing into her hands. Her sobs and her hiccups were muffled, but that only made them louder in Peter’s head. She was right, in every way imaginable. He hadn’t been much of a boyfriend recently, only texting her about how much he loved and missed her, sending her a quick selfie while he was mid-swing from one crime to the next. He couldn’t even imagine how lonely she must feel within those gaps of time that he wasn’t messaging her.

“Baby, I- I’m so sorry,” Peter cooed. “I know that I’ve been really busy recently, and I-I can’t even think about how lonely you must feel every single time I do this,”

Y/N looked up from her hands and wiped the snot that was running down her nose. She could barely keep her puffy eyes open enough to look at him.

“Don’t ever tell yourself that this is what you signed up for ever again.” Peter scolded. “I asked you to be my girlfriend because I knew in my heart that I was ready to be your boyfriend. And I still believe that. I haven’t been giving you the attention that you deserve and that’s completely on me. Okay?”

Y/N stayed quiet, staring at him with her bloodshot eyes and a quivering lip. The scary part was over. She was never good with calling people out and telling them how what they’re doing affects her. She’d rather just forgive them and never have to talk about it again. But then, when it happens again, she just puts herself through an endless cycle.

“I just miss you…” Y/N sobbed, wrapping her arms around Peter.

She dug her nose into the crook of his neck, bringing her hands up to the back of his head to feel his hair in between her fingers. When Peter hugged her back, her entire body relaxed and she just let him hold her while she cried into his suit. Peter was rubbing her back comfortingly, whispering sweet things into her ears in between pressing kisses to the top of her head and her temples.

“I’ll do better for you, baby. I promise, okay?”

Y/N nodded. 

Peter felt himself getting choked up the entire time Y/N was crying in front of him. The lump in the back of his throat was almost unbearable to push his spit past whenever he swallowed. He held Y/N in his arms for a while longer before finally taking his suit off and changing into some pajamas. He crawled into bed with Y/N and held her once more, the sound of her heart beat finally calming down bringing a soft smile to his face. He kissed the top of her head once more and closed his eyes.

That night, he made a promise to himself.

A promise that she was never going to feel like this ever again.

#marvel #x reader #female reader #marvel x reader #Spider-Man #tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x reader #spider-man x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #spider man homecoming #spider man far from home #spider man no way home #tom holland x reader #tom holland spider man #tom holland peter parker

[munv]

𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗔𝗧𝗘’𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛

After this and one more fic I’m gonna like start making myself my own headers or sum cause like doin other stuff is too much work

I don’t know what I was writing so stay with me 😭 I was originally planning on making this a yandere series so if you see a bit of that in there don’t mind it

YAE MIKO found you absolutely adorable when first meeting you. Lady Guuji was known to play around a bit before getting eventually bored but you..you were a different case. Catching her attention without having to put in so much effort at first shocked even the shrine maidens. Upon further inspection it crossed her mind..you were a fennec fox.

Of course she was going to have a little fun with you. Looking how your cute tail moves so gracefully against the morning breeze everytime you come for a fortune slip.

Never failing to visit she watched you for a while before making her approach, just like a naive little prey about to be torn to shreds by their predator. It brought quite the rumor amogst everyone that the lady Guuji was actually generally interested in someone. What brought even more of a racket is whent hey found out it was you! Expecting it to be some kind of famous intelligent legend..But just some random fox? Interesting.

Whenever you came in the morning she would make sure that her schedule is clear before coming to greet you. Your scent, routine, and voice memorized to the very core. It was also another very known factor that if Yae Miko wanted someone..she would have them no matter what. Anyone in the way who dares to stand in her way suddenly has nothing to do with you.

Yae has already realized that she was in too deep. But would she be THE Lady Guuji if some little fox could drag her into this never ending love while not even noticing? No as a matter of fact she wouldn’t. She teased you a lot more than any other person. Gorou even came to thank you for driving her attention away from his tail. Little did he know you had no idea of what was happening.

“Miko”. That was her name, but it shouldn’t have made her heart flutter so much. It didn’t help that you were completely oblivious to what you were doing to! Looking at her with those oh so innocent eyes that could possibly send anyone into a long slumber full of never ending fantasies. Before Yae knew it she had confessed only a few weeks later. It was enoug to send her to the moon when you had accepted her confession. Making it seem like a mad woman who was head over heels for her cute lover.

Whenever you both woke up in a shared bed she loves to play with your tail or even brush it. Seeing you relaxed with a smile on your features brings such joy to yae. At this rate Miko basically pampers you in return for kisses and of course alone time. You see a book you like? In the shopping bag. Sees you eyeing a piece of jewerly? “Little one I have a gift for you!”.

It has to take a complete idiot to mess up with the well known lady guuji’s lover. It has to be they are either drunk or just want to go visit the archons early. Pick your poison. It’s like when someones says “I see the light!” no dear that’s yae’s ability literally killing you right now.

Overall being her s/o is very fun and I would reccomend!

#{-muxis writes #x reader #x y/n #headcanons #headcanon #oneshots #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #gi x reader #yae miko #genshin inazuma #yae miko x reader #lady guuji #yae miko headcanons #yae miko oneshots #inazuma x reader #yae miko x you

[nuggsmum]

Pumpkin

Header by the ever amazing, ever lovely and sexy, ever funny and brilliant, I wish she were my wife @luna-aestas

A slightly spooky, sort of cheesy, definitely vampire kink-esque, and essentially a love story….

Author’s Note: I’m rereleasing this since Henry announced that he’s not going to Geralt anymore… and I’m sad, and I know you guys are sad. And I loved this Geralt that I wrote. So maybe this might help distract someone. Hugs, chickens 🖤 and it’s almost Halloween so. Happy Spoopy day, my loves 😘

Warnings: language (as always), blood/gore and vampire stuffs, maybe some scary shit (mostly scary how bad the writing is) and of course, smuts.

Stepping up the curb as I rushed towards the small corner store, I was praying that they still had some candy left. Of course I had left it until the last moment and was now scrambling, the last two stores I had gone to were all sold out. I noticed the tall, broad man with the stunning silver/white hair striding down the street in his odd clothes, but since it was halloween and I was in too much of a hurry, I didn’t give him a second glance.

Until he almost walked right into me.

I’d looked up at him just as he was about to slam into me, or I into him, I wasn’t sure which, though he’d been on the other side of the cobblestone sidewalk when I’d glanced at him before. Two strong hands darted out of his black cloak and gripped my arms, halting me in my spot. He looked down at me, his yellow eyes boring into mine. He inhaled angrily, his nostrils flaring.

He’s beautiful. And terrifying.

“I… I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going,” I stuttered.

I’d thought he was about to tell me off, when he narrowed his eyes at something over my shoulder, let me go, and stalked off down the sidewalk.

“Halloween brings out all the weirdo’s,” muttered an old man that had been sitting on the bench waiting for the bus. “You alright, my dear?”

He was so strong, I swear my arms will have bruises.

I gave a shaky laugh and nodded, thanking him for his concern. Then I remembered my mission and went into the store. Luckily, they had six different bags of chocolate bars left, and I grabbed them all.

Tucking my card back into my wallet, I looked up just as the man from the street entered the store. He looked at me and stalked off down an aisle, searching for something, seemingly annoyed I was in the store at the same time as he was.

Wanting to put as much distance as possible between me and the stranger who was clearly mad at me, I thanked the girl at the register and quickly walked out of the store. I cut across the town common towards the little side street my house was on. Kids were rushing home to get ready for trick or treating and I couldn’t help but smile at their happiness.

Dead leaves skittered across my path, swept away by the chilly breeze as I hurried down the sidewalk towards my house. I tried to ignore the anxious feeling that the man had given me. There was something about him that made me look over my shoulder. Of course he wasn’t there.

I was excited for tonight and I tried to focus on that instead.

It’s only Halloween. A holiday created by the candy companies for children. Not for a grown woman. Who certainly doesn’t need anymore candy.

I frowned at the voice in my head that sounded slightly like my mother.

I don’t care. It’s my favorite holiday. I’m going to give out candy and enjoy my night, maybe watch some spooky movies later. And have some candy. Lots of candy. And maybe think about tall, silver-haired strangers with strong hands...

Letting myself into the little house, I wasn’t exactly pleased to see my roommate lounging on the couch. I’d hoped she’d be out for the night. She usually used Halloween as an excuse to wear something see-through and go out drinking.

Dropping my bags on the counter, I went looking for the large plastic bowl I usually used for the candy. It wasn't in its usual spot. Digging around a bit more, I went to look in the pantry, when I saw it on the table, full of chips.

“Hey, Di? What’s with the chips?” I called.

“Oh, that? Gotta have some snacks for the party, am Iright?” she said from the doorway. “I’m having some friends over. Please don’t be weird about it.”

She said the last bit as she was looking directly at my outfit, a burnt orange sweater with an emerald brooch, the gemstone cut into the shape of a leaf and a cute little spectator hat that had a stem and some green curly ribbon.

“How would I be weird about it?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You know how you get. Listen! There’s gonna be some cute single guys that are coming! Maybe you could put on something cute and you know, talk to people. It wouldn’t hurt, I promise.”

“Yeah, well. I’m probably just going to give out the candy and call it a night,” I muttered, going upstairs to find another receptacle for the candy.

Besides, I have no intention of talking to your kind of people.

Settling on an old basket, I stopped to look at myself in the mirror. I’d thought the burnt orange of the yarn had looked lovely against my skin when I found it in the clearance bin at the craft store. Sure, it was a little more bright than something I’d normally wear, but wasn’t this a color that was supposed to be worn in autumn? And the brooch was pretty. I’d thought the little ode to pumpkin leaves was cute.

“I like it,” I said to my reflection.

Adjusting my little hat, I took my basket and went back to the kitchen. Dumping all the bags of candy into the basket, I thought it was more festive than the plastic bowl anyways. I rooted around in my craft box and found a filmy black ribbon, trying it to the handle.

I could hear Di coming down the stairs, her heels clacking on the wood.

Hmmm. I’m going to guess sexy bunny. Or maybe a sexy nurse… no, she was that last year, wasn't she? Hmm. Sexy car mechanic?

I stifled a little giggle.

She rounded the corner, deep red and black lingerie clinging to her perfect form, fishnet stocking and the highest black thigh high boots I’d ever seen. Her face had a white cast to it, her eyes covered in dark purple shadow making her sockets look deeper than normal. A small red spot of blood dripped fashionably from the corner of her mouth, looking sticky and wet.

Don’t get any chips stuck to that.

“Sexy zombie?” I asked.

Tsking at me, she took a handful of my candy.

“Vampire.” She smiled, showing ill-fitting fake teeth.

“Ahhh. How could I miss that?” I moved my basket out of her reach. “Are those comfortable?”

“No. I’ll probably take them out once Tony sees them. He’s got a vampire kink.” She grinned.

Of course he does. Or he thinks he does. He would probably piss his pants if he ever met a real vampire.

There was a loud knock on the door just as I was about to open it to go outside. Expecting trick-or-treaters, I opened the door with a large smile that slid off my face when I saw the collection of Di’s friends standing on the front steps.

“Candy for us… Pumpkin?” Tony laughed as he took a handful of the chocolate.

People filed past me into my house, some of them taking a piece or two of the candy. A man with a bad werewolf mask brought up the rear and tried to take a large handful but I swatted the candy out of his hand.

“It’s for the kids!”

“Sorry, Pumpkin.” He snickered behind his mask as he walked past me. Stopping just inside the door, he looked me up and down and leaned closer to me. “How do you feel about pumpkin cream pie?”

Those around him laughed at his crude joke, Tony giving him a high five. Rolling my eyes, I shut the door, taking my basket and sitting on the front step, waiting for the kids to start arriving as the street lights flicked on, one by one. More and more people trickled in for the party, dressed in varying degrees of costume, all but ignoring me as they went inside.

Kids started arriving on our street, going house to house to collect candy. I adored seeing the little ghosts and goblins, princesses and police officers, robots and one terrifyingly accurate depiction of a notorious politician that I gave an extra handful of candy to because the little boy had affixed a bloody axe to the side of his neck.

Loud music and raucous conversation reached me from my perch and I’d assumed all of Di’s friends had arrived until I saw him moving up the street, little kids paying him no mind as they darted around him in pursuit of sweets.

Still wearing the thick, woolen cloak from earlier, it was thrown back over his shoulders, showing that he was dressed all in black, his linen shirt sleeves rolled up his large forearms, his thick, muscular thighs showing in his tight black pants even in the dark. His face was hauntingly beautiful, as if chiseled from marble, and his silver hair almost glowed, reflecting off the light from the moon and the streetlights.

Wow, some kid is lucky to have a dad that dresses up to go out trick-or-treating with them. Maybe that’s why he was in such a rush and angry? He didn’t want to be late. He doesn’t seem to be waiting for anyone though...

He continued his path up the street, a look of slight amusement ticking at the corner of his mouth as he looked at the tiny revelers.

Oh, maybe he’s coming to the party. Oh. Then he’s friends with Di. Of course he is.

He stopped at the end of our walk, inhaling deeply. Glancing over, his yellow eyes locked mine. I couldn't help but swallow hard as he stared at me.

Shit. He’s probably wondering what the hell I’m doing here. Well. It’s my house, asshole.

“Trick or treat!” yelled a little purple dragon and a pink fairy, holding their bags open.

Tearing my eyes away from his, I looked down at the children, blinking because I couldn’t remember why they were there. When I glanced back, he was gone. Looking up and down the street, he was nowhere to be seen.

What the fuck? There's no way he could have disappeared like that. Could I have imagined that?

“Can we have some candy, please?” asked the little dragon, looking at his older sister, unsure of what to do when I didn’t hand over the sweets.

“Oh, of course! Sorry, I thought I saw... “ I paused, not wanting to freak them out by saying some strange man had been standing at the end of the walk, “I thought I saw something fly across the moon,” I said, laughing a little.

“Witches!” shrieked the fairy.

“I bet she has a black cat on her broom!” the dragon cried.

“Witches have all kinds of familiars, not just cats.” A low growling voice came from beside me.

The children froze and looked up at the stranger, their eyes wide.

“Like what?” breathed the fairy.

The man thought about it, scratching his chin.

“I once knew a witch that had a monkey. And another that had a mouse. It’s more of a personal preference.”

“A mouse?” The dragon looked unimpressed.

“What better to sneak around and find out information about your enemies than something as small as a mouse?”

“Or maybe they just make good pets?” I said weakly, not sure where he was going with this.

He thought about it.

“They do.”

I gave the kids another handful of candy and wished them a happy Halloween. They quickly retreated down the walk, the fairy casting a wary look over her shoulder at the man.

“The party is inside, you can let yourself in if you’d like.”

He didn’t move from his spot next to me. I glanced up at him.

“Why aren’t you inside?”

“I’d rather give out candy.”

He nodded as if that made sense to him.

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I was preoccupied and didn’t notice that you had moved to my side of the sidewalk. I really should be more aware of my surroundings.” I shuffled the candy basket on my lap, unsure of why he was still on the porch with me.

“You should be,” he grunted, watching a group of children running up the walk. “Be more aware of your surroundings.”

I handed the children candy and complemented their costumes, feeling his eyes on me as I tried not to cry at the simple admonishment from him.

I don’t even know him, why do I care if he thinks I’m some silly woman who doesn't watch where she’s going?

“You were being followed,” he said quietly, almost kindly.

Gasping, I turned to look at him, his face looked serious. He was looking off into the neighbors back yard.

“What? By who?”

“By what.”

“What?”

“Exactly. Finish giving out your treats. It hasn’t given up, but it’s lost your scent for now.”

We sat in silence as I tried to keep my composure and hand out candy to the remaining kids that wandered up our street. After dumping the remainder of the basket in an excited little gumball machine’s treat bag, I turned to him.

“If Di put you up to this, it’s not funny.” Standing, I pushed past him into the house, the noise of the party drowning out his voice as I tried to get past people to go upstairs.

Gripping my arm, he pulled me away from the stairs and around the corner into the kitchen, his eyes darting around the room at the people gathered there.

“Who are you?” I tried to yank my arm out of his hold but it was no use.

Crowding me into a corner, his hands flat against the wall, caging me in, he leaned down and growled in my ear.

“There’s no time for that. Did you steal this?” He fingered the brooch pinned to my sweater.

“I bought it!” I breathed, offended he would think otherwise.

“Hmmm.” He looked through the doorway into the living room. “It doesn’t make sense that she would come for you then. Are you sure you didn’t steal it?”

“What are you talking about?” I cried. “I bought it from a man at the state fair last week! He had a whole table of different antique jewelry.”

I thought back to my interaction with the man. He’d pushed for me to buy the brooch, calling it a one of a kind and-

“At this price, it’s a steal,” I whispered.

“What?” he asked sharply.

“The man that sold it to me said ‘at this price it’s a steal.’ But that doesn’t count as stealing! I still gave him money for it! Besides, what does that matter? Are you going to arrest me or something? I didn’t know it was stolen. Here, you can have it back.”

His hand grabbed mine, halting my movements.

“Clever. If he knew what it was, he must have thought he could transfer the curse to you by using that phrase.” He furrowed his brow and looked down at me, his pale face concerned. “And it seems to have worked.”

“Curse?” I asked weakly, “What are you talking about? Those aren’t real… are they?”

“Have you seen a woman with deep red hair lately? Very tall and thin? Pale skin?” he asked urgently.

“I… I don’t know… I don’t think so… I just… wait. Yes. I have.” I thought back to the day of the fair.

We’d taken the train to the town where it was held, just catching the last one for the evening by running and jumping on before the doors closed.

“She tried to catch the train the day I bought it. She missed it. She was screaming and pulling at her hair.” Hugging my arms across my chest. “She wasn’t trying to catch the train, was she?”

Stiffening, he turned to look over his shoulder into the living room.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Whatever you do, stay behind me.”

“What? Why? What is going on?” I cried.

“Just stay!” he barked, turning and pulling a long sword from behind his back in one fluid motion.

The people that still remained in the kitchen, watching our little talk in confusion, yelled and screamed, running over each other to get out of the room. Loud yells could be heard from the living room as well as a snarling, high pitched screech.

His sword held before him, he stalked into the room. I followed, unsure if he’d meant to stay behind in the kitchen or directly behind him. In the middle of the room, her long, pale hand wrapped around a man’s throat, his face bloody and unrecognizable, stood the tall, red haired woman. Her beautiful face was smeared with his blood. She spit the sticky red liquid on the floor, her dark eyes glowing, focusing on the man with the sword.

A taunting smile curved across her tainted lips.

“It’s been too long since we’ve met, Geralt. Always the protector, even after all these years?” She sneered, her lips barely moving, yet her voice high and loud, everyone frozen in their panic, watching her.

“Someone has to do it, Rusalki. You’ve evolved, so have I.”

“Yes, well. I have business to attend to, Witcher.” She dropped the man’s dead body to the floor, stalking forward.

“She didn’t steal from you.” He stood his ground.

“It’s mine and she has it. No one else needs to die tonight, Geralt. Just LET ME PAST!” she screeched, charging at him.

People ran for the door as he advanced towards her, his sword striking out at her. Her long, lithe body dodged his blade, a beautiful ballet of strikes and blows, misses and connections. She floated around him, frustrating him as he growled at her, putting more force into his swings.

She laughed at him, her eyes sparkling. She was enjoying herself.

I edged along the wall, following the crowd out the door, thinking if I could get away while she was occupied with him, I could make a run for it and hide.

She struck out at him with her long claw-like fingernails, connecting with his chest armor and slicing through it like it was made of paper. He was sent careening into the wall of bookshelves, stacks of books crashing down on him as he slid down the wall.

Oh god, she’s killed him.

Laughing, she turned to set her sights on me. Narrowing her eyes, she took a step towards me.

“I… I paid for it,” I whispered.

She shrugged.

“But I didn’t steal it…”

“It stopped being about that a long time ago, didn’t it, Rusalki?” he asked from the floor, groaning as he got to his feet and looked at the gaping wounds across his chest. “I just bought this. Do you realize how hard it is to find this kind of armor these days?”

“It’s mine,” she growled, turning her back on him.

“The people that hurt you paid their price. You made sure of that. Doesn’t the hunting get old? Aren’t you tired?” he asked, slowly picking up his sword.

She stopped, her left eye twitching a little.

“Tell me Geralt, don’t you get tired of hunting? Of course you do. Because you’re trying to be the good guy, always trying to be the good guy. BUT WHAT ABOUT WHAT I WANT?” she screamed, the glass in the windows shattering as she turned back to face me.

“What you wanted was justice in your death, you got it. Why take her life, when she’s done you no wrong?”

“It wasn’t enough that only they paid for their crimes against me. I need it to live now. It doesn’t have to be someone that stole it. She has it in her possession, wearing it, brazenly taunting me. No, Geralt. I’m hungry, and she smells delicious, so why not bend the rules a bit? Don’t tell me you aren’t tempted yourself, I know you have a discerning palate. I’ll share her with you.” She grinned.

“I’ve learned to… curb it. You can, too, with some practice.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, looked back at me, then over her shoulder at him again.

“No. I don’t think I will.”

She darted forward towards me, reaching out her deadly talons just as he raised his sword and swung.

The sharp, hot pain of her claws dragging across my neck barely registered as I saw his blade slice through her neck, her head falling to the ground at my feet, the look of ravenous hunger still frozen on her lips.

The room started to fade, my strength running from me in rivulets of blood down my handcrafted sweater.

“This took me ages… to… make…” I murmured, looking at the blood on my hands.

He stepped over her body, kneeling before me on the floor. His nostrils flared, looking down into my eyes.

“Fuck,” he murmured as he brought a dagger to his inner forearm, dragging it across the skin. Bright red blood pooled where the sharp blade pierced him. He looked at it, then at me.

“This might hurt,” he murmured gently as he pressed his wound against the rip in my neck.

Pulling my back against his chest, he swore to himself again as the blood continued to drain from my body into his lap. Shaking his head as if steeling himself for something unpleasant, he leaned forward, his lips sealing against the unscathed part of my neck. A white hot pain ripped through my body as I felt his fangs sinking into me.

The darkness finally took me as I felt my life being drained from me.

************************

Pain. All I knew was pain. Everything hurt, and it hurt like hell. Fire ran through my veins, lead settled in my stomach. My head throbbed and my mouth felt like there were barbs set in my tongue.

But… If it hurts… I’m alive? How am I alive? I should be dead… She ripped my throat apart. He… bit me. Why the fuck did he bite me? What the hell just happened? Oh, god, don’t move me. It hurts so much.

I could feel my body being jostled and adjusted, heard him grunt, and a horse made a noise of irritation and a long sigh.

“Roach, I don’t want to talk about it.”

There was another equine huff.

“I said it couldn’t be helped. What else was I supposed to do? Leave her to die after all of that?”

A whinny.

Is… he talking to… a horse? A horse that thinks he should have left me to die, apparently. And her name is Roach.

“She’ll need help. She needs potions or she’s just going to suffer more and die. Or worse, she’ll turn. No one else will know what to do for her. Now stand still.”

My body was laid gently over the back of the horse. I could smell her scent. Earthy, leather, dust and pine. It was a calming scent. I felt Roach relax under me as he continued to speak to her.

“Thank you. Try to keep her steady as you walk. She’s in a lot of pain, and the less she moves around the better.”

She let out an offended huff, as if she couldn’t believe he would doubt she would ever do anything but walk steady and with great care as she began walking.

She’s a good horse. It still hurts everywhere but she’s keeping me as still as she can. A really good girl. Roach. What an odd name for a horse. I like it.

The feel of her coat against my face was comforting, soft and warm. It was lulling me back to sleep, or I was just in so much pain I was going to become unconscious again, I couldn’t tell which.

With one final burst of strength, I was able to open my eyes. I could see the leather saddle, the dirty saddle blanket, and her brown hair. His broad back was just to the front of us, the hilt of his sword jutting out of his pack. It was dusk, and we were in a thick wooded area.

How long have I been unconscious? He… Geralt… Where is he taking me?

Geralt was leading the horse down a narrow path, that to be honest, if he hadn’t been walking on, I wouldn’t have noticed. My eyes grew heavy again and the last thing I remembered was him turning to glance at me, and his forehead was creased with worry.

That’s probably not good.

*********

The next time I woke, it was with a horrifically rancid acid-like taste in my mouth. Sputtering and trying to spit out the offensive liquid, Geralt grabbed my jaw and held my mouth closed, softly telling me to swallow it.

“It will help with the pain and lower the fever. Swallow it. Swallow it. There. Good girl. You can sleep again after you swallow it,” he murmured. His large fingers caressed the side of my face as I swallowed the offensive medicine and fell back into the pillow, my breath escaping me as if I’d run for miles.

The pain began to subside as soon the liquid slipped down my throat. Radiating through my body, the throbbing dulled and the burning cooled. Feeling clammy and soaked in sweat, I tried to catch my breath.

“Where…”

His fingers still on my cheek, he brought one to my lips, silencing me.

“You’re safe here, rest.”

Pushing his hand away from my mouth, I tried to sit up. My body weak and my arms unable to hold my weight, I once again fell into the pillow.

“Who are you?” I whispered, wishing I could wake up from this dream, because it had to be a dream.

He sighed. Standing and stalking over to a roughly hewn log table, he picked up a bowl. Able to grasp my surroundings now that the pain had lessened a bit, I noticed that we were in what looked like a one room cabin. Walls made of giant logs with what looked to be mud filling the gaps in between surrounded us, except for one wall which was one large slab of rock with a fireplace chiseled out of it, where a fire crackled warmly. The table, the bed that I was in, a large chair in front of the fireplace, and a wash stand were the only furniture other than a kitchen counter of sorts.

“My name is Geralt. Geralt of Rivia. I’ll tell you more when you wake. Please rest. It’s the only way you’ll start to heal.” He returned with a rag covered in green mush. Seeing me eye it warily, he gave me a small smile. “A poultice. For your wound. It will help it heal, and keep the scarring to a minimum. As much as it can.”

Gingerly, I raised my hand to my throat. One side felt tight and crusted, a large scab over what had been irreversible damage. My eyes wide in fear, I turned to find him watching me with a look on his face that I couldn’t quite place. Pity? Sadness? Commiseration?

How did he get it to heal so quickly? How did he get it to heal at all?

“I know you have questions. I promise I will answer them after you rest.” Gently, he placed the cloth against my neck, a slightly pleasant cooling sensation tickling my damaged tissue.

My eyes were growing heavy as I watched him move about the small cabin, mixing a large pot that hung over the flames in the fireplace as he consulted an old book that lay on the table. I didn’t want to sleep, I wanted answers, but I was so tired.

Sensing me watching him, he spoke without turning.

“I give you my word, you’re safer here than anywhere else. Sleep.”

Closing my eyes, I drifted to sleep, the sounds of him moving about the cabin my lullaby.

******

For several days, this pattern repeated itself. Sometimes he would wake me with the rotten tasting potion, others he would be propping up my pillows to feed me some broth. Slowly, I began to feel my strength returning, the burning fever wasn’t as bad, and the pain, while still there, was manageable. He kept avoiding my questions, telling me that rest was more important, that the potions would take better if I rested. I was annoyed, but also very tired, so I took his advice and slept.

“I can probably feed myself,” I said quietly as he sat on the edge of the bed, bowl of broth and spoon in hand a few weeks later.

“Probably,” he agreed, bringing the spoon to my lips and watching as I obediently opened my mouth.

Swallowing the spoonful, I stopped his hand on it’s return to the bowl to refill.

“Please tell me.”

Sighing, he placed the spoon in the bowl, refilling it and bringing it to my mouth again.

“A long time ago, monsters used to roam the land freely.” He looked at me closely, gauging my reaction. To be honest, before all of this I would have thought he was insane, but having had my throat ripped out by one, I was partial to believing him.

“There was a guild of monster slayers, called Withcers. It was our job to hunt down and rid the world of monsters. As time went on, there were less and less witchers, and as the modern world became what it is today, monsters became less common as well. When you hear of monsters, I’m sure you think of things like werewolves and ghosts? Sometimes monsters are created from circumstances. The creature that you encountered was a result of a tragic death and a vengeful spirit. She was assaulted and murdered by a band of outlaws who stole her jewels, one of which was the pin that you were wearing that night. She became a creature that sought out revenge on those that had wronged her, and became obsessed with whoever came into possession of her jewels by nefarious means, killing and feasting on the bodies.”

I felt nauseous.

“I don’t understand, I didn’t do anything to her. I bought it, I didn’t steal it.”

“She had long since stopped caring about whether the person in possession of it actually stole it, apparently. I believe the man you bought it from had acquired it in a less than honest way, but either way, after centuries of killing for revenge, it turned into killing for pleasure. She developed a taste for it, you could say.”

“She said that I smelled delicious. But she also said…”

You have a discerning palate.

He gave me a slight smirk, watching me put two and two together.

“Are you… whatever she was?”

“No.”

“Why did you bite me?”

He grunted under his breath as he filled the spoon again, placing it at my lips. When I didn’t open my mouth, his yellow eyes flicked from my lips to my eyes, irritation and some other emotion written in them.

Pain? No. Fear. He’s scared of what I’ll think of him?

“You should finish eating and rest.”

“I know that you saved me, whatever you did. I just would like to know why. I’m so confused, and scared. I don’t know where I am, who you are, what happened, or how long I’ve been here. I don’t know anything anymore, because everything I thought was true isn’t and everything I thought was untrue isn’t,” I said quietly, leaning towards his hand which was still suspended in front of me and taking the spoon in my mouth.

Continuing to feed me, he told me his unbelievable, impossible story. Thousands of years old, he’d roamed the earth looking for and killing monsters. Keeping mankind safe, even though they’d shunned him. Eventually his kind had died out, though could they really become extinct if they were made, not born?

“Mutants. That’s what becomes of the children who train to become witchers. We become mutants. Faster, stronger, longer lives. Able to drink poison to enhance our abilities. Which is why about 1500 years ago, give or take, when I was hunting a particularly nasty vampire and he ambushed me, biting me, I was able to fight him off and not turn completely. A combination of my mutations and the potions I was able to take after the bite stopped the transformation.”

“Vampire?” I asked weakly.

He nodded.

“You’re a vampire?”

“Not in the literal sense of the word, no. I do have some of the abilities though. I can bite someone and turn them. I can also drink the blood of a human and regenerate. Though I haven’t done that in a very long time. Once I was able to control it, I haven’t done it since. Well. Until I met you.”

Oh god.

“Do not worry. I’m not going to do it again. Though I have to say I agree with Rusalki. You’re delicious.” He smiled at me, his long canine teeth catching the light from the fireplace. “But I only did that to save you. When I put my blood on your wound, I was trying to transfer some of the regenerative properties to you, but I was weak from where she had cut me. So by biting you, I regenerated and in turn that was passed onto you through the cut on my arm. The potions are the same that I took after I was bitten, just diluted, as you’re not a mutant and your body couldn’t handle the full strength.”

I sat, staring at the fire, trying to understand everything he’d just told me. A thousands of years

old mutant that had the abilities of a vampire, but was apparently somewhat of a vegetarian of sorts. And he’d saved me. From her and from death. I owed him my life.

“Geralt.” I liked the way his name felt on my tongue. “I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did for me.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s my job,” he said gruffly.

“Your job that you’ve been doing for thousands of years? Has anyone ever thanked you for it?”

“They used to. Sometimes. When they knew what a witcher was.” He stood, taking the empty bowl to the wash basin. “Get some rest. You’ve already over exerted yourself with this conversation.”

Turning to my side, I ran my fingers across the wound on my neck. The scab was gone now, replaced by a tight feeling scar. Tracing my neck with my fingertips to the otherside, I felt the two little indents from where he’d bitten me. Tears of gratitude welled in my eyes. Swiping them away with the sleeve of my borrowed shirt, I tried to rest.

Eventually, he blew out the candles and came to lay down in the small bed, carefully tucking his large body into the blankets so as not to touch me too much. I didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want to touch me, or didn’t want to be tempted.

I flattered myself that it was the latter, given how measured his breaths were and how ridgid he held himself.

At one point in the night I woke, thinking the full fever had returned. Once I realized it was just because there was a full grown Witcher sprawled across me, I allowed myself a small smile and snuggled even closer, reveling in his embrace. I drifted to sleep, my heart beat matching his.

******

When I woke the next day, he was gone. Daylight shone through the small windows, making the cabin seem more spacious than it had when I’d only seen it at night by firelight. Feeling better than I had in weeks, I sat up, swinging my legs slowly over the side of the bed. On the table next to the bed was a small vial with a handwritten note on parchment.

Drink this. Eat. I’ll be back shortly. Stay inside the cabin.

~G

Taking the little glass bottle in my hand, I drank it quickly, trying not to wretch at the taste. It hadn’t gotten less disgusting over time. Standing from the bed proved to be possible, if a little wobbly.

The first thing I wanted to do was wash. I’d woken a few times to him with a washcloth, wiping down my sweaty forehead, arms, or legs. I tried not to think too hard about how in depth he’d needed to clean me over the past few weeks. I couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through me at the thought. Monster, or mutant, or whatever he was, he was very attractive and the thought of him running his hands over me made me feel nervous in a way I’d rarely felt around human men.

Making it to the wash stand, I was disappointed to find no water in the pitcher. Searching through the cabin, I couldn’t find a tap. Glancing out the window, I saw what looked like a well, a bucket on a rope hanging from the side.

Slowly, I unlocked the door and poked my head out. The forest was fairly quiet except for normal woodland sounds, sunbeams streaking down between the gently rustling leaves. I walked the short distance to the well, pulling up a bucket of fresh, cool water.

Darting back into the house to grab a washcloth, a larger towel, and a bar of soap I’d found as well as the small wash basin, I brought it back to the well, filling the basin with the blessed water. Stripping out of his shirt, I washed myself in the clearing, reveling in the feel of the sun on my skin and the cool refreshing feel of the water cleansing me after weeks of being in the bed.

Flipping my head forward to rinse my hair, the water from the pitcher pooling at my feet, I heard an impatient huff. Freezing, my heart stopped when I heard the footsteps of a horse enter the clearing.

“Hmm. I thought I wrote to stay in the cabin,” Geralt growled.

Finishing dumping the pitcher over my hair, I groped for the towel, trying to cover myself as much as I could.

Looking up at him perched on Roach, I could tell he wasn’t pleased. Roach looked at me, annoyance in her eyes.

How can you tell if a horse is annoyed? I don’t know. But she looked annoyed. At the very least, she didn’t like me.

“I’m sorry… I needed water and I saw the well and then it was just so nice outside in the sun and…” I couldn’t keep my eyes on his face, seeing his disappointment in me clearly written there, so I looked down at my hands that were knotted in the towel as I clenched it in front of me.

“It’s not safe in these woods alone.” He glanced around, as if he hadn’t been the only one watching me from the trees. Perhaps he hadn’t been. “You might as well finish.”

He dismounted, walking Roach over to the pen he kept her in, pulling off her saddle and blanket, brushing her down. He returned to the well, filling the bucket and glancing at me as I hadn’t moved. The sun was setting and the warmth of the day was leaving with it. I felt chilled and unsure of what I should do.

Roach let out a shocked noise as something dark and growling entered the clearing, running straight at me. Before I’d even registered it, Geralt pushed me back, causing me to fall on my ass in the dirt, and was swinging his sword at the monster, slicing through it’s leg. As the creature fell to the ground, trying to rear and redirect its attack at Geralt instead of me, Geralt fell to his knees as his sword sank into its skull, pinning it to the dirt.

Breathing heavily, Geralt pushed off the ground, twisting his sword, causing the creature to gargle and then fall limp, a pile of dark, matted fur and blood in the otherwise beautiful woodland clearing.

“What the fuck what that?” I breathed, unable to take my eyes off it.

Geralt kicked the massive dog over with his boot, looking at it closely.

“Best I can tell is a barghest, but it just may be a mutated wolf or dog. Do you see now why you can’t be out here alone?” He looked at me, his face unreadable.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. I won’t ignore you again. I wasn’t thinking. I’m… I’m used to the woods just being the woods. Not some dangerous place full of monsters,” I whispered, feeling tears prick at my eyes, a sob escaping my lips. “I just… I miss my normal, boring, monsterless life and I-”

Suddenly, I was enveloped in his embrace. Picking me up off the ground and holding me tightly, he rubbed my bare back, his calloused hand leaving a trail of goosebumps. Grabbing the pitcher, he poured the water over my backside, rinsing off the mud.

“It’s alright. I told you that you’re safe here, and you are. As long as you stay inside when I’m gone. Come on, Pumpkin, let’s go inside.”

I sniffed against his shoulder.

“Pumpkin?”

“It’s what they called you at the party. Is that not your name?”

“It might as well be now.”

*****

He left me more frequently now that I was able to get about the cabin and do things on my own. I never went out without him being there again, and before he left, he made sure to fill the water pitcher and a large tin tub he’d procured for me, finding it amusing how much I enjoyed bathing.

“It’s something that we do pretty much everyday these days,” I said, trying to be nonchalant about my hint. I knew he spent most days out hunting and bathing was probably the least of his worries, but when he returned home, it was now the first thing he would do. It made sharing a bed with him more pleasant, even if I barely slept from nerves. He would snore through the night, rarely moving, but just lying next to a man like him made me nauseous and giddy at the same time.

He would bring me things when he came back, like knitting needles and yarn or a sewing kit and fabric, telling me to make myself some clothes. I made him a sweater to his amusement, and a dress for myself, as well as a lovely shawl. I was able to clean and repurpose my bloodstained orange sweater into a new saddle blanket for Roach.

Standing at the edge of her pen the next time they came home, I held it up to show her the new blanket that would replace the rough, filthy old one that she had used for god knows how long. She eyed it, ignoring me as best she could.

“I just wanted to say thank you, for carrying me the day I came here. You were so gentle and I really appreciated the care you took, because you knew how much pain I was in. Plus I thought the orange would look really pretty on you. So, thanks,” I said, laying the blanket on the fence rail and turning to go back into the cabin. I stopped when I noticed Geralt was watching me with a small smile on his face from the well where he was pulling up a bucket of water.

From behind, Roach bumped her head into my back, and nuzzled her nose into my neck. Geralt laughed.

“She says you’re welcome.”

*****

One evening I was sitting at the table, trying to work on a blanket I’d started for the bed, when I heard Roach gallop into the clearing, whinnying loudly.

Forgetting the rules, I threw open the door to find her just outside, Geralt laying prone across her saddle, blood covering his face.

“No! Are you ok?” I cried, dashing out the door. “Geralt! Please! Talk to me!”

I pulled him off the horse, an outburst issuing from him in a string of profanities that would make a sailor blush. I had to admit that it made me feel a little better since he could still talk somewhat.

Helping him inside, I couldn’t help but notice how heavily he was leaning on me. The metallic scent of blood filled my nostrils as I pushed him down onto the bed.

“Oh… no… what can I do?” I whispered when I saw his armor had been destroyed, raw flesh and organs visible through the gore. “Please, tell me what to do, Geralt.”

“My potions,” he grunted.

I ran out to where Roach still stood, grabbing his pack from the saddle bag. I shooed her to her enclosure, slamming the gate shut as I hustled back inside.

“Which one?”

“Blue with an iridescent green to it.” His face was etched with pain as he tried to shift on the bed when I handed him the potion he asked for.

“Here.” I held the bottle to his lips as he took a sip, gagging slightly.

“Yeah, your potions taste horrible,” I said, trying to keep the tears out of my voice as he began to shake. “Please, hang on. You can’t leave me…”

He shook his head, looking down at his wounds. They weren’t getting any better with the elixir.

“Geralt…” Resting my hand on the side of his face, I made sure he was looking me in the eye. “What if you… drank from me?”

“No,” he spat.

“Would it help?”

“Yes, but…” He grimaced, his body shuddering.

I tucked my hair to the side, exposing my neck to him. I could see his pupils dilate as he focused on the rapid pulse ticking at my carotid vein.

“I can’t,” he murmured. “I don’t know if I could stop.”

“I trust you,” I said, leaning forward, “please. Let me help you.”

Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he placed his lips to my skin, kissing me softly, murmuring against me softly.

“This might hurt.”

The searing pain I’d experienced last time didn’t come as I expected. I felt a sharp pinch and then a cool breath as my blood left my body and entered his. Lightheaded and full of love for this man, I could only feel the joy of being able to save his life in return for him saving mine.

Breaking his grip on my neck, Geralt pulled me over him on the bed, his lips crashing into mine. The frantic urgency of the kiss and the taste of my blood on his tongue made me push away from him, worried that I’d be hurting him.

“Geralt! Be careful!” I gasped at the sight of his chest.

Stunned, I ran my fingers over his torso, angry red scars where the gaping wounds had been seconds before. Taking me in his arms again, he flipped me under him on the bed.

“I could feel your love… I could taste it,” he said, his eyes searching mine, amazed. “Pumpkin, I… love you. Thank you for believing in me.”

He kissed me softly, his love for me evident in his kiss. Impatient and wanting to feel his skin against my hands, I ripped the remainder of his armor and shirt off, running my fingers over his back, feeling every scar that told the story of his life.

“I told you that I trusted you, I knew you wouldn’t hurt me,” I whispered against his neck, kissing just below his jaw. “I would give you everything if that meant keeping you alive.”

“Fuck,” he growled, grinding against me, his lips finding my neck again, kissing and licking reverently at the spot that had just saved him.

Bucking my hips against his, looking for friction, I let out a shaky sigh when his rough fingers found my core, sinking in and feeling how much I needed him.

“Geralt, please!” I whined, my fingers fumbling with the buttons at his waist.

Raising above me on his knees, he made quick work of divesting himself of his pants enough to expose his erection, settling himself back down between my legs as I pulled my dress over my head, tossing it to the floor.

Running my hand over his cock, he let out a growl that made me grin. I felt drunk on the effect I had on him. Stroking him, I guided him to my entrance.

“I need you,” I whispered.

His lips met mine as he sunk into my warmth, a swear escaping him once he was fully sheathed within me.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispered, his lips against my forehead as he slowly began moving.

“Probably as long as I’ve wanted you to do that,” I whispered back.

Catching his rhythm, he ground into me slowly, snapping his hips back only to sink back into me with just as much measured restraint. Gripping his back, I was a whimpering mess before long, coming several times before he’d even worked up a sweat.

“Geralt, I can’t!” I cried when I came again as his hand reached between us, rubbing my overly tender bud, causing me to cry out and jump away from him, “it’s too much! Are you even close?”

Kissing my neck and cheeks, he brushed my hair back from my face, still moving within me.

“It’s alright, we can stop. It goes with the territory. Witcher’s are stronger and last longer at everything.” He kissed my nose as he tried to pull out.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, holding him in place.

“I want you to come,” I whispered, not able to meet his eye.

“It’s alright, Pumpkin. I don’t want to hurt you. We can try again later.” He gave me a lazy smile, making me clench my walls around him and eliciting a soft moan from him.

“What if…” I trailed off.

“What if what?” He looked interested to know what I was thinking.

“Promise not to get mad?”

“Hmmm. Tell me.”

“Promise first.”

“Fine. I promise.”

“You promise not to get mad.”

Annoyed, he rolled his eyes.

“I promise not to get mad.”

“What if you bit me,” I said quietly.

His eyes widened. I could tell the thought of it aroused him, his already rock hard cock getting impossibly harder inside me, throbbing with need.

“Are you trying to kill me? Or yourself?! No. Absolutely not.”

“You promised.”

“I’m not mad. Move your legs, Pumpkin.”

“No. I want you to.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just a little one. I want to feel you come!” I begged, lacing my fingers into his hair, fisting the silver strands and giving a gentle pull towards my neck, my head falling back against the pillow. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

He slammed into me, pushing me down hard into the mattress, fucking into me mercilessly.

“Is this what you want?” he growled. “You want me to take you? Make you mine?”

“Yes!” I cried.

His nose nuzzled against my neck, his tongue laving across my pulse. Kissing me, sucking at my skin, he dragged his teeth lightly down my flesh, causing me to shiver.

“I need you to come again,” he whispered.

“I can’t,” I whimpered.

“Come.”

“Geralt, I can’t! I just want you to come!”

“I said come,” he commanded, his voice low and gravely as sunk his teeth into me.

My body convulsed against him, my core shuddering around him as he twitched and filled me. Rivulets of pleasure like I’ve never known rushed through me. The vibrations of his groan ran from his mouth and into my veins.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

Collapsing on top of me, he licked and kissed the small punctures on my neck, nuzzling behind my ear when he was satisfied they were closed.

I ran my fingers lightly over the muscles in his back, pure bliss making me feel like I was floating. My heart was racing and I could feel his heart slamming in his chest as well.

“That…” I murmured, taking a deep breath, still trying to calm my pounding heart.

“Is not happening again,” he growled in my ear.

“It’s not?” I whined slightly. “I’ve never come like that, and you can’t tell me it wasn’t good for you.”

He sighed, rolling over and pulling me with him, yanking the blanket up around us.

“Well. We’ll see.”

#henry cavill #geralt of rivia #geralt of river x reader #I’m sad #so here’s a story I wrote last year that made me happy

[cryoculus]

— guard dog 03 ⟢

pairing: thoma x assassin!reader

summary: having lived the life you had, you've always known your sins would catch up to you one day. what you didn't expect, however, is to find unlikely friends in the midst of it.

word count: 4.7k words

notable characters: thoma, kamisato ayaka

tags: found family, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut

warnings: nightmares, alcohol consumption, allusions to past murders

header art cr: bear_nyanM on twt

masterlist

It was safe to say that you hardly got a wink of sleep after that.

On top of the unpleasant dream that woke you up in the first place, Thoma’s words made you restless all night. What did he mean you reminded him of himself? Last you checked, you weren’t as overbearing as he was. 

But on your mission to make sense of the conversation you’d unknowingly eavesdropped, the sun had eventually pittered through the windows. One by one, your fellow retainers had started waking up. 

The day you’d been cleared of any ‘medical conditions’, you were given a futon and locker of your own in the attendants’ bedchambers. There, you shared the same living space as the rest of them—a fact that you’d had a tough time coming to terms with the first few nights. 

You’d been so accustomed to taking shelter in caves and abandoned shrines that the thought of all these people falling asleep in your company gave you whiplash. 

It’s not as if they knew, though. 

Most of them didn’t have the slightest clue. That they shouldn’t trust someone who came out of nowhere just because their superiors insisted. That they shouldn’t be complacent in the company of someone who could massacre them before they could wake up. 

“Oi.”

Eyes still heavy with fatigue, you turned to the woman who occupied the space to your right. You sighed. Ayame had already rolled up her futon and was impatiently tapping her foot against the tatami. From the irate look on her face, you could tell that she’d found a new reason to be mad at you today.

Well. You did drug her the first time you met her. And steal all her clothes before attempting to kill the lady of the house. The hostility was well-founded, you thought.

“You’ve been tossing and turning so much that you kept me awake,” she grumbled. “What, your conscience suddenly catching up to you?”

You laughed, smoothing down your bedhead. “Keep dreaming.”

Despite how she spoke to you when she knew no one else could hear, Ayame kept her mouth shut about the truth. You were damn sure that it took every ounce of willpower for her not to rat you out to Ayaka herself, but the poor attendant acted in confidence. Always.

Just how much did Thoma bribe her to keep quiet? 

Later that morning,  you made your way to the estate’s entrance in spite of your glaring sleep deprivation. It was Madarame Hyakubei who’d disseminated the retainers’ tasks for the day—meaning both Thoma and Ayaka weren’t in the premises. 

Of course, you weren’t just going to let a golden opportunity like that slide. 

“Mornin’, Miss Kira!”

Freezing in your tracks, you shot the guard who called your attention a wary smile. “S-Sir Hirano, good morning to you, too.”

“Are you…headed out by any chance?” He flashed you a sunny smile with traces of suspicion clearly seen beneath his guise. “Sorry to break it to you, but Master Thoma put us guards on strict orders to keep you safe inside the manor.”

Your eye twitched. The meddlesome bastard…

“Ah? But I won’t take long,” you insisted with a pout. “Just a quick herb-gathering session at Chinju Forest won’t hurt, right?” 

As you tried to step around him, Hirano halted you with a large stride of his own—obscuring your path by extending the polearm in his hand. 

“No can do, miss. It’ll do us no good if you’re caught out there by the representatives of the Tenryou Commission, you know?” he sighed. “And without Lady Kamisato and Master Thoma to speak on your behalf, it’ll be too easy for them to present a warrant and throw you in jail.”

…Something about the way Hirano spoke made you wonder if Thoma informed the guards of your real identity beforehand. 

From what you’d gathered last night, the Commissioner seemed to be in on the whole charade, too. It would make sense for him to alert security should you pull any escape acts while he was away. Just like what you were trying to do right now. 

But whether or not Hirano knew about the truth, one thing was for certain.

Everyone in the Yashiro Commission trusted Thoma—so much that you almost found it ridiculous.

Ayame was content with letting things play out, in spite of what happened to her for being in your way. Sure, she harbored a certain degree of resentment for what you tried to do, but you assumed that Thoma must have put in a good word for what he has planned if she was as agreeable to it as she was. 

Then there were the guards. They were all under the Yashiro Commission, yes, but at the end of the day, every individual in the Tri-Commission reported to the Raiden Shogun herself. Yet these men decided to turn a blind eye and trusted the judgement of the chief retainer instead.

Last was…the Commissioner. Kamisato Ayato.

His fellow retainers would be easy for Thoma to convince, you were sure. Most commoners didn’t usually question what the higher-ups would order them to do—they just did it. But that wasn’t the case with Ayato. 

The Commissioner knew about the attempt you’d made at her sister’s life. And he rightfully questioned Thoma’s decision to keep you captive in the estate, just like any logical head of a clan would do. If he felt like it, Ayato could even overrule the chief retainer’s orders and have you thrown in jail, where you belonged. 

But you were still here. 

Eventually, you gave up on trying to convince Hirano to let you outside in exchange for doing your share of the daily chores. Today, you were assigned to polish the floorboards in the pavilion, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t spend every minute of it in careful contemplation.

It’s a bit pathetic, how you let your mind get overrun by thoughts of Thoma, of all people. 

He was the man who forced you into a corner. The one who forced this sudden change in lifestyle onto your plate. But you couldn’t help it. 

You’ve been alone since you’d fled Yashiori Island all those years ago. Never lingering in one place for too long. Never forging bonds that lasted beyond a written contract. 

You could never win people over the way Thoma so effortlessly does everyday. 

Now that you thought about it, he was the perfect aide for Ayaka. The perfect guard dog. They shared the same principles, had nearly the same amount of charisma, and balanced each other out in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. 

You wondered what it felt like to find a match as perfect as that.

“Ah, Miss Kira? Are you busy? Can you help me carry these to the kitchen…?”

One of the attendants called out, and you immediately snapped out of your momentary trance. You took the time to spare yourself a soft laugh before turning to her. Right. You shouldn’t think about it too much. Doing that would make you falter.

You never falter.

“Yeah! Be there in a sec.”

The next day, you were invited to accompany Ayaka to Konda Village.

Madarame Hyakubei broke the news over breakfast, and you merely nodded along as you sleepily stuffed yourself with egg-on-rice. You didn't sleep any good last night, either. 

Though, when Madarame went back to his post at the reputations board, it finally hit you.

You were going outside the estate. 

For the first time in two weeks. 

In an instant, any semblance of drowsiness had vanished from your body. The idea made you...excited? Overjoyed? You could finally ditch this place and rearrange your plans. Archon knows that the heart of the enemy’s territory wasn’t the most conducive environment to scheme.

But of course, you couldn’t possibly have it as easy as you wanted.

“Nice weather we’re having, huh?” 

Thoma was suspiciously cheerful as the three of you made the trip to Konda Village. But you couldn’t exactly file any complaints, since Ayaka didn’t seem to have any problem with his jovial nonsense.

Well. If you can’t beat them, join them.

“Milady, if I may ask, why are you heading over there yourself?” you wondered aloud. “Don’t you usually just let the other retainers take care of matters involving the public?” 

Ayaka sighed, keeping her eyes forward. “Miss Kira, you know how the Yashiro Commission is in charge of the cultural and ceremonial affairs of Inazuma, yes?”

You nodded slowly.

“The people of Konda Village are one of our closest associates when it comes to the festivals held at Amakane Island,” she continued. “They coordinate with the Yashiro Commission to make sure each festival is a memorable one. And given the nature of our relationship, it’s only normal for us to…pay our respects where they are due.” 

The dismal tone that accompanied her words made you scrunch your face in confusion, but before you could ask her to elaborate further—

“Lady Ayaka? Is that you?”

A girl, no older than ten years old maybe, gaped at the sight of the princess as the ball in her hands bounced idly on the ground. The next moment, she squealed in delight before running straight to Ayaka. 

“You’re here,” the girl nearly sobbed. “You’re really here.”

You expected someone of Ayaka’s status to blanche a bit at the girl’s sudden gesture, but the princess crouched down so that her eyes were leveled with hers—smiling kindly.

“I promised, didn’t I, Futaba?” she sighed, smoothing down the girl's braids. “Do you happen to know where Takeru is?” 

Sniffling, the girl—Futaba—pulled away. “He’s at the graveyard with Grandpa and the rest. They’ve already begun the preparations but…I wanted to wait for you.”

You didn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going on, and could only look at Thoma for some clarity. Not that the chief retainer was much help, though. He merely shot you a look that basically said: you’ll see.

Ayaka let Futaba lead the three of you to the cemetery in the outskirts of the village, where most of its citizens seemed to have gathered in numbers for the day. They were lighting incense for two gravestones in particular. 

Upon your arrival, an elderly man who you recognized as the village chief greeted Ayaka with a solemn look in his eyes.

“I’m glad you could make it, Lady Kamisato,” he sighed. “Futaba refused to leave until she was sure you’d show up.”

Ayaka shook his hand sincerely. “Your village has been helping the Yashiro Commission for generations now. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Up ahead, a priestess cited a prayer in honor of the two souls who’d passed, and you wondered if they’d just recently died. But when you saw the names etched onto the surface of each headstone, you felt a crackling chill skid up the length of your spine. 

You’ve only been to Konda Village once in the past. For a job assigned by an anonymous contact from Inazuma City’s underworld. You were given the names of the two men he wanted dead by morning, and you’d carried out the task not three hours since it was issued. 

Konda Takuya and Sango Akihito. Those were the men you’d taken out this time last year. 

Those were the names engraved on the headstones before you.

“Lady Ayaka?”

Snapping out of your stone-cold realization, you watched as Futaba emerged from the crowd with a boy in tow. This one was probably Takeru. Both of them held two bowls in each hand—offering them all to the village chief, Ayaka, Thoma, and yourself.

“It’s not much but…we learned the recipe from a doctor that traveled into the village once,” Futaba said shyly. “Lavender melon soup is said to have some soothing properties that— Big sister…?”

The young girl stared at you with both concern and disappointment when the bowl she’d given you fell to the ground, splattering its contents in the process. Your lungs seemed to tighten as you eyed the rich violet broth—that familiar, sickeningly sweet scent wafting to your nose. 

Suddenly, you’re underneath the perpetual thunderstorms of Yashiori as the cold, cold rain beat against your skin once more.

You didn’t know you were shaking so badly until Ayaka put a hand on your shoulder.

“Thoma,” she spoke quietly, but you could feel the weight of her concern through her fingers alone. “Can you accompany Miss Kira for a quick walk?” 

The last thing you wanted, of course, was to be left alone with the man who was probably—definitely—behind your distress in the first place. 

“What are you trying to do?” you growled, yanking Thoma by his pendant once you’d gotten far enough from the cemetery. “Guilt me into giving it up? Well, I have some news for you. I’ve never turned down a job out of guilt. Not once. Not ever.”

He stared at you passively—those hauntingly green eyes devoid of their usual mirth. Thoma pressed his lips into a thin line before carding his fingers into his golden hair.

And then, he spoke your name. Your real name.

“It was a little tricky to dig up some dirt on you, you know?” The chief retainer sighed, disengaging himself from your grasp. “But of course, I have my ways. Your record is quite interesting, too. Born and raised in Higi Village. Adopted by a doctor named Suzuki Naoko. Killed said doctor in cold blood before traveling to Inazuma City to debut as a mercenary. That’s a loaded resumé for sure.” 

It was no surprise that someone like him managed to glean all that in just a few weeks, though some details might have been obscured in the process. You made a reputation for yourself for being nearly untraceable; prided yourself for it, even. 

And Thoma here singlehandedly trampled on all that confidence.

“What,” you began, eyes closed as you drew in a long breath, “are you trying to do?”

When you opened them again, Thoma managed a placid smile—one that emphasized the dimples on both of his cheeks. It’s the first time you noticed them, but your mind was in too much of a disarray to think about them too much. 

“Reminding you.”

You grimaced. “Of what?”

Instead of just answering directly, Thoma gestured for you to sit with him at the village chief’s front porch. You hesitantly complied.

The heat of the afternoon was near sweltering. Konda Village was smack in the middle of Byakko Plain, and offered no shade whatsoever from the harsh glare of the sun. As you lamented the onset of summer, Thoma nursed his bowl of lavender soup in the silence. You wondered what he thought of the taste. 

Then, you set your gaze farther into the distance. 

Up ahead, the Grand Narukami Shrine stood tall above all else on the island. Wisps of mystical energy coiled itself around the mountain before disappearing straight into the cloudless sky. You could see it clearly even in broad daylight.

Back then, you never gave yourself the time nor the leisure to admire the marvels of the land like this. 

“Do you know where the men of this village are, Miss Kira?”

Peeling your eyes away from the shrine, you shot Thoma a pointed look. 

“Back to fake-name basis now, are we?” you observed, inching your sandals closer together. “Well, able-bodied men are usually drafted as the Raiden Shogun’s soldiers. I’m assuming it’s the same here?”

He nodded. “Those two were soldiers who were permitted a weekend off in their hometown. Konda Takuya was the village chief’s son. Takeru’s father. He was good friends with Sango Akihito, so it would make sense for their children to get along well.” 

…Then that meant Akihito was Futaba’s father.  

Thoma set his now empty bowl aside, stretching his long legs until his feet touched the ground. “Last year, we were contacted by the village chief about a double murder case. No one saw the culprit; it happened right under everyone’s noses, he said.” When his green-eyed gaze met yours, you nearly shivered.

“Takeru and Futaba were the ones who found them by the riverbank. Their bodies turning the water red with rot.” The blond breathed out a laugh that held no amusement. “The Tenryou Commission was the one who handled the case, and Milady and I were just there as the village chief’s friends. But still, it made me wonder…”

He braced his palm on the wooden platform, and you caught the scent of aralia trees and musk before you noticed Thoma leaning forward. Your eyes widened at the sudden close proximity—becoming all sorts of vulnerable under his gaze. You could even feel the warmth of his Pyro Vision grazing the side of your clothed leg. 

Yet you hardly moved an inch.

“What was going through the killer’s head when he did this to the men who steadily provided income for Konda Village?” Thoma spoke quietly. “Did he think about what their deaths would leave behind? How much sorrow his actions could invoke into a community as small as this?” 

With how close he was to you, each word that tumbled out of Thoma’s mouth made gooseflesh prickle the skin of your shoulders. But before you could snap at him to knock it off, the blond pulled away—making you heave a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. 

“Probably not, right?” he sighed, lacing his fingers together on his lap. 

“I’ve seen what grief does to a person. Sometimes the people left behind pick themselves up and move on. But at other times, the damage is irreparable.” A pause. “It’s a good thing the children are too young to fully comprehend their grief, and the elderly, too accustomed to be fully consumed by it.”

As if on cue, the wind picked up the next moment. You held the folds of your yukata in place as you watched the carp streamers sway in the breeze. To your side, Thoma got back to his feet, patting the dust off his clothes. The blond strands framing his face mimicked the movement of the windsocks on the chief’s front lawn.

You’re right, you wanted to tell him. I never once wondered what happens after the carnage I leave behind. 

Another question hovered in your mind.

One you’ve been dying to ask since you’d overheard his conversation with Ayato.

So how could someone like you see himself in someone like me?

But…you never got the words out. All those questions swiftly burned out on your tongue until all you could taste were the ashes of uncertainty.

In the silence, Thoma turned to look at you once more.

“I hope you remember this, Miss Kira,” he resumed, voice still barely a touch above a whisper. “That actions have consequences, whether or not you’re the one who’ll be picking up the pieces in the end.”

His words sunk in like a sedative coursing through your veins—numbing out anything else aside from the desolate tone that accompanied the spiel. 

You couldn't believe it. This man was lecturing you about right and wrong like you were a toddler who didn’t know otherwise. And he had the gall to comment about your roundabout methods to assassinate his charge when he orchestrated all this? Just to…what? Prove a point? 

“Did you seriously think you can just convert me into a law-abiding citizen with an unsolicited speech?” you scoffed. 

“Of course not,” he laughed. “I’m not as delusional as you take me to be, Miss Kira. I just hoped a little nudge would let you see things in a...different light.”

You were about to tell him you’re not the only one who’ll be seeing different lights as you balled your fists, but your nefarious intentions had been rudely interrupted.

“There you are!”

Down the main road, you could spot Ayaka and the rest of the villagers returning from the cemetery. The princess had two kids in tow, and in spite of yourself, you wondered if you’d offended Futaba by throwing that lavender melon soup into the ground.

“Miss Kira, are you alright? You seemed a bit ill earlier,” Ayaka asked once they’d arrived—fussing over you almost immediately. “Those injuries of yours… Do they still hurt? Archons, I knew I shouldn’t have invited you out so soon.”

…Invited you out? So making you come along had been Ayaka’s plan all along?

As the princess inspected your arms in earnest, you shot Thoma another incredulous look, which the chief retainer only returned with a shrug. 

“I’m sorry, big sister…” 

To your side, Futaba rubbed her eyes as Takeru sniffled behind her. “I thought my lavender melon soup made you sick. Maybe I should improve the recipe with Grandpa a little…” 

You didn’t know what compelled you to refute her assumptions so quickly, but you did. 

“Hey,” you managed dryly. “Um, that’s—that’s not it at all, buddy. I’m still recovering from a bunch of nasty injuries. In fact, I used to make the same stuff you gave us as a kid.”

That seemed to surprise her. “Really? You made lavender melon soup, too?”

“Yep. My…dad hammered the recipe into my head.” You chuckled, tapping a finger to your temple. 

For the first time today, Takeru spoke out loud, despite the string of snot dribbling down his chin. “B-Big sister, can you teach us?” 

Ayaka sighed as she procured a handkerchief from her pockets—dabbing it on the poor boy’s face. “I’m certain she would be willing to do that. Right, Miss Kira?”

With the flow of conversation suddenly having been directed your way, you were hyper aware of the fact that the rest of the adults had gone back to their respective homes. Only the village chief was left lingering on the property. He seemed to be busy sorting out his lavender melon supply on the foyer.

You gulped, turning to Takeru as he gazed up at you with hopeful eyes. It’s been so long since anyone has looked at you not with fear for their lives, but with a childlike expectation. Futaba wore the same expression as well, and all that you could think of at that moment was—

Stop, you thought—an indescribable feeling settling over your chest. Don’t look at me like that. I’m the one who killed your fathers. I’m the one who made your lives miserable. 

If you thought about it hard enough, you could still remember. The thick, humid air that pervaded your senses as you dumped two lifeless bodies in the river uphill. The bottomless pit that dug itself in your heart all these years. You felt nothing as you left those hapless men for dead. 

But right now, with their children looking at you like you were anything but a monster—

“Well, if we’re having a cooking session, we best start now, no?” 

Thoma’s voice was quick to reel you from that downward spiral. You even jolted at the sound of it. All of a sudden, you didn’t have the blood of countless innocents caking your fingernails down to the beds anymore. 

In your hands was a clay pot that the chief retainer had unceremoniously dropped onto your palms.

“Come on.” He snapped his fingers in front of you. “We don’t have all day.” 

Ayaka nodded as she straightened herself out. “Miss Kira, I’m a bit interested in how you would cook lavender melon soup. You always seem to avoid kitchen duty whenever it comes around, so…”

“Gee, I wonder why,” you mumbled—giving Thoma the stink eye.

“Big sister, teach us. Teach us!” Takeru whined, tugging at the hem of your yukata.

You sighed, tucking the pot beneath your arm as you marched to the village chief’s well. 

This didn’t change anything. You were still the culprit behind a traumatic experience for the very same kids following you around like ducklings. Doing this for them would only atone for a fraction of what you had done. 

And Archons knew the blood price for your sins would have to be paid in full someday.

“So first, we need to boil a lot of water,” you instructed. “And I mean, a lot.” 

(Later, as everyone sat around the well—sick to their stomachs from eating too much of the miracle soup you hadn’t made in years—you wondered.

When was the last time you ever repented for the crimes you’ve committed?)

The soft breeze grazed your cheeks as you quietly sipped on your saucer. Madarame hadn’t been kidding around when he said the deliveries from Inazuma City had a bite to them. 

That, or you were just unused to holding your liquor nowadays. 

It was well past midnight, and you were seated all alone in the pavilion. Of course, the ever-vigilant Kamisato guards still kept a close eye on every move you made, but were kind enough to leave you to your own devices. Besides, evening tea with Ayaka had been such a staple in these nights you spent in the estate that failure to have drinks under the moon felt like a crime.

Even if Ayaka was currently accompanying her brother to a series of week-long meetings at the Tenshukaku. Even if what you were drinking was actually savory sweet rice wine. 

“That’s some good stuff you got there.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“And I’m not sharing,” you announced, holding the ceramic jar to your chest as Thoma sat a few feet away. “Everyone else declined when Madarame put one of the Commissioner’s stocks up for grabs.”

He stared at you, amused. “So that means I’m not allowed to have a say in it? Because I just got back now?”

“Sometimes, I’m glad you’re as bright as you are.” You grinned sheepishly, abandoning the saucer as you took a swig straight from the jar. “How’s the princess?”

“As unintentionally charming as she always is,” he supplied. “So, what’s keeping you up at this hour? Could’ve sworn you’d be plotting your escape in bed by now.”

“Shhh.” 

You leaned across the platform, stretching out your hand until your index finger was pressed against the plush give of Thoma’s lips—hiccuping in the process. 

“No one’s s’posed to know that,” you half-groaned, half-slurred. “What if somebody overhears, huh? They’ll get the wrong idea and think I’m a fugitive.”

“But you are a fugitive,” Thoma reminded, grabbing your wrist with an unexpected gentleness as he pulled your finger away. “You’re Kira of the resistance. Loyal servant to Her Excellency, Sangonomiya, and temporary retainer to the Kamisato House.”

You didn’t pay attention to his attempt at being a smartass. Instead, your eyes roved to where his gloved fingers enclosed themselves around your wrist. 

Thoma’s hands were much larger than yours. Fingertips more calloused, which was saying something because the years hadn’t exactly been kind to your fair maiden palms either. And above all, his skin was warm. The kind of warm you’d only ever felt a long time ago.

Snuggling under the blankets as Mother read you stories to bed. Eating dinner by the fireplace as Doctor Naoko praised your progress in learning human anatomy.

You shook off his grip.

“I’m getting a little sleepy, Master Thoma,” you sighed dramatically as you tried to stand up. “Could you take this back to the kitchen and store it somewhere? I don’t think I can…”

There’s a distant sound of something shattering against a hard surface that reached your ears. But you barely heard it over the sound of your own heartbeat. You looked up in red-faced trepidation when Thoma caught you by the waist before you could fall off the platform—breath hitching in your throat as you drank in the sight of him. 

During all those little tea parties with Ayaka come evening, Thoma never once tried to step in. Something about preserving the integrity of a ladies’ chit-chat, or whatever. But from the way he’d comment on the lies you’d fed the princess the night prior, you were almost certain he’d be at least eavesdropping from a safe distance.

It’s a shame he wouldn’t join you two, really. 

He looked gorgeous under the moonlight.  

“Miss Kira…” 

The last thing you remembered before falling into slumber were the endless emerald of his eyes—and how you didn’t quite mind getting lost in their labyrinth.

<- previous | next ->

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin fanfiction #genshin x reader #thoma fanfic #thoma smut #thoma x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #cryoculus #genshin thoma #guard dog

[zoobus]

I’m in love with bloodthirsty sapphics (preferably w/ traumatic backstories) who WIN! Can you share some recs, pretty please? Any media is fine; can be subtextual/based on vibes. I consider not dying/ending worse off as winning, yeah.... Examples: Homura Akemi (rebellion), Hideko (handmaiden), Lady Eboshi, Doona (sadistic beauty), Kirika & Mireille, Hild (vinland saga).

Black & White - these two women are so weird. Like this is good and I like it but their relationship is violent sex. I am not saying this is sexual violence, I'm saying they annoy each other until someone starts throwing fists. Then they hatefuck. This happens frequently. I recommend this. Official release in October.

Her Tale of Shim Cheong - Unfortunately no longer available on tappytoons. I know you said you want them winning, and they do but their wins are hard won, fought for inch by inch. This is an incredible story about systematic sexism. Systematic oppression is hard to write. Internalized bigotry is hard to write without sounding childish. Characters who are complicit and supportive of their own oppression are hard to write. Tale of Shim Cheong does it all, easy.

These girls are barely treading water in a society that thoroughly despises them and eventually it's time to say fuck society and fuck anyone who tries to come for my girl.

The Villainess and the Woman Who Would Do Anything For Love - Full disclosure, I liked this so much I translated several chapters, though I burned out after a weirdly aggressive fan tried to manage me like an employee. It looks like someone completed it though, so check it out!! Inescapable death loops and empty sacrifice! It's short and good.

The Antagonist's Pet - I waffled on recommending this one because this is either editorial meddling or flat out queerbaiting. The way Sasha (MC) interacts with other girls is gay. She's mocked by men for her overly intimate behavior with women. Her role is insinuated as that of a prostitute for aristocratic women. She is crawling into laps and snuggling up with *women.* Hell, the official translation made its header pic MC and Rebecca in an endgame couple post. Seriously, I was waiting for Sasha to say she worked at a lesbian hostess bar before she died.

The first time I read this, I was mad as hell about the love triangle between Arth and Rebecca because of course Arth will win, he's a man. But on second read? Poly. It's so obviously a mutually supportive Sasha-centered poly relationship. Of course that doesn't happen in the end but there was enough sweet scenes between the three of them that I can ignore the forced unrequited end.

I spent too much time convincing you this is gay instead of on the other thing, yes Rebecca is a bloodythirsty sapphic, and for once we get a quasi realistic look at a villainess overcoming fate. Too many of these end up over girlpowering characters, so it's satisfying when they're forced to acknowledge unsurmountable walls. That's half of why she's out for blood, imagine realizing you have natural talent in a sport that intrigues you, something you could have easily been a top contender in, better than the men even...had you not been coerced into wasting your youth on serving an ungrateful little loser of a king.

Also Lilith isn't gay but I think you will like her a lot.

#niche effortposts #recommendations #otome isekai #manga #manga recs #i gave the Antagonist's Pet the longest review because it's the most relevant to your interests imo even without confirmed yuri end #The Villainess and the Woman Who Would Do Anything For Love #The Antagonist's Pet #Tale of Shim Cheong #Black & White by Sal Jiang #yuri

[asexualbookbird]

April wrap up! I'm trying something new! It's been a hot second since I've refreshed my headers, and since I want to get back into Producing Content™️I thought this would be as good of a time as any to change things up a bit. So here's what I read in the month of April!

Nettle & Bone by T Kingfisher ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ perfect, no notes, want to read again immediately

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers ⭐⭐⭐⭐a reread, still adore it, loved it more the second time around, a hug in a book

The Once and Future Witches by Alix E Harrow ⭐⭐⭐⭐heartbreaking, joyous, James Juniper I would kill for you, Mr August S Lee I hate that I love you, Cleo no notes youre perfect

A Spindle Splintered by Alix E Harrow ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐delightfully surprised to discover a fairytale retelling I not only enjoy but LOVE, so very gay, so very funny, mentions marvel and jkr and yet still manages to be good

A Mirror Mended by Alix E Harrow ⭐⭐⭐⭐ somehow gayer than the last, I wanted more and then got chastised for doing so, I'm not mad about it, You Have To Let Endings Happen

I did not intend for this to be The Month Of Alix Harrow, but look. Listen. Her writing is good, she makes me laugh and cry and feel things!! Nettle & Bone was definitely my favorite though because not only did it make me laugh and cry and feel things, but it ALSO had a Demon Chicken, a grumpy old woman who does not own the chicken, and a gruff former soldier who just needs a hug. It was like T Kingfisher said "hm! what does Ezra want in a book! Lets throw all of that in there at once!" I have been Seen and I do not mind it!

I also did technically start Black Wings Beating, but I don't know how far I'll get into it. I'm not vibing with it at all and after those five bangers of books why do I want me to suffer? I'll just read Nettle & Bone again instead. And encourage everyone else to read it too. For the chicken.

#bookbird babbles #monthly wrap up #reading wrap up #april wrap up #unsure about including food anymore tbh #since im not really baking anymore :/ #I did watch the live action way of the househusband and very much enjoyed that #but other than that visual media has been replaced by audiobooks lol #so i dont really watch or play things much these days! #anyway let me know what you think about the new format!! #feedback appreciated!!!!

[softness-and-shattering]

Just spent a bit of time working t e r. F.s

(Edit: blocking. I dont know why i said working.)

1. A lot of them claim to be young. A lot of blogs that say minor, 17, 19, handful of others under say 24.

2. Theres some funny shit. "I hate all men" uh your header is my friends crowley and aziraphale.

3. Someones real mad "we trans people" have adopted blahaj (she called him "the ikea shark") and wants to re-adopt him as a terf dogwhistle. I dont think this is gonna happen probably but fyi.

4. Someone else mad we've "stolen" gender euphoria from masc lesbians. How dare we be joyful about short hair??? How dare that be about gender sometimes.

5. Naming conventions/lookouts: a lot of gyn a lot of rad a lot of joan of arc, the lesbian labrys flag (thats what its called right? The purple with the axe thing?), a lot of "adult woman" "adult human female" "pro women" "protect women", a lot of "baby radfem" and "aspiring radfem", plus the age thing is worrying.

Anyway fyi

#mine #not gonna tag this otherwise

[canirove]

Little Poppy | Chapter 16

Author’s note: Did the header from the previous chapter spoil something from this one because I got them mixed? Maybe 😅 In any case, thank you for reading! 💜

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

“Declan Rice… will you marry me?”

At that, he finally opens his eyes, looking at me as if I’ve grown another head.

“Are you serious?” he asks while sitting on the bed.

“I’ve never been more serious in my entire life. I even have a ring” I say as I show him the ring I just made with a piece of paper I found on my desk. He just laughs when he sees it, looking from it to me, expecting me to laugh or say it’s all a joke.

“You are serious” he finally says.

“I am.”

He stays silent for a few seconds, but they feel like hours.

“Yes. I will marry you” he finally says as he offers me his hand, waiting for me to put the ring on his finger. “I can’t believe you just asked me to marry you, with a paper ring, while we are completely naked” he says once I’m finished.

“I’m full of surprises… fiancé” I say as I lean forward to kiss him.

“I think that’s my new favorite word” he says, laughing.

“Should we celebrate… fiancé?” I say as I move to be on top of him again.

“I think we should” he says.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━    

When we make it downstairs, everyone is still having breakfast. James included.

"James!" I say when I see him. "I wasn't expecting you to be moving so soon."

"I still need to be carried, I can't go too far without help. But the doctor said I’ll recover" he explains.

"Glad to hear you're feeling better" Declan says.

"My lord" James replies, bowing his head.

"Is there anything you would like to share with us?" Mason says while pointing at our hands. I hadn't noticed we had come downstairs holding them.

"We don't hate each other anymore" Declan says.

"That much I had suspected" Mason replies. "Anything else?" 

"Do I tell them?" Declan asks me.

"Yes, Dec. Tell us" Mason says, annoyance on his voice.

"Alright, alright, no need to get mad. But one has to think for a moment how to say to his second family that he is getting married" he says with a shrug.

Once those words leave his mouth, chaos starts. There are screams, cheers, hugs and food everywhere. Happiness.

"And the ring? How is the ring?" one of Mason's sisters asks me.

"Actually... There isn't a ring" I say. "At least not a proper one.”

"How so?" Lady Mount asks.

"She is the one who asked me to marry her" Declan says. Everyone falls silent. Even the kids stop running around like crazy. Finally, Lady Mount speaks.

"You have to tells us all the details!" she says with excitement as she leads to me to sit at the table.

"Maybe don't share all the details" Declan says to my ear. "You know which ones".

We spend the rest of the day celebrating the good news, the idea of having a double wedding being thrown around more than once. Lady Mount also suggests that we should write to our parents, or to Declan's at least. Who knows the state my father is after I left and he didn't get the wedding he wanted. At dinner, James asks Declan and I to talk in private.

"While your parents and your mother were planning everything, they knew you would fix things, and that’s why they gave you their blessing before you left” he says, looking at me “And also that’s why they entrusted me with this.” He has a little box on his hand. A ring box. “For you, my lord.”

When Declan takes opens it, it shows the most beautiful ring I have ever seen.

"It belonged to the first woman from your family that became a Lady Rice" he tells me. "Its last owner was your grandmother's sister, so it seemed fitting that you also got to wear it. You aren’t receiving it the usual way, but you two aren't a usual couple.”

"May I?" Declan says, taking the ring out of the box and holding my hand. I nod, tears coming to my eyes.

"To the future Lord and Lady Rice!" Mason says when walk back into the dinning room, raising his glass. Everyone else joins him, cheers filling the room. I've never felt happier.

#declan rice #declan rice x reader #declan rice imagine #declan rice fanfic #football fanfic #football imagine

[aspensfairylight]

Museum

Tw : none

Characters : reader x Narcissa

Rundown :  Narcissa decides that you and her need a day out- badly, and so she takes you to a place she knows you'll love. A dinosaur museum!

Requests : open

Narcissa always knew that you loved museums, she knew you could stay there for hours, and so, she had done some research to try and surprise you. So, she searched for a museum that she thought she would like, finding a nice dinosaur one nearby. Narcissa knew the basic things about dinosaurs, and so she did a fair amount of research regarding the distinct beings. Narcissa also checked how long it would take to get there, when they opened and planned out everything. She took into account how long it would take for the two of you to get up and get ready, the hour-long drive and breakfast- just so that you both could get there as close to opening time as possible. She knew that you would want to spend as much time as possible there, and she wanted to give you all the time you wanted. Narcissa planned meals for the two of you, she knew that it had been a while since the two of you had done much lately.

The day before she planned on the two of you going, she told you little about what would happen, just that she was taking you out somewhere for the day, that you'd have to be up early. Narcissa prepared lunch the night before, packed water and made sure everything was perfect!

When the morning came around, Narcissa was the first one up, and she propped herself up on her elbow as she sleepily looked over to you, moving to gently shake your shoulder, a soft kiss planted on your cheek, "time to wake up my darling." She hummed out to you, it wasn't that early, only 7 in the morning. You groaned out at the words, "don't give me that, come on, you'll love what I have in store for you." The first part was teasing and she peppered your cheek in kisses.

"But Cissa," you groaned out, cracking open an eye to look at her sleepily, cracking a soft smile at the sight. She always looked so amazing in the morning, with the soft light falling on her, her blonde hair messy, you always loved how she looked without makeup, without being all done up.

"Come on darling, we're leaving in an hour, I'm going to get ready and make breakfast, get ready, ok?" Narcissa said sweetly to you, not wanting to fall behind on schedule. She rolled out of the bed, and you closed your eyes.

The next thing you knew, a pillow gently wacked your face, and the smell of french toast and bacon filled your senses, you cracked your eyes open to find your beloved girlfriend, arms crossed as she looked down at you. She was already changed and ready for the day. "Darling, come on, it's time to get up," she said with a hint of sternness in her tone, she hated being late.

"Yes dear," you tiredly grumbled out to her, stretching out before moving to get up.

It took you a while to get ready to get up and get ready, but soon, you made your way down the stairs to the kitchen, and Narcissa was already on her second cup of coffee, her breakfast untouched- she always preferred to eat with you. "Sorry for being late Cissa," you said sweetly as you made your way over to her, draping your arms over her shoulders, "I love you," you muttered, nuzzling into your neck, taking in her flowery scent as you did so.

Her hand gently rested on yours, leaning into you, she wasn't mad at you, "I'm not mad dear, I promise." The older woman assured you, "go and eat darling," she hummed out, gently rubbing your arm, and soon you let go, moving to sit in your spot.

"We're are we going?" You sweetly asked her as you both started to eat your breakfast.

"It's a surprise!"

ADD HEADER HERE

The drive was nice, it was relaxing, Narcissa had played the music you love, and she drove- meaning that you got to sit back and enjoy the drive. You wonder where she was taking you, and it wasn't until the museum came into view that you realized where she was taking you. Your features lit up at the realization, and with joy, you turned to your girlfriend. "Cissa!" You happily said, sitting up eagerly, you loved museums and you loved dinosaurs! She looked over at you with a small smile as she searched the empty lot for a parking space.

"I know you love museums and dinosaurs, so I brought you here, you can spend as much- or as little time here as you want, and you can tell me about all the facts you want to tell me about, I would love to hear you." Narcissa assured you as she pulled into a spot, she parked the car and her hand moved to rest on your knee. "I hope you have a good, I don't think it opens for a few more minutes though."

You were overthrilled by her words! A whole day at this place, and the offer to listen to you about these beings- it made you beyond happy! "I love you Cissa, I love you so so much, thank you!" You happily said to her, so excited to go inside.

"You're very welcome, I love you too. We haven't gone out much lately, and I want to spend some time with you. I don't know very much about these things, so you'll need to fill me in a bit." You nodded at her words, it was going to be amazing telling her all about your interest! Narcissa was going to stay in the car for a bit, however, you had bounced out of the car already, she just chuckled before unbuckling, reaching back to get the bag with the food and water, made sure she had everything and got out as well. You were eagerly waiting her, and took her hand when she offered it to her, dragging her to the door.

This was going to be an amazing day!

#narcissa black #narcissa malfoy #reader x narcissa #sfwaspen

[timelesslords]

Taylor anon!!

In honour of the absolutely incredible (showstopping jaw-dropping etc etc) art:

Pirate!Annabeth and Pirate!Percy's favourite taylor songs?

(don't think i missed the so it goes... header btw it looks great)

hi taylor anon :D !!!

i wish i could take credit for the header but I found it years ago, there's a reblog somewhere down deep in my blog but i think whoever made it deactivated LOL

as for the captains favorite songs 😌

so it goes... - when I tell you we STRUGGLED to make this fit into a title 😭 no good title lines unfortunately but absolutely their vibe

dress - ...self explanatory

don't blame me - they're feral for each other <3

wildest dreams - dress sex trilogy vibes

just the whole reputation album in general is theirs i think

more specifically i also think captain mrs jackson would fuck with mad woman and captain jackson would like NFWMB (which is by hozier but i still think its his fav song <3)

#asks #taylor anon

[dirtytransmasc]

ranting cause I have never been as stressed as I am right now, attempting to sell my grandma's old table for her, which she insists that I do on Facebook marketplace (cause she's in a massive community of older folk who resell/bargain), and it's like my own personal hell.

this is like doing customer service within my own home, I'm being harassed, and over the stupidest shit. I put ANY possibly relevant info on the listing. in bold letters and astrix's ***NOT FOR FREE, SELLING FOR BEST OFFER*** in the header and on both the top and bottom of the description, because Facebook does not have an offer setting in their pricing format.

I have told at least a DOZEN people that it is not in fact free, that this is Facebooks formattings issue, that I clearly stated SEVERAL times in MULTIPLE places that it was not free and for best offer and still, people are confused.

then, they ask me questions, that if they had just read my thorough description of the table, they would know. and the questions would be fine, if they weren't rude about it, as if that information wasn't already available to them. that or they ask one question and get mad when I don't give them the answer to a DIFFERENT question.

"what will I have to move?" one man asks, which is a completely warranted question, as it is self pick up.

I tell him that he just has to move the items from my yard to his vehicle, which I would help him with, gladly. he then got mad because I didn't tell him how much it cost, despite that not being the question he asked and the fact I already told him it was offer based. when I asked him to make an offer, he told me to name a price, which is fair enough, I was too tired to go back and forth. I made my offer, he then ghosted me, I have yet to hear back.

another woman asked if there was a leaf. it said in the description that the leaf had been lost prior to my grandmother purchasing the table, so no, there was no leaf, and the table was handmade so a leaf could not be bought and used as a replacement. she then got mad at me for not having the leaf that was lost years prior to me even knowing the table existed.

I just can't... I can't do this anymore, this is why I don't help my grandma do stuff like this ever, I hate dealing with people, especially older people on the Internet.

#I am not in the mental position to go through the hells if customer service right now #Facebook marketplace is my own personal hell #why are the people on it impossible? #what did I do to make you so mad Gale? #why cant you read the listing Johnny? #I'm not gods strongest soldier #im just a little guy who hates social interaction

[bbgmessi]

I havé alor go questions so bare with me lol:

So obvi this is an o!erling blog (we love our bbg haaland) but what other headcanons do you have for the rest of man city? I see o!foden and a!grealish making sense to me. I see Alvarez as a cute little alpha and maybe Silva as dad alpha type I loved the way erling swung him around after the header against Bayern it’s giving child that is now bigger than the parent/ bigger younger sibling vibes. but what’s your opinion on those players and others?

I’m trying to figure out how they would’ve reacted to foden and his appendicitis like are they worried for their omega? Would it reaffirm that they’re weaker/more fragile? Would erling subconsciously be upset with him for being sick (even though it’s not his fault everything that happens to one omega affects them all bc they’re under a microscope especially since erling is so atypical as an omega).

Would erling be close to other omegas or does his legend/next big thing status get in the way ? How do betas interact w the alphas ans omegas on there team? Are there a/betas (like betas who are more dominant) and o/betas in your world ?

What would the team think of haaland never missing a game? Would he himself keep pushing even when he’s hurt to beat the stereotype? Would alphas on the team be mad he’s getting so much playing time and negate all the hard work he’s done? Or are they more progressive and supportive of him? Is there like an antagonistic alpha who would always start shit ?

In your omegaverse do the omegas have separate locker rooms and bathrooms? Would it be like male female then on the inside there are more doors that sat alpha beta omega ? Or are there 3 separate bathrooms for every secondary gender regardless of biological male or female?

(ok so this is a super long response s lol) anon i have a secret. and it’s . i’m just making all this up as i go lol!!!!! i change my world and players dynamic for the scenario and story i currently want to tell, like you said alpha jack but i’ve written him as an omega because something about the way he’s regarded as such a himbo and erling is so criticized for his looks and not even his performance reads so… woman coded to me so it makes sense to me for them to be lesbians, but alpha jack could work in so many scenarios too it all just depends on what i’m feeling lol (except erling bc he’s my poor little meow meow and i feel like it’d just be so cliche to make the giant man an alpha… and i’m him)

and like phil could rly be an omega, he had a child super young which fits really well into omegaverse and like him trying to find his place in the little group of man city omegas… but also tiny alpha phil trying to fight to prove himself despite his size… different social commentary but both so valid!!! and it’s the same for julian!! he could be a tiny alpha, trying to find his place, or a sweet omega trying to figure out the english society and all that!! everything kinda depends hahaha, but i agree with silva as a dad alpha, erling just being so excitable he forgets he’s so strong he can lift people up like that but silva just had to be like:)

and also… hm phil’s appendix surgery… idk i don’t feel like it’s super big of a deal bc it’s pretty routine surgery? but if i’m not doing masc lesbian omegas omega erling i could do like pick me omega erling where he’s so desperate not to fall from the public and peps good graces he’ll do anything and he thinks that includes scoffing a little when phil is out injured even though he can’t help it… maybe there was all ready weird tension between them from the beginning bc pep uses his attention like a weapon and chooses who to focus on and lately its been erling and phil is jealous

to me it’s super important to like… use individuality to tell the story, like erling is an omega but that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly a super motherly person etc he’s just a person who faces different hardships just like any other omega is different but the same so i don’t think i’d write a!betas and o!betas bc it feels like a way to assign dominance and submissive roles to like everyone on a societal level and it feels counterintuitive for me like people are still… people… and individuals who can be different, their status gives them certain outlooks and things but it’s also not… changing who they are personality wise… idk if this makes sense but yeah

but erling and other omegas could go either way, like does he try to distance himself because he thinks that will allow himself a way into the world of the alphas of football? if he’s just quiet enough about the harassment and all maybe they’ll accept him??? or does he lean into other omegas… it’s up to you!!

now i’m feeling really repetitive lol but it’s the same about the alphas on the team, anyone can be the bad or good guy, maybe they’re upset he’s doing so incredibly well maybe they’re supportive i’m not sure… i could go either way depending on if i want angst or smth else, they’re kinda like tools to tell a story for me

and i like to think separate locker rooms for omegas at least but also maybe it differs from country to country and like situation to situation, maybe more progressive countries have joint bathrooms and locker rooms but they can also be harmful places but the separation can be isolating… but yeah i literally make it all up as i go so sorry if i’m ever inconsistent lol

#ask #i hope i managed to answer all your questions ❤️❤️❤️❤️ #this is so long i’m sorry

[thewomaninlilywhite]

Sorry for the random question; is there any pictures you could share of the Woman in White revival set that you took when you saw the show? Big fan here lol.

no apologies necessary dear anon!

Long post because I got nerdy (also spoilers to any of my followers who haven't listened to the musical/read the book – highly recommend)

(excuse the poor quality, I was actually feeling a fair bit ill when I went to see it)

the first photo is the opening shot; the show began with Walter walking out and picking up the lantern

the first act closed with a blank stage (the set was generally VERY minimalistic, but I think it worked really well, especially in such a small theatre. I especially liked their use of moving wings.

the second photo is the act two opening, that flat turning to reveal Laura's bed, then adapting once more for the Marian on the Ledge scene. (note: there was no real set design for Marian's bedroom because the Nightmare sequence was cut – and the way it was played, I actually thought it was Marian who died, because the funeral scene sets up gradually, with Marian being the last on stage (because of her costume change) I'm not sure whether or not this implication was intended – and actually, there were actually quite a few revisions I noticed when I first listened to the cast album: I recall Anne knowing she was Phillip's daughter and telling Laura and Marian (since I recall discussing this with my sister at intermission) Also, the finale (and I think show in general) had more dialogue/less singing; and I believe it was said that Glyde beat Anne until she lost the baby rather than killing it after it was born. Also I don't remember Lamastide at all – I'm not sure if it was just a forgettable song, or if it was replaced/cut. I also recall Glyde singing the Evermore Without You encore, which was a Choice that I'm not quite sure I'm mad about (because I aDORE Chris Peluso) if that did indeed happen (could I check my programme, probably; but it's in the basement and I don't feel like it.) And probably other things that I can't quite recall at present.)

the third shot was at the end of the show, it is the train station/tunnel, illuminated by an oncoming train (at least, I believe that was the intention. Glyde's actually death was done beautifully with lighting, but I'm not sure how to articulate the details of it except that it literally looked like a train was coming, without the projections the original production relied on) You can vaguely see the same outline through the fog in the first shot.

and here's a more up-close shot of the finale set (that I used as my header when I first changed my url!) You can better make out the "russian doll doors" (if you will) that you can see in the first shot as well. This was actually a resting backdrop for the majority of the show. No turntable, but the sides were used as doors, and occasionally the centre for added drama (like Glyde's first entrance – very memorable. He wore a purple coat a similar colour to my water bottle, hence why I call him Percy – full name Sir Percival Glyde!)

the best way to describe this set was rustic victorian – not as ornate at the actual 19th century was to the wealthy, nor the original production; but still sleek and very good at setting the tone.

please don't repost any of these photos, however shite the quality

thanks for the question! love the chance to nerd out about this show – I only hope my answer was coherent enough, albeit way more than you asked for! xx

#lol these photos are even worse quality than I remember sorry #ask #anon #let's chat #speak to your head #the woman in white