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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

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I won’t fall for someone who can’t misbehave

summary: Aemond is betrothed to the sweetest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. She is smiley, soft and kind-hearted. Until she isn’t. (or, alternatively: “No one took your side when you were a kid. But I’m doing it now.”) pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader (her House is not specified) words: 9000 +

warnings: slow (!) burn, attempted harassment, Aemond is in pain 70% of the time (headache and all that) and has no clue how to act around someone he’s in love with. author's note: I’m working on 3 fics at the moment, and it’s taking forever to finish (yay for my poor time management skills!), so I whipped up something short(er). Rhaenyra is the queen here but I barely mention the blacks (not out of spite, I just thought it wouldn’t add anything to the story). also, I don’t think women would be allowed to misbehave like that... I don’t care ;)

Aemond knew of the preplanned betrothal even though everyone around him was ridiculously mysterious about the subject matter. He’s been made aware of the upcoming visit of some noble family, and the preparations were quite extensive. Then he overheard Baela telling Jace that the expected guests will bring their daughter. The middle one. It wasn’t very hard for Aemond to put two and two together. His wedding was long overdue, and Alicent was eager for him to make his choice. But he dreaded the mere thought of it.

Aemond’s never been very good at courting women, but mostly due to the lack of trying. He’s used to them looking at him with fear and suspicion as if he’s some kind of wild animal ready to attack at any minute. Getting sidelong glances did hurt him growing up, but with time Aemond learned to benefit from it, using his fearsome image as a shield. No one ever dared to try and break it to see what was underneath. But now he is faced with the inevitable change that’s approaching his life at the speed of a storm wave. To him, taking off the eyepatch won’t be nearly as excruciating as giving into the vulnerability of letting someone in, opening up to someone. He’s never been afraid of much but that? That was terrifying.

The anticipation made Aemond nervous. He knew he should probably ask around and try to gain any information about his soon-to-be wife, but it felt wrong. Not knowing felt even worse. No matter how good of a fighter he was, fighting the uncertainty seemed like a challenge. Aemond spent his nights tossing and turning, wrapped up in blankets as insomnia was clinging to his body. He tried to busy himself with training, but his usual easy victories brought him no satisfaction. He’s been winning for so long maybe it was time for him to lose. Except not to his training partners but to a stranger, who in time will get a permanent place in his life.

His rides with Vhagar, which usually brought him peace, now had the opposite effect. The old dragon acted annoyed and disgruntled for no reason, huffing and grumbling at every turn as if she could sense his own frustration. You can’t tame your emotions yet I’m supposed to listen to your commands? Silly boy. If Vhagar could speak, she would probably tell him that, Aemond thought. And he blamed himself even more.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the headache came back. As usual, it started with a feeling of pounding heaviness in the back of his head, which then spread further: into his temples, forehead and down the hateful scar. Within a couple of days, the pain gets so bad, he has to grit his teeth to keep a straight face, and he's barely able to shove a few bits of food down his throat. But it’s a topic he never brings up, it’s a humiliating secret that’s just between him and his mother. When he lost his eye, for the first month the pain was close to unbearable. The maester kept telling him that it was caused by the healing of skin tissues and assured that the intolerable feeling would go away. It never did. His scar was something he learned to cover up, and the bright red stripe faded slightly with time, but the pain lingered. Aemond opted to think that it only contributed to him becoming more resilient, yet that argument didn’t withstand the test of time. The pain receded for some short periods, but then it would always come back, and he could never get used to that, no matter how hard he tried.

He can only hope it will get better by the time the guests arrive. But the gods seem deaf to his prayers, and the night before the event he doesn’t get a wink of sleep. He goes through his day in a daze, skipping the training session to hide in the library instead, although he can’t bring himself to focus and read more than a single page. When the time comes for him to walk into the dining hall, it’s the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to go. Festive ornaments, tables laden with the finest dishes, bright-colored clothing of everyone around him blend and blur into each other. He takes deep breaths and counts his steps, gathering all his strength to sit down and not wince at the movement.

All it takes is one look at him for Alicent to understand what’s going on.

“Aemond,” she approaches him, whispering. “What’s wrong? Is it the headache again?”

Aemond doesn’t want to admit it, but he lacks the energy to deny it either so he just nods. She gives him a regretful look, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“Should I call for the maester? Maybe he will be able to come up with something to ease the pain.”

“I don’t think we have time to fuss over me,” he declines with a pain-stained voice. “I was under the impression that we’re expecting someone to join us today.”

Alicent sighs. She knows better than to fight his stubbornness, but she hates how helpless it makes her feel. Aemond hates that feeling, too.

“Please don’t tell me you require motivation,” Aegon’s voice is loud as it is but right now it sounds deafening, and Aemond sharply exhales. His brother flops on a nearby chair, bringing his ignorant attitude with him.

“Undoubtedly you’ve interacted with women before,” he chuckles, completely unaware of Aemond’s suffering. “Try not to scare her with your creepy stare, and maybe she won’t run away.”

Alicent briefly closes her eyes in annoyance. She glances around, making sure not to attract any attention, and then grabs Aegon by the chin, forcing him to look at her.

“Enough with pestering, I need you to behave yourself,” her voice is tinged with irritation. “Just for one evening. Can you do that?”

Aegon’s body stiffens up, the smug look disappearing from his face.

“As you wish, mother,” he mutters, and she lets go of him. Alicent shoots another glance at Aemond before leaving. Aegon gives his brother a side-eye but says nothing.

Aemond is exhausted, anxiety bubbling in his chest, and he thinks he has a few more minutes to compose himself yet that time passes in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, the guards at the door make the announcement, and he sees a group of unfamiliar faces. None of them are of his age, though, and for a moment that realization brings him some comfort. But then he notices a female figure in the distance as she’s approaching the entrance.

When she walks in, the music goes quiet, and Aemond hears people gasping. It seems like every man in the room has his gaze on her. And she certainly is a sight for sore eyes. She moves with a gracious pace, the silky fabric of her dress flowing downward with every step. It’s not too revealing, but it hugs her body in all the right places. Her hair is up, and he can see the waves of her collarbones peaking through. A half-smile is plastered on her face, but she doesn’t seem to be nervous. If he was to take a guess, he would've said she was tired. But she won’t let it show, keeping her head high and being seemingly unaware of the attention she got. Maybe she’s used to it just like he is, Aemond thinks. Although people usually glare at him for a completely different reason.

“Someone is about to get a piece of cake,” Aegon elbows him lightly, his voice low.

“Someone needs to shut up,” Aemond snarls, earning a laugh from his brother. That catches her attention, and her gaze lands on Aemond. When their eyes meet, her face softens, smile growing wider. He tries his best to force a wan smile in return, but his stomach turns in discomfort. He can already imagine how people will react: a stunning woman like her with a man like him, what a tragedy. That thought stings, his anxiety growing stronger. The headache gets worse, and he tightens his grip on a cup of wine that he hasn’t even tasted yet. Aemond can’t help but wonder if she knew she would have to marry him. If it does bother her as much as it bothers him.

The members of her family are greeted as guests, with no mention of a possible betrothal. Her name is the only one he catches — and then silently repeats it a few times. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, the sound of it breaking through his clouded mind. She’s seated next to him, as expected, and he notes that her dress compliments her eye color. Aemond is thinking of a way to start a conversation, but she beats him to it:

“You gave us such a warm welcome, but I must admit, I am surprised by the scale of it. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience?”

When her words reach his ears, the buzzing in his head stops, and Aemond turns to her, astonished by his own reaction. It’s not the naivety of her question, nor the friendly tone of it. It’s just her voice. Melodic and mellow, it feels soothing among the loud noises they’re surrounded with.

“I assure you, your family was simply welcomed with the respect you deserve,” he answers pensively. His throat is sore, but he can’t steel himself to take a sip of wine, afraid that it will make him sick. He wants her to speak again.

Aemond asks about her family, letting her lead the conversation. She is easy to talk to and she gives just the right amount of information before jumping to another topic. At any other time, he would’ve really enjoyed the flow of it, yet now he is growing weary. The headache is still there, but her voice does bring him some relief. That is until she abruptly stops.

“Are you feeling alright?” she sounds worried, and the same emotion is written on her face. Aemond tries to blink away his exhaustion.

“I apologize if I’m not exactly the best at keeping you company. It’s been a long day,” he knows he should’ve come up with a better excuse. He feels like he can hardly function at this point.

She keeps her attention on him for a few more seconds. Then she moves her eyes to the other end of the table, where her family is seated. She makes eye contact with her father and gives him a big yawn. It’s obviously and comically fake but it works: her family finds an excuse to leave earlier. Aemond knows that now he also got a chance to escape soon after. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he’s the reason their conversation was cut short, but she doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“We shall continue on the morrow when we are both well rested,” she smiles reassuringly at him before leaving.

Aemond seriously doubts that he’ll get any rest as his head feels like it’s gripped in an iron vise again. The next morning he drags himself out of bed later than usual, the pain now dull but present nonetheless. He sits with his face in his hands, breathing in and out, until he’s almost numb. The almost leaves a sour feeling in his mouth — or maybe it’s the nausea, he doesn’t know nor does he care. He’s been handling this for years, he can survive another day.

Aemond decides that since he is to be wed, he should make an effort for it to work. He thinks about his duty, his mother, about Y/N, who traveled all the way to King’s Landing for a man she’s never met before. Aemond thinks of everyone but himself because there’s only so much he can do without draining himself completely.

He missed the breakfast already but hopes to find Y/N within the perimeter of the castle and rushes out of the bedroom. He’s passing by Helaena’s chambers when he hears someone laughing. And it’s not his sister. Aemond debates if he can deal with kids right now, but chooses to give it a chance and quietly walks in. Helaena has embroidery in her hands but seems more focused on a sight in front of her, and he follows her gaze. Y/N is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on either side of her, their cheeks plump and pink, tiny fingers grabbing her dress. She’s reading to them, and it’s a tale they’ve heard many times before, yet the kids are listening attentively, occasionally making noises of excitement. Aemond doesn’t need to speak gibberish to know that they are fascinated by the melody of her voice and the playful tone she uses to make the story more engaging. He leans on the door frame, his body relaxing at the sound. Jaehaera puts her head on Y/N’s shoulder and eagerly turns the page, making her laugh again.

“You are an impatient little thing,” Y/N giggles.

“That she is,” Helaena agrees, and when Y/N turns to her, she is surprised to see that Aemond joined them.

“Pardon me, I didn’t hear you coming in,” she stands up in a hurry, both kids are instantly glued to her. “Your sister was kind enough to keep me company.”

“I asked her to come by after breakfast, and they haven’t left her side ever since,” Helaena explains, sounding very pleased.

“Would you mind if I steal this new friend of yours?” Aemond asks while keeping his eye on Y/N, waiting for her reaction. Her face flushes but he sees no indication of discontent. Aemond grudgingly admits to himself that it brings him something akin to joy. But it fades, absorbed by his numbness.

“Make sure to be on time for dinner,” his sister nods, calling for the nanny to take the kids.

It takes a little bit of persuasion but eventually Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let Y/N go, and she follows Aemond out of the room. She mentions that Helaena wanted to show her the library, and Aemond agrees to take her there. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation in attempt to compensate for their last one. As she’s telling him about her morning, her voice seeps into his mind like honey, and Aemond tries to concentrate to take the right turns and not trip on the stairs.

When they walk into the library, she pauses, looking around in awe. This woman makes men turn around after her, yet she is so easily impressed by the simplest things, Aemond thinks. The prince wonders if she can ever be impressed by him.

“This is where you study?” she is admiring endless rows of shelves, and Aemond gives her an affirmative “hmm”.

“How many of these have you read?”

“Quiet a few,” he is modest as ever, and she shoots him a curious look.

“I wonder what are your preferred subjects.”

“History and philosophy,” he doesn’t mean to sound so terse, but whatever interactions with women he’s had before, that experience obviously didn't turn him into a lady’s man.

“Would you be so kind to share your favorite books with me?” when she glances at him, there is a sparkle in her eyes. It looks like she’s actually interested to know more, as if she does want to know him. His immediate response, however, is to distance himself, and he takes a step back.

“I am afraid there are not enough hours in the day to name them all,” Aemond opposes, hands clasped behind his back.

“Please, take pity on me, I need something to help me pass the time,” she presses the matter further but does so very gently. “Name just a couple.”

He gives into her pleading tone and reluctantly agrees but they don’t stop at just a couple. They end up spending the day roaming in the library, lost in the labyrinth of shelves and books. She’s never too pushy with her questions, she’s making small jokes, she doesn't take offense at his cold demeanor. Behind his mask of feigned indifference, Aemond feels like someone is hammering at his left temple, and the pain echoes through his whole body. But he doesn’t dare to leave her hanging for the second day in a row.

The prince is too preoccupied with his internal struggle to notice that she's growing worried about him again, and by the time they come back for dinner, her face expresses an alarming concern.

“I must apologize if I tired you out with my relentless chatting,” she says, almost whispering, when they are seated.

“You did not, no need to fret,” Aemond states. I must apologize that you are to marry a man who can’t curb the pain that’s spilling out of him, he thinks.

Food is tasteless in his mouth. She is sitting on his right, and Aemond’s body can’t adjust to the foreign feeling of someone being in his close proximity. He is so accustomed to being on his own, he doesn't know how to unlearn that.

Throughout the whole dinner, Aemond can feel his mother’s gaze on him. Later that evening, when a maid brings him a cup filled with the milk of the poppy, he decides against taking it. He regrets it the very next day.

When Aemond tries to lift his head off the pillow, he feels like his skull is full of rocks. They’re rolling from side to side as the pain rumbles, and for a few minutes he can't hear anything else around him. That’s why, when Aemond opens his eye, he’s startled at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway.

“I did knock but got no response,” she gives him a look that’s a mix of concern and suspicion. She suspects that he’s unwell again and it concerns her. He wishes she never knew of that burden of his.

Aemond moves up in his bed, clenching his jaw. He knows his mother well enough to realize she must’ve had a reason for this early visit. Alicent proves him right when she speaks.

“The queen went into labor a couple of hours ago.”

He absentmindedly hums, not knowing how to react. His mother continues, with a hint of hesitance.

“There will be a feast when the baby is born. We thought... Rhaenyra and I, we thought it would also make for an occasion to do the announcement. About your betrothal.”

Her words come as no surprise to Aemond. It is what’s expected of him, it’s about his duty and his responsibilities, but this time he doesn’t want to think of that. He wants to be left alone, to drown in the layers of blankets, to go back to his short-lived slumber.

“The day Y/N arrived, I asked the queen to postpone the announcement. To give you some time to get to know each other,” Alicent takes a few steps towards his bed. “It seems like you’re getting along quite well?”

“I could think of no better woman than her,” Aemond admits and it is true. What he doesn’t say is that he can also think of a dozen other men who would be more deserving of her, more than he is.

Alicent catches the discreet sadness in his words but doesn’t know what caused it. She eyes her son with undisguised empathy.

“Her father implied that she is content with the betrothal, too. I thought you’d be happy to know,” Alicent gives him a lax smile. “I shall let you go back to sleep,” she adds and leaves.

Aemond knows he’ll get no sleep now. He repeats the well-known routine of deep breaths with the minimum movements, scraping up the remains of his strength before leaving the room. He goes straight to Y/N’s chambers, wondering if his mother visited her, too, and how that visit went.

To his surprise, she is nowhere to be found. A maid informs him that she left the room a few hours ago. He can’t find her in the library and she isn’t in Helaena’s chambers, either. He searches for her in the courtyard and then goes back to roam through the corridors, peering into every room on his way. He’s lost in his thoughts until he hears Y/N calling his name. Aemond turns around — and there she is, at the other end of the hall.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she skips towards the prince, beaming. He could never imagine anyone being this happy at the sight of him. She stops when they are only a couple of meters apart, her smile glowing.

“We must’ve passed each other, because I’ve been looking for you, too,” he confesses. She seems very pleased with herself though he isn’t sure why.

“I think the weather calls for a walk,” she blithely suggests. “Would you like to accompany me?” — as the words leave her mouth, she reaches out a hand to him. For a moment Aemond is looking at her baffled, and then hesitantly takes her hand. Her skin is soft, fingers warm, and she intertwines them with his own. That gesture comes so naturally as if they’ve done it before, yet Aemond clearly hasn’t. The feeling of holding someone’s hand is unusual to him. But it seems enjoyable.

By the time they get to the garden, Aemond finds that her hand fits perfectly in his. He is blushing profusely. He also notices that his headache receded a little and he can’t help but think that she was the reason for that.

“Your mother came to me this morning,” she informs him as they are walking hand in hand. “I assume she talked to you, too?”

“She did,” Aemond confirms. “Am I right to guess we had the same conversation?”

“Well, mine was about uniting two great Houses,” she mimics a man’s voice, and Aemond grasps that Otto was there as well. “Your grandfather gave a very convincing speech.”

“He had a lot of practice while being the Hand of the King. Maybe he misses having an audience,” the prince chuckles and she laughs.

Aemond holds a pause and then adds. “Forgive me if I’m being too blunt but I wonder if the conversation was of unpleasant nature to you.”

“It was not,” she slows her steps. “I know what’s expected of me and I will perform my duty. But if I’m being honest...,” she turns to him, and the tenderness of her gaze tugs at his heart. “I am glad that it’s you,” Aemond feels a flare of an unknown emotion deep in his chest. “We’ll make a pretty good team. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Aemond lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks down at their hands and then back at her.

“It seems so,” he tells her, a slight smile in the corner of his lips. There is a moment of comfortable silence as they make a short stop in the shade of the trees.

“But I shall give you a warning,” she says with a mischievous grin. “My siblings take any celebration very seriously. Every single relative of ours will come to the wedding, and most of them won’t shy away from enjoying a cup of wine... Or two.”

“Can any of them outdrink Aegon?” he jokes, and she bursts into laughter.

Aemond gets carried away by their conversation once again, losing track of time. While she’s listing her relatives, adding innocuous remarks about each of them, the prince is enthralled by the warmth that radiates off her. Her presence alone calms the storm of his insecurities, lulling his fears to sleep. She does that so effortlessly, it’s almost intimidating. But there’s a certain thrill to it, too — the thrill of being close to her, sharing laughs and stories, and Aemond clings to that feeling.

He enjoys the moment while it lasts; until his headache predictably creeps up on him a few hours later. He can’t tell if she senses that something is wrong but she’s the one to suggest returning to the castle. Aemond gladly accepts it.

On the way back they are greeted by one of the guards who notifies them that the queen gave birth to a girl. She lightly squeezes Aemond’s hand.

“Tomorrow is a big day then,” — and the prince knows exactly what she means. The fragile bond that they only started to get the hang of will soon become public knowledge. It won’t be their secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

“There is still time for you to plan an escape,” Aemond jests half-heartedly.

She looks puzzled for a second, but then shakes her head.

“Only if you’re planning one. We are in this together, remember?” her thumb brushes over his. “It’s all about teamwork.”

Aemond savors the last fleeting minutes of their day. He barely touches the food at dinner, the pain in his head intensifying but he pushes through. When the time comes for them to part, he doesn’t want to. That feeling is alien to him and the prince is clueless about its nature. But he knows that with her any misery will be bearable.

When Aemond walks into his chambers, he notices a little jar on the bed table. It’s the one that the maester used to bring him the ointments in, and the prince sighs. The maester doesn’t grasp the extent of the problem but occasionally would suggest a thing or two to help with the pain. They’ve tried using cold packs, then the warm ones, tried massaging his temples, then drinking cinnamon tea, then adding some ginger that’s known as a remedy for reducing inflammation... Nothing has worked so far.

But he should make an effort.

Aemond barely glances inside the jar and tosses away a piece of paper with the instructions scribbled on it. The prince already knows it all too well: he applies a thick layer of whatever that concoction is on his scar, involuntarily wincing at the cooling sensation. It smells of herbs and feels oily but absorbs into the skin pretty fast.

For some reason, his mind goes back to his mother’s words — “I thought you'd be happy to know.” Aemond is unsure what happiness means. The happiest day of his life is forever chained with the worst one, smeared with blood and pain that he's been carrying through the years.

But now that he met Y/N, he questions if there’s more to life than what he's been through so far.

While he is laying in bed, Aemond wonders if can consider her his friend. If she will ever be more than just a friend to him.

And then, before he knows it, the prince is fast asleep. He wakes up feeling like a new man. At first, he mistakes that feeling for the remnants of his dreams that he was enveloped with at night. He shakes off his drowsiness and looks at the ceiling, catching a glint of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. That's when Aemond realizes that the pain is gone.

He sits up, bewildered, waiting for any sign of discomfort yet nothing happens. He waits for a couple of minutes — and then for up to thirty, but his head is clear and doesn’t ache at all. His eye shifts to the jar on the bed table, and Aemond makes a note to extend his gratitude to the maester later. Suddenly the upcoming festivities don't seem so torturous anymore.

He doesn’t get a chance to see her throughout the day as everyone is preparing for the feast. When Aemond walks into the hall of the Iron Throne, he takes in the decorated surroundings. Unlike the last time he was here, now he wants to remember every detail, knowing that this evening would be of great importance.

The room fills with people, but Aemond patiently waits for her alone. He spots her the second she steps in. Her dress is violet, the material bright and luminous, and it puts her into the spotlight yet again since she's the only one wearing that color. As soon as she takes her place at the table next to Aemond, her hand finds his. He's getting used to that way too fast. It’s hard not to.

The first round of toasts goes to honor Visenya, the newborn daughter of the Queen. Rhaenyra willingly tolerates the sweet talk, generous with her smiles and appreciation. At some point, when the timing seems right or maybe when her cheeks are already aching, she gives a nod to Alicent, and Aemond knows what it means. As she starts her speech, he ruefully releases Y/N’s hand.

But right when they are standing up, with everyone around cheering and staring, she lightly presses her body against his, and Aemond feels how tense her back is. That’s when it dawns on him that she’s well aware of the attention but she doesn’t really like it. Instinctively, he puts his fingers on her waist, his touch respectful and delicate. She breathes out and briefly rests the back of her head against his shoulder. For a moment it feels like it’s just the two of them.

That feeling doesn't go away.

Usually, he’s not the one to take part in dancing, but he does so for her. Aemond feels out of practice and he can’t tell if that's what makes his head spin or if he’s getting tipsy from the intimacy of their dance. Her moves are elegant, well-rehearsed, her body follows the rhythm of the music with ease. He doesn’t remember when was the last time that silly activity brought him so much elation. Did it ever?

Time flows by in a blur, and they eventually take a pause after going into a fit of giggles at the sight of Lord Velaryon trying to improvise a move and failing, only to amuse his loving wife. Y/N suggests going out for a while and Aemond is keen on following her but then his mother catches up to them, her hand and her gaze are on him in an instant, pulling him away.

“Aemond, you’ve been dancing,” she can’t hide her bewilderment, a timid smile on her face.

“Should I not? Seems like a suitable occasion,” Aemond chaffs with a tilt of his head.

“It is, indeed,” she doesn’t let him go just yet, and he discerns the hidden meaning of her words, the apprehension she fails to conceal. Aemond wants to grant her some respite, at least for the rest of the day, so he tells her with plain-spoken sincerity:

“I can assure you, this isn’t a cause for your distress.”

But then he quickly finds a cause for his when he doesn’t see Y/N around. He goes searching for her in the crowd, then leaves the room altogether, coming out into the hallway.

Aemond hears her before he sees her — and she isn’t alone. It takes no effort to recognize the second voice, which belongs to no other than Jason Lannister. As the prince rounds the corner, they come into sight, and Aemond has a very bad feeling.

He missed the start of their dialogue, and the look on her face is unreadable. She’s oblivious to Aemond’s presence and he decides to watch them. He tells himself that he’ll never allow her to get into trouble. There is something very tempting in having a chance to save her from anything; as if he feels the need to prove himself to her. He tries not to entertain that thought.

“... It’s not too late to change that, don’t you think,” Ser Lannister purrs, his tone sickly sweet but arrogant.

“It is. Which I have no regrets about, ser,” when she talks to him there's not a hint of friendliness in her voice.

“Your approach may be short-sighted. The proposition of mine wasn’t of a frivolous kind,” he’s circling her, the manner of his movement is borderline predatory.

“I believe you will soon find a lady to welcome your advances but I would very much prefer to drop this conversation,” she recapitulates.

Aemond tenses up, feeling like this is the moment for him to step in. Then he looks at her and realizes that something is off. Her face expression changes — but it’s not a look of fear. By the rising of her chest, he detects that her breathing sped up, eyes are shooting daggers at the man in front of her. She’s looking, for the lack of a better word, positively furious.

But Ser Lannister, apparently, is not very good at reading signs as he comes improperly close to her.

“I can be very persuasive,” his fingers fall on her back — and then go lower. “I think you should appreciate the attention while I’m this generous and...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. In about two seconds his face is suddenly slammed into the nearby wall, the hand he put on her is now twisted behind his back. Y/N uses her free hand to push right between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the stony surface.

To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.

Right at this moment, she looks like a different person. This side of her he’s not acquainted with but it only adds to her appeal. The change is barely perceptible: she’s still maintaining her posture, keeping up the face of a woman who knows her worth. But Aemond catches a flaming spark of defiance that threatens to shutter her restraint. He can sense her anger from far away despite her doing her best to contain it.

“I do not know what kind of attention you are used to, but you’re forgetting your manners. Next time you dare lay your hand on me, I will not hesitate to break it,” her voice doesn’t lose its usual softness, but now has an added layer to it. It sounds sharper, bolder. It sounds like she’s not afraid of anything.

She lets Ser Lannister go, taking a few steps back and smoothing her dress. He is frozen at first, but then slowly turns to her.

“You didn’t... You did not just do that,” there’s a visible red mark on his cheek that will undoubtedly turn into a bruise.

“Did what, ser?” her tone is laced with coldness.

The man looks at her in disbelief, his face is a parade of emotions — from shock to annoyance to anger.

“You will not get away with this,” he scowls, nettled.

“You are telling me that you’re considering letting everyone know you were overpowered by a woman? Sounds hard to believe,” she seems unfazed.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he roars:

“You, insidious wre—!”

This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man. “I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my betrothed.”

She flinches at his voice, turning to face him, and Aemond slackens his pace a little.

“Shouldn’t she watch hers? She’s talking to a lord,” Ser Lannister exclaims lamely, his arrogance instantly toned down a notch.

“And I see no wrongdoing on her part. Care to explain what got you into this situation?”

“It was a... a simple misunderstanding,” his excuse is so pathetic that it makes the prince sneer.

“And what was the matter in question?” Aemond comes closer to the man which makes ser Lannister evidently uncomfortable. He carefully contemplates his next move.

“I only wanted to extend my congratulations on her betrothal,” the man fakes a smile. “Mayhaps I expressed myself poorly.”

“You should opt to choose your words more wisely next time,” Aemond looks down on him. “Perhaps you are needed somewhere else?”

“I shall rejoin the celebration then,” ser Lannister eagerly agrees and bows out way too quickly.

Aemond can barely wait for the man to get out of sight before turning to her. Even though the prince witnessed the whole thing, he can’t stop himself from asking:

“Did he harm you?”

“He didn’t get a chance,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. She looks so embarrassed, he wants to offer her some comfort but isn’t sure how.

"Dare I say we’ve got enough interactions for one evening?" Aemond tries to lighten the mood yet she only offers him a half-hearted smile.

“I will escort you to your chambers,” the prince suggests, and before she can argue he adds, “I know you can stand up for yourself if needed. But I insist.”

She doesn’t move an inch.

“...You are not mad at me?” she’s looking at him with doe-eyed sincerity, clearly upset. Aemond is mad at himself.

“I am thinking about cutting his arm off,” he says under his breath, but she catches it.

“Aemond, there’s no need!” she gasps and he sees a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

“I will have to disagree,” he starts but then she grasps his elbow and Aemond’s hand — finally — clings to her again.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me,” she confesses.

“And I don’t want you to get hurt,” his fingers caress her arm through the lace material. Her cheeks heat up and Aemond finds it adorable.

“I think I... I was the one who did some damage,” she complains.

“You must imagine my surprise,” Aemond drawls, teasing.

“Oh, Gods,” a quiet groan leaves her mouth. “That was not very ladylike of me.”

She covers her face with the other hand, her grip on his arm loosening. Aemond dithers before gently brushing her palm away from her face.

“You did the right thing and you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he enunciates each word. “He only sets an example of unseemly behavior.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t too far off,” she remarks, her voice relenting.

“Hmm, you are certainly not to be truffled with,” he retorts, earning a faint laugh from her as they start walking, arm in arm.

“May I inquire how did you... master that very handy skill?” Aemond ventures to ask. That image of her — brave and unapologetic in her anger — will be forever engraved in his memory. Aemond is apprehensive about voicing his curiosity, uncertain of her reaction but when she answers:

“My father taught me that,” her tone is surprisingly impish.

“And how did you manage to talk him into it?”

“Talking didn’t help much, actually,” she grins. “And then I broke my brother’s nose and my father decided he should find a way to guide my enthusiasm.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine,” she looks so satisfied with herself, Aemond can’t hold back a small laugh.

She joins him and they fall into the comfort of each other’s company. But then her smile wilts.

“There was a time when I was the youngest child and my siblings... They weren’t very nice back then,” she blurts out. Aemond feels his heart sinking.

“What did they do?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, honestly, they were only teasing. It’s just um,” she’s looking for the right words or maybe for an acceptable explanation, but there isn’t any. “It was very tiresome mostly. I could never understand the reason for them being mean.”

Aemond is yet to tell her the story of him losing his eye, and the memory pops back into his head in a flash. He knows exactly what she feels, his own sense of helplessness fresh in his memory. And it still stings the same, and Aemond loathes that.

While he revisits the past, unwillingly slowing his pace, she spots the change in his demeanor within seconds. She sees his facial features congealing, his fingers clenching, and she comes to the only conclusion she can make.

“Is it the headache?” her voice is suddenly quiet, and Aemond comes to an abrupt stop. The question catches him off guard, words stuck in his throat and his mouth agape. He doesn’t know how to react nor does he understand how could she possibly know that.

She is quick to clear up his confusion. “I noticed not long after we met and then your mother confirmed my suspicions. I am sorry that I didn’t ask you directly, I thought... I didn't want to sound intrusive,” she explains coyly.

“By asking about my health?” he finds his voice again. “I am to become your husband, you are free to ask such questions.”

“We’ve only known each other for about a day back then. Surely, you’re allowed to take more time than that to open up to someone,” she kindly points out.

A day. Up until now the only person who’s known about his pain was his mother, and for years no one else ever questioned his well-being. And it took her a day to notice that something was wrong.

“Did the ointment help?” she asks hopefully. For a second he thinks he heard her wrong but the shadow of concern on her face tells him otherwise.

“That was your doing?” he can’t hide his amazement, and it elicits a laugh from her, sonorous and dulcet. Aemond likes the sound of it, he really does.

“I’ve been fortunate to obtain the knowledge required,” she informs him.

“And what kind of witchcraft is it?”

“It is not,” she playfully elbows him. “It was something my grandsire taught me. He used to have an ache of a similar nature. No one could understand the cause of it, and it only got worse with age. But my grandmother refused to sit idly by and one day she found a way to ease his pain,” she has a dreamy expression on her face but it melts into a wistful one. He guesses that both of her grandparents passed away.

“After her death, he wouldn’t let anyone help him. It took me months to persuade him and eventually he let me on her secret,” her smile is bittersweet. “Then he died, and I never thought the recipe would come in handy ever again.”

Aemond hates seeing her wallow in sadness. He puts his palm on top of her hand in an attempt to offer some consolation. If there was a way to free her of that grief, to take at least some of it upon himself, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. But his touch is enough to bring back the cheerfulness in her voice.

“I should mention that your maester did help, too, although he was reluctant at first,” she reveals.

"And I presume that it also took some convincing?" Aemond thinks of the maester’s face that always looks like he is surrounded by imbeciles.

“I shamelessly boosted his ego,” she wrinkles her nose. “Told him there was no way anyone would ever be as skilled as he is, and that my attempt was merely a gesture of goodwill.”

“But it wasn’t just that,” Aemond cordially protests.

They already reached her chambers but he doesn’t want to let go of her hand. He wants to tell her that meeting her was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held underwater, like finding a source of light in the pitch darkness of the night or feeling the warmth in the dead of winter. Aemond wants her to know that she’s been a saving grace for him, but he’s somehow at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbling together.

“It was way more than that and I...,” never in his life had he gotten this tongue-tied and flustered. Yet she treats him with the same kindness and with no sign of prejudice, listening closely and keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze is disarming enough to make him say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I must admit, you exceeded my expectations,” Aemond breathes out.

It immediately feels like the worst, the dullest choice of words possible, and he wants to sink into the ground right this second. But then he sees her natural smile, genuine and bright, blossoming on her face again.

“I am glad to be of service, my prince,” she murmurs the last part, and his heart skips a bit.

He didn’t register the moment she came a bit closer, but she isn’t shying away from shortening the distance. There’s something enamoring about her trusting nature but that’s not what draws him in. For the first time, he experiences an unfamiliar feeling that tightens his chest, makes his breathing rapid. His gaze slips over her face, down from her radiant eyes to her smile, framed by the lips that look as soft as freshly bloomed flowers. The feeling melts into an urge — he only needs to take a step, to lean his head forward just a bit and...

Aemond inhales deeply. He thinks they are in no rush, he thinks it would’ve been disrespectful and naive. He’s mostly afraid to misread the situation, to scare her away.

But he wants to make his intentions clear. Aemond runs his thumb over her knuckles, brushing them one by one. And then he takes her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on it. He allows himself just this flicker of bravery before straightening up and releasing her hand. When he looks at her, her gaze is directed at him already. It feels like a particular question is hanging in the air; they let it dissolve for now.

“I shall bid you goodnight,” her eyes linger on him for a second before she turns away.

As Aemond watches her go, he is certain he wants them to be more than just friends. Lucerys’s name day comes in a about month, and by that time Aemond’s routine has changed drastically. It might look the same: he wakes up with the sun, flies with Vhagar, he trains regularly, he spends his free time reading — except now Y/N is a part of his every activity.

She’s never nosy or clingy; he is the one seeking her company at all times. She’s an early riser, too, and they are always the first ones at the breakfast table: he asks her about her dreams, they make plans, they poke fun at Aegon, who is perpetually sleepy, and she can effortlessly hold any other conversation with his family which only makes him ever so pleased.

She watches him train with genuine curiosity, she never looks away nor flinches, even when he gets too competitive and rough. Her attention is flattering — and it’s all on him, and it feels unusual at first, but becomes empowering and he bathes in it.

When he takes her to meet Vhagar, she is terribly nervous. Aemond jokes that meeting his old dragon will pose no challenge after she handled Ser Lannister. It gives her enough confidence to pat Vhagar’s snout as the beast observes her calmly. Aemond assures her that the dragon will never go against his wishes. What he wants to say is that Vhagar senses how he feels about her.

They spend evenings in the library, both absorbed in reading but always sitting close by, their arms and shoulders coming into contact more often than not. He sometimes can’t help but get distracted which leads to him forgetting about his book, instead secretly watching her, his glance full of adoration.

For a while, he’s oblivious to how inseparable they’ve become until Helaena tells him one day, while Y/N is playing with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in his sister’s chambers. When Helaena mentions it ever so nonchalantly — “You two seem joined at the hip!”, it startles him. But that moment doesn’t turn into an awkward one — instead, Aemond realizes that he's not scared anymore.

“I will steal her away from time to time,” Helaena says, as cheery as ever.

“Bold of you to assume I will let you,” he chuckles, his gaze not leaving his betrothed.

“I think she’ll have the last word,” his sister retorts with a cunning smile.

Aemond doesn’t think twice before admitting. “She will never say no.”

“My point exactly.” The Queen plans a great hunt to celebrate her secondborn son, and a feast is being held in no time. Aemond detests those pompous events yet Y/N seems too enthusiastic about the idea, and he begrudgingly agrees to participate. He has no wish to burden her with his weighted resentment toward Luke but, as usual, she sees right through him. She asks him if he has any reservations about the upcoming celebration, and that’s when he decides to tell her. Aemond doesn’t want her to pity him nor does he want to upset her so he keeps the story brief: he claimed the dragon, his siblings didn’t like it, things escalated way too quickly and they haven’t been on good terms ever since.

She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks. “Must you really go?”

He ponders before answering with a sigh. “It would be rude not to. I should pay my respect.”

“I wish he had the courtesy to do the same for you,” she frowns.

“It would be a little too late for an apology,” Aemond shrugs even though her caring tone moves him deeply.

“I still think you deserve one,” she says like it’s the most obvious, logical thing in the world. He wonders how obvious the reddening of his cheeks is.

“I do not wish to dwell in the past when so many great things lay ahead of me,” and he only means her. Having a future with her is his greatest blessing.

She bestows him with her softest smile. “I guess we should make the best out of the situation we are in. Maybe you will have some fun hunting.” Aemond doesn’t know what was her definition of fun, but his definitely doesn’t involve babysitting Aegon. Yet that’s what he ends up doing as they get separated from the group of hunters and his brother gets so drunk, he can barely stay in the saddle. He babbles and whines and Aemond is on the verge of praying for a miracle when the two of them finally stumble upon a boar. The younger prince catches the animal without a struggle.

“Oh, must be good to be a boar. Wild and free!” Aegon grumbles on their way back to the camp.

“I just slit his throat. I doubt you would want to switch places with him.”

“I didn’t say I want to switch places,” he shakes his head so vigorously, he almost falls down. Aemond moves his horse closer, grabbing Aegon by the shoulder to steady him.

“Although switching places with you sounds tempting,” he sneers.

“And why would you ever want that?” Aemond raised his brow questioningly.

“You got yourself a pretty wife-to-be,” Aegon chants and whistles.

“Are you asking for me to tie you to that boar? That can be arranged,” Aemond deadpans.

“ 'tis won’t be necessary,” Aegon's quick to object. “Whatever she sees in you, those qualities are not in my possession,” his frown turns into a grin and he winks at his brother.

Aemond lightly chuckles. “You’ll get no argument from me.” Leaving her is not an easy task for Aemond but coming back to her might be the second-best thing in the entire world. And the first one, obviously, is being with her.

When they return to the camp, he helps Aegon down, impatiently looking around, and as his eye lands on her, his breathing hitches.

She’s standing next to the hunting tent, surrounded by a group of ladies, Helaena by her side and they’re both laughing as his sister unsuccessfully tries to finish her sentence. Y/N has a violet in her hair, strands of it falling down her shoulders, her smile bright against the fading evening sun. She helps Helaena to articulate whatever she's talking about, the ladies around them cackling.

Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.

It amuses him that her softness is a choice, that she chooses to be open-minded and kind, even though the world around her is armed to the teeth, and she does know how to fight back. And yet, that’s not what motivates her. Instead, she’s an image of benevolence and generosity, always understanding and forgiving, hence why people are so naturally drawn to her. And he is no exception.

Aemond gets distracted when a couple of servants approach him and he instructs them to take the boar’s carcass away.

“You had a successful hunt, dear prince,” when Aemond hears the question, he rolls his eye. Turning around, he sees Tyland Lannister with a smile so forged his face might crack in half.

“As usual,” Aemond answers indifferently. “Never took you for a hunter.”

“I cannot appreciate cruelty,” Lannister forces out. “And I am afraid I will not be able to negotiate my way out of a bear’s grip. So I am here merely to control my brother’s primal impulses.”

The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.

“Developing some self-control may be beneficial for him,” the prince mutters.

Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint. “I was wondering if I should address the delicate issue of my brother’s sympathy toward your—”

“You should not,” Aemond cuts him off. “Would be better to address his manners but it’s the thing you must sort out amongst yourselves,” with that, he turns away to find Y/N again.

Except she isn’t there.

The ladies moved closer to the tent but she and Helaena are the only ones missing. It takes him a second to realize that the women look alarmed, glancing at the tent. Or rather inside of it.

Aemond all but runs there, going over the worst scenarios in his head. When he gets in and sees Y/N in the company of Ser Lannister, he thinks he’s never been angrier in his life. If Aemond was a dragon, the lord would’ve been burned to a pulp as of right now.

Jason keeps his distance and his face expresses nothing but regret yet it looks like it’s already too late as she is glaring at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. And in the next moment, she loses her temper.

“...What am I missing exactly?” she asks Jason, her voice unexpectedly loud, and it draws the attention of some nearby men. She doesn’t care.

“You’ve been eager to win me over, but I am yet to find a single reason why would any woman find your company endearing,” she takes a step toward the lord and he shrivels under the weight of her words.

“Is it the winery that your servants built for you? Is it your herd of fine horses? You talk so much about your stable, one may think your betrothed is to marry a stallion,” her smile is mirthless. Aemond hears a faint groan behind his back and recognizes Tyland’s scared tone.

“But what are your accomplishments?” the tent gets deadly quiet as she continues. “Do you consider your persevering courtship to be one of them? Or your harassing of my parents, my relatives and even my maids with your never-ending propositions, no matter how many times were they all rejected? Or mayhaps ambushing me in the hallway counts as an achievement for you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aemond sees Helaena and Aegon, both looking stunned. Pretty much everyone around him has the same expression at the sight of Y/N. The prince, on the other hand, has never been more proud of anyone.

She looks at Jason as if she wants to bore a hole in him, her voice getting lower but harsher.

“You want to know what prince Aemond did? None of the above.”

Aemond feels his heart freeze at the mention of his name. She is yet to see him but when she speaks, it feels like she’s seen enough.

“The man I am about to marry has been nothing but kind, respectful and loving, fulfilling my every wish, granting me the comfort of his company and his loyalty. The man with the sharpest mind and the kindest heart — both of which you’re clearly lacking,” she casts Jason a disdainful glance. “So from where I am standing, it looks like I’m the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.”

When she feels a hand on her waist, she isn’t surprised and welcomes the touch with no hesitation, knowing full well who is standing beside her. She swiftly turns to Aemond, their eyes locking.

“I would like it if we left earlier, my prince.”

“As you wish,” Aemond wishes he could marry her right now.

Disregarding everyone’s attention, he leads her out and asks the coachman to fetch their carriage. When they are away from prying eyes, her confidence wavers a little. It only fuels Aemond’s ire.

“Give me just a second,” he can’t help himself.

Aemond goes back to the tent — and right to the Lannisters, one of them is already scolding the other. Tyland stops his lecturing when he notices Aemond, but the prince doesn’t let him make a sound.

“That was the second time your brother couldn’t hold his tongue,” Aemond ignores Jason and walks up close to the other man. “If you care about his well-being in the slightest, make sure there will be no third time.”

“Aemond, let us not make another scene. You must think how that will look like...”

Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:

“I will gut him like a boar. Imagine how that will look like.”

Without saying another word, the prince storms off.

Y/N already got into the carriage, fidgeting with the hem of the dress as she falls deep into her thoughts.

“Ser Lannister will not bother you anymore,” Aemond says, sitting next to her.

“I sure hope so,” she mumbles, looking down at the wrinkled fabric.

“Whatever he said, you should not let it get to you. I do appreciate the gesture,” way more than he cares to admit, “but there’s no need to go through the trouble of standing up for me,” Aemond barely finishes the sentence when she retorts:

“I will.”

She looks at him, her eyes burning with blazing certainty.

“No one took your side when you were a kid. But I’m doing it now,” she states as her palm covers his, the touch is as warming as her glance.

Aemond thinks he is the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. He runs out of luck so fast, he must’ve jinxed it. They are nearing the castle when the pain on the back of his head stings so unexpectedly, he winces, his eyebrows furrowing. She notices it immediately and insists he should take a rest when they arrive.

“Mayhaps you have some of the ointment left?” she wonders, leading him to his chambers. Aemond rarely allows people to coddle him but he accepts her care freely. He is also aware that the near-miraculous balm that she makes is long gone because he hasn't had a headache in a while.

When she finds out, she looks devastated.

“It must steep for a few hours, I can’t make it right away,” her enthusiasm brittles. She glances at him in a dither, mulling over something, while he lights the fireplace.

“There is another way that I know of,” she slowly suggests. “But you will need to lie down."

“Quite a vulnerable position you want to put me in,” Aemond lightheartedly jests but brings himself at her disposal with no second thoughts.

She sits on his bed right next to him, the bend of her hips an inch away from his arm.

“Close your eye,” she asks calmly and he obliges.

Aemond senses that she leans over him and he struggles not to hold his breath at the realization of how close she is. Then he feels the tips of her fingers on his face, the touch is so light and gentle, it makes him shiver. The pattern of her movements first contours his face, then goes up to his forehead, then slowly glides onto his temples. She massages them delicately in a circular motion.

“It was probably all the noise that caused this,” she presumes.

“Or maybe the fact that the man makes my blood boil,” Aemond says, although his anger is completely gone by now.

“He is pissed I didn't choose him,” she laughs quietly.

“Choose him?” her words peak his interest. “You had a choice in the matter?”

“My father said he would hate it if I marry someone I didn’t like,” her thumbs are following the lines of his cheekbones, then run under his chin, then all the way up to his hairline, right next to his ears.

“May I ask what was your decision process?” Aemond selects his words very carefully. What he really wants to ask is why would anyone pick him, out of all people.

“I’ve heard you claimed the biggest dragon in the world at the age of ten,” he can’t see her smile but he can hear it. “That was impressive enough.”

Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes. “That can’t be the only thing you’ve heard.”

“I can distinguish valuable information from pointless rumors,” she notes imperturbably.

“I bet those rumors included the stories of me being the scariest man in the realm...”

Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.

“I decided I would be the judge of that,” she says firmly.

“And what is your verdict?” he can't stop himself from asking, his pulse speeding up.

She doesn’t think for a second.

“All the people who were spreading those vile tales clearly have never met you. There isn’t a single bad thing I can think of when it comes to you.”

Aemond shouldn’t take it to heart but that’s precisely where it hits, her voice cracking his shield, her eyes telling him she will never regret knowing him, caring for him. He thinks this is what true happiness is — being with someone who will choose you every time.

Her fingers graze over the strip of his eyepatch and she pauses her movement. She isn’t breaking eye contact, waiting for his reaction, for his permission or refusal. Aemond gulps, helpless under her gaze, and doesn't stop her.

She picks up the leather strip slowly, as if she wants to give him a chance to change his mind. Aemond watches her, his body still, heart rate booming in his ears. She removes the eyepatch and looks straight at the sapphire that gleams brightly in the warm lighting. And then she smiles.

“What do you see?” he exhales.

“Nothing scary, that’s for sure,” her gaze doesn’t leave his face, her index finger tracing the scar, barely touching his skin.

“Nothing I don’t admire,” her voice is a little above a whisper.

“Nothing I wouldn’t love.”

His heart is beating so fast, it feels caged and ready to jump out at any second. Aemond forgets about the headache as if it never existed. In this state of bliss, he contemplates making a very emotional decision. But she makes one instead.

She lowers her face closer to his and all of a sudden he feels a touch so light, it’s almost like a petal brushes over his skin. It’s her lips. She kisses his face — his scar — moving tenderly from the high point of his cheek to the area under the sapphire and then right above what’s left of his eyelid.

When their eyes meet again, Aemond can only think of one thing.

He surges upward, his lips colliding with hers — she responds in an instant. His chest feels like it’s on fire as kissing her is the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but he doesn’t want to stop, ever. Her fingers gently slide down to his neck and Aemond uses his arm for support as he sits up without breaking the kiss. He then pulls her closer, one of his hands on her lower back and the other nestled under her jaw.

She softly sighs into his mouth — and it might be his new favorite sound. She tastes like berries, her lips getting more eager, fiery, addictive, and he is dizzy with joy and longing, trying to memorize each second. The pacing of the kiss grows heated and intoxicating as they melt into each other perfectly. They only part when both are out of air, their lips tingling, swollen and craving to continue.

“I must admit,” she tries to catch her breath, she can’t stop smiling, her hands caressing his face, “you exceeded my expectations.”

Aemond laughs, cheerful and carefree, his nose bumping into hers.

“It’s all about teamwork, as I’ve heard,” he plants a quick peck on the corner of her mouth — and on the other one. And then they are kissing again, desperately drawn to each other. He’s lost in the sound of her voice, in the feeling of her lips on his.

His love for her is all-consuming. Her love for him is healing.

Turns out, letting her in doesn’t make him lose. With her by his side, he always feels like a winner.

✧ the title is a quote from Hozier’s song ✧ I originally took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. I also can’t help but mention the extensive research that @adderess did, which only adds to that heartbreaking yet very realistic concept. ✧ I have a playlist for Aemond 🎵 I didn’t add any music in this fic BUT I’ve listened to “Mr Sandman” a lot, especially the instrumental version. 💕 my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

2K notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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Can you describe how possessive Konig is?

We already know that the reader is a loner, but is the reader allowed to have friends? If yes, must the friends be strictly females? Cuz I can see him being jealous of male friends, not necessarily because he thinks the reader will cheat, but because he doesn't trust the intentions of other men? We already got a peak of this when Soap was trying to comfort her after the 'killing man in the break room incident'.

Is the reader allowed to hang out with friends that she gets? I get the feeling he might..yk..stalk her if she does 👀. He might try to persuade her to see her friends less.

Are there other situations where he might show possessiveness?

Love ur work if you couldn't alr tell ‼️🥰

Oh. My. God.

How possessive is König...?

AAAAAH extremely!!!

No male friends. Period.

If reader has existing m friends, she would have to describe what her relationship to them is like: in what circumstances did they meet, has the male ever tried anything, how does reader feel about them.

If he judges the connection platonic enough, if it's a years long acquaintance, she might get permission to see them sOmETiMes. But even then, he would make it practically impossible 💀

He would want to be there too but because he doesn't want to show his face or get curious looks with his hood on either, he can't come along. So there would be sooo many questions after she has seen a m friend. Did you do what you said you would to do? Did you go only and only where you said you would go? What did you two talk about? Did he try anything? If he didn't, he must've still looked at you in a certain way? Anything odd, and he would forbid further connection with this friend. No amount of humor or tears would persuade him to see the fact that this is ridiculous, crazy, and wrong.

If reader keeps seeing a m friend, König wouldn't be angry… but. Haha. There would be stalking. He might even make it known that he is watching. Reader would catch a glimpse of him when she's seeing this friend. K would make it so awkward and so uncomfortable to maintain a connection with a male friend that reader would eventually have to come up with a reason for not being able to see them.

This is because he knows (thinks) that men are beasts. And reader is too kind for her own good. He doesn't necessarily blame her for anything… but if she let him in her pants after he scratched at the door long enough, how will she say no to other suitors? Reader is a gullible, innocent angel who has to be protected from other males at all times. She has to be supervised so that she doesn't get into "situations" simply by being too kind and too cute. In his worldview, everyone is always trying to take his angel away from him. And he won't let them. ❤️‍🔥🔪

He isn't really interested in reader's other friends. But he would be jealous of any and every crumb of attention she gives to anyone else but him. 🥹

Also: no girl's night outs at a bar or a pub. No night clubs. If reader goes dancing to a place infested with drunken, horny men, K would bite his nails from frustration and imagined scenarios all evening. He would check on her every hour or so and be a huge pain in the ass the minute she arrives home. Passive aggressive, jealousy-ridden, sulking König wouldn't be sleeping, oh no. Neither would he get her a water glass or tuck her in bed, he would follow her around the base/house with questions when she tries to get a late night snack or brush her teeth. He would basically check her clothes for cum stains, he would be so delusional.

And heaven forbid if she wore a cute, shortish dress to that club. König would soon let his hands roam under that cute little dress, and start to make threats. "If anyone else has been here… I will find them and kill them. Verstanden?"

Reader wouldn't even know if he was talking about this night… or her past lovers again?? She would assure that she just had a few drinks and danced with her girlfriends all evening. When she would try and get some sleep, she would find that König is both angry and horny. And he can't be angry at her, because... what wrong did she commit? So, he would try and guide his frustrations to sex, as usual.

He'd be like "Engel… I've waited the whole night…" The man would soon be poking around the entrance, hot & throbbing, probably thinks she owes him some because he truly has been waiting the whole night on the edge of his seat 🤦‍♀️. Poor girl wouldn't get some sleep before König has made it clear who she belongs to 🙄❤️‍🔥

#answered #könig headcanons #yandere könig

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mxaether · 20 days

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MITCH MARNER -VS- TORONTO MEDIA/TORONTO FANS/HIMSELF/EVERYONE (a playlist for when you love a thing so much, and it bites you)

track list and selected lyrics for each under the cut ❤️

1. I Want You So Bad I Can't Breathe - OK GO i want you, yeah, i want you/ i want you, yeah, i want you bad/ so bad i can't think straight/ so bad all my bones shake / so bad i can't breathe 2. Careful What You Wish For (the doctor said to) - Jack Harris something is missing/this predisposition/i feel like i'm living inside of my head 3. Who Made You A Monster? - Hael tricking the world to trust you/but everything that you say/is some kind of sordid lie/who taught you how to lie so well? 4. GOSSIP - Maneskin, Tom Morello welcome to the city of lies/where everything's got a price/gonna be your favourite place -- so sip the gossip, drink till you choke/sip the gossip, burn down your throat 5. Don't Be Nice - Watsky false modesty is a guilty habit/some people simply have it/but the fact is i would not have spent a decade doing this/if i did not believe i was at least a tiny bit ridiculously filthy at it 6. JEKYLL & HIDE - Bishop Briggs sweet and then you're sour/changes by the hour/never know which one i'll taste 7. End of It - Friday Pilots Club it's cruel you know/the way they've been treating you lately/get you real messed up on the daily 8. Nowhere Kid - Des Rocs inside of a maze you hide away/where nobody cares who you are/caught in a lie you can't escape 9. All For Us - Labrinth, Zendaya guess you figured my two times two/always equates to one/dreamers are selfish -- i'm taking it all for us, all/doing it all for love 10. Cruel Devotion - Night Club do you want me? tell me true/on my knees and now i'm begging you/loving you is such a cruel devotion 11. Who Are You, Really? - Mikky Ekko i have nothing left to prove/cause i have nothing left to lose/see me bare my teeth for you/who, who are you? 12. Heartbreak Feels So Good - Fall Out Boy is there a word for a bad miracle?/nobody said the road was endless/nobody said the climb was friendless 13. Some People - Dan Mangan cause it's too easy to be righteous when you eat what you've been fed/some people don't question what they've read/some people should 14. SELF-SABOTAGE - Waterparks i'll self sabotage/if you like when we talk i'll dislocate my jaw/what the fuck is wrong with me 15. Matches - Huxlxy bring me the ashes/set me alight/i'd rather burn than say goodbye 16. SICK - Chandler Leighton never let anyone see your guard down/too proud, just stop, keep my frozen/iced out, i'm six feet underground 17. Black Wave - K. Flay shaking in my own cage/what do i believe? i believe/waiting on a black wave/living under bad days 18. Middle Finger - Bohnes you show me love and then spit in my face/making your money off all of my pain 19. still feel. - half-alive when i'm furthest from myself/feeling closer to the stars/i've been invaded by the dark/trying to recognize myself when i feel i've been replaced 20. Rather Die - Barns Courtney i came to kill 'em, now i'm/wipin' the spit from my eyes/i take a beating but i/i'll never give up 21. Lake Effect Kid - Fall Out Boy oh i've got the skyline in my veins, forget your night time/sumer love on a gurney with a squeaky wheel/and joke us, joke us til Lakeshore Drive comes back into focus/i just wanna come back to life 22. Stronger - Kanye West n-now-now that, that don't kill me/can only make my stronger -- do anybody make real shit anymore?/bow in the presence of greatness/cause right now thou hast forsaken us 23. Bulletproof - La Roux, GAMPER & DADONI i won't let you turn around/and tell me now i'm much too proud/all you do is fill me up with doubt/this time, baby, i'll be bulletproof 24. What Do You Want - Nico Vega you can go ahead and hate me/for bringing in news, but you could still choose/ain't going to be a party/but you turn it all down, down, down/say, what do you want?/what do you want from me? 25. I'm Gonna Win - Rob Cantor you've seen me before, you'll see me again 26. Hero - Martin Harrix, JVKE

a thousand voices whisper noise/they plan my fall from grace/whoa-oh, i know/you say you want a hero, you don’t

#mitch marner #mm16 #playlist #my art #i guess #kind of #leafsblr #i had a lot of feelings after game 4

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gendrie · 1 year

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They thought they were hunting her, she knew with all the strange sharp certainty of dreams, but they were wrong. She was hunting them. She was no little girl in the dream; she was a wolf, huge and powerful, and when she emerged from beneath the trees in front of them and bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl, she could smell the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike. (Arya, ASOS)

little red riding hood is, of course, the classic fairy tale of a girl traveling through the woods on the way to see her grandmother while pursued by a wolf. the plot is simplistic, but the symbolism is loaded. its deeply concerned with power dynamics; between girls and beasts in particular. the tale has been told countless times and has just as many interpretations: its erotic, its a puberty rite, a cautionary tale on stranger danger or carnal desire and so on. some have chosen to reinterpret the tale through a feminist lens too.

Many fans might appreciate that Arya was the name chosen for the alpha female. It's no surprise that Martin has been fascinated with wolves since childhood. The Stark's direwolves are central to the plot of both the books and the show.

"Well, they're mythic. I think even as a kid I responded to the werewolf legends and the wolves in the wood and, you know, Little Red Riding Hood and all of that," says Martin, who claims his choice for the Stark's direwolf banner came from a gut feeling rather than an attempt at symbolism. - GRRM [x]

this story originated during the middle ages in france during a period where wolves were viewed with hatred and fear as is fairly typical of an agrarian society. until recently, the wolf has always been the villain. the girl’s role in this tale is where there’s variability. in the traditional oral folklore of little red riding hood the girl outwits the wolf and escapes. this changed later with the two most well known written versions of the tale, by charles perrault and the brothers grimm, where the girl is devoured or saved by a man, respectively. mercy reads a lot like a twist on ‘little red riding hood’ more in line with the original and i think that tale’s themes could continue be applicable to arya’s forthcoming arc.

Another interesting thing he mentioned: he mentioned the coming of age of Arya in Braavos in the context of how a writer had to discipline himself to write only as many chapters as were necessary to serve the story, saying that what Arya was dealing with in Braavos could make a worthy young adult novel in its own right. - GRRM [x]

grrm considers arya’s storyline in braavos to be a coming of age. this is intended to be the part of her arc where arya journey’s from girl to (very) young woman. which, yeah, is ridiculous, as arya is barely 12. he couldn’t get the 5 year gap to work so that’s what we’re left with. personally? ive accepted that. there was already an insane precedent anyway. sansa was a month shy of 13 when married to tyrion. dany was also 13 when she married drogo. both of their stories involve sexual desires - both theirs and those of the men around them. jeyne p. as “arya stark” has been forcibly married as well. that was a major plotline in adwd. i do not see arya becoming a child bride nor having sex so in that regard it will be tamer, but with mercy sexuality has been introduced to arya’s story in earnest.

The smell of blood was heavy in her nostrils… or was that her nightmare, lingering? She had dreamed of wolves again, of running through some dark pine forest with a great pack at her hells, hard on the scent of prey. (Arya, TWOW)

arya’s twow arc opens on a familiar note; her waking from a wolf dream. whether awake or asleep blood, wolves, and the forest are all constant imagery for her. she rarely has a chapter that doesn’t feature all three. these are also significant symbols in little red riding hood. forests are a liminal space in fairy tales, a representation of the subconscious, a place outside the rules of society. this is arya’s realm even while she’s across the narrow sea in a city. every night her mind wanders back to the woods where she is not stuck in the vulnerable body of a little girl but a strong, swift, fierce she-wolf. arya is an interesting character as she is both the girl AND the wolf. the wolf is a standard fairy tale villain - a male figure both ravenous and deceitful: little red riding hood, the three little pigs, the boy who cried wolf. the big bad wolf conjures an image of terror.

"Some will tell you that they are demons. They say the pack is led by a monstrous she-wolf, a stalking shadow grim and grey and huge. They will tell you that she has been known to bring aurochs down all by herself, that no trap nor snare can hold her, that she fears neither steel nor fire, slays any wolf that tries to mount her, and devours no other flesh but man." (Brienne, AFFC)

asoiaf plays with that, historically european, villanization of wolves while also offering another side to this animal. the direwolf is the sigil of house stark and in many ways that family is the heart of the story. several of the viewpoints characters, arya included, share their souls with wolves. they are, in spirit, the feared werewolves of european folklore. within asoiaf the wolf is monstrous, savage, feared and sociable, protective, intelligent.

The sound of horses turned her head. Men. They were coming from downwind, so she had not smelled them, but now they were almost here. Men on horses, with flapping black and yellow and pink wings and long shiny claws in hand. Some of her younger brothers bared their teeth to defend the food they'd found, but she snapped at them until they scattered. That was the way of the wild. Deer and hares and crows fled before wolves, and wolves fled from men. She abandoned the cold white prize in the mud where she had dragged it, and ran, and felt no shame. (Arya, ASOS)

nymeria’s (and by extension arya’s) pack is one of the best examples of that dichotomy. by the people of the riverlands they are a greatly feared thing. septon meribald’s words paint a dark picture, but its mostly an exaggeration. we see through arya’s eyes that is it not typical for the wolves to seek out humans. it’s the opposite. they actually flee before them. nymeria leads her pack away from people. unless they are posing a threat to arya or just happen to be caught up among the sheep. they aren’t monster. they’re animals.

"Meanwhile, this daughter of his has been fetching and pouring, a fat little thing, eighteen or so—" "Thirteen, more like," Raff the Sweetling drawled. (Arya, ACOK)

in little red riding hood the wolf is, generally, interpreted as a sexual predator. it represents a man’s “animalistic instincts” which he tries to conceal with a disguise to get a young girl in bed. raff is definitely a predator. he did not just kill lommy, but participated in the gang rape of a child and many more. as a reminder in mercy, he comments upon how gregor clegane would give his victims to his men to further assault. the mountain and his men consistently commit the worst war crimes of the series. in this text raff isnt a wolf he’s a “rat”. arya has seen his crimes because she was once at the mercy of him and his fellow soldiers. but not anymore. now raff the sweetling will be at her mercy. in a subversion of the tale it is arya, the wolf girl, who goes after the predator.

Am I too young for him? she wondered. Too plain? Too skinny? She hoped he wasn’t the sort of man who liked big breasts on a girl. Bobono had been right about her chest. It would be best if I could take him back to my place, have him all to myself. But will he come with me?

these are definitely not the sort of innocent internal thoughts we’d typically associate with a young girl. arya has been exposed to a lot. she has spent time in brothels where she sees girls and women entertaining men so she has some knowledge of seduction. she’s also been a witness to a great deal of sexual violence from a very young age. raff is (one of many) responsible for the loss of arya’s innocence. as she prepares to entice him her language takes on a very sexualized tone despite her violent intent.

He’ll want me or he won’t, she thought, so let the play begin.

She could not give it up. She wanted him so bad.

Mercy looked down at her feet, so shy. “Izembaro said to please the lords,” she whispered. “If there is anything you want, anything at all… “ “I’m Lord Rafford, sweetling, and I know just what I want. Hike up those skirts now, and lean back against that wall.”

all these lines use “want” to express desire. in raff’s case for sex and in arya’s for blood. mercy as a chapter is full of sexuality references. to an extent that is still.....somewhat shocking. arya herself makes references to oral sex, erections, and orgasms. rape is also prominent in mercy. arya plays a rape victim in the ‘bloody hand’ and many interpretations of little red riding hood view the wolf’s actions towards the girl as rape.

“Not here. Someone might see. My room’s not far, but hurry. I have to be back before the second act, or I’ll miss my rape.” [Raff] grinned. “No fear o’ that, girl.”

to a man like raff there is no difference between sex and rape. he is every bit the villain in a fairy tale.

He grabbed her wrist. "I'll do the teaching. Time for your first lesson." He pulled her hard against him and kissed her on the lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth. It was all wet and slimy, like an eel. Mercy licked it with her own tongue, then broke away from him, breathless.

arya is still innocent in many ways, like little red riding hood, she is a girl who has yet to have her first period let alone feel actual desire or have sexual experiences. raff threatens to “teach” arya before aggressively forcing a kiss on her. nothing in mercy is an expression of arya’s own sexuality. she just uses the idea of it as a lure. to her it’s a “play” where arya is pretending to be an older girl, copying the things she has seen around her.

“Mummers are the next best thing to whores.” “Might be, but this one is a child.” “I am not,” lied Mercy. “I’m a maiden now.”

arya can play the shy maiden. she is, however, a very dangerous girl. raff is mistaken in thinking he’s the big bad wolf. in the charles perrault version of little red riding hood the girl removes her cloak and clothes before climbing into bed where the the wolf devours her. unlike the later grimm version there is no man with an axe to save the girl. in similar fashion raff attempts to get arya out of her clothes.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her roughly to him. “Get those rags off, and I’ll show you how old I am, girl.”

the performance comes to an end after she incapacitates and kills raff. he does not get her out of her clothes nor does he eat her all up like in the fairy tale. arya turns the tables on this tale revealing she is the wolf. here a little girl and a fierce wolf exist in a singular character. those archetypes tend to be stuck at polar opposite ends in fiction as they to represent totally different, presumably contradictory, ideals. the wolf is evil and deeply associated with wilderness and the devil. he is hungry, violent, and sexual. in a “civilized” christian society these concepts make people uneasy especially when they’re present in girls. girls are supposed to remain pure and clean. they are not supposed to hunger for food or blood or sex. the wolf is a warning for young girls against those hungers that will corrupt them. the message is clear: be good, be obedient, be chaste.

The priest lowered his cowl. Beneath he had no face; only a yellowed skull with a few scraps of skin still clinging to the cheeks, and a white worm wriggling from one empty eye socket. "Kiss me, child," he croaked, in a voice as dry and husky as a death rattle. Does he think to scare me? Arya kissed him where his nose should be and plucked the grave worm from his eye to eat it, but it melted like a shadow in her hand. The yellow skull was melting too, and the kindliest old man that she had ever seen was smiling down at her. "No one has ever tried to eat my worm before," he said. "Are you hungry, child?" Yes, she thought, but not for food. (Arya, AFFC)

but girls hungers aren’t truly unnatural they’re just shamed excessively compared to boys. arya is a character who hungers a lot. starvation is a frequent issue in her chapters as she navigates a war-torn countryside. arya has also faced one injustice after another and hungers for justice, revenge - however you want to frame it.

The biggest toms would seldom win, she noticed; oft as not, the prize went to some smaller, quicker animal, thin and mean and hungry. Like me, she told herself. (Arya, AFFC)

arya never viewed herself as innocent or good either. that’s the default for young girls, typically, but arya has been made to feel that she is bad. for that she does feel insecure and ashamed and guilty. at the same time arya fully embraces her wolf side where she finds comfort and strength. her skinchanging abilities provide an internal world where animalistic desire is all that matters and there is no fear or shame. the wolf is a source of power for arya. with cats arya finds empowerment too. her deep connection to nature has given her an outlet for all those dark feelings and actions that the fairy tales warn girls to avoid at all costs.

"The girl is as wild as that filthy animal of hers," Cersei Lannister said.

"She has not said a word since they brought you back. She is a fierce little thing, my lord. I have never seen such anger in a girl." (Eddard, AGOT)

arya is often remembered for her messy hair and being covered in dirt. she strays off the path into the woods, gets covered in mud, talks to strangers. her nature is sociable, outspoken, and fierce. her anger, so frowned upon in girls, is noted more than once. this aspect of her character defies the ideals of girlhood purity that are enforced by society and stories like little red riding hood.

“Or would you sooner be a courtesan, and have songs sung of your beauty? Speak the word, and we will send you to the Black Pearl or the Daughter of the Dusk. You will sleep on rose petals and wear silken skirts that rustle when you walk, and great lords will beggar themselves for your maiden's blood.” (Arya, AFFC)

sexuality is a major theme in little red riding hood and i expect this trend to continue in arya’s arc beyond mercy. it seems likely bellegere otherys, one of braavos’ most famous courtesans, will mentor her at some point. arya has seen a lot of blood, but her own moonblood is another matter entirely. her flowering will likely introduce her own sexuality to some extent. and since arya is less concerned with social convention and its notions of being a “good girl” there is really nothing holding her back.

#asoiaf nonsense #arya stark #been sitting on this on for awhile #bc its clearly a controversial topic #but idt this is too bad #no worse than the material itself at least

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xanthippe74 · 2 years

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Drarry microfic: Bones

“We’re close,” Malfoy announces solemnly. “I can feel it in my bones.”

Harry huffs, irritated, as he weaves between tombstones. “Right. Just like the tingling in your fingers you felt at the last cemetery, and the chills up your spine at the one before that. Forgive me if I’m losing faith in your heebie-jeebies.”

His bicep is caught in a tight grip, making him startle, even though he knows it’s only Malfoy. There are few places Harry likes less than dark graveyards, and tonight he and Malfoy were ordered to search several of them. So, yeah, he’s already a little on edge. To make things worse, when he pivots to try to wrest his arm away, Malfoy is grinning. Grinning!

Since the Head Auror had the (batshit) idea to partner them two years ago, Harry’s learnt to put up with Malfoy’s dramatics, for the most part. But this is the absolute limit of his patience.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Malfoy?” Harry snaps. “Have you been overdoing it with the Cheering Charms again?”

Malfoy’s smile widens—if that’s possible—as he keeps hold of Harry’s arm and leans closer. Too close. Despite the fact that Malfoy looks pointier, even a bit ghoulish, in the light of their wands, Harry finds himself getting flustered. They don’t casually touch each other as a rule. No jovial slaps on the back, no reassuring shoulder squeezes. The last time they had any physical contact was months ago, when Malfoy shielded Harry from a curse by lying on top of him, and it was so bloody embarrassing that they couldn’t look each other in the eye for the rest of the week.

“Potter,” Malfoy says in a low, commanding voice that makes Harry suddenly feel hot all over, “stop talking. Right now.”

Harry swallows. What is happening? He lets his gaze slide down to Malfoy’s mouth, which is hardly his fault because they’re ridiculously close now and the git is three inches taller. Malfoy has really nice teeth, Harry manages to think through his befuddlement. Shiny and straight, like his hair.

Crack!

Before Harry has time to register the murmured incantation or sharp flick of Malfoy’s wand, there comes a shattering sound behind him. He whirls around. Scattered across the ground are large shards of bone, some with decaying flesh still clinging.

“Bloody hell, was that an—”

“Inferius, yes.” Malfoy recasts his Lumos with greater strength and scans the graveyard. “It’s a good thing one of us was paying attention. Come on. We should make sure there aren’t any more lurking about.”

“But we’re supposed to be looking for a Dark artefact drop site,” Harry objects while keeping his eyes on the shadowy edges of Malfoy’s wandlight. “What are we going to tell Robards?”

“We’ll tell him that we found something more interesting,” Malfoy says with a shrug. He tilts his head towards Harry. “And Inferi aren’t even the most interesting discovery I’ve made tonight.”

He reaches out and cups Harry’s chin, then lifts it slightly as if he’s going to lean in again. And Harry, who apparently hasn’t recovered his wits yet, can’t help the tiny, surprised “Oh” that comes out of his idiot mouth.

Malfoy releases Harry with an exasperated sigh. “Focus, Potter. This place could be crawling with Inferi for all we know, and I’d rather not get ripped to pieces. Plus, I just had my uniform cleaned.”

“Well, your uniform,” Harry mutters as he follows his partner grudgingly. “Merlin forbid. Alright, let’s go. But you have to explain this to Robards when we come back empty handed.”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll buy you a drink for every Inferius we find. Not at the Leaky, though. Somewhere more… intimate.”

Harry almost trips. “Oh? And then what?”

“Then we’ll just see where the evening takes us, won’t we?” Malfoy looks back at Harry over his shoulder, cheeky as hell. “But I have a very strong hunch about where it might go.”

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, "bones."

masterlist of my microfics

#drarrymicrofic #my writing #650-ish words

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chasing-chimeras · 3 months

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WIP Wednesday/Seven Sentence Sunday(?)

i've been tagged in a bunch of these over the past month or so, but have been completely burnt out and struggling to write anything. this scene (the first major lydia scene in green zone) is one that's been causing me trouble for a bit, but something sparked at 5am on a random wednesday and here we are.

thanks for the tags, i appreciate all of you guys so much: @ksbbb @mmoosen @wolfboy88 @kingofangst @outcastpack 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“Can I sit?” The question is surprising. Theo has partially expected her to apologize, say she had the wrong room, and flee from his presence as fast and far as possible. He can’t think of any reason for the two of them to talk and she’s just about the last survivor from Beacon Hills that he’d anticipate wanting to talk to him.

“Sure,” he says with cautious uncertainty. Why? He doesn’t ask.

She perches on the bench opposite of where he’s laying, half-dressed and disheveled. He’s suddenly self-conscious and concerned what she makes of his appearance; completely ridiculous considering that society has fallen apart, but Lydia’s softly keen stare has a way of unsettling superficial insecurities.

“It was unanimous,” she informs, crossing her legs and nonchalantly folding one arm over the other.

Theo glances at her in his periphery, but maintains his composure.

“I think Liam was coming to tell you, but he’s popular today and I knew that you’d be curious…” Her stare is discerning and observant, but not necessarily probing. Theo can feel the concern radiating off of her but she makes no attempt to pry. “You should know that you’re safe here. Your friend—Tracy—gave her testimony to the sheriff, in private, and they handed out the sentence a few minutes later.”

She doesn’t go into detail, but Theo knows that they expelled him without supplies. He’d gotten the information out of Liam last night, despite the younger boy’s initial hesitance. There had been anger in his voice when he spat out the words, like dirt in his mouth, and Theo knew that he wanted more. More pain…more satisfaction. The same sentiment is absent in Lydia’s voice.

She doesn’t sound angry, or repulsed by the concept of Donovan, and there’s no demand for violence in her relaxed posture. Not like the others. Liam, Tracy, Boyd, Erica, Isaac—they’ve all been simmering, barely concealing the yearning for vengeance behind gritted-teeth.

“I’m sorry,” she says, softly but with a passion that burns gently.

Clenching his jaw, Theo nods in acknowledgement. It doesn’t mean anything. Apologies from people who share no responsibility are empty, but the sentiment seems to matter—to them.

“I’m sorry that no one asked you what you wanted. This wasn’t theirs to do.”

Theo hesitates, brow furrowing and eyes meeting Lydia’s in confusion. She’s sorry…that they didn’t…

“Thanks.”

Her mouth twists, somberly.

Suddenly, a twitch of irritation reverberates in Theo’s throat. It’s not her place to be like this. It shouldn’t be her, it should be—

“Why?” He asks, sharply. I don’t know you. I’ve never spoken to you.

Lydia holds his gaze, steadily but with a natural ease. Her lips move and sound comes out, but Theo’s comprehension is delayed by the inscrutability of her words.

“I was eighteen. A freshman at MIT.”

Understanding rests on her end, then pulses through the space between them. Layers of assumptions are stripped away, carved off of Lydia Martin’s appearance and Theo sees her for the first time. What he’d mistaken for fragile naivety is revealed in a flash to be a veneer, disguising the poised strength that has seen her through horror and violence. She somehow sits comfortably in her skin, despite it all…and Theo envies that.

“I was ten. At Eichen.” Confession slips from his lips.

Lydia allows the truth of it to settle around them before speaking.

“And now we’re here.”

tagging (everyone who tagged me again, because it's been a week!) and also: @theoceanismyinkwell @rd-eternity @thiamsxbitch @dinkelmehl @hemlocksandfoxgloves @raekensarcher @equallyloyalandlethal @transdunbar @trpiaep19 @stitchkiss

#green zone #tw: sa #tw: sa mention #tw: csa

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luck-and-larceny · 10 months

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14 Associations

About | Malika Bajihri

Tagged by: @the-wanted-man. Thank you! It was really cool to read that and see just how much overlap there is in places! Sub-dividers once again stolen from @ashenbun :D Cute moon cat divider from @thefreelanceangel.

Animal: I've got two answers here depending on how much you let me get away with the first one given she's a Miqo'te and it might sound like too easy an answer.

Black cat: The real inspiration for the character is a black cat. She's associated with luck; could be bad for some, could be good for others. What she wants is more important than what others want. She breaks things that are in her way or when she's bored. She comes to you when she wants to and she leaves when she wants, too.

Fox: Confident, crafty, mischievously playful and, honestly, kind of ridiculous. Maybe you think she's just a harmless thing, but I wouldn't recommend leaving her alone with anything you want to still be there when you return…

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Color: Storm Blue. I associate Malika with stormy, tumultuous weather and blue really feels like her color.

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Song: There's so many! I'll just go with Tongues and Teeth by The Crane Wives. Every lyric just feels so much like her to me.

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Number: Stealing Roman's answer: "3. Bad things happen in them. Good things too."

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Day or Night: Oh, the night for damn sure.

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Plant: Galaxy orchid. The colors just say "Malika!" to me. (And to @dumb-hat who actually recommended this when I was like "Ummmmm... What plant? What plant?)

•°•°•

Smell: I don't think she wears the same perfume or bathes with the same soap all the time. But I like to think that whatever she wears is subtle, airy and light enough it's hard to notice it when she's with you, but when she's gone the fragrance hangs in the air: somehow more noticeable in her absence.

•°•°•

Gemstone: Opals. There is a superstition that says that opals are bad luck for everyone but those whose birthstone they're associated with. Malika will wear every opal she finds despite having no idea when her actual Nameday is.

•°•°•

Season: Late Autumn

•°•°•

Place: Any place she's "not allowed" or "forbidden" to go. If an old, worn sign that reads "No Trespassing" hangs from an otherwise non-descript door and that door is just barely cracked open? That reads Malika to me. Nooks, crannies, high up roofs, and cramped alleyways in cities as well.

•°•°•

Food: I associate Kumquat with Malika. The outside looks sweet and familiar, almost like an orange. Then surprise! The inside is a bitter, acquired taste you might not have been expecting.

•°•°•

Eorzean Deity: Nymeia, for sure.

•°•°•

Eorzean Element(s): Water, Wind and Lightning. Hush, I can choose 3 if I wanna!

•°•°•

Drink: Any expensive drink in the wrong kind of glass- the cheaper that glass the better. Her drink of choice is whiskey.

Tagging: @dumb-hat, @mymistymornings, @thefreelanceangel, @argentrenard, @rylen-ashworth, @zhauric, @sundered-souls, @xmimiteh, @damien-ward, @unabashedrebel and @simplysoriya, @fair-fae, @ahollowgrave, @archaiclumina, @ashenbun, @lettersnorth, @the-sycophant, @its-the-val-pal, @tough-bit-of-fluff And you! Please tag me if you do this. Many thanks to Roman for this!

#FFXIV #Prompts #14 Associations #The-wanted-man #Malika

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leggerefiore · 2 years

Text

Stress

words: 878

Summary: Ingo comes home from work upset. You try to figure out why that is.

Pairing: Ingo/Reader

Ingo had come home earlier than expected. You were still preparing dinner when you heard the door open and your husband step in. His coat was shrugged off and hung up on the coat rack while his shoes were removed. He walked in, going right past you without a single word, and crashed onto the couch. Turning the stew low to simmer, you carefully placed the lid on it and moved to go check on the twin. His hat was laid on the coffee table while he lied with his stomach pressed to the cushions. Ingo's face was turned away from you so that you could not observe his expression (not that it would have helped much, admittedly).

Sitting down near his head, you threaded your fingers through his hair softly. He hummed from the contact and shifted a little. “Ingo, love, what's wrong?” you asked gently. It was rare to see him act like this, usually much better at hiding his feelings. The easiest assumption was something at work had stressed him out, but you wondered just what it was. “Hey… Lie your head in my lap, let me help you,” you demanded of him. He was silent for a moment while making no moves. When suddenly, he moved and pressed his head on your lap. Ingo had shifted to his other side, so now you could see his expression properly. His eyes were shut and mouth stuck in his usual frown.

Your fingers massaged his scalp while he lay there comfortably. Watching his shoulders drop, a tension in his body seemed to lighten slightly. Ingo was so strange at times. He was probably so used to having Emmet read his every emotion without so much as a work needed to be spoken. While you had certainly got better, you were not quite at the level of 'identical twin who has spent their entire life at your side' just yet. This was a case where you needed him to tell you. “… Ingo?” you tried again. He hummed. Lifting himself from your lap, he sat up. His soft, pale eyes stared at you while he coughed awkwardly. You giggled at his nervous actions and hugged him. The warmth of his body soaked into your bones, while your ear listened to the slow beating of his heart.

His arms came around you, and he pressed a soft kiss to your head. “I apologise for worrying you, my dear,” he spoke calmly, “I simply upset from something foolish.” You needed to know now. Pulling away from his chest, you cupped his cheeks. Such a handsome man would be cursed to frown, wouldn't he? Heavy, dark circles hung under his eyes in contrast to his pale skin. Had he been sleeping properly? What could have been bothering him so badly? How had you failed to notice? “What's wrong, Ingo? I'm your spouse… I only want to help you,” you tried to convince him.

He took a deep breath. It seemed he was in contemplation over whether he should tell you about what was bothering him. Hands grasped yours and removed them from his cheeks. Thumbs rubbed into them as he closed his eyes. “I admit this is ridiculous and something I should be more mature over, but…” another breath was taken as he spoke, “I saw this family at the station. The mother and father on either side of their son, holding his hands. He must have been no older than seven… They all appeared so happy.”

“Ingo…” you whispered, seeing tears welling in his eyes as he averted his gaze from you.

“All I could think is here I am as a thirty-two-year-old with no child…” he admitted, teeth pressing together alongside his brows, “Ah, I'm awful, darling… Why do I feel like this?” You leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. Nuzzling your nose against his, you pulled him close. Ingo cried for a few moments into your shoulder, hiccuping and sobbing. Had this been bothering him that much? Why hadn't he spoken about it sooner? You both had been dating for three years and married for two. If he had wanted to start a family, you would have had no reservations.

“It's okay, babe,” you rubbed his back and reassured him, “Do you want to start a family?” The question froze him. You could still feel the tears wetly staining your shirt, but his sounds stopped.

“… I do… Terribly, I do,” he whispered into your shoulder, “I want nothing more than to be a father…”

Poor Ingo… Had he assumed you did not? You were not opposed to it at all. Squeezing him to you, you heard him groan a little from the pressure. It was hard to believe that some people accepted his work act for how he truly was. He may have kept the Gear Station in line with his loud, booming voice and authoritative nature, but at home he wanted nothing more than to relax and loved. A hard shell to expose its gooey interior. Brushing your fingers through his hair one last time, you pressed another kiss to his ear.

“You know…” you spoke softly, “I'd love to have a kid.”

You didn't miss how a bright crimson overtook his pale complexion.

#ingo x reader #ingo/reader #pokemon x reader #pokemon ingo x reader

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winchester-girl67 · 2 years

Text

Don’t Say A Word (Part 3)

Summary: The reader puts up a fight when she's driven to a second location and discovers some details about her captors.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,318

Warnings: language, angst, mistaken identity, kidnapping, drugged!reader (chloroform), restrained reader, reader held against her will, scary situation, mild violence, mentions of theft/criminal activities, scared!reader

A/N: How much bad luck can one person have...

_____

You didn't know how long you were out for, but coming to felt awful and your teeth tasted like metal against your tongue. Like you'd been sucking on a mouthful of old pennies. Nausea and dizziness kept you from sitting up, as well as something binding that bit into your wrists behind your back.

"I told you he'd lead us right to her." You heard the voice of a man say, coming from the front of the SUV.

"What do you want, a cookie?... She might not be the belle of the ball, but this skirt should run a pretty hefty ransom, don’t you think?" Another voice with an accent added, forcing you to realize that there were two kidnappers.

If you weren't counting Dean.

"Yeah, maybe. I dunno... Something isn't sitting right with me about this one."

"I'm telling you, they'll pay up as soon as we-"

"That's not what I'm saying. It isn't too late, we can drop her off right here." The first voice said again, almost as if he was bargaining.

"You worry too much, you know that, Mason. That bodyguard of hers didn’t even notice when you snatched her up. So take the win." You determined the accent was decidedly British.

It was a long drive and you were starting to feel less like vomiting and more anxious by the minute. You hoped Dean would come looking for you and find you missing, but it was more likely he’d think you’d just run off on him and brush it off. He didn’t seem all that bright, so you figured that’s probably what happened and you were on your own from here on out, as always. And you needed to form a plan, fast.

It was easier to escape on route, that’s something that you'd heard before, right? But was it too late when you got to your final destination? You guessed you were about to find out when the SUV slowed and you heard the sound of a heavy door sliding outside. Next thing you knew it was bright as day and the engine cut out, both men promptly exiting the vehicle with a slam of their doors.

“I’ll get the spoiled brat.” Said the man with the accent, circling around to the trunk and you wiggled in place to aim your feet at the door so you could kick at him when he did open it. “Fuck!” The man grunted when the heel of your shoe caught him in the thigh, not quite high enough and he yanked your ankle until you fell out onto the hard concrete floor.

You winced when your shoulder connected with the ground and glanced around, noticing you were in some sort of warehouse. Harsh fluorescent lights casting the shorter man’s shadow over you, though you could tell he was wearing a ski mask as well.

“What happened?” The taller man, who you assumed was Mason, questioned as he came around the otherside of the SUV.

“She kicked me!” The man shook out his leg and rubbed the spot you'd hit.

“Huh, this one’s ballsy. I like that.” Mason chuckled, watching as you rolled over like a turtle and tried to get back on your feet with your wrists still tied.

“Did you get the dosage wrong? She was supposed to be out still.”

“Can’t trust celebrity weights online, I guess. They’re never right.” Mason shrugged, bending over you and grabbing ahold of your arm.

He pulled you upright with a single tug and through no effort of your own. You realized this guy was ridiculously strong, probably stronger than Dean, though that was debatable. Dean had muscle mass where Mason had leverage.

“Just double the dose next time.” The man tsked.

"Y-you drugged me?" You questioned with wide eyes, your voice wavering slightly.

"It's just Chloroform, it's safe-" Mason started, but you cut him off.

“Safe my ass. You better let me go, my bodyguard will be here any minute.” You threatened.

They clearly thought you were Auburn too and you cringed at how ridiculous your life was becoming. They couldn’t be fans of hers, at least not part of the cult following because they would’ve recognized her or the fact that you weren’t her. It was obvious these guys were a part of that crime ring that were abducting celebrities just for the ransom money and you needed them to believe they had the right girl. If you wanted any chance of getting out of there.

“Actually, I don’t think he’s going to be a problem. Didn’t strike me as the sharpest tool in the shed.” Mason stated as if he knew the guy almost as well as you did.

Though, you wondered how honest he was being based off how nervous he seemed to be in the conversation in the SUV earlier. Unless... it wasn’t the thought of Dean catching up to us that was making him nervous.

Even if Dean wanted to find you though, he couldn’t. How could he? You didn't have a phone on you that he maybe could possibly track, if he had those skills. And it happened so fast you doubt he knew what even happened to you. But still you rather see his constipated, scowling face than face these two masked wonders. It was a funny thought, wishing you had your original kidnapper back.

"Let's get her upstairs and call the boss." Said the other man who grabbed you roughly, dragging you along with him as you struggled in his grasp.

There were a bunch of luxury cars parked in the warehouse near the SUV, every one without a license plate and a plastic tent set up not far away, covered in dried spray paint of various colours. The shorter of the two men forcibly directed your gaze the other way when he caught you looking. Obviously, whatever was going on, wasn't on the up-and-up and he didn't want you knowing more than you already did. That was a good sign though, you thought, maybe they'd let you go eventually.

The next thing you knew, you were being hauled up a set of stairs by your hair, nearly tearing the strands from the roots and shoved face first into a room on the second floor of the warehouse. You wriggled on the ground with your wrists still tied behind your back, the plastic zip ties cutting into your skin as you tried to push yourself up against the wall and into a seated position.

The man made no attempt to help, watching you with dark eyes hidden behind his ski mask. He held up a finger, pointing at you as if to order you not to move again and giving you a hard stare before exiting the room and leaving you altogether. And you were left there for a long time, until your bladder felt the need to release and you squeezed your knees together.

You had tried a few things to get loose, none of which worked since you couldn't find the right angle to snap the zip ties against your back. Your wrists were sticky with blood now as the ties cut into your skin from all the twisting you'd done and you eventually settled into hiding. Feeling sore and defeated as you shuffled underneath the desk at the far end of the room.

It wasn't long after that, that you heard the door unlock, squeaking open on rusted hinges as you pressed further back into the wooden desk. You sniffled and you heard a huff as the sound of a single set of boots walked around the side of the desk, the taller of the two men kneeling down in front the opening before you. He tried to tug at your ankle to get you out from under the desk, but you resisted and pulled your foot back, hiding your face in your knees.

"Y/N?"

_________________________

A/N: Read part 4 here

_________________________   Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks

Forever SPN: @hobby27

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou @mlovesstories @spn730015 @hunni-bunny @ria132love @fmstafford @spideysimpossiblegirl @houseforwhores @siospins2 @globetrotter28 @nt-multi-fandom @maggiegirl17

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jeysbvck · 2 years

Text

freedom (is standing next to you) part 4

a/n: hey everyone! i know it's been a while since i updated, but here it is! i hope you're all still invested in my silly little self indulgent fic, thank you for being so patient <3 likes are nice but please reblog!

credit to @rishlurh as usual for the banner & divider<3

tag list (if you wanna be added or taken off, let me know!) @honeyglee @maplefire18 @tinalbion @valeriiecameron @mallgothmunson @mercurial-make-em-ups @azaleaforsure <3

word count: 3.4k

summary: After finding out your connection with Prince Jason, Eddie begins to think about his life, everything that's happened since you arrived on the ship, and what he's feeling truly means.

Eddie threw himself into his chair and slammed his fists down on the wooden desk in front of him, eyes and head full of rage. Why was he so aggravated? Sure, dealing with those lot always irrated him, but this felt different. His blood was boiling, but his chest was tight too. Was this anger, and if so, who was it aimed at? Was it you, for not letting him know the danger that followed you? Or was it at himself that he was angry with?

It was ridiculous to be angry at you, Eddie knew that. You didn't know his past with Jason, and he was pretty certain that if you hadn't been interrupted, you would've told him. Could he really blame you for not telling him, though? You hadn't known each other long, and from experience, being on the run isn't something you usually boasted about. But, at the same time, he had provided you with safety, shelter and shared his limited rations with you, didn't he deserve to know what he was getting himself into, what he was getting his crew into? On the other hand, wasn't it his fault, for not pushing for the whole story, for not asking questions?

Eddie pulled himself from his chair, kicked it behind him, and headed to the cupboard, where he kept his stash of rum. He pulled the cork with his teeth, the loud pop echoing through the silent cabin, and as he walked towards the four poster bed, he drank straight from the bottle. He dropped to the bed, his ringed hand gripped the bottle tightly, his knuckles turning white, and he couldn't help but think about his past. Before the ship and the piracy, before the family he had created from scratch, back to when he lived in a tiny one bedroomed house with his uncle.

After his parents disappeared when he was only five, his uncle picked up their slack without a single complaint. He never made Eddie feel worthless, never made Eddie feel like he owed him something. He cared for him when he was sad and when he was sick, he taught him how to hunt, he taught him how to sew, and he taught him how to shave. Even though Wayne could never quite find the words, Eddie knew his uncle loved him; he showed it every single day.

Which was why it was extra hard when Eddie was accused of murdering that poor girl. He was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time; there was a storm brewing, and he thought if he just took the shortcut through the city, he'd make it home before the storm got too bad. He never did make it home. All because he "didn’t belong there", everyone assumed he was the culprit. Cue the witch hunt for the freak, the seeking shelter in a barn that was falling apart, and being thrusted into a life of piracy. What hurt the most, the thing that kept Eddie awake most nights, was Wayne. He had no idea if Wayne was still alive; and if he was, did he think Eddie was alive? Was he living his life waiting for his nephew to walk through the door? Or did he believe what the whole kingdom was saying? That Eddie was a murderer. The thought of his Uncle believing those things were too much to bear, so as he poured the rum down his throat, he forced his thoughts back to you.

When Steve spoke to Eddie about you and Nancy finding solice on the ship, Eddie thought he knew exactly who the two of you were. Not personally, of course, but he knew the type of girls you were; two rich girls who were bored of life and looking for adventure, only you'd get less than two days into the trip before you'd be crying to go back to your life of luxury. He watched from the ship as you met with Steve on the docks, and even if in the dim light, he was drawn to you. There was something about the way you clutched your friend's hand, the way she had to keep leaning in and whisper what Eddie could only assume were words of affirmation. When he met you, he was amused. He was amused by how right he'd been, judging from your clothes anyway, and he was amused by your determination to prove you could handle whatever you'd walked into, even if your eyes -so bright and full of innocence- were betraying you.

For the next few days, he watched you and Nancy as you settled into life on a pirate ship. He watched as you got stuck in, you helped where you could, and where you couldn't, you were taught. Eddie watched as you quickly made friends with the crew, and the more he saw, the more he realized he'd been a complete asshole. He'd done exactly what everyone had done to him. Judged you and put you in a box before he'd even gotten to know you, and he wanted to know you, so, he began to think about how best to strike up a conversation with you.

When the storm hit and Robin realized she'd left you in the kitchen, Eddie had darted off before she could finish her sentence. He didn't know why he was so worried, but he also didn't overthink it as he bust through the door. When he saw you standing there, a knife in hand, he couldn't help but laugh. It was the most adorable sight he'd ever seen. It was during those few hours when he was trapped with you, when he came to understand just how wrong he was about you. You were strong, and as much as you credited Nancy for being fierce, you were just as fierce in your own right.

Eddie was completely captivated with you, and for the first time in a long time, he was scared. He didn't feel this way about the people he slept with when he was on land, and he didn't feel this way about Steve, who he'd shared many nights with. You clouded his thoughts when he was alone, and when you were around, he had to force himself not to stare at you. It was too much, he knew nothing could ever happen, not just because he was a pirate, but because you'd be leaving soon, so he'd started to avoid you. Considering he was the Captain and had his own jobs to do on the ship, it wasn't that out of place, but he was finding it difficult to stay away.

Realizing he'd finished the bottle of rum, he groaned, threw it across the room before dropping backwards onto the sheets. He wanted to talk about it, to be helped working out what exactly he was feeling and what to do, but he wasn't sure who to turn to. Robin seemed like a safe bet, and he knew she'd be honest, but considering she was the person who had spent the most time with you and Nancy, it didn't seem so unbiased and safe anymore. Jonathan was the same, in fact, you had befriended pretty much the whole crew, and Eddie knew all too well how fast gossip could spread. Steve was also another contender, but would that be weird? Sure, Steve was his best friend, his First Mate -in more ways than just his title, he was Eddies first friend- and the person that Eddie trusted the most, but he was also someone Eddie had slept with. It wasn't just sex either, for a while, they both genuinely believed a relationship would work between them. They'd never had to talk about this stuff before, because neither of them had ever caught feelings for someone else, even after they mutually decided to just be friends. With all this running through his mind, and the rum running through his blood, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"Cap? You okay? Eddie, if you don't answer me, I will break this door down!"

Eddie opened his eyes and groaned st Steve's panicked shouts coming from the other side of the door. "Fucking hell, calm down!" He shouted as he padded across the room. He flung the door open, almost breaking the hinges, before turning back on his heels. "I was asleep, Harrington. What do you want?"

"I haven't seen or heard you since the shit with the Royal goons, I wanted to make sure you weren't dead."

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine." The Captain replied, making Steve roll his eyes. After a slight pause, he sighed. "Did you know she was running from an arranged marriage?"

"No, but I kinda figured, why else would they be running from a good life? Besides, before I left, four of Nancy's friends had been married off. " Steve replied with a shrug, to which Eddie clapped his hands once.

"That's what I said!" Eddie exclaimed, feeling somewhat vindicated. "So you didn't know her husband to be is Jason?"

"Prince Jason?"

"Aye." Eddie confirmed, and Steve puffed his cheeks out as he sighed. "Wow. So, what now?"

"I don't know, that's what I've been trying to figure out!"

"Wait...Cap, are you mad at her?" When Eddie didn't reply, Steve sighed and put his hands on his hips, his eyebrow raised to the skies. "Seriously? You're mad at her?"

"I don't- I mean- yeah, I guess I am." Eddie confessed and Steve sighed.

"Why? None of this is her fault, man."

"She didn't tell us, Steve! She put all of us in danger by not telling us what we were getting into!" Eddie argued. He knew his logic was wrong, and he knew Steve was about to put him straight, but he still couldn't help but feel defensive. His feelings were still valid, even if they were a bit misguided, right?

"Eddie, when I joined the crew, you had failed to mention the reasons you were on the run. This isn't different."

"This is totally different!" Eddie yelled, his frustration bubbling again. "She came aboard my ship, turned my life upside down, and she was hiding something all along! Why the fuck are you smirking?"

"Because I don't think you're mad at her for not telling us. I think you're mad because she didn't tell you."

"Well, yeah. I am the Captain." Eddie replied, his voice faltering. Steve's words cut Eddie deep, he wanted to deny it, to tell Steve he was insane, but he wasn't sure he could. Luckily, before he could think about it anymore, the door swung open, revealing Robin, who looked slightly sheepish. "I know you said not to interrupt, but we've arrived in Clearvale." And then she was gone again.

Steve clasped his hand on Eddie's shoulder and gave him a slight smile. "You're gonna have to decide what to do with 'em, Cap." Steve said, squeezing Eddie's shoulder. "A word of advice though? Don't make a decision based around your anger. You'll only regret it."

Eddie had almost forgotten how beautiful Clearvale was. It was a quaint, picturesque town, full of greenery and flowers and waterfalls, and as he stared out at the town from the ship's bow, he almost felt guilty being here. It was another side effect of his past, he always felt on edge when he came to nice places; he knew people would take one look at the pirates and be scared off, and he understood, to an extent. Luckily, just because Clearvale was beautiful, it didn't mean he would get the same treatment as his home town of Hawkins. Everyone here always seemed to welcome The Freaks, cheering as they walked into the tavern, greeting them warmly when they arrived to stock up. It was because of this that Eddie paid the town generously, and he made sure that his crew didn't put a step out of line. He liked Clearvale, he liked the people, and he'd even been considering making it his permanent residence when he'd had enough of adventures.

"Eddie!" He heard Steve shout from the shore. "You gotta see this."

Eddie sighed, wondering when the hell he was going to get a moment's peace, and headed down to the dry land. He followed Steve up the grassy hill path, where Nancy and Robin were looking nervous, and you were hiding your face with one of Robin's hats. On the edge of the town, right next to the large Welcome sign, was a notice board, full of Missing/Wanted posters with your face on them. Eddie looked into the town, and as far as he could see, every lamp-post, every shop window, had the same posters plastered up.

"What do we do?" Robin asked as she came up behind the two men. Steve shrugged as he and Robin both turned to their Captain expectedly. Eddie had no idea, honestly, but he couldn't let anyone know that.

"Take her and Nancy back to the ship." Eddie ordered. He was met by a raised eyebrow from the brunette girl and he sighed. "What?"

"I know you like this place, but we need to leave as soon as possible." Robin said.

"I agree. But we also needs supplies. We can't get to the next town with what we have left and two extra guests. So take them back to the ship, have a drink, and we'll be back soon."

"Fine. But we're taking the scotch." Robin said, narrowing her eyes before she turned back to you and Nancy. Eddie's eyes met yours as you looked up, and his heart ached. Although you gave him a small, reassuring smile, your eyes betrayed you. They were glassy, red, and puffy -clearly you'd been crying- and as he thought about how he may have played a role in the reason for your tears, his chest tightened. As you walked back to the ship, Nancy's arm protectively around you, Eddie pulled his gaze from you and turned back to the notice board.

He stared at your face, and the more he looked at it, the more he thought about what your life with Jason would be like, about what you would endure if Jason found you. You'd be trapped, the Palace would be your prison, where you would serve only to produce heirs. Eddie's mind was made up. It didn't matter that you lied by omission to protect yourself.He would do everything in his power, he would give his life, to make sure that you kept yours.

Eddie wanted to leave as soon as they'd gathered enough supplies, but he also knew that the crew had been looking forward to relaxing in Clearvale. He knew they needed a break, and so he compromised with them; no more than two drinks in the tavern, and they weren't to breath a word about their guests to anyone. If they did, Eddie would personally throw them overboard and feed them to whatever dwelled in the ocean.

He had one drink with the crew in the Stone Stag before leaving them in Steve's capable hands and heading back to the ship. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen, and he wanted to be with you if it did. As he made the short journey back to the ship, he let his mind wander to all the things he wanted to show you. Eddie knew, through Robin, that you had been stuck in Hawkins, where your only adventures were through stories, and he wanted to be the one to show you what life should be.

Eddie climbed aboard the ship, expecting to hear the sounds of three drunk women, yet he was met by an eerie silence. Surely they hadn't fallen asleep already, the sun hadn't set yet. He frowned and headed towards Robin's cabin, his footsteps echoing as he clacked across the deck, where the hell where you? But as he got to the door, his hand on the doorknob. he heard sniffling from inside the room, and he burst through, without knocking.

"Rob, I said I'm fin- Eddie?" You sat up quickly, wiping your eyes in an extremely futile attempt at covering up your crying. "Why aren't you at the tavern?"

"I didn't feel up to it. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." You replied, flashing a less than convincing smile. "See, don't I look fine?"

"Oh, you are the finest girl in all the kingdom." Eddie said. He grinned when you blushed and shook your head. "But people who are feeling fine don't usually cry. I know I'm not Nancy or Robin, but I'm your Captain, you should talk to me."

You raised your eyebrow. "You're my Captain?" You asked, and Eddie shrugged. "You're on my ship aren't you?" He replied with a grin and you rolled your eyes, making his smile somehow even wider. "So, talk to me."

"Yes sir." You replied, saluting him. Eddie felt his skin prick, as heat rushed up his body right into his cheeks, and he prayed that you were too busy mocking him to notice. Then, you smiled sadly, before dipping your head low. "Seeing those posters, knowing my face is plastered around the whole kingdom, it really made the gravity of what I've done sink in." You explained. "I was insanely naive to think I could just run away from the monarchy, to think they'd just give up, and now I've put you all in danger, God, I've been so incredibly selfish!"

Eddie watched you open up to him, and he clenched his jaw. He needed you to know you were safe here, safe with him, so he took your hand and ducked his head in a way that his eyes met yours. "I- we are going to protect you, okay? I will not let anything happen to you or Nancy, this I vow."

Eddie watched the words get stuck in your throat as you stared at each other. He knew what you were dying to know; why he was helping you, even after he found out the truth. That even now, knowing the danger that was barrelling towards you, why was he so ready to fight to protect you. But there was something else there, behind your beautiful eyes, a look that he couldn't work out. He wished he could see into your brain, know what you were thinking, and if it was the same thing he was thinking. Probably not, he said to himself, because he was thinking you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Somehow, you and Eddie had found yourselves edging closer, your fingers still interlocked, your breathing synced with his. As Eddie tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, your eyes fluttered closed. His heart was beating loudly against his chest, getting faster and louder as he leaned in, his lips almost there-

"Hey! We got the- Oh shit!"

Eddie flung himself across the room as Robin burst through the door. He ran his hands through his hair and glanced at you, who would rather look at the floor than him. He could feel Robin's eyes on him, burning a hole into him, and he cleared his throat. "Excuse me." He muttered, slinking past Robin, avoiding her smirk. He raced up the stairs, taking two at a time, barrelling into Nancy, almost taking her off her feet.

"What the hell, Eddie?!" Nancy shouted after him, but he could only wave his apologies with a quick shout of "Sorry!"

Eddie slammed his quarters door behind him, and found Steve sitting on the chair, his arms hanging lazily over the back. "Okay, you look crazier than usual. What happened?" Steve asked.

"I think I just nearly kissed her." Eddie said. He didn't care about his previous worries, he just needed to talk to someone before he exploded. Steve sat up, his eyes wide, before he leaned over and grabbed two tumblers and the bottle of whiskey, and as Steve said, "Sit down, you're going to tell me everything," Eddie felt a wave of relief wash over him.

#eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson #stranger things #my writing*#pirate!eddie

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tortoisesshells · 2 months

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1, 3 and 4 for the writing excerpt meme? :D

1. ... that makes me smile:

Customs doesn't usually have much for anyone to smile about, and they're five minutes away from an extraordinarily loaded conversation about justice, but for now, Nellie thinks Ursa Minor looks like a goose:

“Well, your education was likely significantly more comprehensive on this score than mine, Commodore.” “Undoubtedly. But Nellie, I really cannot see a goose.” She sighed, and glanced up at him. “If you are determined to laugh at me –” “I am not laughing –” “James.” “I am not laughing now,” he amended, “I am curious. What you see is what you see. I cannot tell you that you are wrong there.” “If you promise,” she said, and raised a hand to gesture at the sky, again. “There, the North Star. That’s the head. Those little stars arcing behind it are the long neck. The little box – the one with the other bright star in the lot, I don’t know it’s name but you see it, there? – that’s the body of the thing. I suppose I’ve been imagining that its wings are folded in – that it’s paddling about on some mill pond in the sky.” When described in this way, it did resemble a goose peering into the shallows for food. James said so, and Nellie, limited by the darkness as his perception of her was, fairly preened.

3. ... that encompasses my style:

Answered here, but: I don't usually do kid/adolescent narrators, but this passage from had you not better make One of us does have my usual belaboring of historical detail for characterization, and a character playing chicken and losing with their own emotions and memory. Also, I do think this one of my better attempts at Elizabeth from POTC at any age:

She frowned at this – why on earth would a man not want to travel? Instead of being stuck in a great dreary northern place which (Elizabeth glanced over at her father’s prized globe, finding this Massachusetts Bay by the great ungainly sweep of a cape that always put her in mind of a prize-fighter’s arm) probably had bears and snow. She had not seen the latter in some two years, and did not miss it at all – she had never seen a bear, though, since Papa had a weak constitution and tended to faint at the sight of blood, which meant for all her pleading she’d never seen the baiting-pits in Paris Garden in London – or anywhere else, besides. She had seen a bear skull once, in one of her father’s friend’s curio-cabinets, between curious-looking coins of long-dead Roman emperors and rocks that man had (in a superior tone which immediately made Elizabeth lose interest) called glossopetrae. Someone later told her that those hand-sized rocks they were ancient shark-teeth, which had set her to staring at the inscrutable waves with fear and fascination. But she was ignoring the conversation, which she ought not to do – she was something like the lady of the house, even though she was too young for the position she’d inherited when Mama had – “Then your family is in Massachusetts Bay?” she asked quickly, to stem the unwelcome thoughts she’d just had.

4. ... with dialogue I'm proud of:

Answered here, but! Love a character who says outrageous things with a smile. From another shoreline, in another life:

Roger snorted. “It’s the fire for us, Vicki. You might as well find your comfort where you can.” She glanced at him, chewing at her lip for a half-moment. “Ought I to – take one of the other rooms?” “Don’t be ridiculous. Take advantage of the foresight of our ancestors and stay by the stove.” “I’d like to lie down.” He looked at her, unsure at first, and then – entertained. “And you would rather a door be between us? You are taking this journey into the past very seriously. It’s not 1866.” Vicki demurred, feeling as though she had to explain herself, but not finding the words for what she meant to say. She was his sister’s employee – his son’s tutor – she’d need another job after this one, whenever that was. None of it was very articulate, and she watched miserably as Roger add another log to the stove. “If it distresses you that much,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her, with an expression she could not have parsed even in the frank light of day, “I will take one of the other rooms. Though – I’m not enough of a gentleman not to ask for your coat.”

send me a number and I'll share an excerpt of my writing!

#thank you for the ask kind friend!#ask meme #polkaknox talks

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rhinestonerainbow · 2 years

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Are you tired of my Murdoc/Hannibal content yet? Then you shouldn't read this, I'm afraid. Also, TW for child abuse (per default)

Hannibal had heard the strangled, painful cries of his little brother the minute he had stepped foot into their so called "home". It always felt so cold and distant to him, which also came from the darkness within it. He sighted deeply, quickly took his jacket and boots off, and then made his way into the living room. His dad had pinned his little brother down on the floor, belt threatingly in the lifted hand, about to go down on his weak, small body any second. Not with Hannibal though. He grabbed his father's wrist, noticing the surprised tone that came from the old man "What do you think you're doing?" He slurred, voice laced with the alcohol he had consumed in the past hours. "Don't you think he's had enough?" Hannibal asked "Look at him! He's crying and trembling! Last time you beat him up this bad, he couldn't sit for two weeks! Leave him alone, he's done nothing wrong"

Sebastian chuckled darkly, but did let go of Murdoc, who used the opportunity to dash into his room and close the door knowing, that there wasn't a safer place for him right now, then under his bed. Then, the man, still grinning, freed his wrist and turned around to the older Niccals boy "Well, it's an easy deal." He said, shrugging almost carelessly "If you don't want that little maggot of brother to take the blows with the belt that he deserves for knocking over my beer, you're going to have to take them for him. You surely understand that, don't you?"

His father asked, nasty grin ever so present, and Hannibals insides mingled with disgust. He couldn't leave his little brother to Sebastian, not with how vulnerable the boy was. So, the young adult sighted deeply "Then bring it on, old man. I'm used to it, anyway"

About an hour later, Hannibal made his way to Murdocs room, hissing quietly with every step. He knew he was bleeding, he could feel the blood running down his back, but that wasn't important right now. Murdoc was important. He knocked at the room door first, and, receiving no answer, stepped inside. "Hey, little toad" He said grinning, sitting down next to the younger boy who crawled out from under the bed where he had hidden. "Does it still hurt a lot?" Murdoc asked, tone laced with worry and guilt "Nah. It didn't in the first place." "I'm sorry that this happened to you because of me" The mismatched eyes of the boy looked aside, and Hannibal hated when his brother felt so guilty, so responsible for the actions of a man like their father. "Well, that's what a big brother is for, isn't he? And it's not your fault that our father is like this. At least I can protect you every once in a while"

Hannibal grinned slightly, showing his crooked teeth, but he was somewhat proud of helping his younger brother out like this. Even if it wasn't much, and it didn't always happen, the relieved look on his little brothers face made it all the more worthwhile. He could've just chosen to ignore it, he could've ignored the little maggot, but he remembered how it had felt, when Sebastian had beaten him up, with no one near to help him, no one caring, no one saving him. Murdoc had someone that could help him, and Hannibal would've been damned if he wouldn't have provided that help. "And now?" The small voice asked "Now we wait until dad has drunken enough to pass out. And then... I don't know, little toad. I really don't" He mumbled with a sigh, shrugging slightly. "There's a talent competition again on Saturday." Murdoc casually mentioned, making his brother look up "And? At least you actually have talent. That's more than most people there can say"

But that wasn't what Murdoc had wanted to hear, and he let out a frustrated groan "But not if I'm in a ridiculous costume! On a stage, that I don't want to be on! With people that look at me like they're going to eat me alive any second now! I don't want to take the stage because someone tells me to take it, I want to take it on my own because I want to! And because I'm famous. Maybe"

At that, Hannibal chuckled and poked his brothers cheek "I'll tell you what. You're going to make it big, one day. Crowds are going to shout your name. And you're going to be on a stage, because you want to be"

At that, the smaller Niccals chuckled "You're stupid. That's never going to happen" He shook his head and a comfortable silence settled between the brothers. Sometimes, not all was bad. Sometimes, there were good moments. And sometimes, life was almost enjoyable for both of them.

#gorillaz #murdoc gorillaz #murdoc niccals #hannibal niccals #sebastian niccals #gorillaz fanfiction #i solely provide the niccals family content and i live for it

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heliads · 2 years

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Thanks for writing for all readers 🥰 Only if you feel comfortable: a male squaller thats really similar to Zoya (they are besties and bickering 24/7) but turns into a flustered mess whenever he has to talk to Genja, who he actually shares many hobbies with? If you dont want to write that just male squaller thats besties with Zoya and making lighthearted fun about Nikolai?

i would do anything for genya safin my beloved

masterlist

There’s a common saying in Ravka that the best satisfaction comes from an honest day’s work. It’s ridiculous, of course, the sort of thing that’s said by wealthy monarchs as they watch their starving subjects work to the bone to supply them with another feast, but the message has still managed to stick around all of these centuries.

You, however, would tack on an addendum to the popular moral: some satisfaction may come from the day’s work, sure, but the best satisfaction of all comes from being the best in the business, honest work be damned. Right now, you’ve just beat out even Zoya Nazyalensky in the latest Squaller showdown, and you could be on top of the world for all the Saints care.

Zoya, bless her heart, is pretending that she isn’t bothered at all right now. “No need to keep gloating, L/N, it’ll ruin your complexion.”

You snort. “I couldn’t ruin my complexion if I tried. It’s weathered even your storms, so it should stick around for a while longer.”

“It’s just one practice,” she replies, “don’t let it get to your head. I’ll remind you that I won the same title yesterday.”

“Yes,” you say, “but this is now. I’d never bother to get so caught up in the past.”

Zoya scoffs. “Yes, we know, you take pride in being a heartless and cold statue of a man–”

You can’t help but grin as you listen to Zoya. Despite her seemingly harsh words, this is how the two of you get along best, by trading jokes disguised as insults until even the most grating remarks make you laugh. You may pretend that the world doesn’t humor you in the slightest, but you can’t deny that you’re having a wickedly good time right now.

“–although your entire facade seems to disappear whenever you’re around our good friend Genya Safin,” Zoya finishes, “Why’s that?”

You were wrong, this world is a terrible place and you wish to leave it at once.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grit out icily.

Zoya just smirks. “Of course you don’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if your entire brain shut down the second she walks within your line of sight. That’s what it seems like, at least.”

You roll your eyes. “If I can walk into conflict against the Fjerdans without so much as flinching, I doubt one Tailor could truly shake me that badly.”

“That’s what one would think,” Zoya says crisply, “yet it still happens. I must admit that it fascinates me. I thought you were better than silly feelings such as those.”

You arch a brow. “You’d know all about silly feelings, though, wouldn’t you? I seem to remember spotting a very familiar blue ribbon neatly coiled on the desk in Nikolai’s room the other day.”

Zoya’s eyes spark with a very unbecoming irritation. It appears that your theories about her and the king were true, although anyone with a set of working eyes or ears could think the same from the way they speak to each other.

“I can’t help it if the king thinks me devastatingly attractive. Would you like me to inquire with Genya if she feels the same way about you?” She asks pointedly.

You give her a look that could cut through solid stone, although it just makes her grin broaden. “I think I can handle my own affairs just fine on my own, but thank you so much for asking.”

Zoya’s teeth flash with the shine of her own vindication. “Just thought I’d offer. I am known for my charity when it comes to hopeless causes, aren’t I?”

You don’t bother to dignify that obvious fabrication with a response. The problem, of course, the issue of the very root that Zoya has so tactfully pointed out, is that you do indeed have lapses in your cold demeanor when it comes to a certain redheaded Tailor, although that’s not your fault.

How could it be your fault, after all, when Genya Safin is at her core the best young woman you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting? She’s got a wit to match your own, a sparking temper, and a warm heart beneath it all. That’s not to mention the fact that she’s irrevocably gorgeous, and one of the finest and bravest Grisha the Little Palace has to offer.

It would be wonderful if you could talk to her, then. You’ve certainly prepared for such a day time after time, straightening the collar of your best kefta like having a hair of the fox fur collar out of place would ruin your chances forever. In truth, you don’t think Genya has the time to consider the complacency of your kefta’s fur trim, as you trip over yourself so badly whenever she’s around that she’ll be far too distracted to concentrate on anything else.

It’s a terrible shame, which is of course why Zoya’s brought it up. She’s laughed over your inability to talk to the Tailor countless times before, no matter how often you try to deny it. In the end, you could build up the confidence of the Saints themselves, and it would all come crumbling down the second Genya so much as bats her eyes at you.

Zoya appears to take rare pity on you, because she clears her throat only a few minutes into your restless musing. “I’m actually meant to be meeting with Genya today on behalf of the Squallers,” she says, “but I’ve been called away for a war report and I won’t be able to make it. You’ll be able to at least try and fill my shoes while I’m out, won’t you?”

You raise a sardonic brow, trying to hide the fact that your heart feels as if it’s suddenly gone into palpitations. “I thought you’ve told me on countless occasions that I could never even hope to match your ineffable presence.”

Zoya sighs theatrically. “I did, but I’m afraid you’ll have to do today. I thought you’d be jumping at the prospect of visiting your sweetheart.”

“I’m going to push you into the lake,” you say.

“I don’t think you have the aim for that,” Zoya shoots back, and walks away matter-of-factly before you can test out that theory.

You treat yourself with a few seconds to glare at your friend’s back, then groan and start heading towards the Little Palace. Genya will be in the War Room at this hour, waiting on Zoya. You can only hope that she won’t be too disappointed to see you instead.

The soles of your boots echo against the cold stone floor of the Little Palace, rolling out a steady rhythm that helps calm at least the edges of your nerves. You shouldn’t be this nervous to see a friend, but then again, your heart has rarely seemed to follow your directions.

You knock once against the dark wooden door of the War Room, and moments later a voice calls for you to enter. Genya has her back to you at first, and you set your shoulders back. Today will be a good day. You’re going to actually handle this well. You don’t think you could physically take Zoya’s teasing if you didn’t.

In the meantime, you have the snapshot of a brief moment in which you can lean here against the half-open door, just looking at her. You’ve seen Genya around the Little Palace, of course, she’s impossible to ignore and so deeply entrenched in the Grisha that it’s impossible to uproot her, but still.

She’s especially pretty now, in the low lamplight. Her copper hair is pinned up, businesslike, although the bottom curls have already started to come untucked and trail towards the nape of her neck. Even when she thinks she’s alone, Genya carries herself with such cool confidence that you’d think she’d fought a thousand wars before and won them just as easily as she’s going to win this one.

Then again, perhaps Genya has, in a way. No one except her closest friends know exactly what happened during the reign of the Darkling, but it wasn’t good. Instead of turning Genya cruel, though, it has just made a kind girl brave. It amazes you.

Oblivious to your reverie, Genya turns around, arms full of blueprints. She frowns once at you across the room, then dumps out the scrolls on the already cluttered table before you. “I thought the meaner Squaller was coming,” she says.

“I thought I was supposed to be the meaner Squaller,” you say, “I might be hurt.”

Genya chuckles, success at last. “I’d have to disagree. I do love Zoya dearly, but her favored way of showing affection is through targeted sarcastic barbs.”

You smile faintly at that. “Zoya is–”

Your early lead trails off, and you’re left clutching at straws, hoping to find something to say that won’t make you sound like a complete moron.

“–an acquired taste,” you finish somewhat lamely. You really can’t manage to conduct yourself around her, can you?

Luckily, Genya grins at your words. “I would quite agree,” she says, and you try not to make your sigh of relief all that obvious.

She beckons you over, leaning over one of the scrolls she’s started to unroll. “Zoya was supposed to talk to me about the Squallers. Hopefully, you know about your own branch of the Small Science.”

“I’m inclined to think so,” you say, “what were you going to talk about?”

Genya taps a few notations on the diagram. “We need to send another squadron of Grisha to the front lines. I need some names, people who are actually likely to follow orders instead of trying to be heroes and go off by themselves and die pointlessly. Have anyone in mind?”

She smiles somewhat apologetically as she asks the question, just as aware as you are that this is a terrible predicament. Sending friends to certain death is never easy, but in a time of war, it must be done anyway.

So, you nod, and try your best to move some of that burden off of her shoulders and onto yours. “Lara Kulakov is good, she’s someone you can trust. Danil Ivanov too, he’s strong. I wouldn’t go for Veliko Resnick or Milana Marinova, though. They’re good fighters, but far too distracted by a good round of Three Man Bramble. Which is pointless, by the way, because everyone in their right minds knows that the best card game is solitér.”

“Solitér?” Genya asks, suddenly delighted. “You play it too? Zoya makes dreadful fun of me for liking it, she says it’s a game for old maids or life sentence prisoners, but I happen to think it’s quite fun.”

You laugh. “No, I think it’s the best. I learned to play when I was quite young, I think it was a way for my mother to keep me quiet and out of trouble.”

Genya grins. “See, I knew you were fun, L/N. This just proves it. We should play sometime.”

You frown. “Solitér is a solo game, though. Thought that was the whole point. You know, solitary, solitér.”

Genya rolls her eyes. “Alright, then, we could play in the same vague proximity. It would work out.”

You smile at her, suddenly self conscious. “It sounds like a date.”

You meant to confirm her idea, but it comes out more like a question. Could it be a date, perhaps? Could it actually sound like Genya Safin herself wants to meet up with you?

Genya straightens up slightly, hands smoothing out invisible folds in the skirt of her kefta. “Only if you wanted to, that is,” she amends in a quieter voice, “I know you’re probably quite busy and all, but–”

You cut her off hurriedly before she can retract her offer. “No, I think that sounds wonderful. I’m just awful at confirming things, that’s all. You make me terribly nervous, Genya.”

She laughs, the sound of it pealing like a bell through the room. “That’s impossible. Zoya says you’re one of the bravest Grisha we’ve got. Surely I can’t make you nervous.”

You smile in spite of yourself. “One would think so, but the facts still remain. If you were to agree to this date, though, I might be able to overcome my little fear.”

“You think so?” Genya asks around a dazzling grin.

You nod solemnly. “Only if you’d give me the chance to prove it.”

The corners of her mouth twitch up in a happy smile, refusing to tamp themselves down. “I think I’d be alright with seeing that. Shall we do Thursday, then, after supper?”

“That sounds perfect,” you say, and it is. You’ll certainly have the story to share with Zoya once she comes back. For once, you’ve managed to stop tripping over yourself around Genya, and you’ve even managed to win a date out of it. Nothing could be more perfect, indeed.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @deadreaderssociety, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @gods-fools-heroes, @amortensie

#genya safin #genya safin imagines #genya safin x reader #genya safin oneshot #grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone oneshot #grishaverse genya #grishaverse genya imagines #grishaverse genya x reader #grishaverse genya oneshot

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