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cillivnz · 1 year

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MISS A SPOT, HIT THE SPOT [lord dimitrescu]

pairing. LORD DIMITRESCU x MAID!READER (dub!con turned consensual)

initial, DIMITRESCU SONS x READER (very dubious consent)

word count. 3072

warnings. AFAB!reader, cursing, misogynistic themes, animal cruelty (using gator-skin on furniture; don’t call PETA on me, i’m sorry), groping, a little bit of exhibitionism, dub!con, fingering, reader is pinned against the wall, reader’s family has been serving the Dimitrescus, large age-gap, oral sex (both receiving), throat-fucking, tongue-fucking, clit play, pyromania, dacryphilia, extreme degradation, belittling, spitting, penetrative sex (p! in v!), squirting, multiple & forced orgasms, extreme breast/nipple play, reader’s just being used by the family, reader is called maid as well as a pet name in Romanian, unprotected sex, creampie.

listening to. ‘Enslaved’ by Diva Destruction

notes. Y/L — Your Last Name, Y/F/N — Your Father’s Name, căprița mea mic�� — my little doe

A regular day in an abysmal castle.

Your ancestry were sworn servants of the Dimitrescu royals, and ensuing your father’s demise after leading a devoted life to the Lord, it was your turn.

You managed to avoid his acknowledge, as well as his sons’; something you thanked your stars for. You were still at a tender age; early twenties yet unexposed to the worldly works, courtesy of your conservative father. You loved the old man, despite him giving you constant reminders that your birth doomed him— how you should’ve been a son to continue his legacy, not a fragile, worthless woman. But those words only came out of his mouth like venom when he was made to overwork or worse— punished.

And like any other day you were dusting the halls. Except it wasn’t every other day you felt your skirt lift up fervently by two strong hands who also pinned you against the wall. An heir. Another, holding you down, while one tugged at your blouse. Alas, the Dimitrescu boys had found you.

“Well, well, the silhouette comes to life.” The one pining you spoke. He had a raspy voice with some baritone to it. “Sire, please leave me be—” you beseeched, but before you could even beg, you choked on your own words as your thong was pushed to the side. “She wants to leave, yet you roam about our land dressed like a whore.” This erupted demonic laughter from all three. “You thought we ought not to catch on?” The one below spoke, his face so close to your cunt, you felt heat radiate off of him with every syllable he dragged. “Your scent lingers— hauntingly— how we’ve chased after your ghost.” “But you were always too fast, little doe.”

“Always teasing us — where were you hiding this beauty? Hm?” One teased, his stone cold lips grazing your bare shoulder. “Moreover where had you been hiding this ass of yours?”

You jolted when a harsh slap landed on your ass, your not-so-subtle moan eliciting evil laughter from the men harassing you.

The one gripping your ass began to spread it, you writhed like a worm in their vice-like embrace, begging and praying for the abuse to be over; in a way it was.

The minute you felt something stroke your folds, prodding at your entrance, a demonic thunder struck. “What do you have here, boys?” They froze, as did you. This is the most cooperation you four have shown, as if unsaid, yet understood that if you hold your breath and close your eyes, the Lord can’t hurt you.

But slowly, as if puppies caught creating chaos by their master, did the boys move away from you. Bright yellow eyes ablaze in the monotonous dark of his castle. His eyes darted from your glassy eyes staring at him, the fear in them, to your rosy cheeks, blood-red lips, and straight to your skirt; your ass was out since a Dimitrescu brother hiked it up, the same heir, on realising what his father’s hungry eyes were doting upon, made a feeble attempt to fix your skirt, but before his fingers, barely tainted with your slick wetness, could touch the fabric of your skirt, let alone fix it, his father ordered. “Don’t you dare lay hands on her, more than you have already.” The Lord spoke with utmost calmness, and that’s what terrified the four of you, you especially, the most.

Reluctantly but obediently they stepped away from you. You were still clinging to the wall, frozen in place. “Come on over,” You saw his gloved hand motion towards him, “My chambers need cleaning.” An ominously mischievous tone and provocative smirk tugged at his lips.

The walk to the Lord’s chambers was awkward and fearful. He had insisted you walked in front of him, and you could feel eyes ripping through your flesh, your predator ready to pounce on you at any given moment.

You were making feeble steps towards his chambers, almost there, when he interrupted you, “Halt,” he said, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, but you dare not look back at him. “Clean my study firstly.” He ordered, and waited by the door for you to turn around.

Once you turned, you were met by calculating amber eyes that peered down at you from a head held high. He stood by the doorframe, and on seeing you make weak, yet progressive steps towards him, his thunderous strides entered the chamber. He was seated on a leather chair by the time you entered, as if he’d been there the entire time. ‘Gator skin,’ you heard a rumour the one time you cleaned the Lord’s study before. ‘He tore it apart with his bare hands, and had it skinned into a chair as a trophy.’ You hadn’t believed the chamberlain until you’d seen it yourself.

On the left of it was an ablaze fireplace, and in front, was a library; not colossal, yet extreme in number. Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display.

“Do you fancy reading?” You almost jumped when his ravenous voice broke the eerie silence you were just growing accustomed to. “Yes, my Lord.” You seemed to pique his interest when he hummed after a short pause, surprised within yourself at the sudden confidence. It was clear, you preferred the father’s company to his sons’. Perhaps, you felt safe knowing he is the leash on his sons— the fear of your fears.

“Well, if your cleaning is satisfactory, perhaps… I’ll let you take some.” the Lord proposed, but somehow you knew this reward wasn’t for cleaning but something else he wanted to deem satisfactory.

You dare not utter another word and got to cleaning.

Dusting away, between books, underneath books; wiping away at the large mirror by the shelves. “What do they call you?” He asked with authority.

“Y/N Y/L, my Lord,” you hesitantly revealed. “Y/L!” He exclaimed, “You’re Y/F/N Y/L’s daughter,” he concluded in a wicked tone. With each wipe, he grew closer and closer and the horrid smile on his face grew wider and more sinister, forcing you to look back at him at a neck-snapping speed, only to catch him, still seated, gazing at you innocently.

“Mop the floors,” he requested, before adding “Maid.” As if asking your revelation of your identity fell on deaf ears that never demanded it. Without muttering, you dampen the mop and began cleaning.

This was just cruel.

You thought your saviour actually required your services, yet the man had you in the same position as his sons, except voluntarily, for you had to bend on all fours and stretch not to miss a spot, after all you were cleaning your master’s land, at his request. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ you sighed, only daring to think of it.

You heard fervent movement behind you, and the next thing you feel is your thong being pulled down till your ankles. It happened all too fast, you barely registered anything until his large hands spread you open to him. “They were right about you,” He spoke, intrigued, “Such exemplary beauty, căprița mea mică. Utterly pristine.”

Noticing your haltered movements, he quirked a brow. “Did I permit you to stop?” You choked a gasp, feeling his left hand trace your curves, making its way to squeeze your throat, while his right hand fiddled with your glistening folds. “No sir,” you breathed a sigh at the pleasure he was making you feel. “Fucking continue then.” He ordered and you did.

Maybe not a regular day in an abysmal castle. Your 9’6 Lord and Master, the fearsome and notorious, the head of the dreaded Dimitrescu family, Lord Dimitrescu himself, kneeling behind you while you wipe his floors, fingers stroking your lips, not yet penetrating, just— “Oh!” You moaned when a long, thick, wet something slithered about your pussy. Prodding at the places his very fingers grazed, now wiggling inside you.

You began panting, about to look back and begin your pleads when a strong hand grabbed your skull and forced it in place.

You were terrified; just a bit more coaxing and he could crack open your skull. You were less than half his size and half his age. What was more frightening to you was that it was just the tip of his tongue inside you. Your eyes rolled back and damn-near saw your brain as he began pushing more of it in.

Still, obediently, you wiped.

This pleased the Lord as he wrapped an arm over your waist to your legs and brought his thumb to your clit. The circular motions of figure-eights on your clit were frantic, causing an excruciating jolt of pleasure to run down your lower half, his anomaly of a tongue amplifying the feel.

You bit you lip, nearly drawing blood as the knot in your core grew unbearable. Feeling you clench around his tongue, Lord Dimitrescu replaced the oral attack with two of his fingers, stretching you so bittersweetly. The assault on your cunt was aching. He’d graze your g-spot oh-so-softly, slowly driving you to the edge yet deliberately prolonging the high tide. “You are making a mess, căprița mea mică,” he sighed, eyeing the slick dripping down your thighs, drenching you in all, and the wooden floor beneath you. “Allow me to help.” It was more imperative than offering, so it was but natural you grimaced in pain when he pulled out his fingers, moments before you were coming undone, only to spread your aching hole and spit into it.

You moaned; shamelessly, you let out a filthy, degraded moan, and the sound travelled straight to the Lord’s cock. “There, there,” he rubbed his spit on your folds, your swollen clit bathed in it, “All better — nice and clean.” He chuckled, causing goosebumps to arise on your spine and your breath to get caught in your throat when he shoved not two but three fingers smoothly into your weeping cunt.

You clenched at the sudden attack, bewildered at how easily you were being made to cum for your master yet again. He rose from his position to whisper in your ear, “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” At that moment, he had you unravelling with a curl on his fingers inside you.

You screaming a string of curses, the Lord greatly amused by your sailor’s tongue.

He stood up, without a word or move. “Clean the mess you made.” He gestured down at your juices that he flowed out of your cunt. “And while you’re down there…” He unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock that sprang free, a demonic thing, it was; certainly, not pleasurable to accommodate inside, unless…

“Don’t be afraid, maid.” His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring.

“It can’t hurt you, unless I want it to.” His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you. You wavered off the uneasiness, still eager to please your master. Grabbing his colossal cock, you began to work out the large vein on the underside of it. He hissed when you applied pressure, using both your hands in an attempt to hold it; in vain it went. You licked the tip, before slowly taking it in your mouth.

“That’s it. Show me you’re an all-rounder, maid; not just for wiping floors, show me that’s not all you can do bent over.” He chuckled, something so sinister about how his own vulgarity was so amusing to him. However, you weren’t opposed to it. After all, orders were orders; that’s one thing your father did teach you, if ordered directly, orders are orders, even if they’re fatal.

You gagged on less-than half the length, but your quick save by jacking off the inches unabsorbed by your mouth was much appreciated by the man above you. His large palm resting atop your head, slowly caressing your messed up hair into place. The gesture nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

“You take it like it was made for you.” He cooed. You couldn’t help but put your guard down, making it unknowingly advantageous to the Lord who grabbed the same head he was caressing, as support to fuck your throat. He only chuckled at the stream of years flowing through your glassy eyes. Your flushed face tainted with tears was now red with lack of oxygen. His cock was slamming past your uvula; the bell tolls, as if he were morally obligated to.

“So young, yet you suck cock like you’ve been a whore all your life.” He chuckled to himself, before thrusting in deeply, and cumming inside your mouth. You swallowed his ichor without being told, when you stuck out your tongue to show him, he groaned, face contorted in some form of arousal, as he lifted your frame to his, kissing you with neediness. His lips were surprisingly tender, beard teasing your face while his tongue, one that swept your insides clean, forced entry into your mouth, which you hesitantly permitted.

“Dust by the fireplace, better get to it.” He said, pulling away from you. You grabbed the supplies and moved towards the said place. You hadn’t noticed when the flames became blazing, a conflagration, either way, you dipped the mop in the bucket beside you, and began wiping.

You couldn’t get much done, however, for from underneath your skirt, you felt something big prod your entrance. Rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, Lord Dimitrescu positioned himself behind you, before shoving the whole of it in. You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure. “My…-my Lord!” You moaned, trying to form an actual sentence, “This is highly inap…-inappropriate!” You managed to muster. “Really now?” He questioned, you don’t know if it was a scoff or a laugh following his amused tone. “Who,” he paused, pushing you forward. You were now a stone’s throw away from the fire, every thrust into you pulled you back, which, despite the burn of the stretch, made you grateful for you were pulled back from the fireplace. “Do you think,” he continued, thrusting into you harder each time; the heat of the fire threatening to melt you whole, grazing your face, delicately. “You are.” He finished, slamming into you so hard, you began to cum, but before you could unravel before him, he pulled out, causing your pussy to spasm around the eerie nothingness of the room.

You were reduced to a whining mess, no words coming out of your abused mouth. “What’s the matter, maid? You want to cum?” he questioned, gripping your curvy hips. “Even when you’ve missed a spot?” One of his arms snaked on your waist, the other roamed about your spine, laying you down, before pulling your head up by your hair.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he groaned, cock pressing against your slit, it’s new home, yet not in. He grabbed the bucket of freshwater besides you, pouring it all on the floor. “Let’s get that spot, shall we?” He said, before doing something so degrading, you felt disgusted in your own skin for enjoying.

Your hot body was used to wipe the floors of Lord Dimitrescu’s study. Ripping your blouse into shreds, he groped your breasts that had sprang free, before positioning your chest on the wet floor, and swaying you left to right.

This man, your ancestry’s master, was balls deep inside your abused pussy, fucking away the life in you, while using your tits as a mop. You moaned as your burning skin made contact with the icy puddle. “That’s how you wipe, căprița mea mică, so much better.” He grunted, the pace, the size, the girth, the sheer brutality of his sex was like a punch to the gut, nonetheless your poor cunt made feeble attempts to get accustomed to the ongoing torture. Your cunt clenched around his cock while your breasts swayed from side to side, the carpet had soupçons of water, courtesy of the fervency with which you “wiped”, which it soaked up instantly.

“My Lord, I’m going to- oh!” You yelped when he pulled out, shoving his fingers inside you and curling them. You hadn’t anticipated this, body reacting on sheer adrenaline junk that’s been coaxed out of you since the incident with this man’s sons in the halls of his castle.

Then, as fate would have it, mocking your misery, you squirted all over the floor. The juices gushing out your cunt, drowning the man that coaxed them out. He giggled, like a fucking teenager, while you fought for consciousness. Sure, you’d had sex before, he was a chef in this very place who mysteriously disappeared, but a man Lord Dimitrescu’s size? You had never held your head high around the family, avoiding their gaze like a thief, and now he’s fucking you like a stinging reminder of why you should’ve stayed in the shadows— remained a silhouette.

You were sore from the previous two orgasms, yet the man made it look easy to coax your third. The hostility your cunt displaying, clenching around the wanted, yet unmanageable penetration, was enough to unravel Lord Dimitrescu, you following with pornographic screams.

His grip on your hip and scalp was tormenting, but it soon loosened when he pumped into you one last time, pussy milked dry, filled with his overflowing load. He exhaled sharply, pulling up your panties, tapping your ass lightly. “You have been amazing — definitely considering promoting you.” He seemed very proud of his joke. Leaning down to catch your ear where you’d nearly passed out on the ground, he whispered in your ear. “Now, clean up.”

He left a moment after, stopping at the doorway to catch a glimpse of your sexy, worn out body. “My room’s next.” He said, leaving you alone with a shit load of mess to clean.

Your mess.

main masterlist. more from “resident evil: village”.

#lord dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu genderbent #lady dimitrescu #genderbent #lord dimitrescu smut #lord dimitrescu x reader #lord dimitrescu x reader smut #size difference #resident evil #resident evil village #dimitrescu #monster smut #vampire smut #lord dimitrescu sons #dimitrescu family #resident evil dimitrescu #maid dress #slutty maid

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heartfullofleeches · 10 months

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Yan Royalty + Executioner Reader Intro

Warning: mention of injury, death

The Executioner.

A faceless blight on the nation's population. With their presence came death, and the instillment of fear in all who witnessed the of their axe. Veiled in darkness, only shadows of the very same knew the Executioner true face - welcoming them home with open arms after each slaughter. Null could pinpoint their whereabouts following the culling of those who opposed their charge, but it was rumored they dwelled in the same catacombs were prisoners were kept, and branched throughout the entire land and its walls. Servants, even hardened soldiers were quick to abandon their posts upon hearing the faintest scratches from within the stone halls.

Regardless of their locality, the Executioner always appeared when wardened to reap calamity as the phantom so many claimed.

Chaos breaks within the castle walls. A spy sent from a neighboring kindom hours away from execution had escaped, set out to finish their final mission given by their lord. Years ago, they'd been tasked with the assassination of the young heir shortly after their birth. The child was saved thanks to the watchful eye of it's protectors, but the sky's attempts would not be punishment lightly.

For the next two decades they sat in their cell, wasting away and only fed enough scraps to keep them from the brink of death - living proof of the weakness of the enemy ready for the slaughter. A proud warrior then as a sheet and stripped of any marker of the fighter they once were. Perhaps they lost that title the day they chose to take an innocent's life. Months went 0by - welding their fellow captives rotting bones into tools to pick their locks. They saved the sharpest two for the eye of the next person who entered their cell - and the future ruler of the rival kingdom.

Strengthless as they may have been, the hier was no match for their attacker's former legacy and the element of surprise. Tangled in their sheets, the heir fought and clawed to no avail much room the spy's glee. The attack was more personal than it had been in the past and they wanted the royal to suffer a fraction of the torture they endured.

Guards pounded on the doors. The royal's vision fade in and out as hands came up to their neck. Reality spiraling, their mind slipped as did their sense of the world. The walls cried, shadows melting from their purchase and crept soundlessly behind their tormentor. An eye, unblinking, watched down at them - tears of crimson following from its twin. Pulling the slender bone lodged in their socket, the shadow returned the makeshift blade to the throat of its sender.

The spy rasped, clawing at their neck and the darkness as they're dragged off the bed. The shadow steps over their body and into the moonlight - revealing a human form. Bloodied apron, thin scars and bites from victims with more fight than others, a vacant stare. The Executioner's face was as expressionless as the mask they wore except for the large hole in their ey. The royal was petrified - terror gripping their very soul. If not the spy, then surely -

"Cover your eyes."

The Executioner kneels, silent - say for the faintest breath of their lips. The royal swallows as the Executioner sweeps their thumb over their cheek - clearing it of blood.

"Y-your eye..."

"I do not need my mask within in the catacombs. I let them get away. Everything, after is my error."

"No!...no.. You... - saved me."

"Forgive me, it was not my intention. I am the axe your family welds. Nothing more. Someday soon it will be your order I follow."

The royal's heart flutters. The reaper of legend theirs to command. A fairer fantasy than they've ever dreamed. The rugged figure was as alluring as they were menacing - an angel of death soon to be in their grasp. The Executioner stood on their feet and dragged the lifeless body of the spy back to the bookshelf they exited - pressing a finger to their lips as the door breaks down and they disappear behind the wooden shelf.

"Your highness! Are you alright?!

"....Send every available medic to the catacombs - now."

#yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere x you #yandere #yandere prince #yandere princess

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eyeliketoeatpoosay · 2 months

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ANYTHING ~ matt sturniolo.

summary ~ christmas eve and your mom does nothing but fight with you. you decide to leave and get stoned in some random parking lot when matt finds you.

warnings i! ~ ANGSTY ANGST, fluff, established relationship, soft!matt, use of petnames (baby), use of y/n (SUE ME), lower case intended !, mentions/details of suicide and depression. - tell me if ive missed anything !

a/n ~ hey ! haha🤣 so i was reading a fan fic and i started sobbing bc this song came on so i thought wait this is such a good song to write about💯💯‼️ so here i am💋 enjoy

not proof read !

✧༺💌༻∞

christmas eve. the last 24 hours before christmas day. the day of love and commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ. the day of love, celebration, and hope.

christmas was the one day a year, besides birthdays, that kids looked forward to. the day that children got presents from family members they had never even heard of, it usually just being a box of chocolate and a card with ten dollars shoved in it carelessly. but, the children didn’t care. they saw ten dollars worth of candy and robux. they saw fifty new cavities for the dentists to worry about, toys for decades, and snow to lay in and create artificial angels.

however, christmas hadn’t been the same for you since your father died. the day felt dull, empty, lonely. december 19th 2016. one day after your thirteenth birthday, you walked into your parents newly organized bedroom to see your father’s limp and lifeless body with his feet floating 6 inches off the ground.

the day permanently imprinted in your closed mind. the way his skin faded white and his cheeks puffed up red. the way your father took his own precious life twenty four hours after you turned thirteen.

you were adding setting powder to your under eyes, making sure your makeup was perfect before putting your outfit on.

you, your mother, and sister always stayed indoors all day on christmas eve. playing board games, watching movies, drinking hot cocoa. it was like a tradition at this point. your father introduced it to your family when your mother was pregnant with you, now you were carrying on the legacy.

it wasn’t your favorite time of year, in fact, you dreaded the clocks striking midnight on december 1st. you wished you could stay in november forever. relive that last month of your life when your father stayed alive for every single day. when your father didn’t waste a single breath.

you shook the thought and wiped off the powder, curling your long and black lashes and swiping mascara across them. something about doing your makeup every morning was therapeutic, comforting. it wasn’t that you were ugly or insecure, no, it was just something to make your smile break out.

and something to make your boyfriend convince you that you didn’t need.

the brown fluffy hoodie that you stole from matthew sturniolo, your boyfriend, laid on your pink floral bedding. along with your red and black checkered pajama pants. it was a cozy and warming day. you weren’t going anywhere, so you didn’t bother with actual clothes.

it was now 10:07 am. matt was most definitely not awake, but you decided to message him. just to let him know you loved him. you couldn’t let anyone down ever again. you couldn’t end an interaction without an ‘i love you.’ or the guilt would eat you alive.

‘morning matt’

‘i love u’

‘merry christmas eve !’

‘tell ur mom and dad i miss them’

‘i already told nick and chris’

‘call me when u wake up baby’

‘love u so much.’

‘💌💌💌’

you sling your phone onto your mattress and tie your hair up. half up half down with a ribbon. just what your father knew and loved. what you know and love.

you stand in front of your six foot tall mirror and held your hands at your sides, looking at your reflection and not recognizing a single molecule of your body. from your toe nails to your hair follicles, you were a stranger. a complete stranger.

a deep breath escaped your lips as you switched your bright white led lights off and made your way to the living room where your mother was sat drinking a mug of black coffee, which was probably laced with vodka. her frail hands were shaking against the boiling ceramic piece, clearly already brain-dead.

your younger sister, monica, was slouching on the opposite sofa. her phone fixated in her sweaty hands which caused you to roll your eyes backwards into your brain.

you quickly glance over at the cats empty and stained food bowl, “has cookie been fed today?” you ask to a simple head shake and a mumbling of ‘no.’ you scoff and make your way into the kitchen, grabbing the cat biscuits from the cupboard and pouring a generous amount into her small bowl. you rinse away the three day old water and fill it with ice cold water for your cat.

you stroke your soft hand across her back as she wolfs down her food, storming into the living room. you snatch the mug of black coffee from your mother, holding it up to your nose and immediately being wafted by the smell of vodka.

you nod as tears gloss over your eyes, a pearly vision to them now. “you promised, mom! you fucking promised.” your voice started off as a yell until it breaks and the tears don’t even threaten to escape, they just do.

your mom furrows her brows, taking back the ‘worlds best mom.’ mug and shaking her head. her pupils were dilated and her scoff had the smell of alcohol. “i didn’t promise shit, y/n!”

“that’s bullshit mom and you know it.” you snap, monica shoving her wired headphones in and scurrying off into her bedroom up in the attic. “it was four months you were sober. now you’re off drinking vodka for breakfast. what the fuck is wrong with you?! don’t you care?”

your mom, ashley, laughs in your face like you’re a fool. like you’re just a piece of dirt she wiped off her shoe. “oh, so i’m a bad mom, is that it?”

“because i have tried so hard to suit your needs, y/n, but nothing seems to please you anymore.” she added.

you press your lips together tightly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “yeah, you are a bad mom. what happened, hm? ever since dad died you’ve been gone. it’s like you’re here but your head is in oblivion.”

your mom scowls, her fists in balls. how dare you speak to her like that? who did you think you were? your father?

“don’t speak to me that way, y/n. i am your mother.”

“are you?! are you my mother? because i don’t see you. i never see you anymore! you’re always in the clouds. you’re never here, you’re always in space.” tears flood as you speak your mind, as you bring up the same argument for the one hundredth time, hoping that she will finally listen, finally get help, finally be a mother.

your mom stands closer, her hand coming up to slap your face, ready to leave a red handprint in your pale skin, but you grab her wrist. she clenches her jaw and yanks her arm down. “i wish it was you that died.”

you immediately grab your tote bag and leave the house. making sure to slip your ugg’s on as you exit. you don’t even grab your phone, instead just sit in your car and drive off. no plan, no money, and a million thoughts.

number one priority is getting far away from your home, wether you get to australia or the local gas station, you had to leave. but, just your luck, the car ran out of gas as you pulled into a random parking lot. no clue where you were, you threw your head down onto the steering wheel, the beep continuing on for thirty seconds until you were finally cured of the sound.

the stress you received from your mother never failed to dig your grave further.

i wish it was you that died.

the longer you let the words sink into your brain, the faster your heart sank. the words stung. you knew when she’d sober up she’d apologize and cry, like she always did, but you were sick of the empty apologies. you were sick of the games. you just wanted it to be november 2016.

you rummaged through your tote bag, hands gripping onto a week old roll up that you and matt forgot to use. you took a deep breath and picked up the lighter from your glove box, holding the blunt to your cracked lips as you lit it. you wished matt was there to hold it to your lips as he lit it, blowing smoke into your mouth as you made out. you wished you were with him.

an hour had passed. a long ass hour. you were lucky for your watch. about twenty minutes in you realized your phone had been forgotten and left on your pink floral bedsheets. you had no idea if matt had texted you, you hoped he’d still be asleep.

since you were bored out of your mind, you took the nearly finished blunt with you and travelled around the entire parking lot on foot. over and over again until you spotted a bench outside of the target. you took a seat and stamped out the blunt, kicking it under the bench.

your fingers danced around on the arm of the rotted bench. you felt a coldness wash over your body and felt a human presence in front of you. matthew.

his hand pressed against your knee as he knelt down and looked at your face with worry and concern. “hey.. what’s going on, y/n?” he asked, his thumb swiping over your kneecap as a way of comforting you.

you frown, “what are you even talking about, matt? i’m fine.” you cross your arms and look away, but his free hand grabs your chin and turns your face towards him.

“you’re stoned at half eleven in the morning, baby. what happened?” he asked, soothingly, tucking a strand behind your ear. “you only ever smoke with me, and even then you’re cautious.” he sits beside you, waiting patiently for a reply.

“i don’t wanna talk about anything.” you mumble, “i don’t wanna talk about anything.” you repeat, a lot softer, glancing up at matt for a moment.

matthew sighs, rubbing his eyes, “did your mom upset you? i understand the time of year, but you’re gonna have to tell me if i’m gonna help you, baby..” matts lips twist to the side and he rests a hand on your shoulder.

“i don’t wanna talk about anyone.” you sighed, “i want to sleep.” a small chuckle escaped matts lips as you said this, looking at the store behind him.

“well, let me just quickly buy some more whipped cream and marshmallows since chris ate them all, and we can head to my house, ‘kay?” he suggested at you nodded, a small, soft kiss being planted on your temple.

it only took him ten minutes to grab what he needed. he took your hand and walked over to his car when he stopped in his tracks. “how did you get here?”

“drove ‘til i ran out of gas.” you shrugged, pointing at your car isolated across the parking lot. matt took a deep breath and look at you, shaking his head playfully.

“i’ll bring a fuel can down here later and drive it to mine for you.” matt smiled softly and opened the drivers door, climbing in and tossing his bag into the back seat.

this target was almost thirty minutes away from the sturniolo household, so you connected your phone to aux and played one particular song on repeat, ‘anything’ by adrianne lenker. you hummed the lyrics, staring out at the snow trickling down onto the sidewalks, kids building snowmen with their families.

your eyes shut as you stayed slouched in the passenger seat, your arms folded and your head resting on the inside of the car door. you took a deep breath before eventually falling asleep.

it was almost 12pm, afternoon, but you needed this nap. you needed this break. you needed matt.

4pm. you woke up in matts bed with three blankets sloped across your body. drool down your face with hair stuck to your cheeks. you took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes, sitting up slowly as you yawned and stretched your arms.

you blinked multiple times, still trying to come back to reality. your mind was foggy, cloudy, you had no idea what happened or where you were for a good few minutes.

matt suddenly walked into his bedroom and shut the door, jumping when he saw you staring directly at him. he smiled softly and walked over to kiss your forehead. he sat beside you on his bed and handed you your car keys, but you looked up with a blank expression.

“oh! i filled your car with gas, it’s out in the front.” he grinned and you nodded slowly, yawning again. he sighed, tilting his head and looking at you. “hey. what’s going on?” he kissed your cheek, “why did i find you stoned outside of a target thats no where near you?”

you finally start to wake up fully. wiping your drooled-face and shrugged, “don’t know.”

matt shook his head, “c’mon. speak up, baby.”

you sighed deeply and loudly, “i just hate this time of year, matt. my mom was literally drinking vodka at 10am. didn’t wanna fight, but she insisted.” you sob, laying your head in his lap and covering your face with your hands. “why did he have to die.” your words were muffled as you whispered into his lap.

matt felt sorry. he didn’t know what to do or say. all he knew was to be there for you. his fingers ran through your hair and he leaned down to kiss your head, “i know, i’m sorry, baby.” but he didn’t know. his father was alive and in the living room below them.

you choked on your cries, using his sweatpants as a rag. “i just don’t want to do it anymore, matt.” you say, sitting up and wiping your eyes. you look at his face, “i love you so much.”

matt nodded and kissed you tenderly, “i love you more, y/n.” he smiled softly and hugged you, “when we grow old and have grandchildren, we’ll give them a box of chocolate for christmas.” he chuckled, rubbing your back.

“with ten dollars in the christmas card.” you smiled back, holding his hand and pulling away.

matt nodded and spoke, “for now, we get to love eachother and be grateful for 8th grade science.”

@mattslolita @sturnprime

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #angst #fluff #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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itsgameofthronesimagines · 1 year

Text

Two Roads Diverged

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Relationships: Rhaenyra Targaryen & Sister!Targaryen!Reader, Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen/Niece!Targaryen!Reader, Daemon Targaryen & Niece!Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Rhaenyra and Y/n Targaryen were born in this world together, but whether by the will of the gods or the fire and blood running through their veins, the twin sisters would walk down two very different paths.

Warnings: Incest, death, grusome depictions of a dead body, family drama, daddy issues, etc. (to be added)

Words: 8,852

Request by: @ivy-targaryen

Taglist: @gruffle1 @borikenlove

A/N: Another beautiful and creative request by the same one who brought us the inspiration behind 'the Strong Dragon' series! This will be a long one so strap in!

(I do not consent to my works being reposted/copied)

~~~~~~~~~

Viserys Targaryen, son of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa Targaryen, wed his cousin, Aemma Arryn, daughter of Lord Rodrik Arryn and Princess Daella Targaryen in 93 AC. In 97 AC, the young couple was blessed with not one, but two twin daughters. The first to scream and cry and kick was Little Rhaenyra, soon followed by her sister, Y/n. Little did the new parents know that their family would be completed after the twins' birth, and a legacy for many tales to come, both good and bad, was set in stone that day.

In 103 AC, Viserys is crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms after his grandfather, King Jaehaerys, passed away in his sleep. The realm was thrown into a new generation of Targaryens and would eventually hold the most living dragons in recorded history. The twin princesses were the first to ensure that legacy when hatching two dragon eggs of their own from their cribs. Rhaenyra, once she was old enough to speak, named her she-dragon Syrax after a goddess of Valyria. Y/n, always trailing after her sister, decided to name her dragon after the Targaryen who foresaw the Doom of Valyria, Daenys.

With the throne secure and Viserys' reign inherited with a full treasury and blessing for his late grandsire, the Wise King, both the new king and his queen held a splendid court with the promise of peace and prosperity. The realm was the brightest and most fruitful during Viserys' reign as he was optimistic and eager to please the people he ruled over. In many eyes, Viserys' had a secure succession. With his brother Daemon at court with him, two daughters to bear him grandchildren one day, and the hope of Queen Aemma to soon bear a son, Viserys was not short of heirs and he did well to teach his daughters the way of ruling a kingdom, not to mention seven of them.

Princess Rhaenyra was always the Realm's Delight. As for her younger twin, Princess Y/n, no one bestowed her with an honorable title or put her on a pedestal. After all, she was not the eldest and certainly not the heir. Even though she gained and rode a dragon at the same age as her sister, Rhaenyra will always cast the largest shadow. Rhaenyra was quickly named King Viserys' cupbearer at the age of eight and was always by her father's side at feasts, balls, and tourneys. Y/n, on the other hand, tended to her mother and was rarely seen without Queen Aemma.

Despite having different passions, the twins were still just that: twins. They still did practically everything together. As they grew, so did their boldness and ambition. Rhaenyra and Y/n did hunting, hawking, singing, and riding together. And oftentimes, their favorite companion was none other than their uncle. Daemon did many of these activities with the young princesses. At first, he did so to chaperone them at the request of his dear cousin, the Queen, but then he grew to love his little nieces more than anyone and anything, so he gladly joined them without complaint. He spent plenty of time with them, either to tell them stories of his travels, gift them with foreign treasures, or even rode his dragon Caraxes alongside their flying beasts between King's Landing and Dragonstone.

As history plays out in the coming years and when people read the books, it didn't come to much of a shock to learn just how much both of the princesses loved their uncle. Scholars tell us and most agree with each other that Y/n loved him first, but was only bold enough to admit this to her sister. Mushroom, King Viserys' fool and later an entrusted ally to Princess Rhaenyra (or so he claims) tells us that Rhaenyra kept her sister's secret. He says that the eldest twin did so for the same reason why Y/n was always taking the fall for Rhaenyra's misgivings whenever they got in trouble. The sisters loved one another and would do anything for each other. Y/n would take the blame for Rhaenyra's faults, and in exchange, Rhaenyra would keep Y/n's faults a secret.

So yes, Rhaenyra remained the Realm's Delight in the public eye while Y/n appeared to be the nuisance of the pair. Over the years, as she got older, the People had grown to name Y/n many things, but we will get there in time. First, let's return to the story. The twins' dynamic never changed even as the worst of a child's nightmares came to fruition. Queen Aemma dies in childbed and her son, Baelon, only outlives her by a day. The following events are what transpired. Daemon is banished to Dragonstone, Rhaenyra is officially named Heir to the Iron Throne, Alicent Hightower becomes Viserys' new queen, and as a result, she bore him four children. Aegon, the eldest son, Helaena, the only daughter, Aemond, the second son, and Daeron, the third son and youngest.

Princess Y/n was ecstatic to have younger half-siblings, though Rhaenyra didn't share her enthusiasm. Given that Queen Alicent was once her most loyal, entrusted friend, Rhaenyra felt betrayed by her father's new bride and therefore found little love for her half-siblings. The twins continued to confide in one another before anyone else until the time came when Rhaenyra was ordered by their father to find a husband. For once, Y/n was unable to get her sister out of her predicament and thus could not take the fall for what was about to happen.

Rhaenyra made her journey across the realm in search of a prince consort and when she returned, Y/n was rewarded with the return of her sister and her uncle all at once. Daemon had been busy fighting a war in the Stepstones and returned with a crown on his head that he later surrendered to his brother as a sign of love and good faith. King Viserys, therefore, welcomed Daemon with open arms and a celebration transpired. Daemon made time to acknowledge his brother's new queen before taking the time to reacquaint himself with his nieces. He drank and dined with them and even danced with Y/n when she asked. Viserys was drunk and jolly, delighted to see his brother among his family again. All was well.

The following day happened to be the day that solidified the future war known as the Dance of Dragons (or Dying of Dragons) and no one other than a chosen few had the eye to see it.

Y/n was awakened by Ser Arryk and her handmaiden in the earliest morning when the sun had not yet risen. Confused and equally worried, she dutifully got dressed and followed the Kingsguard down the hall. Barely anyone was awake at this hour, she had only noticed a handful of servants beginning to stir and scramble into their morning duties before she had been led to the throne room. As Ser Arryk stepped aside and allowed her through the doorway, Y/n quickly observed her father sitting high upon the Iron Throne with two other silver-haired individuals standing at the base of the stairs, backs facing her. Y/n quickly recognized her sister, Rhaenyra on the left, hair loosely braided down her back, and her uncle, Daemon, standing on the right, hair cut short and wearing only pants and his nightshirt as if he had been dragged out of bed. Confusion was still evident on her face, but dread had begun to thrive in Y/n's stomach as she slowly drew nearer. Even as she got close to the foot of the stairs leading up the Iron Throne, neither her sister nor her uncle turned to greet her. They kept their backs to her, heads lowered as if afraid to even acknowledge her presence.

Y/n finally looked back up at the King and quickly remembered her manners, bending her knees and bowing her head to Viserys in a graceful curtsy. "Father."

"Listen carefully, daughter. Treason has been committed this past night. Word has reached my ears about a certain child of mine seen with my despicable brother at a brothel in the late hour of the wolf. Unfortunately for us, those who had seen this child could not recall which one. Tell me, what do you know of these events?"

Y/n's eyes widen a fraction, though there is doubt Viserys could see it from his high throne. The princess' heart dropped to her stomach as she replayed her father's words in her head. She turns her attention to the backs of Rhaenyra and Daemon, but neither of them turns to her and Viserys speaks again.

"Do not look to either of them for help, child. I have forbidden them to aid you. You will address me and me alone. You will tell me the truth and only the truth."

Y/n wasn't entirely sure how to feel. Grief and betrayal clenched her stomach in a vice grip... but passionate emotions, such as love and rage were set aflame in her breaking heart. She wanted to scream and cry and demand an explanation. She wanted to burn the truth out of her once devoted sister and her uncle who she loved dearly.

Unfortunately, her loyalty as a sister eventually took over, despite the conflict of emotions running in her mind as she lowered her head to the ground, "... It was me, Your Grace."

"Are you certain, Y/n?" Viserys eyed her suspiciously, "You do not have to defend your sister. This is a vile and unforgivable act as you understand. There is no going back if you choose to claim your guilt and her innocence."

"I am certain, Father," she speaks more boldly, "I would not wish for my sister to be punished for my sins. I would not wish that on anyone I love."

Her words are like stone and ice, piercing Rhaenyra's heart. Guilt ebbs and slides deeper into the older twin's skin, her bottom lip trembling as she comes to terms with what she has done to her sister. Unable to see the torment on Rhaenyra's face, Y/n continues confessing a crime she did not commit.

"I crept away from the castle with Daemon last night... I wanted him to show me true acts of love--"

"Enough," Viserys demands, disgust evident in his tone. His hand grips his sword handle, conflict written all over his eyes. He sits in silence, letting it linger throughout the entire room as his brother and two daughters await their King's justice. Eventually, he sighs, exhausted as he decides to lay down the law as a king instead of a father.

"Then you have forfeited your virtue as a maiden and your reputation as a princess. You must travel to Oldtown and surrender your names and titles to become a woman of faith. You will learn to be a septa under the Faith of the Seven. You will never marry and never carry children."

Y/n's heart completely shatters as the two people who had just betrayed her quickly spoke up in rebuttal, trying to defend her.

"What-- no! No, Father! You can't just--"

"Brother, please think before you send your own child--"

"SILENCE!" Viserys slams the tip of his sword against the step below his throne, his booming, enraged voice echoing across the vast room, "Whether or not Y/n confessed, all three of you are guilty in one way or another for this heinous crime! And this will not leave any of you clean of punishments. Y/n will travel to Oldtown. You, brother, will return to the Vale and finally consummate your marriage to Lady Rhea Royce! And you, Rhaenyra. Your time for choosing a husband is over. Whether you like it or not, you will now marry Ser Laenor Velaryon and the two of us will travel to Driftmark to propose this alliance to my cousin and her husband. Tomorrow morning, we will ALL travel to our respective destinations. Your king demands it."

Knights of the Kingsguard emerge and two surround Y/n, taking her by the arms. She wretches one arm away from them as a thought crossed her mind, "And what of my dragon?" One look from her father and Y/n's face falls, the blood in her veins turning cold in realization, "No... No, Father, please!"

The knights now forcefully grab Y/n, having to fight in order to drag her out of the throne room as she fights back, all the while screaming and sobbing, "You cannot part me from Daenys, please! PLEASE!"

He made them each separately return to their chambers so they could not speak amongst themselves. Two knights guard the door outside Y/n's room but it was questioned whether or not the effort was worth it as the princess didn't appear to have the will to leave her chambers. Y/n had completely shut down, refusing to eat or sleep that evening. She sat quietly on the edge of her bed as a handful of servants came in to pack up her things. The one time she spoke, she had whispered for one of her maids to cut her hair.

At one point, Grand Maester Mellos entered her apartment and gently placed a hot tea in her hands. According to Mushroom, Rhaenyra had also been given a special tea, the fool dwarf implying it to be moon tea. He speculated that despite Y/n's confession, Viserys doubted her tale and to be certain that all memory of this night's events will be erased, he had ordered moon tea to be brought to both of his daughters. Whether or not the princesses drank it was not recorded in history, but Mushroom reported that both of the cups were empty by the following morning, regardless.

Said morning was greeted by pouring rain. Daemon was long gone and Viserys had already taken Rhaenyra to Driftmark by the sea at the time Y/n was brought down to the courtyard. Dressed in traveling clothes and a warm cloak, Y/n held her head high with her newly cut silver hair now sitting just a little past her chin. She climbed into the wheelhouse provided to her and waited for her traveling companion to join her. Before long, Otto Hightower climbed inside as their small company departed from King's Landing. The former Hand had been dismissed by King Viserys and was rumored to be replaced by Lyonel Strong, who had disappeared and was likely traveling with His Grace at the moment.

Y/n thought the travel would be mostly in silence, but Lord Otto proved her wrong as the wheelhouse finally left King's Landing, "I didn't believe it was you."

She kept her eyes focused on the road rolling by outside her window as she spoke, "I'm afraid it no longer matters what you believed to be true, my lord."

"I believe in many things, princess. I believe you have been wrongfully accused and I believe that you and I have something in common."

"And what's that?"

"We're both second-born children without the promise of lands or titles. We have both been banished to Oldtown for what our king believes is a fitting punishment. Perhaps he means well, and perhaps this is for the better... but when it is your own father who carries out the sentence, I can't imagine it feels as though this is all for the better."

Y/n's vision instantly warmed and blurred, her voice beginning to shake as she spoke, "He took my dragon from me. I understand stripping away my Targaryen rights in all but name... but my dragon?"

"He means for you to swear into celibacy under the Faith of the Seven. There isn't a septa in history who owned a dragon. You are no longer a Targaryen in the eyes of the gods, therefore you have no need for a dragon. Your father knew that... but he is not here right now... and perhaps he should have stayed in King's Landing a little longer if he wanted to be sure your dragon was properly chained up."

Y/n finally looked away from the window to stare at Lord Otto with a puzzled expression. To answer her silent question, a loud roar broke through the sky, and Y/n's heart soared with hope. Staring back out the window, her eyes eagerly searched until she caught the shadow of a familiar silhouette. Her precious Daenys was dutifully following her.

Turning back to Lord Otto to bless and thank him, she was met with a small smile and a gentle voice, "Your dragon will keep you safe in the sky and I will keep you safe on the ground. You still have allies, Princess. Remember that."

~~~~~~~~~

And thus it was. Upon arriving in Oldtown, Y/n joined the clergy of the Faith of the Seven as a novice and quickly rose in her ranks to become a septa. It didn't hurt that she had friends in high places, such as the lords and ladies of House Hightower. Y/n was no fool. She understood that Lord Otto was using her as a chess piece, but after he had given her back Daenys, she could have cared less what his motives were. She had a feeling that he had spoken with his brother, the Lord of Oldtown, Hobert Hightower, after she had been sworn into the Faith of the Seven so quickly compared to most septas. It was clear to see that most of House Hightower appreciated or at the very least respected her, so she couldn't complain. Other than the Hightowers and her dragon, the former princess didn't converse with many others. There was a moment when she caught a glimpse of someone who could be none other than her great-uncle, Vaegon Targaryen, son of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. If he had recognized her, he didn't show it. In fact, the old man didn't even appear to acknowledge her, let alone acknowledge her as a distant relative.

Other than cordial conversations, Y/n mostly kept to herself, even praying silently instead of verbally. It was clear to most that the princess did not thrive here and even though she has dutifully done everything asked of her, she did not flourish like a true septa. When she wasn't praying or healing, she was flying or reading. Occasionally, she would be summoned to the Hightower to dine with its lords, usually seated beside Lord Otto himself. Even he could see that the child (now technically a young woman) was miserable. A dark shadow passes over her face whenever her royal family is mentioned, but otherwise, she doesn't say a poor word against them. She remains courteous or, at the very least, says exactly what she is meant to say. Otto had spent enough time around Targaryens to recognize that deep, fiery rage within, although Y/n was far better at controlling it compared to her uncle. With that rage was also betrayal and grief. Lord Otto never asked the princess why her heart cries, but he knew, deep down, that it will someday come to light and, hopefully, to his advantage.

That day came years later when a letter arrives from King's Landing. Queen Alicent greets her father before addressing Septa Y/n, inviting her to the capitol in order to become Princess Helaena's septa, who will soon be wed to Prince Aegon. Whatever thoughts were running through her head, Y/n kept them to herself and honorably accepts the invitation. She bid Lord Otto and his family goodbye and her undying gratitude for the hospitality before she climbed up her dragon and flew home.

She descended onto the Dragonpit and was met with a wheelhouse outside, along with a crowd of smallfolk, cheering and welcoming the former princess home. Y/n, dressed in her humble septa robes and hood to dutifully conceal her hair, refused the litter as a means of transportation and instead took to the streets, greeting all who touched her and only smiling when someone addressed her as 'septa'. Her escorts followed at a distance but otherwise didn't disrupt the peace as Septa Y/n carried a toddler on one hip and held another child's hand as she walked the cobblestone streets. It was nearly dusk before she was forced to part from the smallfolk and finally walk through the gates of the Red Keep, her feet blistered but her smile unwavering.

Queen Alicent and her children were there to greet her, and even Y/n was surprised when Alicent welcomed her with open arms. Y/n was reacquainted with her half-siblings and all were quickly reminded of the years growing up when Y/n was completely devoted to them. They remember the twin who loved them and the twin who barely acknowledged their existence. Aegon and Aemond were polite, whilst Helaena smiled and Daeron kissed Septa Y/n's hand. She didn't ask, but Y/n noticed that her father wasn't there to welcome her. That evening, she dined alone with the Queen. She didn't ask, but Alicent could see what her stepdaughter was asking in her eyes and told Y/n that Rhaenyra had moved her family to Dragonstone and would not be returning to court anytime soon. As for Daemon, he had since married Laena Velaryon and their family currently travels around Pentos. Y/n visibly sighed in relief, but she still felt a deep ache in her chest at the mention of those she once loved so dearly. It was clear to Alicent that even after all these years, Y/n still felt the betrayal. Alicent thinks back to the last letter her own father sent her and how Lord Otto wished for her to send an official invite to Oldtown for Y/n to return to King's Landing. Now that she saw the former princess, Alicent understood why her father wanted the young woman back here in court. Y/n clearly was no friend of Rhaenyra.

The day finally came when King Viserys is forced into the same room as Septa Y/n, the day they all gathered to bid Young Daeron farewell as he travels to Oldtown to be fostered by his maternal grandsire's family. Neither father nor daughter acknowledges each other, only speaking to one another when courtesy compels them to, and even then, they only address each other as 'septa' and 'Your Grace'. After that first greeting, they avoid each other as much as possible, the hurt and the betrayal still evident between them.

It was a breath of fresh air for Y/n when the royal family was invited to Driftmark in order to pay their respects to House Velaryon after the death of Lady Laena. The king, queen, their children, the reappointed Lord Hand Otto Hightower and the royal guard had all left, leaving the Red Keep empty. Without the fear of running into her father while he is gone, Y/n roams the palace freely and even takes to the skies when time permits it. Upon the royal family's return, however, so do the dread and horror. Prince Aemond returned with only one eye and Queen Alicent returned with guilt in both of hers.

Scholars tell us of a time when the Queen became devoted to the Seven after shamefully attacking Princess Rhaenyra with a knife in Driftmark. Mushroom said she was so ashamed that she confessed her sins to Rhaenyra's sister, Septa Y/n, the moment she returned to King's Landing. The fool dwarf would have us believe that Y/n forgave the Queen in exchange that Alicent would commit herself to the Faith. The Queen graciously accepted, according to Mushroom, but some sources are not entirely sure if his telling of history is accurate, given that he wasn't in King's Landing at the time.

Nevertheless, only some can be confirmed true. Alicent did indeed confess all of her sins to Y/n as a way to cleanse herself in front of a servant of the gods. She admitted to attacking Princess Rhaenyra in the grief and injustice she felt for the loss of her son's eye. She admitted to conspiring and influencing her sons into believing that Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey Velaryon were all bastards without any proof except physical. Septa Y/n listened patiently and intently, bidding Alicent to rise as a new, true servant to the gods.

Alicent rose, albeit on shaking knees. She gulped back a sob trying to escape her throat, her eyes red and cheeks wet, "How can you have so much faith after everything that's been done to you? How can you pray when the gods have yet to give you the justice you deserve?"

Y/n only smiled, holding the Queen's face in both her hands, as gentle as Alicent remembered her to be when they were children, "I believe the gods will give me my justice in time. I am a patient woman. I still have a whole life of devotion ahead of me. They will grant me my prayers when they believe I deserve it."

A little time passes and Aegon and Helaena were wed. Twins must run in the family and Helaena soon bore a twin son and daughter, Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera. Septa Y/n secretly doted on her niece and nephew and often cared for them more than the wet nurse did. As much as she was overjoyed by them, they also reminded Y/n of the sour fate her father bestowed on her. With no children of her own, Y/n took to Helaena's, who of which had no quarrel with it.

Viserys was also reminded of this punishment, every day when he sees Y/n with the infant twins. Every time, it is a stab to the heart to be reminded of the shame he brought to his own child, a woman who would have loved her own children if her celibate vows allowed her such miracles. Some say the King's health only worsened after the birth of his twin grandchildren, some tales spreading to suggest that the pain he felt whenever he looked at Y/n was the gods' way of punishing him for forsaking his daughter.

His health would never get better, mainly because he would never truly get enough peace in order to heal. Vaemond Velaryon challenged Lucerys Velaryon's right to rule Driftmark should the Sea Snake fall and therefore, a hearing of rivaling families was to take place in King's Landing. Queen Alicent warns Septa Y/n ahead of time that Rhaenyra will be arriving shortly along with her family. Y/n has been preparing herself for the day she and her sister cross paths again, and nothing, time nor god, could prepare her for when she caught a glimpse of Rhaenyra.

For you see, no one told Y/n of Ser Laenor's death and no one told her that Rhaenyra had quickly remarried and it was to none other than Daemon Targaryen. When Y/n saw her sister and uncle again for the first time in years, the healing wounds reopened and Y/n's breath was taken away when she saw silver-haired children and the round shape of her sister's belly. Y/n could feel her heart and throat tighten, the overwhelming sadness threatening to take over. Luckily, she was observing her sister's family as they arrived in the courtyard from a small perch up on the overlooking balcony, so they had not seen her. Once they were out of view, Septa Y/n was able to breathe again and quickly retreated to Helaena's chambers under the false excuse of wanting to see if the princess had finished a book she was studying under her septa sister's guidance.

She had successfully avoided Daemon and Rhaenyra and purposefully did not attend the court hearing in the throne room the next day. She heard whispers about the King making his sickly appearance and Daemon killing Vaemond for the accusations against Rhaenyra and her children's true parentage. Y/n could only scoff, gripping her hands tightly to refrain from rolling her eyes.

Whether or not Daemon truly loved Rhaenyra is up for debate. Perhaps he only married her because she is Viserys' heir and the only way to get close in his brother's line of succession again was through marriage. Y/n wasn't sure what was worse, that her uncle loved her sister, the woman who betrayed her, or her uncle only married her for political schemes. Either way, both her uncle and sister betrayed her in one way or another, and now, for the first time in years, Y/n could see that they have reaped the benefits of their betrayal... and Y/n was left with the scraps.

The thought struck her with anger and jealousy so she decides to lead in prayer in the royal gardens, sitting down once she was alone and closing her eyes, bowing her head to recite a lovely new prayer she read recently.

"Y/n?"

Her eyes shoot open and she staggers to her feet, stunned and panicked when she spun around to notice Rhaenyra standing before her. Her dress was beautiful, radiant, and complimentary to her pregnant stomach, a lovely, long embroidery of a dragon aligning her collarbone.

Y/n's anger peaks and she quickly shuts it down, turning her face into a blank canvas as she respectfully bows her head and evens her voice, "Princess Rhaenyra. You must be relieved to be home again."

Rhaenyra's eyes flashed in confusion before she smiles what only could be out of relief, "I scarcely recognized you... what are you doing here?"

"I have been graciously invited by the Queen to teach and guide Princess Helaena and her children to devote their ways to the intention of the gods."

The monotone in her sister's voice made Rhaenyra pause. The blank expression and the reciting of words only made Y/n appear more... foreign. A puppet with tight strings. "What... what did they do to you?"

Y/n's eyebrows slightly furrow, "They didn't do anything to me, Princess. I have repented and devoted myself to become the image the gods have always envisioned for me."

It was like talking to a stranger and Rhaenyra refused to admit that. Her sister is not dead. Denial would not be her first stage of grieving when her sister is standing right in front of her. Rhaenyra stubbornly pushes through, determined to see a small hint of the girl she once knew. She forced herself to smile brightly, reaching out to grasp Y/n's hands, "Daemon will be relieved to see you again. And the children would love to finally meet you."

Like a spark of flame, Y/n snatched her hands out of Rhaenyra's reach, stepping away as if the princess burned her. To Rhaenyra's horror, the mask had slipped and all she saw in return was fire and blood behind those eyes identical to hers.

The shadow darkens over Y/n's face, voice lower in feigned respect, "Then I shall see them when they come to prayer in the evening."

Rhaenyra froze, unable to move or form words under her sister's glare. They stood that way for some time before a servant girl approached them, innocently unaware of the stand-off as she bows in respect to Rhaenyra before turning to Y/n, "Septa Y/n. Princess Helaena has asked for your presence."

The spell breaks, and suddenly Rhaenyra recognizes the sweet face of her twin, but it was not directed at her. Y/n turned to the servant girl and smiled kindly, "Tell my sweet sister I will be there shortly."

The words burned Rhaenyra, Y/n could tell out of the corner of her eye, and the hurt on her twin's face almost delighted her in some aspect. The dragon has slowly appeared behind her shield of faith, so she tries to cut this meeting short in order to tame it before it did anything rash. Y/n bows her head, "Beg your pardon, Princess Rhaenyra, but I must go."

Unfortunately, Y/n wouldn't be able to avoid her sister's family forever. The King had ordered all of his direct family members to attend dinner together, but for some reason, this dinner excluded Princess Rhaenys and Septa Y/n, the King's own cousin and daughter. However, Otto knew he had the upper hand with Daemon on this and knew when and where to flaunt. So, the Hand waited until the King was too exhausted to dine any further and when Viserys retired to bed, Otto waved his hand and a servant moved to open the door off to the side. Septa Y/n stepped through, hands folded in front of her and she glided into the room, her entrance silencing everyone at the dinner table. Y/n smiled obediently, nodding to the Princess Helaena as she breaks away from her dance with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

"The children are sound asleep, as promised."

"Thank you, Y/n," Helaena smiled.

"Won't you drink with us, sweet sister?" Aegon grinned mischievously, raising a goblet to her, "Plenty of wine to go around."

Y/n allowed a smirk to grace her lips, carefully lowering the cup in his hand away from her person, "As I've said time and time again, my prince, it is against my vows. And if you love your sister, you will value her virtue and refrain from drinking yourself to death in her presence."

Aegon's jaw visibly tightened, rolling his eyes but notably setting his goblet down on the table. Y/n beams at her little brother's obedience and only smiles more when Alicent nods to her in thanks.

"So this is what you reverted my niece into during her imprisonment in your ancestral home, Otto?" Daemon's words were poison, to be sure, but he bore no anger or emotion of any kind when staring down the Hand of the King, feigning curiosity, "A meek little servant girl who follows your orders?"

"You will not speak of my sister that way, Uncle," Aemond stood abruptly and easily stood tall beside Y/n, "She is a loving, caring, faithful servant to the gods and we are proud of all her accomplishments."

"I had no idea Lord Otto has been going around believing to be a god," Daemon scowled, leaning back in his chair.

"Lord Otto had always been kind to me and had every intention of keeping my life in Oldtown comfortable," Y/n spoke up, keeping her voice calm and gentle in the presence of Helaena whilst also staring her uncle down, "He ensured that my dragon would be kept with me so that I may feel safe in a foreign place filled with strangers," she spares a glimpse in Otto's direction, smiling when he met her gaze with a measured fondness, "Daenys kept me safe in the sky while Lord Otto kept me safe on the ground."

It appeared forced, but Rhaenyra smiled at the Hand of the King from down the long table of food, regardless, "We thank you for the protection you provided for my sister, Lord Otto. You have shown her such kindness. It's a debt I am not sure we could ever repay."

"It was my pleasure, Princess."

"It better not have been for pleasure," Daemon's eyes darken, trying to scout out the hidden meaning behind the old man's words.

"Daemon--" Rhaenyra warned.

"I will not have my virtue be questioned in front of the Princess Helaena and the Ladies Rhaena and Baela," Y/n sternly interrupted, holding her ground in front of the dinner table, "My virtue has already been questioned enough in your presence, Prince Daemon."

Daemon had the gull to look down in shame for half a second before correcting his posture, straightening up as he reached to grasp Rhaenyra's hand when Y/n's words clearly distressed her. Y/n watched the act, feeling her nose and eyes warm with a wide range of emotions. Her hands tighten again and her throat closes, only allowing a brief whisper towards Queen Alicent to excuse herself from the room. Septa Y/n darted out of the feast and escaped to her chambers, crying her eyes out as everything boiled over like a volcano. She collapsed into her bed and cried herself to utter exhaustion, her eyes swollen and beginning to close.

Sleep would not find her, however, as her chamber doors opened, and in its wake stood Prince Aemond. Septa Y/n wanted to scream at him, to question why he would shame a septa by coming to her room alone when she is vulnerable. Had he no fear of the gods? Instead, she lay in silence and shook from head to toe, trying to regain composure. Aemond moved out of the doorway and Aegon followed him into the room. Eventually, Helaena entered, but she stood awkwardly by the door, holding her arm in the opposite hand. Both of her brothers decided to let Y/n have her space and sat on the furniture surrounding the hearth on the opposite end of the room.

They all bask in the silence, just listening to Y/n's soft cries and the crackling of the fire. Eventually, Y/n was able to control her breathing again, wiping her face clean of tears before she tries using her breaking voice, "Did your mother dismiss you?"

Aegon huffs with mirth, "No, but I doubt we were welcome to stay. Aemond subtly insulted the Velaryon boys and it earned us a toss-up."

Y/n's accusing glare turned to the one-eyed prince watching her from the hearth, his smile unwavering even under scrutiny, "Aemond."

"Forgive me, Septa Y/n."

It was a jest, clearly, and she barked out a laugh, unable to control it. Both of her brothers laugh in response, while Helaena softly smiles. As they all laugh, Alicent emerges from the doorway and beelines for Y/n, gathering her up in her arms, "Oh, my darling girl."

Y/n sniffs, trying not to appear so small, "Forgive me, Your Grace. I was out of line."

"There is nothing to forgive. Daemon was the one in the wrong. That conversation was hardly one to have at dinner."

Y/n felt like a child again, being coddled by the Queen after her emotions got the best of her. Instead of comfort, however, she only felt shame. As a septa, being comforted by those she had been in charge of felt as though she was a failure of a guardian. On the contrary, having the touch of a mother for the first time in years felt... nice. It could not compare to the ghost of her own mother, but Alicent was gentle and squeezed just right for the touch to be secure. Y/n did her best to peek around her room for each of her half-siblings, all three of them smiling warmly at her. For a moment, Y/n felt as though she was a princess again instead of a septa, and perhaps in their eyes, she was. The thought struck her to a point of realization. Perhaps the royal family didn't see her as a septa first. Perhaps they saw her as their sister first and septa second.

Y/n was a proud septa, but just for a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the comfort and support of the family. Gods be damned.

~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, she woke alone in her room, but she felt lighter than she did yesterday. Rising in the early hour before the sun rose, she got cleaned and dressed before going out to start her morning duties. She didn't get far before she spotted Ser Criston Cole down the hall and the knight saw her in turn. He turned to her, his voice booming in demand, "Septa Y/n, I'd advise you to join Princess Helaena in her chambers and stay there until someone can fetch you."

The order confused her, Criston's stiff posture screaming all signs of wrong to her, but Y/n dutifully obeyed and retreated to her half-sister's apartments. Helaena was already there with the twins and the wet nurse, embroidering what looked to be one of her favorite insects while the nurse and children played on the floor. Y/n joined her on the furniture and read out loud some passages of the Seven-Pointed Star as the morning sun rises further in the sky. Before long, Queen Alicent and Lord Otto storm into the bedroom, demanding the whereabouts of Prince Aegon. No one had seen him, so Lord Otto retreats back outside and Alicent sits and informs the septa and princess that their father was dead.

Helaena pushed away her mother after stating 'there is a beast beneath the boards' while Y/n sat still, face hard of any grieving expression. Her teeth grind together, eyes focused on a spot on the wall as she addressed the Queen, "Has the King's brother and heir been informed?"

"No. They left last night."

She nods. "May I see the body? I would like to pray over the deceased."

"Of course."

Alicent had Ser Criston bring Septa Y/n to the King's chambers. Incense was burning when she arrived, making her way around the large diorama of King's Landing towards the bed. The incense was not strong enough, unfortunately, and Y/n's nose scrunched up when introduced to a vile smell she could only identify as a rotting corpse. She's dealt with death before when tending to the sick in her studies to be a septa, but it's still overwhelming for the senses. Viserys' body was small, frail, already the proper size of a skeleton. There wasn't enough flesh left of her father to decay, the right side of the face already decomposed and skeletal. He had been a walking, rotting corpse for some time now, and at this point, Y/n could no longer remember her father's face from when she was a child. She had only known this limp form for so long.

Lighting seven candles, Y/n says her prayers under her breath, hardly shedding a tear as the Silent Sisters are summoned to properly cleanse and wrap the body. Queen Alicent, now properly dressed in mourning clothes, fits herself beside Y/n as they both stand over the wrapped body, his crown placed on top of it. Alicent wept, but Y/n remained neutral. Once the Queen had composed herself, she turned to Y/n and grasped her hand.

"Y/n, you must listen to me. Last night, before I retired to bed, Viserys spoke to me. He wished for Aegon to be crowned instead of Rhaenyra and therefore we must find my son before we can send word to Dragonstone. We must plan a coronation for Aegon before Rhaenyra has a chance to react. I know she is your sister and you may not believe that Viserys said this to me--"

"I believe you," Y/n interrupted, her words strong and unwavering as she looked up at Alicent with a stone face, "I believe the King would want his firstborn son to be crowned over his daughter. If you fear my response, there is no need. My place is beside your son and his family as the gods have intended. You have my full support for whatever it is you're about to do."

Alicent visibly sighs, smiling out of relief even behind the mournful tears. Squeezing Y/n's hand, she turned back to the corpse of her dead husband, "Would you like Daenys to burn the body?"

"No. Have his rightful heir use Sunfyre. My father once tried to take my dragon from me. I will not do him the honor of being burned by her."

Aegon is eventually found by Aemond and Ser Criston and is immediately brought to his mother before anything else could be done. Alicent attempts to influence her son into not plunging the realm into war with the Blacks, claiming that negotiating terms with Rhaenyra and Daemon first would be the best thing for all of them. Septa Y/n agreed with Alicent, and that seemed to fully convince Aegon after he had been properly cleaned and sobered up. Septa Y/n stood beside Aemond and Helaena in the Dragonpit as Ser Criston crowned Aegon with none other than the Conqueror's crown and sword. Alicent crowned Helaena and bowed before her, addressing her as 'my Queen' before Aegon raised his sword before the masses and they loudly cheered in celebration. Unfortunately, the celebration is cut short when Princess Rhaenys bursts from the floorboards of the Dragonpit with her large, mighty dragon, Meleys, the Red Queen herself. For a moment, it appeared as though the Queen Who Never Was had every intention of putting a stop to all this, having her dragon roar at the royal family before swiftly escaping.

The royal family retreats back to the Red Keep and Aegon sat on top of the Iron Throne. Lords and ladies scurry into the throne room to pledge their allegiance to him, but the most surprising appearance that drew whispers among the court was Septa Y/n herself, having been summoned by the new king.

"Sweet sister, you have done a great service for my queen and our family," Aegon proclaims with a wide grin, "And it would be an honor to have you as an ally more than a servant. I bid to return all land and titles to you, the same titles our father had once unfairly taken from you. In exchange for your loyalty, I would now pronounce you as Princess Y/n Targaryen once more and name you the Princess of Dragonstone until my heir, Prince Jaehaerys, comes of age to inherit our ancestral home, should you accept to carry my banner."

Y/n's heart soared and her face warmed as if a curse had been broken and a veil had been lifted from her eyes. Slowly, gracefully, the once former Septa Y/n bent the knee before the Iron Throne, beaming up at King Aegon with an uplifting smile, "It would be my honor, Your Grace. I, Princess Y/n of the House Targaryen, First of My Name and Princess of Dragonstone, promise to be faithful to King Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I pledge fealty to him and shall defend him against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new."

The day ends with a small feast among the King's family and council. Y/n sat with them not as a septa, but as a princess, having removed her modest robes and hood in exchange for a black dress to symbolize the mourning of her father as courtesy demands. Her hair is kept short below her chin and braided behind her ears so that no one could possibly mistake her for her twin ever again. From this moment on, Y/n was done defending her sister.

~~~~~~~~~

Otto Hightower sailed for Dragonstone with sails bestowing the colors of Aegon's new banner, the original Targaryen sigil but instead of red, the three-headed dragon was colored green. Y/n waited half a day for Lord Otto to reach her ancestral home before following close behind on dragonback, her mighty Daenys fitted back into a beautiful saddle before taking to the sky.

The wind was kind enough for the ship to make it to Dragonstone before Y/n as she spotted the ship docking at one of the piers upon flying overhead of Dragonmont. She could see how far Otto and his company of knights had gotten before being stopped by Rhaenyra, her dragon, and her men at the long, cobblestone stairs stretching far along the island and leading up to the castle. Syrax had purposely landed to block the Greens' only exit, trapping them between her and Daemon as Rhaenyra stood in front of the company. From a distance, Y/n easily recognized her sister's hair and then noticed Daemon's, her rage only brewing. And since she had been released from her vows as a septa, she gladly embraced her emotions instead of stomping them down with prayer. She let Daenys circle the stand-off upon the bridge once, twice, before finally landing behind Daemon's men, now trapping all of them between the two she-dragons. She didn't take the time to bask in everyone's expressions as she quickly descended from her saddle. Her feet hit cobblestones and Y/n slowly made her way through the sea of soldiers belonging to her uncle. They part for her with the looming beast behind her keeping a close watch on them while Y/n makes it to the center, being met by her uncle and sister.

This time, she gladly took in their expressions as they both noticed her riding dress was a dark, green, and black garb with matching riding pants underneath. Rhaenyra's expression was one of horror and disbelief, while Daemon's hardened into something unreadable. Y/n flashed a thin smile as she passed them, moving to stand directly beside Lord Otto. Only then did Y/n take the time to observe the situation. At the sight of Rhaenyra wearing their father's crown, a flash of anger spread through Y/n like wildfire.

"Sister..." Rhaenyra finally spoke, her disbelief still knawing in the back of her mind, "What are you doing here?"

"Assisting in negotiations," Y/n proudly stated, glancing between her sister and Lord Otto, "I assume that the Hand of the King has laid out King Aegon's terms?"

"King--" Rhaenyra's rage flashed before she reeled it back in, taking her time to breathe in deeply before tightly responding, "Aegon is no king to us. You were there, Y/n when our father named me his rightful heir."

"Our father was a fool," the harsh insult slipped easily off Y/n's tongue, lashing out like a viper with a rage Rhaenyra has never seen in her twin before, "Even a king must obey the laws... and the laws of the Great Council state that a male heir must be put first before the female and even a female's sons, regardless of who of which was firstborn. King Jaehaerys was wise in letting his people decide back in 101 AC, and our father was a fool for believing his word outranked the people who made the very decision that handed him the Iron Throne. King Viserys stabbed the realm in the back for going against the laws they had placed to prevent wars. King Viserys started a war by favoring you over his sons and naming you heir."

"You shame your father's memory by betraying your blood to these pretenders!" Daemon accused his niece from over Rhaenyra's shoulder.

Y/n's eyes dart towards him, the man she once wished to devote herself to. Instead of love, however, there was only hate and mockery as she tilt her head at him, "Are you not the brother he looked over in favor of his daughter? I see no other reason why you would marry her other than to finally have your brother's throne for yourself once you slice her pretty neck wide open."

"Y/n, enough," Rhaenyra's voice cracked under the power of her voice, "You don't have to do this."

The smile grows until Y/n shows her fangs, the sneer, and disdain pooling from her eyes as spoke in a harsh whisper, "Because of your crimes and sins against the gods, I was sent away to atone for them. For every step forward you took advantage of, I was two steps behind, taking the blame. The gods test my patience every time you draw breath or every time you bore a bastard son. You shame me, sister," Rhaenyra's face crumbled under the weight of Y/n's words, "And you shame the gods our dragons fly so close to. You can no longer walk over the laws the gods have placed for mortal men. You can no longer abuse the might and power of your station."

"Why are you doing this?" The Queen Pretender whispered breathlessly, a single tear running down her cheek, "Please, give me an honest answer."

"You're a fool if you think I haven't been honest with every ill word I speak of you," Y/n took one step forward and then another until she was close in proximity to Rhaenyra. Both sisters stood still, as did their respective guardians on either end of this battlefield of words. Y/n's eyes dart behind Rhaenyra to closely watch Daemon as she whispered into her sister's ear, "You have taken everything from me the day you followed the man I loved, the one person who ever made me truly happy, into a brothel. Because of you, I was never allowed to start a family of my own. Because of you, I was sent away from home. Because of you, I nearly lost my dragon. Because of you, I will never feel the love our father had that was bestowed on you. Every warmth I have ever felt, you sought to snuff it out to please yourself. You have taken everything from me, sweet sister... and now you will learn to know how that feels."

Better songs have been sung for twins like Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk of House Cargyll, whether they were believed to be true or not. Songs about Rhaenyra and Y/n of House Targaryen, however, were barely sung and were far from beautiful. Scholars and fools alike can agree years after the event that the sisters had parted from each other on Dragonstone as mortal enemies, vowing vengeance and blood for crimes they had committed against one another in girlhood. Men have fought wars for far less, and the twin Targaryen girls had more reason than most to wish their other half dead.

Rhaenyra had extinguished all memory of 'the Realm's Delight' in replace of 'the Black Queen', whilst others called Her Grace more colorful monikers that shamed her very existence, such as 'the Bitch Queen' or 'the Whore of Dragonstone'. None, however, would ring more true than 'King Maegor With Teats'.

Over the years, the People had grown to name Y/n many things. 'Divine Justice' was one of them, 'the Father's Maid' another... and the least popular title was 'the Winged Stranger', the one many would call her during the Dance of Dragons.

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: If you would like to support my writing, please feel free to donate at my new Ko-fi account here! Personal submissions can be done over there as well if you want something written up more to your liking :)

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tom-whore-dleston · 1 year

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(moodboard or fic or whatever you’re feeling up to bby)

i crave seeing this man be put in situations you wouldn’t automatically think to put him in, so give me frat boy!adam warlock who only joined because his parents made him, ya know legacy and all that + the philosophy student who is the opposite of someone you’d ever see at a frat but gets roped into helping him pass a class!

Creations: select a hottie + scenario/AU/trope/prompt** and I will a playlist/moodboard/fic (please specify the creation you are requesting)

join the celebration!

hjasfghjkdhga now hold on bc fratboy!Adam sounds so hot I'd drop the last bit of my morals for 24 hours with him 😩 I have a million headcanons running thru my mind rn so we'll start off with some light appetizers 😜 sorry this took a million years to write and that its so frickin long 😭

First and foremost, Adam wears crop tops and short shorts unironically and he fuckin ROCKS them! All the other frat boys don't look as good as him

He also wears gold chains bc why tf not

His parents met in the partnering fraternity and sorority that did charities and events. They then got married and had Adam straight out of college. Since the birth of Adam, his parents had it set in stone that he would work hard to attend the same university and join the same fraternity as his father.

As an underclassman, Adam genuinely enjoyed the frat life. His parents were proud of him. He was dating Gamora, the most popular girl in the sorority and of course another legacy. He was basically set to become president of the fraternity by his senior year.

At the beginning of his junior year, his whole world flipped upside down. His father died suddenly, and Ayesha was having a hard time grieving. On top of that, Gamora left Adam for Peter Quill, current president and Adam's arch nemesis.

All this caused Adam's straight A's turn to straight D's. With Quill as president, he threatened to kick Adam out the fraternity if he didn't bring his grades up.

And this is where you come in.

You are the top student in yours and Adam's philosophy class. It kinda helps that you are a philosophy major and always leading discussions during lectures. All your classmates were annoyed of you talking the professor's ears off, except for Adam. Without anyone's knowledge, he would jot down your talking points in case they would be useful in the future.

After the second exam of the semester, he finally approaches you after class, asking you to tutor him. Without hesitation, you agree, mainly because you have always seen him in your classes and found him attractive.

During your study sessions, you both got to know one another, realizing you have more in common with each other than Adam did with Gamora. He eventually confesses to you that he didn't care all that much about the frat life and he willingly agreed to rush because of his parents. You reveal to him that your parents practically disowned you after going to a college away from home and majoring in anything outside of law or medicine. You and Adam almost shared a kiss that night. That was until your best friend and Gamora's step sister, Nebula, came home from work.

Adam invites you to one of his frat parties where you're stuck to his hip the whole time. A drunk Quill encounters Adam, constantly harassing you throughout the night. Fed up with Quill's antics, Adam and you finally leave.

That was until Quill said, "Once you get tired of Adam's dumbass, you know where to find me. It won't be the first time a girl realized I'm ten times the man Adam Warlock will ever be."

Adam was ready to beat his ass, but you pushed him to the side, strutting towards Quill and back-handed slapped him across the face, sending him to the floor. You stoop down to Quill's level, muttering through gritted teeth, "You're right. Adam will never be you because he isn't some scumbag like you." Then, you took someone's cup of beer and poured it all over Quill before leaving with Adam.

As Adam was dropping you off at your apartment, he pulled you into a heated kiss and thanked you for standing up for him. When you shut the door behind you, you did a happy dance which Nebula caught you in the middle of. This, then led to you both staying up the rest of the night to spill the details of the party until you and Adam kissed.

Next week in class, Adam surprised you with your usual coffee order from the cafe on campus. On the coffee cup, there was a message that wrote:

"Dinner and movie at 7? I could use a study break :)"

Your face was warm from smiling so hard. You couldn't wait to finally go on a real date with Adam and neither could he.

Adam showed up to your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. You had to do a double take because it was the first time you haven't seen Adam wearing shorts and a crop top. He wore a buttoned shirt with jeans and his hair was neatly combed back.

"What happened? Did you run out of shirts that show off your abs?" You joked, leading to Adam picking you up and spinning you in the air before kissing you sweetly.

"Gotta look nice for my girl, you know."

You raise an eyebrow, taking the bouquet from him. "Your girl?" You curled your lips inward to hide the goofy smile on your face.

"Is it okay if I call you that?"

"Only if it's okay for me to call you my boy."

The date proceeds and it consists of a lot of hand holding, kissing, and you laying your head on Adam's shoulder. At the end of the date, it was obvious neither of you wanted it to end. While making out in his car, Adam reached for the bottom of your shirt, trying to pull it over your head until you stopped him.

Adam's face was full of concern. "I'm sorry, I should have asked if you were okay with this. I don't want you to think-"

You interrupted him by pressing your lips to his. "Don't worry, Adam. You didn't do anything wrong." You looked over at the window of your apartment, realizing no light came from inside. "Do you want to come inside? Nebula is most likely out for the rest of the night."

With that, Adam followed you into your apartment. You two barely made it into the bedroom before your hands and lips were all over one another. You fucked on the sofa before moving to the bedroom to cuddle.

As you were dozing off, Adam whispered, "I think I'm gonna quit the frat."

Now you were wide awake. "Why? I thought you loved it."

"For a while I did. I felt like I had to care for my parents. Now that we are halfway through junior year, none of that matters anymore." Adam paused to move your hair out of your face. "Besides, I'm thinking about applying to work at the cafe. My girl deserves all the free coffee I can make her for the rest of our college years."

"You are the sweetest." You kissed Adam on his forehead. "Whatever you want to do, I'll support you along the way."

#1.2k celebration🌱#creations 🪴#inklore #jordan loves laur #inklaur #college au #adam warlock #will poulter #gotg vol 3 #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x you #adam warlock headcanons #adam warlock fic #adam warlock imagine

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nintendo-b1tch · 8 months

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There isn’t enough Rauru Fanfics!! >:0

So here, have some angst! :D

Warnings: Grief, Loss, Major Character Death, Sleep Disorders, Anxiety, Depression, Violence, Stress, No Happy Ending

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As he watched you run, a grin spread across his face, basking in the euphoria of this simple yet magical moment. Suddenly, you halted, turning towards him with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes. In a swift motion, you planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, causing his eyes to flutter open in surprise and admiration. The affectionate gesture sent waves of warmth pulsating through his entire being, solidifying his love for you.

However, reality didn't mirror this idyllic scene. He awoke to find himself lying alone in bed, the absence of your presence as overwhelming as a tidal wave crashing upon him. Instinctively, his arm reached out to the side, seeking the imprint that your body would leave on his mattress. His fingertips grazed the empty space, a cruel reminder of the hollowness within his soul. As his trembling hand fell back to the sheets, his sorrow gave birth to crystalline tears that gently tracked down his cheeks, mirroring the anguish that consumed him.

His mind became a torrent of memories, each fragment tragically reminding him of the void that was now his reality. The weight of regret pressed heavily upon him, crushing his spirit with its unforgiving grip. If only he had been more cautious, if only he had shielded you from the clutches of Ganon, perhaps you wouldn't have been subjected to such a tragic fate. The simple stone, a mere piece of jewelry that adorned your neck, had proved to be a fatal harbinger of doom. In his heart, he carried the burden of guilt, etching the words "it was his fault" into the very core of his being.

Every fleeting moment with you, every stolen kiss, now replayed in his mind like a bittersweet montage. The weight of your absence intensified with each passing second, seeping into the crevices of his soul. The overwhelming grief threatened to shatter him completely, leaving only broken fragments of a once vibrant love story. The realization that you were gone, forever out of his reach, pierced him with a searing pain that he couldn't escape.

As the tears continued to cascade down his sorrow-stricken face, his heartbreak became etched in every line and crease. He yearned for the warmth of your laughter, the touch of your hand, and the ethereal connection that only the two of you shared. The throbbing ache within him served as a constant reminder of the irreplaceable void you left behind.

In this sea of anguish, he found himself drowning in a whirlwind of regrets and what-ifs. If only he could turn back time, rewrite the course of history, and rewrite the tragic fate that had befallen you. He clung to the remnants of your love, desperately seeking solace in the hazy memories of your beautiful laughter and infectious spirit.

In the depths of his despair, he vowed to honor your legacy and never let your memory fade. The stone that had caused your untimely demise became a symbol of his eternal devotion, a poignant reminder of the battles he fought within himself. With each teardrop shed, he silently pledged to fight for a future where love prevailed over darkness, where your laughter could once again fill the air, enchanting his broken heart with remnants of a love that will never be forgotten.

The haunting events of that fateful day replayed over and over again in the deepest recesses of his mind, replaying like a broken record that he couldn't tune out. There seemed to be no escape from the gripping nightmares that relentlessly whispered devastating images of your lifeless figure sprawled mercilessly on the unforgiving ground. And there, standing ominously in the backdrop of this indelible memory, was Zelda, her presence casting an eerie shadow upon the scene.

It was as if the weight of his guilt had become an unwelcome companion, a heavy burden that refused to be shrugged off. Shoulders slumped under the immense pressure, he found himself enveloped in an overwhelming sea of remorse, unable to fathom how he could have prevented such a tragedy. Deep down, he knew that you, in your infinite kindness and understanding, would never have wanted him to shoulder this blame alone. But try as he might, it was a challenge to convince himself otherwise.

Every waking moment was haunted by the fragments of that incident, the vivid imprints etched forever in his psyche. From the smallest details of how the light had danced upon your face to the exact postures Zelda had assumed in those haunting seconds, his mind relentlessly recreated the scene vividly, unable to let go. It was as though time had stopped and he was trapped within a loop of remorse, forced to relive every heart-wrenching second indefinitely.

The constant replay of this torturous memory began to spill over into his daily life, causing ripples of distress and despair in even the most mundane tasks. The once vibrant hues of everyday existence seemed muted and dull, as his mind remained fixated on that singular, pivotal moment of tragedy. The world around him carried on, oblivious to the silent torment gnawing at his soul.

He yearned for closure, for a way to escape the clutches of this consuming guilt. Desperate attempts were made to rationalize the situation, to find some semblance of solace in understanding that sometimes, despite our best efforts, life takes a cruel detour. But the heavy weight persisted, pressing down upon him like an unrelenting force, unwilling to grant him respite.

You were the one who opened your heart to fall in love with a unique and unconventional being like him. While many Hylians would mock and ridicule him, you chose a different path, embracing his imperfections and vulnerabilities without judgment or scorn. Your unconditional acceptance and support transformed his life, becoming the guiding light that brightened even the darkest corners of his existence.

The unimaginable day when you were taken away from him stands as a haunting turning point, forever etched into his memory. The mere recollection brings back a flood of emotions, like a fierce tidal wave crashing against the shores of his soul. He can still vividly recall the moment he crumbled, his helpless sobs finding refuge in the comforting embrace of his older sister. The pain of losing you weighed heavy on his heart, threatening to crush his spirit.

The sheer disbelief at your departure overwhelmed him. It was as if the universe had played a cruel trick on him, snatching away his beacon of hope and leaving him stranded in a desolate void of emptiness. Coping with your absence proved to be an uphill battle, one that required him to confront his inner demons and face the reality of life without you. Alas, his inability to accept your departure led him down a treacherous path of detrimental habits and destructive behaviors.

Night after night, unbearable nightmares plagued his vulnerable psyche, mercilessly thrusting him into a realm of torment that he sought to escape. Sleep became his enemy, a treacherous portal that unleashed the haunting memories he desperately wished to evade. His sister, although well-intentioned, could not fathom the depth of his anguish and grief. It was in the dead of night that she awoke, startled by the piercing sound of his anguished scream, a haunting echo of his heartache and yearning for you.

This distressing episode served as a mere glimpse into the extent of his sorrow, a silent testament to his shattered soul. The magnitude of his pain was impossible to comprehend fully, confined within the confines of his mind and heart. Yet, the echoes of his anguish reverberated through the halls of his existence, a constant reminder of the void left by your absence.

When the panicked urgency surged through her veins, propelling her out of her own room and towards the source of the piercing scream, she was met with a sight that left her breathless. In the wake of her hasty arrival, her brother's once peaceful abode had morphed into a scene of havoc and destruction. The room, once a sanctuary, now lay in ruins, as if a tempest had swept through its very core.

However, it was not the shattered remnants of the decorative mirror that commanded her attention, but rather the sight of her brother standing amidst the chaos. Approaching him with measured caution, every step calculated, she couldn't help but notice the untamed state of his hair - an outward manifestation of the depths of his anger. Only on rare occasions did his normally composed demeanor give way to such uncontrollable fury.

As she drew closer, her acute hearing intercepted the soft murmurings emanating from him, the words casting a shiver down her spine. Shock and horror washed over her like a tidal wave as his disturbing declaration echoed in her ears, each repetitious utterance carrying with it mounting intensity. " I'll kill him " he seethed, the weight of those words hanging heavily in the air. The force behind his voice grew, matching the intensity of his emotions, as his clenched fist collided once more with the jagged fragments of the shattered mirror. Yet amidst the chaos, her gaze locked onto something unexpected — a glint of metal in his other hand.

With tears streaming down his face, his anguish was palpable. The sight of her brother, overcome by a maelstrom of emotions, filled her with a desperate sense of concern. In that moment, she glimpsed her most cherished possession, a necklace that held sentiment and memories intertwined, clutched tightly in his trembling grasp. The juxtaposition of his vulnerability and the presence of that treasured necklace left her questioning the events that had led them to this drastic point.

Each shattered piece of the mirror, every trembling word, and the necklace cradled in her brother's hand served as a mosaic of emotions and turmoil. In that poignant instant, she vowed to uncover the truth and bring solace to her brother's tormented soul, to navigate the labyrinth of their shattered reality with unwavering determination. She knew that the road ahead would be arduous, but her love for him was an unyielding beacon, guiding her through the darkest of storms.

" Rauru....this isn't your fault, you couldn't have seen this coming "

" YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND, MINERU, I SHOULD HAVE SEEN THIS COMING!! HE IS RIGHT, I AM NO FIT TO BE A RULER IF I AM UNABLE TO PROTECT MY FAMILY!! MY SUNDELION!! My everything.... " His body collapsed into his sister's arms, a vulnerable surrender to the overwhelming grief consuming him. As his uncontrollable sobs reverberated throughout the room, it became evident that something crucial was missing in his life. Your absence had left an unfathomable void in his soul, a void that seemed insurmountable in its depth and magnitude.

The tormenting night had awoken him from a fitful slumber, startled by the vivid intrusion of a powerful memory. In his dream, a cherished recollection had materialized, reminding him of a remarkable moment that had forever altered the trajectory of his existence. Summoning unprecedented courage, he had mustered the audacity to ask you on a momentous date, a simple act that held profound significance for him.

The night had unfolded like a beautifully scripted romance, each moment etching itself into the fabric of his memory. And when the time came to bid adieu, he exuded both anticipation and trepidation. With trembling hands, he gently clasped a meticulously crafted necklace around your delicate neck—an exquisite piece painstakingly created by his own hands. It was a blooming Sundelion, a whimsical embodiment of your heart's desires, carefully selected because he knew it held a special place in your affections.

His heart swelled with an indescribable sense of pride and accomplishment upon completing the necklace. The delicate charm gleamed against your skin, its intricate details a testament to the love and dedication he had poured into its creation. As you gratefully expressed your admiration for the thoughtful gesture, his smile widened, deepening the bond that already connected the two of you.

Through this tangible symbol of their affection, he hoped to convey a multitude of emotions that seemed impossible to articulate in words alone. Each carefully crafted petal and intricate design was imbued with the love, adoration, and profound understanding he had for you. It was his humble attempt to epitomize the intricate beauty of your soul—a reflection of the vivid blossoms that bloomed within your essence.

In that moment, he knew that the necklace would be far more than a mere accessory. It would become a cherished talisman, a tangible embodiment of the depth of their connection and the endless possibilities that lay ahead. And so, as he collapsed into his sister's arms, his tears mingling with the memory of that cherished night, he held the necklace close to his heart, finding solace in the reminder of the love he had once shared with you.

You were a truly extraordinary individual who possessed a remarkable ability to brighten people's lives. Your infectious personality and genuine care for others meant that you always went above and beyond to ensure that everyone around you wore a genuine smile. It was absolutely heartwarming to witness how effortlessly and selflessly you made it your mission to uplift those who were feeling downhearted.

In your presence, even the most sorrowful souls would find solace and comfort as you ceaselessly worked to turn their frowns upside down. Your unwavering dedication to spreading happiness and joy was truly awe-inspiring. You had an innate talent for understanding the needs and emotions of others, which enabled you to provide them with the support and encouragement they required during their difficult moments.

Your magnetic charm and charisma attracted people from all walks of life, and it was a testament to your exceptional character. Your mere presence had the power to create an atmosphere of warmth and positivity that enchanted everyone around you. You effortlessly formed deep connections and friendships, leaving an indelible impression on everyone who had the privilege of encountering your radiant spirit.

However, when fate took you away from the realm, an irrevocable darkness descended upon the once vibrant kingdom. The news of your untimely departure spread like wildfire, and the kingdom was plunged into an overwhelming state of deep sorrow and mourning. It was as if a brilliant light had been snuffed out, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill. As word of your loss reached far and wide, communities near and far grieved the loss of a remarkable soul whose impact had reverberated throughout the land.

The kingdom mourned not only for the loss of an extraordinary individual who had enriched the lives of so many, but also for the void created by your absence. The absence of your vivacious spirit and contagious laughter left an insurmountable emptiness that permeated every corner of the kingdom. The memory of your selflessness, compassion, and unwavering commitment to spreading happiness was etched in the hearts of every citizen, forever reminding them of the profound impact you made during your time amongst them.

The grief that pervaded the kingdom served as a testament to your extraordinary influence and the indomitable mark you left on the hearts and souls of the people. It became increasingly evident that your absence was not just a personal loss, but a collective tragedy that weighed heavily upon the entire community. The kingdom yearned for the return of the joy and unity that had once flourished under your guiding light.

Though the kingdom continued to mourn, your legacy lived on, as the lessons you imparted and the countless smiles you had brought continued to inspire and motivate. The memories of your kindness, generosity, and immense capacity to bring happiness to others lingered, reinforcing the importance of compassion and empathy within the hearts of those who remained.

In conclusion, your unparalleled ability to bring a smile to everyone's face, even in the darkest of times, was a gift that touched the lives of countless individuals. Your magnetic presence and unwavering commitment to spreading joy made you the guiding light of the kingdom, and your departure left behind an irreplaceable void that was mourned by all. Your legacy of kindness and selflessness continues to resonate within the hearts of those who were fortunate enough to cross paths with you, ensuring that your memory is forever cherished and celebrated.

Every single day, without fail, he would find himself in the same predicament: unable to sleep, tormented by the memories of their time together. Each night seemed to bring forth a different recollection, replaying like a broken record in his mind. It was as if the universe had conspired to snatch away his beloved far too soon, leaving him to grapple with an unfair and unfathomable reality.

The emotions that churned within him were overwhelming, and he couldn't help but feel a growing disgust in the depths of his chest. The sight of couples indulging in displays of affection felt like a personal affront, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. It was almost as if they were purposefully rubbing their happiness in his face, taunting him with the fact that he could no longer share such moments with you.

These thoughts, invasive and unrelenting, plagued his mind relentlessly. They consumed him to such an extent that he found solace only within the confines of his own room. It became a sanctuary of sorts, a shelter from the onslaught of memories and emotions that threatened to engulf him. Within those four walls, he sought refuge from the tumultuous waves crashing against the shores of his weary soul.

And so, he would retreat into isolation, withdrawing from the world outside that seemed so devoid of the warmth and joy he once knew. The confinement of his room became a physical representation of the emotional isolation he felt, a space where he could attempt to make sense of the incomprehensible loss that had shattered his world.

In this chamber of solitude, he would dwell upon the fragments of memories scattered across the vast expanse of his mind. Each moment of tenderness, each laugh shared, and every touch exchanged would be painstakingly dissected and analyzed. For within those memories lay the essence of what had been lost, the intangible connection that was now severed.

As he grappled with the unbearable weight of his grief, he longed for an answer to the inevitable question: why? Why were others allowed to bask in the glow of happiness while he was left to navigate the darkness alone? The answer remained elusive, buried within the complexities of fate and the unpredictability of life.

And so, night after night, he would find himself trapped in this ceaseless cycle of longing, yearning for an escape from the clutches of his sorrow. Each sleepless night was a stark reminder of the love that had been snatched away, and the pain that persisted. And within the walls of his room, he would continue to search for solace, hoping that one day, the memories would bring not only pain, but also a bittersweet sense of peace.

Rauru found solace in immersing himself in his royal duties, seeking respite from the overwhelming weight of his thoughts. Wrapped tightly in his blanket, he absentmindedly scratched at the fur on his thighs, a nervous tick that offered temporary distraction. His gaze fell upon the wounds that marred his flesh, a secret he held close, aware of the unhealthiness of his actions.

In truth, he couldn't fathom the possibility of breaking free from this cycle. It had become an addiction, a desperate attempt to alleviate the agony of your absence. You were more than just a presence in his life; you were the very essence of his happiness. The day you left, his world came crashing down, an irreversible rupture in his soul.

That fateful night, Rauru found himself kneeling before the statue of the goddess, pouring his heart out in desperate pleas. He yearned for your return, hoping against all odds that she would hear his cries and grant him reprieve. However, no matter how many times he humbled himself in front of that relentless statue, you remained forever out of reach.

Oh, how he longed for your presence once more, but it was an unattainable dream. He resigned himself to a life where you would never grace his side again, forever mourning the loss of the one who completed him..

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agirlandherquill · 3 months

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home, a revelation

The heart of the mountain valley birthed many a nook and cranny, upturned cobblestones gave way to debris and any sort of material folk could get their hands on to fashion a path. Most streets were too narrow to walk in, let alone haul a carriage through. Ramshackle buildings crushed together resembled homes. Even from the distance his eyes could make out the uneven rooftops, the tiles cracked and spoilt by time, the stones carved and chipped holding families, homes, together. Leirside was made up of many parts, but from where he stood, it was one beautiful blur. A menagerie of grey, of secrets, of unspoilt potential. The people were seen as common, worth no more than the labour their hands could toil away for, but he knew better. He knew behind every humble exterior lay a heart of gold. Of honesty. Of hard-work. True worth in comparison to the deep pockets of the folk that resided higher up the mountain banks. That worth had allowed the folk to last this long, and to create something for themselves. That creation had become the marvel he saw before him. A circlet of graft, of genuine legacy, and of distant flickering lamp-lights that warded off the heaviest of the dark. That determined light warmed his heart. It truly did feel like coming home. Even if they weren’t there yet. For his destination resided away from the hubbub of Leirside, a little ways to the right. A forgotten patch of land, upon which stood a crumbling church. One shrouded by a curtain of fog. The rusted steeple pierced into the night, it was the only marker of its existence, easily missed, soon forgettable, forgettable to all but him. “What is that?” Her quiet voice roused him from his observations. For a while he had forgotten she was right in front of him. He leant forward and grasped the reigns from her hands, directing the horse so that she could get a better view. “That,” He whispered, “Is home.”

#writing #creative writing #fiction #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writinganovel #novel #writer #writing community #writer things

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doll-elvis · 10 months

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I like Priscilla and I appreciate that she has managed to keep Graceland afloat along with Elvis’s legacy but it irks me how people act like she was perfect. Everyone acts like Elvis is the sole reason their marriage failed but no one talks about how what she did, like having affairs herself

thank you so much for the ask <3!! sorry y’all this is longg

before I give my opinion, I just want to say a quick disclaimer because it’s important to acknowledge that I was obviously not apart of their marriage or their relationship and therefore my opinion is essentially irrelevant. I always find it weird when people talk about celebrity relationships with authority as though they were actually apart of it 😩, so I just want to say that at the end of the day it wasn’t my relationship, I don’t know the full truth, anything I say is just from what I’ve gathered from books/interviews

and just from what I have read, I honestly think their marriage was doomed from the very start because when Elvis married Priscilla in 1967 he essentially married a caricature version of her🤧 Priscilla created a look and personality that she believed embodied all of the traits that Elvis found ideal in a woman, and by doing so she created a fantasy that she wouldn’t be able to uphold as she grew older and became her own person. And when it comes to her and Elvis, I always felt like they fell in love with the idea of each-other, which is probably not the best foundation to build a marriage on😩 As the years went by and as they changed as people, they definitely grew apart and grew separately. I think Priscilla even said it was like they both lived separate lives

(Red West speaking on Elvis and Priscilla in “Elvis: What happened?” ⬇️)

as for affairs, Priscilla did indeed confirm that she had an affair with her dance instructor who she refers to as “Mark” in her book, soon after Lisa Marie was born. To give context this was also when Elvis began withdrawing from her s*xually, as she tells it, because he had pause about making love with a woman who had given birth to his child. She said the affair with Mark was very brief and it ultimately made her realize she wanted more out of her relationship with Elvis. The Memphis Mafia have also alleged that Priscilla had an affair with one of the male dancers in the 68 comeback special but she hasn’t spoken on that specific allegation herself. Then of course there was her affair with Mike Stone which is much more infamous and is what gave Priscilla the final nudge to ask for a divorce from Elvis. Tbh I’m really curious to see if the upcoming Priscilla movie will acknowledge the affairs on both her and Elvis’ end… like if they show Ann-Margret and they better include Mike Stone also 😩

And yeah while she did admit to being unfaithful while being married to Elvis, obviously in comparison to Elvis’ affairs, hers were much fewer in count. But on those grounds, like you said they both went against their vows and again, I don’t think we are in any place to judge either one of them because we didn’t live the relationship 🤷🏻‍♀️

Your ask also made me think about how they were incompatible on many levels which I’m sure put strain on the marriage. The biggest one to me is the lack of interest on Priscilla’s part in Elvis’ spirituality, and books on the subject. And again I’m not placing any blame on Priscilla because you cannot force interest in a subject, you either like it or you don’t. And to be fair to Priscilla, Elvis didn’t exactly support all of her interests, like how she wanted to pursue modeling in the 60s. But there’s one passage from her book that I think really summarizes their incompatibility on a mental/emotional level ⬇️

“Although I was striving to be his soul mate and subtly becoming more aware of myself as a spiritual being, my heart longed for the very temptations he was fighting to conquer”

The very first sentence of this quote is very telling ⬆️: you don’t strive to be someone’s soulmate, I feel like you either are, or you aren’t 🤧

“As his soul mate I was expected to search for answers as fervently as he did, but I just couldn’t bear reading the ponderous tracts that surrounded us in bed every night. Usually within five minutes of opening one, I’d be sound asleep. Annoyed at my obvious disinterest, he woke me to share an insightful passage. If I voiced the slightest protest, he’d say, ‘Things will never work out between us, Cilla, because you don’t show any interest in me or my philosophies’”

Priscilla was extremely unhappy during this time and their relationship was really rocky as Elvis explored his spirituality. And in an effort to please her, he agreed to burning all of his spiritual books, which I always thought was so sad because he felt like he had to abandon such a major part of himself just to keep peace in the relationship

I think divorce was definitely inevitable for these two, and like you mentioned it’s just not fair to place all of the blame on Elvis when they both didn’t fit each other’s needs as partners

#thank you for the ask!!#marriage is not easy #sometimes I wonder if their relationship would have lasted longer had they not gotten married 👀#elvis presley #elvisaaronpresley #elvis #priscilla presley #elvis and priscilla #elvis history #elvis fans #elvis asks #elvis book excerpts

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simsparrows · 2 years

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In light of recent Supreme Court news I want to add a TW for pregnancy and birth on these posts and the next several posts.

Sparrow knew she needed to talk to Sky but she was nervous. This one secret could change everything. Sparrow was terrified of what Sky might say.

Thunder sensed this and comforted her, giving her the strength to tell Sky.

Still, even with Thunder’s support, Sparrow was nauseous.

Sky seemed oblivious to Sparrows nerves.

Thunder waited patiently between them as Sparrow spoke.

“I have some news, Sky.” She said, bursting with anxious energy.

Sky replied earnestly. “Oh, tell me, Sparrow. What’s going on?”

Sparrow gathered up all her strength and finally blurted out her secret.

“Sky...I’m with child.” After her truth met light, she hid back, waiting for Sky’s reaction. She was not ready for what awaited her.

He stared at her for a good while, blinking as if he were in a dream.

“Well?” Sparrow said at last. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might break.

Thunder too was hanging over the edge, waiting for Sky’s answer.

“Is...Are you sure?” Sky asked.

Sparrow nodded and immediately after Sky let out a cheer.

“This is the happiest day of my life,” Sky said at last. “This is the most wonderful news you could have ever given me. Thank the Watcher.”

Sparrow smiled. “You’re excited? You’re really happy about this?”

Sky clasped his hands together and nodded solemnly.

“Darling, I can’t wait to raise children with you.”

Thunder wasn’t sure what her parents were talking about, but she was happy that they seemed so joyful.

#tw: pregnancy #tw: birth #the sims 4 #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #simblr #sims 4 prehistoric #sims 4 prehistory #sims 4 pregnancy #sims 4 blog #ts4 #ts4 history challenge #ts4 historical #ts4 history #ts4 prehistoric #ts4 stone age #sims 4 story #the sims 4 stone age

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in-class-daydreams · 11 months

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King of My Heart (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader Chapter 2: I Did Something Bad Synopsis: Hogwarts Legacy if Sebastian's Relationship Quest was the main quest. A telling of the in-between, the late nights sneaking around the castle after curfew, sitting on the second floor of the library listening to Sebastian ramble about a book he read, stealing cubes of melon off his plate during breakfast. How we got from "not bad for a beginner" to "there was nobody else, I came alone" to "no matter what happens, I'm glad we met." Alternatively: How your love could pull Sebastian Sallow back from the brink. Told in the style of Percy Jackson, in first-person and with sarcasm. A/N: Post troll attack at Hogsmeade. Some canon-divergent plot about MC's past, and the library incident, only flirtier. TW: Mild blood, canon-typical violence

First | Next

I tasted iron in my mouth. I wasn’t sure what I was going for when I landed that final strike on the troll, but even I could not have anticipated this result. Not only was the troll defeated, but there wasn’t a trace of flesh or bone or blood left. The only indication that it existed at all was the cratered stone and broken debris littering the square.

Hot, thick liquid made my left eye burn. I shut it and wiped my brow with the back of my hand, and grimaced at the red streak across it. How inconvenient.

Sebastian stumbled over to me, reaching out to grip me by the upper arms.

“Are you alright?” he asked. I could hardly hear him. My ears were still ringing from the troll’s ear splitting roars.

“Me?” I asked incredulously. “Are you alright? I just saw you get tossed like a ragdoll!”

Before Seabstian could say anything, I saw how one of his hands trembled. I grabbed him by the wrist and gently rolled the sleeve of his robes down his arms. A long, bloody gash ran down the length of his forearm. I hissed.

“I’m sorry. I was so focused on the troll that I wasn’t looking out for you. I’ll be more careful next time,” I told him. I looked up at him. His face was flushed red and he couldn’t meet my eyes. Poor thing. He had every right to be upset and traumatized. I pointed my wand at his arm.

“Episkey!” I smiled to myself when his skin seamlessly knit itself back together.

“You’re sorry? That was amazing!” Sebastian said when he pulled his arm away from me. “Where did you learn to do that?”

I shrugged. “It just happened.”

Sebastian scoffed. “‘It just happened,’ she says like it was nothing. Are you joking? That was–”

The officer from before jogged up. In the wake of the adrenaline coursing through me, much of the ensuing conversation was a blur.

***

If getting used to a new school wasn’t difficult enough, I continued to deal with goblin rebellions, poachers, and my newfound ancient magic. Professor Fig did his best. He’d gifted me a packet of sweets every once and a while and reminded me to enjoy my time at Hogwarts despite all that was going on with the Keepers.

I was on my way to the Great Hall when I was summoned to his office. I knocked on the door and let myself in.

“You sent for me, Professor Fig? I thought you’d have left by now?”

He looked up with a severe look on his face. An open letter - among several loose documents - lay across his desk.

“Ah, there you are. Have a seat.” He gestured to the plush chair in front of his desk.

I obliged. “Is everything alright?”

Professor Fig looked troubled. The deep lines in his face seemed more pronounced.

“It’s to do with your enrollment.” The fear must have shown on my face when he quickly backtracked. “Considering your great affinity for magic and the fact that the orphanage has no records regarding your birth, the school and, well, the ministry has requested a blood test. For purity and for your birth family.”

The professor’s words lingered and I allowed them to sink in. My tongue tasted of iron and I continued to bite down.

“A blood test.”

Professor Fig nodded. “Yes. This could be a good thing, you know.”

“They want to know if I’m a pureblood.” It wasn’t a question. Fig seemed to realize that as well. He responded with a simple nod of his head.

“And what would that do? Would I be disenrolled if I was a muggle-born?” I demanded.

“No, no! I imagine it’s for record keeping, among other things. This will not disrupt your studies, I assure you–”

“If it doesn’t change anything, why do I need to do it? I don’t care about my biological family. Even if they wanted to meet me, the only family I know is you.” I wasn’t being fair. It wasn’t Fig that was asking for a blood test. Can you blame me though? How many orphans enjoy talking about their lineage?

Professor Fig’s gaze softened. He came around the desk and held my hand in his own. Miriam wasn’t an easy topic for him, but he always said that she and I shared a similar fire within us, though I doubt I could live up to someone he spoke of so reverently. The orphanage was never really a home for me and I imagined when Miriam died, Fig’s sense of home died with her. The two of us helped each other in that regard and no blood test was going to change that.

“Sorry,” I said quietly.

Fig smiled. “Whatever for?”

I smacked my thighs with my hands. “Alright, let’s get the headmaster off your back. What do you need from me?”

Fig produced a thick envelope. When opened, a short, simple blade poked out from within the parchment.

“The blade is enchanted with a healing charm, so cut yourself quickly and it will seal–”

I grabbed the blade and squeezed. The steel bit into my hand painfully. My thick red blood ran down the blade and was absorbed by some sort of enchantment within the parchment. My skin and flesh knitting back together when I pulled back was an odd sensation.

“Is that enough?” I asked.

“More than. You worry me at times,” Fig said and sealed the envelope. I shrugged. Physical pain was temporary.

As he made the preparations to send the envelope with an owl, I worried my lip between my teeth.

“Professor?” I asked.

“Yes, my young friend?”

On one hand, I wanted to ask this to his face. On the other hand, I was grateful he was turned away. I might not have had the courage to ask otherwise.

“If my biological family doesn’t want me or has passed away...” I could do this. Fig was a good man, he wouldn’t scoff at the request. Reject it, perhaps, but he would do so kindly. “...might I take your last name? Mine doesn’t mean anything to me. I would like it to.”

My guardian stood stock still. When he finally faced me, his eyes were misty.

“My dear, I would be honored.”

It took him a moment to remember his previous task and we sat in teary silence for a few moments more. As soon as the letter was with the owl flying away, Fig shooed me out of his office.

“Go on, have some free time. Spend some time with that young boy all the teachers have said you are fond of.”

My jaw dropped. “All the teachers, what? We went to Hogsmeade once!”

“I hear you wait for each other at the end of each class to walk to the next one.”

“We share several classes! Sebastian is–” I made my best unimpressed face at the sight of Fig’s amused expression. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you.”

“I would never,” he said, not at all convincing. “But I’d like the record to state, I never said a name.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Give Sebastian my best!”

“I’m not going to see Sebastian!”

I plopped down beside Sebastian in the Great Hall. Ominis had a class around this time, which left me and Sebastian to entertain each other.

“Would you rather have two left feet or two left hands?” Sebastian asked through a mouthful of bread.

I hummed and chewed on my stew. “Two left feet for sure.”

“Seriously? You’re mad.”

Nose scrunched, I reasoned, “If I wear shoes most of the time, no one will notice.”

“Left shoes look different, though.”

“I would get a special shoe that looks like a right shoe but has the innards of a left shoe.”

“The innards.”

“The innards. What would you choose, then?”

Sebastian clucked his tongue. “Feet.”

“You just like to argue with me, Sallow!” I exclaimed.

“It’s not my fault! You make it so easy!” he retorted.

I flicked his ear. Or tried to. He dodged and raised an arm. Him being taller, I gave up after promising myself I’d catch him by surprise later.

“So,” he said. Sebastian stirred his stew like it would be no good if he didn’t. “You promised me an explanation for what happened in the Three Broomsticks. Not many students have–” his voice lowered to a whisper “--Victor Rookwood’s attention.”

I snorted through my nose. Looking at him through a sideways glance, I made a show of looking at all the students in the Great Hall.

“Here? Now?” I questioned.

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m impatient.”

Sebastian slid across the short gap between us until his thigh was pressed up against mine. He turned his head until his mouth was a hair’s breadth from my shoulder.

“Alright, go ahead.”

I rolled my eyes and mimicked his position.

“Alright, fine. So, it seems he’s working with Ranrok and Ranrok is looking for something I found at Gringotts.”

“Ranrok?!” Sebastian shouted over the din loud enough for more than a few heads to turn.

For someone so sneaky, the boy needed to learn to shut his mouth. I huffed and yanked him by the arm up and out of the Great Hall.

By the time we were in a secluded part of the hallway, I looked back to find him crunching on an apple he must have snatched. Food was always at the front of Sebastian’s mind. Sometimes I wondered if it was right up there with his sister.

“Would you keep it down?!” I scolded him.

“This is a lot to process! When were you at Gringotts?” he whisper-yelled.

My temples throbbed. It was a long story I wasn’t in the mood for. Granted, all this was a first for Sebastian, so I had to be patient. “Professor Fig and I ended up there after the dragon attack. Fig had this portk–”

“Portkey? To Gringotts? I’m not sure I follow,” Sebastian said in disbelief.

I gave him a deadpan look. “You might follow better if you let me finish.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “You try listening to all this in silence! The commentary helps me process.”

“You can process and talk at the same time?”

“I must talk to process.”

The throbbing at my temples intensified and I massaged them gently.

“Fine, I get it. I barely follow myself and I was there. Anyway, we ended up in an ancient vault where we found a map. That map led to the Restricted Section.”

Sebastian shook his head, looking overwhelmed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly serious,” I assured him. “Professor Fig has insisted that I not tell a soul about any of this. I’ve probably said too much.” I looked him in the eye to make sure he got the message.

My classmate nodded sagely. Not that I expected anything less.

“Understood. Your secret’s safe with me. Whatever it is.” He eyed me curiously.

“Thank you, Sebastian.” I paused to make him wait in suspense. No harm in having a little fun and mystery even with dire circumstances. Sebastian seemed the type to appreciate it. Sure enough, he caught my tone and watched me with interest.

“You mentioned being clever enough not to get caught in the Restricted Section?” We gave each other knowing stares.

“And I am,” he said, catching my meaning right away. I liked that about him so far. He was always good at reading between the lines. “Meet me outside the library tonight. And tell no one.”

“Just so I know what we’re getting into, what happens if we’re caught in the Restricted Section? Will we get sent to wizard jail? Forced to launder the librarian’s drawers?” I asked.

Sebastian laughed. “Azkaban would be a safe haven compared to the latter option. But no. No life sentences. Just detention. But don’t take that lightly. You’ll get tinnitus from repotting mandrakes for hours if you do.”

“That’s very specific.”

“I like to specify.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“It’s a date.”

‘Tonight’ came quickly and I strolled down the stairs to find Sebastian leaning backwards against the railing. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me down to stoop. We approached the edge of the balcony.

In hushed tones, Sebastian whispered, “See there?” He pointed to a red door with a triangular design over it. “That’s the door we need to reach.”

I spotted a pair of prefects not three feet from the door. Already this seemed like a big ask for mine and Sebastian’s young friendship.

He continued, “Those annoying prefects would love nothing more than to rat on us to Scribner, so don’t let them see us. Understood?”

An orphan remaining unseen? Please. Don’t insult me.

“I can be sneaky.” My plan was already forming in my head. I would even use magic to enhance my existing strategies. A suit of metal armor stood on the opposite wall. Perfect noise making opportunity. Basic cast would do the trick. “Let’s go.”

Before I could set us into motion, Sebastian stopped me.

“Hold on, now. There’s a spell you should know. The disillusionment charm. Good for getting places you’re not supposed to be.” The look in his eye would make any authority figure nervous. “Cast it, and you’ll appear as little more than a trick of the light. Just as long as you keep your distance and stay quiet.”

I blinked. Right. Magic was almost limitless. I had almost forgotten how recent my entry into this world really was. Of course there was an invisibility spell.

“You mean, I’ll actually be able to turn invisible?” I asked in awe.

Sebastian’s dimples made an appearance. “Something like that. It’s not as foolproof as a cloak, but those are expensive. And spells?” He nudged my side. “Spells are free.”

Free is the best price, I always say.

We backed away from the rail slightly and Sebastian showed me the wand movement. It allowed light to pass through an entire person, so it was understandably more complicated than levioso. Still, it wasn’t all that hard.

“Like this?” I asked and mimicked the wand movement. A burst of wind rushed past my face and I couldn’t see myself. I was glad Sebastian couldn’t see the silly grin on my face at a job well done.

Sebastian looked stunned. “That’s– That’s exactly it.” Then he mumbled something about ‘first try’ before casting the spell on himself. He disappeared and I reached out for him. My hand brushed what must’ve been his shoulder.

“Careful, I don’t want to lose track of you,” I said. When he didn’t move or react, I reached out another hand. “Sebastian?”

My target was his other shoulder. Instead I caught somewhere closer to his neck. I slid a hand up the side of his neck to his face.

“You’re burning up,” I said and placed the back of my hand against his forehead. “We

can do this another day if you’re not feeling up to it.”

An unseen force batted my hand away.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” Sebastian sounded strained but was already dragging me by the hand down the steps.

The two of us made it through the red door without incident. At the bottom of the ensuing staircase, I eased the next door open and was met with an older woman with white hair in a sharp bun at the top of her head. I froze.

“Blast. The librarian’s still here!” Sebastian whispered. “Quick! Behind the bookcase!”

We hid pressed up against the bookcase so that even if she was in line with it, between the angle and the spell, she wouldn’t be able to see us.

The severity of the situation caught up with me since we passed the prefects. I was no goody-goody, but this was more serious rule-breaking.

“You told me the librarian would be gone by now!” I did my best to keep my voice down.

“I said ‘usually’!” Sebastian said. “But it’ll be alright.”

Our joined hands were starting to get clammy. I’d hardly pulled mine back to wipe it on my robes when he recaptured it.

“See the desk on the back wall?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ The key is in a drawer of that desk. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll create a distraction to draw her away. You focus on getting the key. I’ll meet you outside the Restricted Section.”

I was expecting to be the planner and for him to give guidance every now and again. Now that he was delegating tasks, I found myself face to face with his area of expertise.

“What’s wrong?” His voice sounded much closer than before.

“Nothing!” I ignored the loud thudding of my heart that threatened to give us away.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing. We can still–”

“Do we even need a key? Isn’t there a spell for this?” I prayed for him to be drawn by the subject change.

“Alohomora. That’s how I always used to get in.” Sebastian went on about the spell and his nemesis, Scribner. Meanwhile, I took that moment to gather myself and draw my own attention away from the self-satisfied way he said ‘alohomora.’ Focus, me.

“Don’t worry. I said I’d get you in, and I always keep my word. Trust me.”

Trust Sebastian? Orphans don’t trust easy. At least, not from the place I grew up in, but damn it, I had already told him about Ranrok and the portkey and Fig’s involvement. To my surprise and annoyance, I had been trusting him long before I even realized it.

“You distract, I get the key. Easy as pie,” I said.

“I knew I liked you.” And with that, Sebastian’s hand slipped out of mine and he was gone.

Not thirty seconds later, there was a minor commotion on the other side of the library. Scribner pushed her thick glasses up her nose and stalked off in that direction. I snuck behind the desk and blanched. In hindsight, I should have asked Sebastian which drawer it was, because there were at least a dozen.

I found what looked like a Restricted Section key on my fifth try. I opened two more drawers for good measure and found another clandestine-looking key.

Shit.

In doubt, I grabbed both and made a beeline for the Restricted Section. In hindsight again, I should have checked with Sebastian where exactly that was. Luckily, I wasn’t a completely incompetent fool.

Unable to contain my excitement, I rushed to the gated section. In my haste, I knocked into an invisible force. We knocked heads with a loud ‘clack.’ If anyone had been nearby, they’d have heard twin sets of muffled groans.

“Ow! Damn!” Sebastian hissed.

“Are you alright?” I groped around in the empty space for him. What I found was his fluffy hair. It was quite soft. He took my hand back while I unlocked the gate and we stole in.

To our right, there was an elaborate book with a green jewel on top of an end table. Sebastian tugged me along when I stopped to investigate.

“That one’s charmed to look more useful than it is. It’s fooled me twice now. Never judge a tome by its cover, I say.”

“I wasn’t fooled,” I said more to ease the tension than out of indignation.

“Sure. Whatever you say.” Sebastian’s smile was clear in his voice.

Us two made our way through, dodging ghosts and creating distractions as needed. It was great fun, to plan and carry out a clandestine operation such as this. This was the kind of thing I always wanted to do, but never could because my ass was always on the line. At least, not in this way.

“Should be in the clear now.” Sebastian reappeared beside me. “No need for us to be skulking about.”

“Wouldn’t it be wise to remain invisible, just in case?” I reasoned.

“What, are you scared?”

I huffed and revealed myself.

“So, what is it you’ve been looking for?” I asked.

“I’m looking for a cure to help my twin sister, Anne - so that she can return to Hogwarts.” Sebastian sounded more serious than I’d ever heard him. Something about him seemed tired. Older than he was supposed to be. I’d seen that look on others before. “Because Merlin knows everyone else has given up.”

I could put two and two together. “She’s more than ill, isn’t she?” I asked softly.

Sebastian clenched his jaw. “Yes.”

I didn’t pry. Sibling bonds were a type of love I would never get to experience. Surely, it was one of the most powerful forms of love in existence, and I wasn’t about to press Sebastian on it.

“I imagine you’ve tried almost everything.” The way Sebastian treated it, it seemed like his search for a cure was exhaustive.

“Right again. We’ve tried everything from Nurse Blainey to St. Mungo’s.” Then he seemed to catch himself. “But, I can research on my own. No need to concern yourself with that right now. Let’s focus on what you’re after.”

I frowned. “Fine, but when we’re done with that, we’re going to do research for your sister.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sebastian eyed me warily.

“Everyone’s given up?”

He bit his lip. “Except me, I suppose.”

“And me, now. It’s settled, we’re a team now. In dueling, too, so we’re now ‘supreme partners in doing things that need to be done,’ but since that’s a mouthful, we’ll come up with a better team name later.” I stuck a hand out towards him.

Sebastian looked at me in disbelief. Soon, his face broke out in a bright smile. We shook hands.

“Deal. Now, what precisely are you looking for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.” Something so ancient and magical and important had to be easy to spot, right?

“You’re being awfully cryptic,” Sebastian complained.

“I like to be mysterious,” I replied.

“You don’t really know, do you?” he deadpanned.

“Don’t fret, Sallow, I have a plan.”

“Merlin, she has no idea.”

“Sebastian!” I swatted him on the arm.

The stairs led to what looked like a basement. No one had been down there for years, it seemed.

“Tell me, why were you late for dinner earlier?” Sebastian asked.

Whilst I sifted around the clutter in case there was an artifact laced with ancient magic, I replied, “Professor Fig summoned me.”

“What for?”

I figured he deserved something in return for being so honest with me about his sister.

“The Headmaster and the ministry have demanded a blood test from me,” I said, trying my best to sound casual. I should have known there was no fooling Sebastian.

“A blood test? Wouldn’t your parents have…” he trailed off. “You don’t–”

“Have parents? No.” We came upon a giant suit of armor, broken and scattered, blocking the way forward. I turned to my partner in crime. “It’s not so bad. I never had them to begin with, so it’s not as if I feel a great loss. Not a specific one, anyway.”

Sebastian stood by my side. When did our hands become intertwined once more?

“I’m sorry. At least that’s yet another thing we have in common, though I had some time to get to know my parents.”

That information sunk in. Poor Sebastian. No wonder he was working so hard to save his sister. I turned to face him.

“Oh, Sebastian, I’m so sorry. I–”

A shrill, mocking voice cut me off in a singsong. “Who have we here?” A gaudily-dressed, translucent being emerged through the wall. “Sebastian Sallow and his new little friend, out exploring where they shouldn’t be!” The poltergeist waggled a finger. “Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty!” He floated off towards the main library.

“Peeves, don’t you–” Sebastian said in a low voice.

“Caughty?” I wrinkled my nose.

“I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell!” Peeves chanted.

This was not good.

“Ugh!” Sebastian growled. “Blasted Peeves! I’ve got to stop him, or at least get to the librarian with a good excuse for all of this.” He set off in the direction Peeves went.

Him? No way!

“Wait!” I tightened my grip on his hand. “I don’t want you getting into trouble for me.”

He waved me off.

“I have a way with the faculty when it comes to disciplinary matters.”

“I thought you said you have a long detention record.” I said dryly.

“It would be longer if I was any worse at what I do. Besides, I like having friends that are in my debt.” He patted our joined hands with his opposite one and then let go.

I sighed and released him. “Fine, but don’t do anything drastic! We can’t have them tightening security and making it harder for us to come back to find a cure for Anne.”

Sebastian looked at me like I’d grown a second head. After a moment, he smiled and shook his head, placing his hands on his hips.

“That eager to spend time with me again? Good. I’m not a fan of ‘hard-to-get.’”

I turned my back on him and took out my wand to remove the obstruction in my path.

“Forget it! Serve detention until graduation for all I care.” When he laughed behind me, I turned back and added, “And don’t lie. I bet ‘hard-to-get’ is just your type.” I waved my wand. “Reparo!”

“Interested in my type, are you?”

“La, la, la, I can’t hear you!” I called back while running down the forward hallway, his chuckles fading as we parted ways.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy imagines #sebastian x mc

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ashintheairlikesnow · 8 months

Text

Won't You Go My Way?

CW: Drugged whumpee, nonhuman whumpee/monster whump with dehumanizing language, magical branding, creepy whumper, nonsexual nudity (although gilly gets a lil gross about it), magical whump, captivity

Atabei knelt beside the siren on the cool stone floor of Guilford’s bedroom, carefully moving the poor creature into position.

They’d dragged him from the bathroom laid out on top of a blanket, a sort of makeshift sled that left him thumping over the bumps where the doorways were inlaid imperfectly into the floor, groaning but unable to react in any other way. The drugged fish had done its work, and if he could have any idea that he were no longer bound and gagged, well, he didn’t show it.

He lay limp even now, jaw slack after so many days forced open. His eyelids were cracked just a little, showing a glimmer of pupil and iris, each dark enough to be interchangeable. He turned to look in her direction, but she thought he didn't see her at all - or if he did, he was so far gone he couldn't begin to understand just what he was looking at anyway. The curls of his lovely black hair had dried and gone from stuck against his skin with damp to a salt-crusted, springy bounce she could wrap around one finger and watch it snap back when she let go. Little flakes of sea salt found their way onto the floor when she did.

"Can you hear me?" She asked in a soft voice, snapping her fingers just before his face, close enough to nearly graze the tip of his slightly aquiline nose.

He didn't even blink, or twitch. Just moaned, low and miserable, mouth opening just enough to show a hint of a slightly-rough tongue.

She smiled, a gentle expression at odds with what she soon would do. “Good,” She whispered. “Feel as little as possible before the worst begins, you poor dear. This will hurt you so very, very much."

He whimpered, and she wondered if it was only because he hated the dizzy lull of the poison in his veins, or because he understood her.

She patted his shoulder as if in comfort, then looked back over her shoulder to where Guilford was pacing nervously in what passed for his kitchen. His hands worried at each other in front of him. He’d taken off his shirt, baring a chest and back marked with the occasional scarring from life at sea, shoulders hunched, his nose scrunched up to show his nerves in an expression she knew as well as her own face in the mirror.

It had been sweet, when he was a little boy. It just looked silly on a grown man.

He looked like a man with a wife bearing a child who was scared of the birth. In truth, what he wanted borne to him would be far more than a son or a legacy, but power. She could give it to him, and she would, but she thought one day he would regret it.

"He is ready to be placed," She called, voice low. "And painted. Bring me my supplies."

Guilford stopped. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he nodded, grabbing the large black bag off the kitchen table. He moved into the dim, windowless bedroom, closing the door behind him and even blocking the space between the bottom and the floor with a rolled-up towel. They were left only with the light from the candles set on every available surface. It flickered along the walls like a fire in some ancient cave.

It felt… right, to do magic here, in a space like this, even if she did not like the magic she was about to do. She had learned the darker work, but rarely performed it. Eliza's husband's lungs had been her only casualty since girlhood. But this...

This was to put something old and awe-inspiring in chains that the siren could never, ever break. Still... Guilford had asked, and it was just the same as if her own blood-brother had needed her. Not that she had a brother. Even if she had, she would probably have loved Guilford better.

She leaned forward in a rustle of skirt and petticoat, moving the siren's left wrist above his head, the blue tint of veins just visible beneath the thinnest skin marred by raw wounds rubbed by wet rope until they bled, again and again. Now swollen and inflamed as his body fought oncoming infection. His right wrist was the same. Placed next to each other with palms facing the ceiling, the backs of his knuckles just brushed each other just above his saltwater-crusted curls, a sort of makeshift halo.

His arms were strong, but the muscle was lean, barely visible until he was stretched like this. Sirens were rare - they bred so little no one had ever seen their young, and male sirens were even less common. She and Guilford, Atabei thought, were likely one of less than a thousand humans who had ever seen a siren without dying shortly after.

She let her own forefinger gently graze the line of his jaw, softened in this artificial sleep. She could see the edges of his perfect straight white teeth. The corners of his mouth were raw, too, looking almost as if his mouth had been cut wider but then healed. A terrible rictus smile that would make, indeed. At least when this was done, Guilford would have no further need to gag him.

Purple bruises on one cheekbone and smears of darkness beneath his eyes, the ring of finger-shaped marks around his neck and welts layered in red across his chest… it all told quite a vicious story of Guilford’s awful cruel impatience with him.

"When we were children," Atabei said slowly, finger drawing nonsense shapes on the siren's neck as she followed the story of his wounds, watching the creature shift just slightly under her touch with a plaintive whine, “You found once a little burrow of quenk babies. Do you remember this? The little piglets all alone while the herd's sows had gone off to forage? We watched them for what felt like hours…”

"Hm? No, I don't remember that." Guilford crouched on the other side of the siren, helping Atabei to spread the creature’s long legs apart as well, with the feet turned out to show the inner ankle, the back of the knee, the insides of his thighs. If Guilford's gaze and hands lingered too long and with intention where those thighs met hips and an anatomy Atabei had no interest in herself, Atabei chose not to see it.

Maybe he was simply jealous of the creature's endowment.

Maybe that was all.

"Your father wanted to kill them all,” She whispered, tracing little circles around the creature’s stomach, realizing he had no true navel, only the faintest indentation where an umbilical cord would have connected him to his mother. Did sirens even have umbilical cords? How did they grow their young? She’d never even considered the answer to such a question. “He wanted to smoke the babies from their burrow, drown them in a sack, and then have you pick the sows off one by one when they returned to the burrow. He wanted to teach you to shoot that way. You cried and begged him not to, you wept for them. You don't remember this?"

"Sorry, Beibei, I don't." Guilford frowned, thoughtful, as if wracking his mind for an event that he simply hadn't found remarkable. "Did it work?"

"I suppose it did. You were so noisy that the piglets fled deeper into the burrow, and the sows came back for their squealing piglets and chased you away." Atabei pressed two fingers under the siren's jaw. His pulse beat, steady and strong.

Good.

He would need his strength to survive the spell.

"Your father could not make you fire on the defenseless and frightened, then. And you did not let him kill what had done him no harm." She felt herself smile at the memory of her friend as a child with his permanent squint and muddied hands and knees, the absolute grief he caused the servants tasked with keeping him clean. Before, of course, there had been no more servants. Before there had been no more money.

Before Guilford’s father had lost it all, and his lordship besides.

"I'll bet he was furious. He always called me soft." Guilford sat back on his heels, watching the siren's chest rise and fall with deep, even breathing. "What made you think of that?"

"You would not do harm to the helpless, then." Atabei sighed and stood, moving to open her bag of supplies on a side table. “I suppose I only wonder what changed.”

Each of her twelve brushes she laid on a small towel carefully by order of their use, from the thinnest with only a few hairs for fine line work, each brush slightly larger than the last. The wooden handles were intricately carved, and their notches and swirls warmed to her fingers, recognizing their master. Then the tiny ceramic pigment bowls. Each of them appeared to have black pigment within, but Atabei’s experienced eye knew their differences, and which she needed most right now.

She chose one, which hummed a little when her fingers lingered on it, and moved it to one side, mixing it with a little water from a pitcher.

Finally, she set out a squat-bottomed bottle of shimmery black setting powder. It looked like mica that had been crushed finer than sand. It came only from beaches near certain volcanoes able to birth whole islands each year. Magic, like the seeds of certain trees, could only be brought to life through heat and flame.

“I don’t think all that much changed,” Guilford said, a little defensively. “I still wouldn’t hurt quenk piglets off in a burrow minding their own business, and I’d still happily tell my father to go to hell. My mother, too, if you’d like.”

“Your father is already there,” Atabei murmured, and smiled at Guilford’s laughter behind her. “And I imagine your mother is not far behind, if this works.”

“My mother,” Guilford said with perfect innocence, “will almost certainly bash her way into heaven simply to get as far away from my father as possible. And I imagine she will die, quite tragically, of... let's say tuberculosis. If you're amenable, of course."

"Guilord!" That made Atabei laugh, too, shaking her head as she finished mixing the first paint and picked up one of the finer brushes, moving back to the poor unconscious siren, kneeling down. She could feel the magic pulling towards the creature as she looked him over, deciding where to begin.

Finally, she shifted close to his right shoulder, looking over the mottled bruising on the side of his neck. “He must be still,” She said, voice low. “If he so much as twitches, if the brushstroke is pulled the wrong way or breaks the line, the magic will run wild and it may turn on us, or it may simply not work at all and this will be all for nothing. He must be still. Are you quite certain the poison you put in the fish will keep him that way?”

“I am,” Guilford said, but his voice wavered a little. He knew well enough to respect magic - they had still lived near to each other when she had begun taking lessons as a child, and he’d seen some of her early spellwork attempts go wrong. There was a dead tree likely still standing in the backyard of her old home to prove it, and the bones of a creature she had tried to create all by herself and failed spectacularly at. “He’ll be still, Beibei. I promise. I-I mean, it will be still.”

Atabei’s eyebrow raised, just a little, but she let it go. Guilford was insistent on pretending he was not asking her to mark a different kind of humanlike man, as though that would somehow deny the evil of this.

She dipped her brush into the paint and felt, more than heard, the way the two created a sort of harmony when they met, certain in their purpose.

“Last chance to stop,” She whispered. “Magic has a price, Guilford. It will cost you a man’s lifetime and force on you a siren’s. He isn’t very old - it could be a thousand years for you or more.“

"I don’t care,” Guilford whispered. His eyes were avid, overbright. “I want it.”

“You don’t… I promise you that you don’t.”

“I do!”

Atabei nodded. “So be it. You cannot abandon him once you have what you want. He will be always with you, and you will be always responsible for his life in order to keep your own. You will not be able to set him aside. Ever. The cost is high, Guilford. Just tell me not to do this and I will put my things away.”

She raised her eyes without raising her chin, looking at his face from beneath her eyelashes. He stared back at her, solid and unmoving, then looked down at the finely formed, handsome face of the siren, that slack mouth with red at the edges and the creature’s long lashes laying now against his cheeks.

“I want it. I want you to do this,” Guilford said, nodding to himself. She could see him pushing past his own doubts. “I need this power, it’s going to fix everything, give me everything I deserve, everything I should have had… I’ll be like a king… no, better, I’ll be a god.”

“Maybe aim lower than divinity,” Atabei murmured.

She carefully pulled the paint out, working with an aching slowness to draw the first symbols. Her brush buzzed against her fingertips as it began to do its work. The magic moved into her hand, up her arm, took hold of her mind and heart. The shimmer of candlelight all around them became a hazy, distorted nothingness. She was no longer aware of the bed in the corner, the side table, the washbasin or even the mirror hung over it.

Atabei was the magic, and it was her, working through her, working Guilford’s will into the skin of the siren he had stolen from the feral power of the ocean.

The first symbol had to be set against a place where the siren’s heartbeat or pulse could be felt, to make it strong. It bound their lives together, Guilford and his captive, and gave the magic the foundation of control she needed to do the rest. It was a kind of brand. Once the paint was set, the siren would be possessed, wholly, all that it was would belong to Guilford Wentworth, for as long as they lived.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, barely moving her lips and not even breathing real sound. Guilford was distracted watching and didn't hear her.

She worked the outline of the symbols, leaving the centers for the larger brushes she would use later on. For now, the outline was enough to get her started, and filling the magic in too heavily too soon risked her letting it escape her grasp, and who knew what wild magic could do when connected to a wild man?

Time passed in a fog, a haze. Her hand ached and she switched to the other one, thankful that the difference between the two had never meant much to her. Symbols moved down his neck and along his shoulder, down his right arm all the way to the inside of his wrist, where she set the first symbol again, cementing it, going back to fill in the interiors. It must have taken hours.

Guilford came and went - he must have gone to eat, or to relieve himself - but she didn’t notice. The magic ensured her body had no such needs until the work was done. And what work it was - the beauty of it, the intricacy, the incredible cruelty of each symbol’s meaning.

Belonging. Possession. Obedience. Submission.

Fear.

Magic did not dry like normal paint, and so the liquid stayed fresh and shimmered like new no matter how long it took her to work. Only the siren’s fingers ever twitched in reaction when she took her paint to his palm - otherwise, he stayed so perfectly still he might have been dead or carved from stone. His throat moved when he swallowed, his chest shifted when breath hitched into a whine or a pathetic whimper.

He must feel the magic, and know he should fight it and yet... and yet he could do nothing.

She could have done anything.

She took a breath, stretching her back, and then moved down to his right foot and began again. The outlines she painted from heel up to toe, over the top of his foot and along his ankle, up his calf and to the back of one knee and then over the front, up his thighs where the muscle shifted minutely beneath, along hip and pelvis, would ensure he could go in no ocean - no water - without his master’s command and consent. The siren’s own home would be barred to him forever, unless Guilford allowed it.

And only for as long as Guilford allowed it.

Guilt prickled at Atabei’s conscience, but she simply set it aside. Guilford meant far more to her than any magical being could, and this was what he wanted.

She paused to wipe away from sweat and felt a hand on her arm.

She jerked backwards in surprise as she was thrown out of her haze and back into reality, blinking rapidly as Gulford leaned in close. “Guilford William Wentworth, are you mad?! I told you not to interrupt me! What if I’ve-” She looked down, and let out a gasp of relief. “Oh, thank the gods, I was not touching him still.”

“I-I know,” Guildford said, but he looked a little ashamed of himself, which was gratifying. “I waited until you were done with that bit there. I wanted to-… to ask…” He trailed off. His face was red, and she blinked, her vision wavering as she tried to focus on him and discern why.

“What? What did you want to ask?”

Guilford’s mouth opened and closed a few times, rather like a fish out of water, and Atabei had to fight back a slight smile at how utterly ridiculous he looked doing it. There was a pause, and then he leaned over, just like when they told each other secrets as children they didn’t want the adults to hear. “Are you going to mark up its, ah…” He reddened even further, blotchy all the way to his neck and shoulders. “Its… reproductive…” He trailed off, and finally just… pointed.

Atabei followed his eyes, and then rolled her own, sitting back over the creature’s prone form. “His manhood? You want me to spell his manhood? To do what, exactly?”

Guilford swallowed, hard. He was sweating, his face shiny and hair sticking to his neck and forehead. “… anything I want.”

For the first time in their lives together as friends closer than brother and sister, Atabei felt... disgusted by him. "Guilford…”

“I won’t,” He said rapidly. "It's so it can happen with others, not me."

She knew the look she had seen on his face. She knew it for what it was. Her stomach turned. “You lie, Guilford. You are a liar, to me. To my face!"

“No! No, no, I’m being honest as the grave! I promise, Beibei, I am. But just… you know, if it helps me get what I want in the future, I need to control everything, right?”

She hesitated. “You tell me he is not a man, and in the next breath you ask me to make it so he can be made to bed you-"

“No,” He interrupted. “Not me. But I just, in case I need it to seduce someone else, is what I mean. I want to be able to command it to do so, right? That’s all. That’s all I want, nothing any more untoward than that, Beibei, I swear. I swear. You don’t think I would really… do that with some sort of monster?”

Yes, she thought. I begin to understand that you will, if that monster cannot fight you. That what you want is the need to fight without the ability to, that is where your excitement lies.

She swallowed back the words before they could be spoken and picked up the finest of her brushes, with its few bristles, and dipped it into the pot of paint. The creature’s skin was soft, with the unique texture this place had on human men, too. She tried to touch it as little as she could. Its whines took in a higher pitch, then, and she shook her head, murmuring apologies she dared not speak aloud.

She had to work more slowly than ever to keep from making a mistake. Over the soft length of it, down to mark even the bollocks beneath - she made a face, wondering how men managed with those clumsy things always in the way between their legs - and finally she connected the pattern to the marks that already climbed his leg and over his hips.

The creature shuddered when the connection was made, a sign that he had felt the power settle into place, too.

Once he was fully marked - his right arm and leg coated in the spellwork, as well as all of his chest, his manhood, his stomach, and hips - she stood to get the small bottle of setting powder.

“Get behind me and prepare yourself,” She said, voice low. She kept thinking about the strange greed in Guilford's face, the thick note to his pleading that made the hairs on her arms stand up, as if feeling the eyes of a mountain lion watching her move through the dark. She was giving him far more than a simple siren’s song to get some money, she understood that now.

For the first time, she wondered just what damage he could do with the power he was about to hold in his hands, because of her help. But it was too late to stop, or to turn back.

She had to seal the magic, or all three of them would die when it broke the barrier and turned on them all.

“Prepare myself for... what?” Guilford was back to looking like his normal self, curious and hopeful. The strange blend of greed and some kind of soul-deep need had gone, and she could almost forget she had ever even seen it. He moved around and crouched behind her.

She poured a handful of the setting powder into the palm of her hand, watching it sparkle and shine in the movement of the candlelight. “For the way he is about to wake,” She said, voice low, and then leaned over, spreading the setting powder from his foot all the way up to the mark on his neck, from pulse point to the tips of his toes, up and down again, three times. "It will not be... pleasant."

There is always an added power in threes, and she needed all the power she could draw from the great well of it she had been granted the slightest sliver of access to.

His toe twitched, first.

She held her breath, watching, tensed.

This was the moment they would learn if it had worked, if she had truly made each mark perfect. If there were any mistakes, the whole spell would be broken, and the poor captive creature would make short work of murdering them both before the magic murdered him as well.

They would probably deserve it.

Those dark eyes flew open, so wide the whites showed all around them, nearly bulging from his face as the siren hitched in a gasping breath. The powder seemed to sink into the markings, adding a new shimmer to them as well, and then the creature shook violently. His back arched, every muscle so tense he shook, a hair breadth from snapping his own bones beneath his skin.

Then, his head tipped back, his hands slapping down against the floor, and he began to scream.

It was a deafening shriek, something far beyond a human's agony, and it seemed to hang in the air as if it would never, ever end.

Atabei clapped her hands over her ears, closing her eyes tightly as if that would somehow help her drown out the roar of the siren’s unimaginable pain. The simple paint turned to buried ink, painting becoming a sort of permanent tattoo.

Deeper than could be seen, it settled into the siren’s blood and bones. His very nerve endings were reworked, the siren’s marrow hollowed out and reformed in a burst that had him writhing, screaming, clawing at himself until there were deep gouges on his arms bubbling up blood - and yet the marks were unmarred beneath. The spellwork, once set with the powder, could no longer be broken. The creature dragged nails over its neck where the symbol branded him as Guilford's, wailing, shaking its head violently and then rolling onto its side.

It was shrieking a word, over and over, but there was so much pain she couldn't even begin to understand what the word was. She had to guess, from the terror and edge of his voice, that he was saying no.

A word he could say all he wanted, but it meant nothing, now, to his body.

The siren curled up into a ball, desperately trying to escape pain that came from within, not without. His very body was his cage. He rolled onto his hands and knees, pushing himself up with difficulty, and the first tears finally fell, dripping onto the floor. A terrible wracking sob came from him, a sound that nearly set Atabei to weeping with him. He went to kneeling, clawing at his own stomach now as if he could rip out his own organs, whimpering in helpless fear and confusion. He kept repeating that strange word, a sound that rang oddly in Atabei's own ears.

Then he raised his eyes to see Atabei and Guilford staring at him.

She watched him see the brush in her hand, the little tub of her paint, and even if he didn’t know how she had done it… he knew it was her, that she had done this to him - she and the man who hurt him, over and over again, and kept him here on dry land where he didn’t belong.

The illusion of humanity dropped all at once, and she saw the sacred monster beneath.

He bared his teeth in a terrible snarl, and what had been flat and white, she saw now was row upon row of yellowed razor-sharp fangs designed to rip and tear apart his victims after their ships were broken apart on the rocks. That mouth opened too wide, too large. His previously perfectly normal human hands were tipped in deadly claws, marked already with his own blood. He was webbed between his fingers and toes.

He seemed, only then, to realize that he did not have a gag. That he was not bound, that he could raise those claws and swipe, open that jaw and end the lives of his captors at once. He jerked forward, reaching for her-

And stopped.

His claws were six inches away from her - if even that. She barely dared to breathe. “Guilford,” Atabei whispered. “Tell him you are his master, and say his name.”

Guilford was breathing just as rapidly behind her, one hand clenched so tightly on her arm that it hurt, not that she could feel much with her ears still ringing with the creature’s musical cries. He had a knife in the other - had he had one tucked in his boot the whole time? - and held it out, brandishing the only weapon they had between them, ready to pull Atabei back and protect her. He swallowed, and nodded, whispering, “C-Creature, I… I am your… master. Your n-name is… Areyto. Beibei, did it work?”

“I don’t know. If it did-”

The siren lunged towards them again, and Atabei flinched, eyes closed, absolutely certain she had messed up her spellwork for the first time since she was fourteen years old, and her life would be forfeit to some tiny mistake.

Guilford yelled, “Stop that at once, Areyto! Stay there!”

There was silence.

Nothing tore her apart.

But the siren made a sound of horrified confusion.

Atabei cracked her eyes open and discovered the siren had frozen on the spot. His eyes were no longer wide with the rage of a freed wild thing, but with the fear of one who had only just seen the bars of his cage and begun to know how small it really was. His mouth opened, air forced out with an audible hiss, but without any other sound. He tried again and again.

Nothing happened.

Atabei allowed herself to relax. “It worked. He's trying to sing and he can't. It-... it worked. You are his master now, and he can’t work their power on you.”

“What about you?” Guilford asked, with real worry, although he let go of her arm now and looked the siren over, walking slowly around him while the creature watched him, frightened and confused by how he was both unbound and yet utterly unable to act. The siren's hands trembled with the urge to attack, his knees shook. “Can it hurt you?”

“Only if you command him to. Which I certainly hope you will not do.”

“God forbid! You’re the only person on God’s green earth I’d never harm a single hair on!”

She believed him. Gods help her… she believed him. Or… hoped she did, anyway.

Atabei nodded, slowly easing back and away from the siren, but every single sign she could see suggested the spell had taken hold. “He can use his song only when and how you tell him to. He’ll learn our tongue more rapidly now, and with time forget his own. He cannot harm you or anyone you care for the safety of. He can and will harm anyone he is told to harm… by you only. His very nerves are yours to command. You may cause him pain with a word, or pleasure. Congratulations, Guilford.” She swallowed, and found herself unwilling to look the siren in the eyes any longer. “You have for yourself the full breadth of a siren’s power and lifespan, and it is yours to use as you see fit.”

Guilford nodded, but where her expression had gone grave and serious, his own was brightening into a pleased, proud smile. “Beibei, thank you. Thank you. You’ve no idea how grateful I am, I can’t even begin to express-”

“I know. I know. I know you are. Now…” Atabei sighed. She felt a strange unease, something that touched the edges of self-hatred but didn’t quite cross into it. She had ruined a beautiful wild ocean thing, but the look on Guilford’s face… “The work is half done. Command him to lay still on his belly, bare his back, and not move at all.”

“What?” Guilford looked like his ears might be ringing still. He stuck a finger in one and rubbed, then blinked at her, leaning close. “Lay down on his back?”

“No, no. Lay on his stomach. Set him up just how we began, but the other side, so his back faces us.” Atabei looked at the tears running from the corners of the siren’s eyes, how he was still frozen from Guilford’s command, his claws twitching constantly as he fought against the compulsion to obey. He looked at her with a pleading terror, and she turned her gaze away.

“Fine." Guilford licked his lips, as if savoring a delicious meal. "Areyto, lie down.”

The siren bared his teeth again - but then looked down at himself in surprise as he discovered himself already obeying the command. He made sounds of alarm, speaking rapidly in a language only he knew here, but his body no longer listened to him… it listened to Guilford.

Entirely.

Utterly.

The siren laid down on his belly on the ground, panting with fear. His eyes met hers, fearful and pleading. “No,” Atabei whispered. “You will have no help from me.”

When Guilford moved the siren’s hands above his head, the creature whined and spoke more, words that Atabei didn’t know but a tone she absolutely did. Stop. Please. Don’t do this. Why is this happening to me?

Once the siren was back in position, legs spread wide and the backs of his hands facing the ceiling, Guilford nodded. “Good,” He whispered, and Atabei shuddered at the tone of his voice, slightly thickened, oddly heavy. His eyes lit up as he began to truly enjoy and understand the way the siren would do whatever he told it to do. She had given him too much power over another being, but it was too late for regrets. “Now you may breathe, but stay still. Don’t move any other muscle.”

Guilford took his time tracing fingertips along the bottom of the siren’s left foot, unmarked as it was, watching the creature’s toes twitch. The poor thing couldn’t even begin to do anything about the unwanted touch, as it slid up his ankle, tickled the back of one knee. The siren wept against the ground, back shaking minutely with sobs that couldn’t be entirely repressed even by a magical command to stillness. Guilford, thankfully, lifted his hand before it went any higher. “Beibei…”

“What?” She cracked her knuckles, stretched her back and legs, shook the hours upon hours of stillness out of her body. For a horrified moment, she wondered if he would ask her to leave the room right here and now.

But he only gave her a look of slightly embarrassed, good-natured puzzlement she had seen on him a thousand times before. “Um. Why did we roll him over, exactly?”

“Oh. I told you already.” She settled back on her knees, and set the paintbrush back into the little dish, wetting the bristles. “You don’t know why?”

“Well, I just… oh. I guess I”ve been… distracted, haven’t I?”

When she looked up at him, his face shone with excitement, and it made something in her stomach flip in uncertain, hesitant disgust - a feeling she refused to name. A promise of torment the siren would experience that she would not let herself admit to. “Yes. You have been.”

“Apologies. It’s just… is it because we have to do the back, too?”

“Yes.” She laid the first stroke of the paint, starting at the siren’s nape, a long curving line down. “Yes, Guilford. This will need redone every ten years for the spell to hold, and it must be on both sides for the control you have to be truly complete. Once we finish this… you will have your tool to gain riches and power. You will have your false divinity."

If he heard the condemnation in her tone, he didn't show it. His smile was wide and adoring, and gods help her, she adored him in return. She would have worked this evil for no one else.

He clasped her free hand in his, clammy and sweaty, and she pulled herself free so it wouldn't mar her work. His voice was low and soft but sincere and earnest. “Beibei, again, I just, thank you so much for doing this for me. I am grateful, I will repay you a thousand times over for what you’ve done, you'll be so rich you can't even imagine the wealth, the influence, just… thank you.”

The haze of magic began to settle over her once more, but she kept herself together long enough to say what was on her mind, halting and slow. “I have done this for you, Guildford, and not for wealth or influence. You asked, and I gave. What we do here may before our deaths cost you your soul and me my peace.”

She listened to the siren’s pitiful weeping and laid a hand in his hair as some thin comfort as her other hand worked the spell. Soon enough, the poor thing would be screaming again.

She set her jaw against the racing of her own heart, and added, “Just… please, my friend… please don’t thank me for what I have done."

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