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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 3

Azriel x Third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!Reader

a/n: I think reader is beginning to realise something was up with Azzie’s behaviour…

Apologies if you’re not a gold-jewellery person (I’m not either, don’t worry)

warnings: general angst because you sickos love it for some reason (it’s affectionate, I swear), Pity Party by Melanie Martinez vibes, Elain

word count: 5,501

-Part 2- -Part 4-

You keep your eyes shut, hoping to waste another few hours, sleeping.

You want this day to be over as quickly as possible. It could never go fast enough.

Twenty-two.

Once, it was a third of your life—a quarter, if lucky. Now it’s a mere spec. A pebble beside a milestone. What is twenty-two in the face of immortality?

Awareness zips across your skin, feeling the soft drag of cotton against your toes; the warm wrap of your nightdress against the backs of your thighs. Remember how fingertips felt scraping up the skin, and tuck beneath the duvet, curling into a tight ball. Seconds tick by, slow and painful, each dragging its feet through a swamp of mud, tip-tapping and traipsing their dirty boots through your mind. You won’t get back to sleep.

But you don’t move, either.

Weighted like a stone in bed, bones made of lead, pressing you into the mattress. Even your sheets feel like soft shackles, binding your body like fine rope. A silky cocoon of your own making.

The sun rays slide down the wall, slithering across the rug, finally extinguishing as midday dawns in the city. Still, you don’t move.

Sweat beads beneath your arms, trickling down to your elbows, gathering behind your knees, saturating the sheets, making them sticky. It’s not enough to make you shift. You remain lying in the puddle of discomfort.

You push deeper beneath the duvet, temperature rising as the cotton clings to your body, sticking to you when you move to roll over. Frustration bubbles, and fizzes, then tears drip down your cheeks. They roll back into your hair, falling into your ears, and you sob harder.

The imagined smell of clean pillows, and crisp sheets revolves in your mind, and still you stay. Living through fantasy, counting the seconds.

Afternoon hits, and you’re still in bed.

Rolled onto your stomach, salty water sliding down your under arms, you turn the page. The parchment is dry, leeching moisture from your fingertips, making them feel pruny. The tears start rolling again.

Evening begins, and you’re stomach sobs with you, gnawing on your bones, as though eating itself with hunger. Sweat has dried, leaving your skin clammy and suffocated. Finally the thoughts start rolling in. The humiliation of rejection further dampening your cheeks. Merely picturing hazel eyes… You shut the book, and struggle out of bed.

The sheets are indeed tangled, wrapping and binding your limbs to the point you simply drop to the floor, hitting the wood painfully, skull clunking as your elbow whacks the bed frame. You lie still for more minutes. Wallowing. Eventually drag yourself out of the mess.

First, open the curtains wider, taking in the orange and pinks of the sky, the full, billowing clouds fluffing the cobalt… Blue siphons glitter behind your eyes, water spilling as your lip wobbles. They blaze with vibrant fury, simmering with unfathomable darkness, and the curtains snap shut.

You remove your night dress, throwing it into the wicker basket, dragging yourself to the washroom as your head pulses and aches from lying down too long. Heat ravishes your skin, a fresh wave of sweat coating your body. Water washes over your back, pouring down your front, bathing you until clean. Not an ounce of grime left marring your body.

You try the windows again, the heavens filled with orange and blue, purply-greys rising with the oncoming night. How have you nearly slept away the day? And yet it’s still not over.

Voices echo from somewhere below you—the kitchen. You cover your face with your hands, exhaling heavily. They’re all there. All waiting just beneath you. Knees nearly buckle.

Heart spikes in your chest at the thought of…

Birthdays used to be wonderful, full of gifts and vibrant colours, smelling of fresh flowers and tasting syrupy and sweet. Now they’re wretched and dull, a pressure around your throat as another year ticks by and nothing’s changed. You’ve done nothing. Sat around, taking up space, draining money, expending resources. And nothing to say for it. Just a stack of books by your bed, selling second after second, minute after minute, draining the days away. Draining the years away.

Muscle trembles, bones crumbles as you land on the floor, curled into a ball before the mirror, unable to look at the waste you’ve become. Everything has a function, everything has some sort of purpose, some duty to fulfil, executing their actions with mechanical precision. Moving because they have to. It’s what they’re formed to do. Yet bring choice into the equation, and everything stops. It becomes unreliable, and uncertain. Unpredictable.

So much choice it’s overwhelming. So many pathways, so many decisions. So many conclusions. Everything would be so much simpler if will was subtracted from the sum. Leaving you with narrow walls to keep you on course, the gust of wind propelling you forward. Without those things, your actions are your own, and you’ve plummeted from the path.

Mind buzzes and whirrs, firing off thoughts and clipped phrases, one blending into another. Chaos and mess fusing in a liquid covalent bond, linking their talons through sinew and cartilage. Hooking into your brain. Ripping into the tissue. Licking their fingers clean.

Three knocks tap to your skull, tripping through cartilage, tumbling to stone.

“Hello?” You call, forcing your voice to be even. Balancing out waves, crests and troughs synchronising.

“Are you going to be up soon? I haven’t seen you all day!” Feyre.

You scowl, hunching over yourself, nails raking through your hair, pushing the dried tails from your face. “I’ve been up for a while,” you reply, shortly, “reading.”

“Well, we’re having dinner together tonight, and it’s nearly ready, so come down soon!” She calls back, and you can imagine the way her ear is inevitably pressed flat against the door. Busybody, like the rest of them.

When you don’t reply, she steps back, walking away down the hallway, returning to the kitchen where the laughter blares and bubbles.

You slump over, spilling across the floor as you lie, limp. Strength falling from your muscles, as though they’re delocalising from your flesh and bone. You imagine sinking your hands onto your thighs, how your meat would come apart like perfectly prepared pulled pork. How your gluons would simply release; allow you to dissolve onto someone’s plate, drowned in gravy and dusted with rosemary.

Thoughts ebb and flow, trickling through your conscious like thickened cake batter over the edge of a mixing bowl, dripping from the table to splatter on the floor. Only to be wiped away seconds later, cleanly obliterated. Tiny explosions blow behind your eyelids, prickling until salt stings and spills.

The sun sinks, darkness settling like a veil over the city, horizon dimming to deeper, inky greys. Shoulders ache, bones grinding against one another, catching muscle and flesh between them. Still you lie, unmoving. Light, shallow breaths evenly dripping from your lips.

Another set of knocks in the same cadence. “Food’s ready!” She calls. The words thud dully in your ears, landing at the dried up base of the well. Prevented from settling deeper. “Will you be down soon?” She asks hopefully, voice blaring through your carefully cultivated silence. “Be down soon,” you call back, letters automatic and mechanical. Precise and unthinking. Words lilt and inflect, while your features remain stiff, eyes unseeing as they stare out.

She traipses away again.

Your mind falls back to sleep.

Tumbling through portals, falling into vortexes, tripping down tunnels. Flying through secret hatches in time, spilling across horizons and shooting up, up, up into the atmosphere.

Thoughts waver and crumble, disintegrating into galaxy coloured sprays of starlight, swirling and exploding like the movement of the Starry Night. Feyre had showed you that one, once.

When was the last time you’d had time to spend with any of them, individually? Now with Nyx around, her attention is spread thin. Navigating wife, sister, and mother. High Lady, too.

Mother, Wife, High Lady. Then Sister.

Maybe you were being harsh on her. After all, what do you know about having so many roles to play? Having achieved all those titles, fulfilled each one and continuing to do so while avoiding jeopardising another. Would you be able to handle what she does? A year younger than you. Already with a husband and a child. A whole Court at her fingertips.

Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?

You blink, his voice ringing in your mind.

Is that how you’ve come to preoccupy yourself? Complaining about her success? What happened to being happy for her achievements? To being proud of your sister? At what point had it become a competition?

When had you started comparing yourself to them?

A stone sinks in your gut, plummeting through your stomach, dropping to your toes. Do you really fill your time by examining them? Analysing their relationships, dissecting their dynamics?

Go on, he’d said. Go on and tell me why I’m undeserving of her.

It had really come out so wrong. You hadn’t even planned on confessing to him. Had planned to keep it all to yourself. To wallow and drown, quietly, in your own secret corner.

You think you’re deserving of me?

He replays on an invisible symphonia, spinning through your world, making you dizzy as the sound whirls.

You think you’re deserving of me?

I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.

Well done. Just open up your chest for him. Hand perfectly poised to pull your life’s muscle from your ribs. Instead he’d left it intact, an open wound to fester and turn gangrenous over time. To scar, deeply. To burn and burrow its way into your marrow. To turn bone deep, so you can begin to understand what you’d struck at.

You’d be better off turning your damn affections somewhere they’d actually be appreciated.

If you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest.

How quickly the conversation had turned sour. How quickly it had flown off the pathway. How quickly blades had been drawn, poison tipped arrows fired.

At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed.

I doubt you can say the same.

A triptych of knocks lands on your door, making you flinch.

“Are you still coming down?” Feyre calls, “the food’s going to start getting cold!”

It takes a moment for your limbs to unfreeze, unstick themselves from your mind’s trap. “I’m—…” You’re not going down there. Not into that room, filled with so many people. She calls your name, a little confusion shining through, dragging you from your haze.

“I’m getting tired, Fey,” you manage back, not quite disguising the bone-deep fatigue that’s riddling your body. “I think I’m just going to go to bed,” you call.

“Oh…” she sounds surprised. A little crestfallen. “Are you sure? I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while, and we’re all down there, so…it would be nice. To spend time with you.”

You’re quiet, unable to formulate an appropriate response. You can hear her hesitating, too.

Then. “Can I come in?” She asks softly.

You freeze up, taking in your state. Clean, but messy. A few too many things out of place to be okay. Before you can skilfully deny her, she continues on. “I—… There are some things I want to ask you about.”

Her voice is soft, and quiet. Navigating High Lady and sister. Maybe you don’t give her enough credit. Then again, she should obviously be playing your sister right now.

“Let me put some more clothes on,” you respond with, swallowing as you get to your feet, picking up a few books here and there; grabbing your sheets to return them to the bed. Quickly, you shuck on a dress, tying your hair back into a neat-ish knot. “Okay,” you call, “I’m dressed.”

The door swings open, and her eyes scan the room, darting about before settling on you. She’s dressed nicely—she’s always dressed nicely. Whether it’s a jumper and slippers, or some kind of gown, she always looks lovely. Disgustingly put together. “What is it?” You ask, feigning sleepiness.

She shrugs casually, closing the door behind her. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” she explains, walking over to your bed. “Can I sit down?” You nod in response, then hesitate. “Maybe take the chair. It was boiling last night.” Her lips lift, a faint smile on her mouth, blue-grey eyes sparkling, “it was, wasn’t it? Rhys is going to show me how to put a temperature-maintaining ward around our bedroom. Nyx severely dislikes the heat.” Her voice lilts with laughter, and it’s easy to forget what she’s gone through. So easy to disregard every bloodied fragment when you see that smile.

“So?” She asks, conversationally. “How have you been?” You wince and her brow dips almost imperceptibly, “I really want to go to bed.”

“Oh.” She blinks. Nods slowly. “Okay.” She seems slightly upset at your not-so-subtle dismissal. At least it was gentle.

Feyre stands, runs her eyes over the stacks of books beside your bed, “have you read all these?” A heavy sigh blows from your chest, posture dissipating as your spine slouches, “Feyre…”

“Right. Yes. If you’re sure,” she says, watching you carefully. Intently. Eyes sharp. “I’m very sure,” you reply, managing a weak smile, hoping fatigue will cover for you.

She nods then, heading for the door. She stops, and you nearly groan.

“It wouldn’t…I mean, would it help if there were less of us?” She asks slowly. This time, you do groan. “Oh my gods, Feyre. I am tired. Please let me sleep.”

“So you’re not coming down at all? Even just s few minutes? Be with everyone for a bit?” She pushes, and irritation bubbles in your chest. You want to be done with this conversation. You don’t deign her with an answer. You’ve said what you want to, you’re not going to repeat yourself.

“If Azriel wasn’t there…” she says softly, taking a hesitant step toward you. You stiffen, blood freezing. “What do you mean.”

Feyre blows out a breath, brushing down her top, smoothing the nonexistent creases. “I’m not blind,” she murmurs, eyes latching onto you. “You’ve been off these past few days, and Elain—”

“What did Elain say?” You ask, skin leeching of warmth. Feyre pauses, watching you quietly. “Feyre,” you say, a little surprised at her hesitance. “If Elain said something, it’s fair for me to know.”

She sighs again, “I need you to be calm. I don’t want to argue with you. Not today. Not any other day, but particularly not today.”

“Sure. That’s why you brought this up when I’m obviously tired and irritable,” you shoot back.

She just observes you steadily, unfaltering. It makes you want to shift, and fidget. “Tell me what she said. I’ll be calm,” you say, finally, quieter than before. Still, she’s silent. Watching, weighing, judging. Busybody.

Finally, she opens her mouth, and her words nearly knock you off your feet. “She saw you in the library. Heard what you said to him.”

The floor opens up beneath you, and you spiral down. She heard your conversation with Azriel.

The nosey bitch. She had no right to pry like that. And then to bring it to your sister. The youngest of all of you.

How much more humiliation do you have to take?

“She what?” You whisper, unable to speak through your anger and hurt. Feyre gives you that look again, calming, steady, scolding. “You said you’d be calm,” she reminds, quietly. “Please keep your voice down.”

“That was none of her business!” You explode, voice raising as your hands scrunch into fists, sorrow giving way to rage. “And none of yours either, High Lady.” You spit out the title, so betrayed, and confused, you begin to switch off. It’s none of their business. They’re your emotions. Yours. Not things to be traded, and gossiped about. To be tossed around over some family dinner.

“I’m worried about you,” she says, brows curving with concern. “We all struggled with the cauldron. We struggled through the war, and everything that came after. But you’ve never shown any signs to warrant anxiousness.” Pain glimmers in her eyes, watching you steadily from across the room. Your room.

“Don’t use that as an excuse,” you bite back. “Don’t use it as an excuse to stick your nose into my life like that. It is my life.” Your voice wobbles, but remains strong, blaring through the space. “What happened between me and him is none of your concern. My relationship with Elain is none of your concern. Stop trying to find an issue with me. Something for you to fix, and put back together, so I can become part of your pretty, perfect family, too.” You nearly shout the end, vision blurring around the edges.

She blanches a little, “you need to quiet down. I will not be shouted at. You’re a grown woman, you can talk to me like one.”

“Treat me like one!” You nearly scream back, tears spilling. Her brows knot together, looking confused and disappointed. “I act, just like you,” you cry. “I’ve dealt with my own issues. I’ve kept them to myself. I’ve made. sure. not to be a burden. To you, or to anyone.” The words spill out, one after another. Brutal, and jagged in the light.

“I’ve been as cooperative as I can, I give answers if I have them, and I look for them if I don’t,” you sob, thinking of all the times he’d asked a question about Elain, so you’d repeated them back to her, stealing that information back for him. “I’ve never gone mute like Elain, I never sparked up like Nesta, I never spiralled into a depression like you. I kept myself intact. All by myself. And yet I’m the one everyone treats like a girl?” You shake as you cover your face with trembling hands, a small crack finally appearing in the damn you’ve been consistently reinforcing.

You push away your tears, trying to shut off the waterworks, finally meeting her glazed eyes. They clear when they realise you’re watching her.

“I can manage what happens between Azriel and me. It’s my business,” you repeat, the odd tear spilling as your lip wobbles. “I know I’m nothing compared to Elain. I know Mor would outshine me if I were next to her,” you cry, breaths heaving in and out in frenzied, uneven pants. Feyre’s eyes glimmer with pain, and she steps closer, arms widening a little. A silent offer. You ignore it.

“I know he doesn’t—” A sob cuts you off, lungs spasming as more walls break down, dissolving with the torrent you’ve kept at bay. Your shoulders hunch, eyes squeezing shut as you bite your lip.

“Nobody ever does,” you cry, softly, wrapping around yourself, back curving as you fold in on yourself. “He doesn’t even—… He’s never asked anything about me, but he knew…” I’m never the first choice.

Maybe the competition had been going on for longer than you’d realised.

Your voice grows softer, and her shoulders loose their tension, silence stretching through the room. Utter, devastating silence.

Not even a single, muffled laugh.

Your heart drops, stomach rising up into your throat.

You take a step forward, eyes wide.

Then vanish.

You reappear exactly one floor below, the silence not fitting in with a group of eight preternaturally still bodies. Seven pairs of eyes turn to you, filled with guilt. Almost instinctually, you seek out the darkest corner of the room, hazel piercing into you. Sharp and accusing.

You stumble under its intensity, flicking between the remaining pairs of eyes that seem to be pulling away from you. Lips part is surprise, flitting from violet, to grey-blue, to cocoa, returning to hazel.

“Good evening entertainment, huh?” You whisper, lips trembling. You don’t even know who to look at.

The High Lord opens his mouth, but Nyx begins screaming, shrill and cutting in the quiet.

Your jaw snaps shut, comprehending what just happened.

A heavy breath of air puffs from your lips, before you winnow yourself back upstairs.

Feyre’s already given you your privacy by the time you return.

————

A clock chimes somewhere in the house. Three in the morning.

The forced laughter and quiet shuffling of people had vanished around one. Two hours ago. Your stomach growls in the darkness.

How long has it been since you last ate?

You shake your head, not caring. You’re hungry, so you’ll get food.

On quiet feet, you pad into the hallway, peering both ways before tiptoeing down the corridor, listening for the sound of movement. Nothing. Silently, you descend the stairs, walking along another corridor that leads you to the kitchen. Stop in the doorway.

A cake lies on the table in the living room—adjoined to the kitchen. A polite pile of presents is stacked neatly beside it, a dull ache pressing down on your chest. Even from across the room, you can make out the pretty details. The pure white fondant, the foundations to the wobbly yellow and orange marigolds made from icing sugar, royal blue frosting squiggling the boarder, artfully dripping down the edges, like tears spilling over.

Stepping closer, the flaws become apparent, clearly decorated by people unaccustomed to creating cake toppings. The uneven petals, a dash of light blue marring the white fondant, the obvious blending point between yellow and orange. You wonder how long it took the three of them.

Sighing, you take a seat around the table, a single candle magically appearing and lighting atop it. You murmur thanks to the house, take a deep breath, and sharply puff the air out. It extinguishes instantly. Smoke drifts up in shadowy strings, the red ember winking out, and you pull the candle from the cake. A small knife appears at your side, and you cut a small chunk from its centre, getting the better part of a marigold at its tip.

It’s good—not too sweet, not too dry. Has weight to it, pleasantly spongy. The flavour lovely and—

Your vision blurs as you taste the vanilla, tiny pockets of jam infused throughout the cake. It’s the same as the recipe Elain practiced in cupcake form for a month. Practiced and persisted endlessly. Sampled until you both deemed it perfect.

No, you don’t forgive her for eavesdropping, for tattling to your sister, for being the reason the whole family now knows about your messy rejection. How unappealing you are. But she’d made this perfect for you, had practiced this recipe to death…and it counts for something.

You finish off the slice, ignoring the slight salty flavour that occasionally dripped over your lips, choosing to focus on the taste of the bespoke cake, instead.

Sitting a while in silence, thinking about everything that’s happened, you put it aside. Shift awkwardly toward the neat stack. Almost immediately drawn to the small royal blue gift box. It fits in your palm and you don’t need to read the note to know who it’s from. A tule bow is tidily pressed on the lid, shifting through vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

It is stupid to be excited for his present?

You bite your lip, and shakily remove the top, peering down at the deep blue, satin cushion. A fearful smile lifts the edges of your mouth—disbelieving.

Inside the petite box, nestled within the plush pillow, are a pair of pearl earrings. They’re fashioned into small tear-drop like stones, golden hooks appearing at their crest. You pull them carefully from the cushion, holding them up in the moonlight, staring in wonder. They’re simple, yet elegant. An understated, subtle kind of beauty. The kind you only notice when you look closely.

You admire them for minutes, before raising them to your ears, neatly sliding them into the tiny holes. A comfortable weight, fun to play with, and tug on. You’re already in a better mood than when you came down here, a quiet smile on your lips as you remember their pretty shine.

Moving onto the next one, you begin filing through the gifts: A romance book from Nesta; from anyone else, it would have been obnoxious and self-centred, but you know how much she adores those books, and wants you to experience their happiness.

From Feyre, a miniature painting: Starfall rendered in blues, yellows, and oranges, in place of the irradiated greens and iridescent golds.

A silver embossed bookmark from Rhysand (spelled so you’ll never loose or misplace it, he’d written), making you smile.

From Cassian, necklace, a circular glass pendant hanging on the bronze chain. Peering into the glass, you can make out a small map of the world, containing the courts, the continent, and Hybern. Stretching down to the Mortal Lands too—acknowledging your past.

A small pot of crimson nail polish from Mor, coupled with a pink lipstick, making you laugh quietly. Attached is note saying she owes you a shopping trip—promising not to hijack it for clothes; to let you wonder about the various book stores.

And a 10,000 piece jigsaw from Amren—you can hear the challenge radiating from her as you pull the ribbon away.

All wonderful; all thoughtful. The seven pairs of guilty eyes that had been listening out of concern.

You rest your face in your hands, unable to resolve their opposites. The eavesdropping, but the clear attention they’ve all paid. Even if you’re in Rhys’ Inner Circle, you’d always thought you were somewhere measuring the circumference. Apparently they disagreed. You’re just as at its centre as they are.

Hot, wet droplets splash onto the wooden table, and you sniff quietly, taking long minutes to expel the sadness from behind your eyes. Finally, once they’ve dried, you reach toward Elain’s present. You’re not sure you want to see what’s inside, with how complicated your relationship has become. Still, you pull the lilac bow loose, raising the lid from the box. You stand up to look what’s contained within.

Your eyes bulge from their sockets, jaw dropping open as you see what’s inside. Slowly, carefully, you raise the mechanism from the padded inside of the box, setting it reverently on the table. Only then do you allow your hands to shake.

Sat politely before you, is an orrery.

Fingers tremble as you touch one of the planets, pushing it gently. When it moves, the cogs at its base align with one another, clicking together as each of the globes move harmoniously, spinning at their assigned paces. You wonder how accurate the spin is, what machinery they’ve used to delve so far into the universe. How wonderful it must be to live and explore.

Tears splash onto the table as you stare at the contraption. So incredible, rendered with such loving care you could cry. You are crying.

You peer closely, picking out the planet you’re on, how the world is carved into it: the land, the equator, no split lying between the previous human and faerie realms—the wall now gone. You thumb at the other spheres, staring with wide eyes as you trace small indentations made in their surface, peering and spinning the moons that rotate each. It’s utterly breathtaking; you have to blink away more wetness.

Seconds tick by, minutes draining in the blink of an eye. A clock chimes four in the morning and you’re still studying the mesmerising mechanism. How many centuries of research have created the stunning contraption? How many people dedicated their lives to discover the knowledge that is now rendered so extraordinarily before you? The detail is mind blowing, the loving rendition of the solar system, sitting on the table in a kitchen. Absolutely incredible.

You scan the array of gifts—the thoughtfulness and care that has gone into each and every one. The attention, the affection. All pieces of yourself, like looking at tiny fragments of your soul.

Muscles stiffen, eyes flicking to the empty, deep blue box. The royal blue cushion that you’d smiled so widely at. How giddy you’d been. It shrivels and warps besides the other gifts, an insult to compare them. While their gifts are clearly bespoke; unique; picked out with you in mind, the pearls…

Sorrow flushes your cheeks as you thumb free the earrings, staring at the demure jewellery. Beautiful, feminine, expensive…

Painfully generic.

A final smack in the face.

“You’re awake.”

Eyes flick up to meet cocoa. Lashes damp. Pearls tucked back in their box.

Elain walks forward on silent feet, gliding across the floor until she’s the other side of the table. Her eyes flick down to the cake, and a faint smile appears on her lips, “you had a slice.” She smoothes down her skirts, elegantly descending into a seat, “happy birthday.”

Pressure heats behind your eyelids, vision blurring, then spilling over. You bury your face in your hands as you sob, teeth biting into your lip as you try to quiet them, attempting to stop the cries that are leaking. You sniff, rubbing your skin until it feels raw. Hot and irritated from brushing tears away. Elain sits quietly, waiting for you to ready.

Once the sobs have dulled enough, you dry your eyes once more, looking at her. “Why did you tell Feyre?” You manage, throat wet, voice a little nasally from crying. Nose blocked. “Why did you listen?”

“She was worried. She asked about you, and I mentioned you’d seemed startled finding me and him in the library,” she answers calmly.

“It was none of your business,” you moan quietly, brushing away more tears. “You had no right to eavesdrop on us like that.”

Elain’s brow furrows, “I didn’t eavesdrop. All I heard were the things you said to him while I was in the room.”

You blink once. Twice.

She sighs. “I left as soon as I was out. You were in need of privacy.”

“But Feyre said you saw…what happened in the library,” you stumble, unable to bring yourself to say his name. “I did see you in the library. When you came in. And then I left.”

You blink again.

She hadn’t heard anything you and Azriel had said to one another. That was why he’d looked so accusatory. You’d gone and opened your mouth while everyone was listening. And your reaction…it didn’t make him look good.

Tears spill again as you bury your head in your hands. Shoulders shake and heave with sobs, hot liquid running between your fingers as they splash into the pool on the wooden table. He’s probably furious with you for being so oblivious. He would have noticed immediately. You cry harder.

A hand lands gently at your back, rubbing in soothing patterns. Staying beside you until you calm down. “I’m sorry…” you cry weakly, voice rasping in the silence. “I’m so sorry, ‘Lain. I thought… I’m so sorry…” Tears drip-drop steadily, but you regain control of your voice. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, and you feel her slide into the chair beside you. How long has it been since one of you cried in front of the other, unprompted? You can’t remember.

Maybe that’s what has you standing from your seat, pulling Elain with you as you cry into her. She’s stiff for a moment, then her arms slide over your shoulders, your own wrapping around her back, allowing the tears to pour. The world naturally leaning toward chaos.

After what feel like forever, you step away, drying your eyes once more.

“How are you feeling?” She asks gently, hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothingly. “Better,” you sniff, managing to keep your eyes dry. They’re going to puff up badly, though. You snivel again, pushing the loose hairs from your face, wet with tears. “Thank you for the orrery,” you manage, softly. “Really. It’s so… I can’t even begin to explain how incredible it is. How great a gift it is. Thank you.” You hope you can at least begin to have her understand how much you love it through the sincerity in your voice. So she can hear it, even if you can’t explain it.

She smiles faintly. “I’m happy you’re happy.” It’s so Elain you nearly start crying again. “Nuan made it—she’s very skilled in her work.”

Nuan, who’d created Lucien’s eye. She must have…

Her eyes flick away for a moment, as if reading the question in your gaze, but return. “He and I… Things aren’t as tense as they once were. We’re… We’re doing better.” You stare at her, lips parted.

So she’s no longer after Azriel.

A wave of horror crashes over you as you comprehend the thought. Repeat it in your brain. Subconsciously, she’d been your saboteur. You’d seen her as competition, convinced you had to be better to keep his attention. How infatuated you’d become.

Two years you’d wanted him. Two years of late night thoughts, secret wishes, and strict obedience to him. Two years of living for someone else.

Such an idiot.

You’d been so happy to give as much as you could. To be as compliant and accommodating as possible. And he had fully taken advantage of that.

How much more is there for you to realise about him?

How much further does this have to go?

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke

#CBMTHY #CBMTHY Part 3 #Azriel #azriel shadowsinger #Azriel angst #angst #acotar #multi-part fic #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

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agentmarvel · 1 year

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Imagine obsessive König stealing your panties from the laundry and using them to jerk off?? Lick them?? Sniff them?? Cumming on them?? Literally so hot 😣

Then a while later you would be looking for your lost panties, König is watching you. He asks if you need anything but ur shyyy and you say nothing while not knowing he stole themmm 😼

Oh, but he so would do that.

He can't help himself. It started off much smaller, like a towel or a t-shirt. Only for a short period of time before he'd casually leave it behind in a place it could've plausibly fallen out of your duffel bag. Less suspicious that way, no?

But it doesn't take long before that's not enough to get him off anymore. He needs more.

He ends up breaking into your room while you shower and digging through your laundry basket. As luck would have it, a fresh pair, still damp from wear, sits at the top. He makes it a point to stuff them into the mask he wears beneath his hood, inhaling deeply. He's already half hard just from being in your space, but having your panties over his face put him at full mast. His obsessive need cons him into grabbing another two pairs and shoving them in his pockets before he all but sprints back to his own room.

One panty ends up in each hand as he furiously fucks his fists (he needs both hands to be efficient - we all know that man is proportional af), and the contrast of cotton in one hand and lace in the other is a driving force for how quickly he knows he's gonna cum. But the third pair, the ones you just stripped from your body moments before he snatched them, is trapped between his teeth as he licks and sucks at the fabric, desperate for even the smallest taste of you. It's the closest he's going to get to having you sit on his face for now, and while it's not enough to satisfy his mind, it is enough to satiate his body. He cums with a growl, spilling warm white in thick ropes all over your panties.

Returning your panties is a little bit trickier. He can't get himself back into your room, so he simply decides to toss the pairs covered in his seed into the washer and leave them for you to find. The third pair stays tucked in his mask. If he can't have you right now, he can definitely keep part of you nearby.

Besides, he finds it adorable, the way you get all shy and embarrassed when he asks what you've lost and if you'd like help looking for it.

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig imagine #könig fanfiction #jj writes

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 1 year

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Make it Better

Summary: Y/N is at the end of her rope. Can Dean help her hold on?

Warnings: None really, brief non-explicit descriptions of sex, lots of fluff, hurt!reader (mental/emotional hurt) comforting, soft!dean.

Pairings: Dean x Y/N

Word Count: 1730

A/N: I got this request from my dear friend @deanwinchesterwifesstuff :

Heyyy! Thanks for saying i can ask you a fic! Its kinda simple..i just Seek comfort in dean giving me a princess treatment, so maybe a comfy bath together...cuddling..and all that kinda Stuff..just all about fluff

So, here is what I came up with lovely, and I hope it helps! ❤️

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom were created by @talesmaniac89

You were just at the end of your rope. You’d been running on empty for days, and you felt more emotionally drained than you could possibly describe. It felt as though everyone around you was pulling out little bits of you, tearing into you with cruel words, and careless attitudes.

You were just so tired.

You were balled up in your bed, ignoring the world, or trying to, desperate for one day of peace. Your phone kept buzzing but you pretended you didn’t hear it. You knew you should get up at some point and eat something, maybe have a warm bath, read a book? But all of that took energy, and you just didn’t have any more to give.

So you stayed in bed, cocooned in your blanket.

Some time around ten o’clock there was a knock at your front door, which you also ignored, burrowing deeper into your fluffy duvet. But then you heard his voice.

“Y/N!”

“Dean?” You called out, disbelief clouding your voice as you sat up in bed.

You were still wrapped up like a burrito as he strode in through your bedroom door. He stood in the doorway, blocking out most of what lay beyond with his wide shoulders and massive frame. His face held an expression of worry and slight annoyance.

“What the hell, Y/N? I’ve been texting and calling for hours, why didn’t you answer? You scared the shit out of me.”

Dean’s frustration with you went straight to your already stomped on heart and without warning noisy tears burst out. You tried to hold back the harsh sobs, embarrassed, but they wouldn’t be contained. Days and weeks of abuse from everyone around you had just taken its toll, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

In seconds Dean was beside you on the bed. “Hey, sweetheart, shh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry, it’s okay.” He pulled you into his side, squeezing you tight through the piles of cotton wrapped around you. You rested your head on his chest and let out all the sadness and hurt you’d been walking around with for too long.

He just held you, swaying slowly side-to-side as you cried, holding you close and murmuring soft, loving words, most of which you couldn’t hear over your noisy tears, but you felt the comfort in them nonetheless. Finally your tears slowed, and then stopped, and your body shook slightly as you pulled in deep, shuddery breaths. He pulled back so he could look at you, and you knew you must look like an absolute mess.

But he just reached back to your bedside table and grabbed the box of tissues, pulling one out and holding it against your nose. “Blow.” He said, and you felt like a little kid, but you blew your nose and he tossed the tissue in the basket and then used another to dry your cheeks.

Then he pushed back the “hood” of your blanket so your head emerged, and he combed your hair back off your face with his fingers.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” He asked softly.

You shook your head. “It’s too much to talk about.” You shrugged and another tear leaked out of the corner of your eye.

Dean thumbed it away. “Okay, baby. Then we won’t. For now anyway.”

You sniffled and then frowned at him. “I thought you and Sam were in Oklahoma, hunting down that Wendigo; you said you wouldn’t be back for another week.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, well, we got it quicker than we thought we would. This one had already been injured, so it slowed it down a bit. Then I left Sam there to clean everything up cause I couldn’t get ahold of you.”

He frowned at you, and you felt bad for causing him to worry. “I’m sorry.” You said softly.

He pushed the blanket off your shoulders, and finally pulled you out from inside it. He set you sideways on his lap and tucked your head under his chin. His big hand moved up and down your arm slowly. “You don’t have to be sorry, sweetheart. I’m here now, you’re safe, and I’m gonna make things better, okay?”

You nodded, feeling some of the tension in your body begin to ease already; the bubble of hurt and anxiety that had been squeezing your chest like a vice began to deflate.

“First things first,” Dean said with conviction, “breakfast. Come on.” He squeezed you one last time and you slid out of his lap.

You followed him into the kitchen and he told you to sit. When you offered to help make the pancakes and bacon he was cooking, he just shook his head. “Nope. My culinary genius needs room to flourish.” He said in a ridiculous french accent that made you giggle lightly.

As he cooked he told you all about this latest hunt, making you laugh some more in spite of the danger in the situations he described. Dean had a way of finding the humor in almost every situation, and it was one of the traits that you loved most in him.

The food was delicious, as it always was when Dean cooked it; you’d told him many times that he should retire from hunting and open a diner. He cooked comfort food as a way to comfort the people he loved, and make sure they were cared for…another trait of his that you adored.

After breakfast you showered, and when you came out, Dean had laid out comfy pajamas for you on the bed. You pulled them on and padded out to the living room where he'd lit a bunch of candles, and a fire. The fire warded off the chill in the air, and the candles contrasted sharply with the rainy gray skies outside the window, warming everything with a soft yellow glow.

He held up three books. “Pick.” He said with a smile.

You chose the romance adventure book, knowing that it would make for the best escape. You snuggled in between Dean’s knees and leaned back against him as he started reading to you. His deep voice was soothing and lent a whole new level of authenticity and realism to the love scenes. You felt your heart begin to beat faster as he read the words. Then it started beating double time as he set the book down, and began to write his own love scene on your skin.

His touch was extremely gentle, unhurried and luxurious. His lips were like silk as he ran them like a whisper down your neck, reaching your pulse point and sucking lightly. You arched your neck so he could reach it easier; your head rested against his shoulder and you let out a soft sigh as he let go and whispered into your ear.

“Bedroom?”

You nodded quickly and he chuckled, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you down the hall to lay you out on the bed. He spent the next couple hours making love to you, worshiping you, praising you. He told you over and over how beautiful you were, how perfect. He rained pleasure down on your body endlessly, finding every sensitive spot you had and leaving no inch of your skin unkissed.

Afterwards he cleaned you up with warm cloths, and then climbed in behind you, pulling you into his arms, and holding you close while you slept for a few hours. For the first time in days and days, you slept deeply and dreamlessly and when you woke up you felt refreshed, and finally ready to tell him about all the things that had been going wrong in your life over the last while.

He listened attentively, stroking your back, and kissing your forehead when you got choked up in the telling. He didn’t try to offer solutions, he just told you again how perfect you were, and reminded you that you deserved respect and kindness from those around you. He told you that if you wanted, he’d be there with you if and when you wanted to confront the people causing all your pain.

You smiled up at him, feeling supported and understood, and amazed at what a huge difference that made. You pulled his lips down to yours, which led to another couple hours of pleasure and sleep.

You woke up to the smell of something delicious and cheesy cooking and when you walked into the kitchen you saw Dean pulling a tray of nachos out of the oven, completely smothered in cheese, and you clapped your hands excitedly.

“My favorite!” You practically squealed.

Dean laughed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I know, why do you think I made them?”

You enjoyed a candlelit dinner, sharing the plate of stacked nachos, and more fabulous conversation. Now that you were starting to feel better, you laughed and teased him more freely, and the dinner was absolutely perfect. Despite Dean’s protests, you helped him clean up, finding joy in the simple chore as you worked together.

After dinner, Dean drew you a warm bath, with lavender scented bubbles. He made the bath absolutely perfect as he climbed in behind you. He massaged the soft, soapy water into your skin, running his rough hands up and down your arms and back, kneading your muscles and making you moan raggedly. Those moans led to another round of lovemaking and by the time you were falling apart beneath him for the seventh (eighth?) time that day you felt absolutely sublime and tranquil, like you were floating on a cloud.

Dean shifted to lay beside you and you turned towards him, tangling your legs up with his. You relished the feel of his broad chest beneath your cheek, and his strong arms like iron bands of protection around you.

“Thank you.” You whispered over his heart.

He kissed the top of your head and held you a little tighter. “No thank yous needed, sweetheart. I will always be here to remind you how incredible you are, and to remind you that I love you. Always.”

You looked up at him, and he sealed his words with a gentle kiss. “I love you too.” You said and as you snuggled into him you hoped he knew you that you meant it with every breath in your body.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #hurt/comfort #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester smuff

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talesofedo · 7 months

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Image and text from this page.

Throughout the Edo Period, Japan was largely closed off from the rest of the world, relying solely on its limited domestic resources. As a result of this, reuse and recycling were a natural part of life with almost all daily items experiencing multiple life cycles. At the forefront of this 250-year period of sustainability were professions that centered around repairing and repurposing everyday goods and materials, giving new life to items that would today end up in landfills. In his book, “Just Enough,” Azby Brown introduces a number of the professions that led to this period of sustainability and we’ve listed some of our favorites below.

Tinkers

Tinkers were local craftsmen who repaired damaged pots and kettles. Often found carrying portable forges and bellows on their backs, they used scrap metal to repair holes and cracks that would otherwise render these essential household items useless.

Scrap metal dealers would purchase unrepairable items from tinkers and exchange candies and toys with local kids for nails and other usable metal scraps they found while playing.

Paper lantern and umbrella repairmen

While most umbrellas in modern-day Tokyo are quickly lost or broken and disposed of, the raw materials that made Edo Period umbrellas often saw multiple lives with umbrella repairmen carving out a fairly lucrative niche for themselves.

These repairmen would buy used umbrellas, assign a price based on the condition of the bamboo frame then disassemble, repair and resell them to new buyers.

Discarded materials, such as the waterproof oiled paper would pass onto local butchers for wrapping fish and miso.

With umbrellas and paper lanterns sharing essentially the same materials, umbrella repairmen would also cross over into the realm of lantern repair and often sub-contract this work out to low-level samurai.

Used clothes dealers

If you thought Shimokitazawa was overrun with used clothing dealers these days, Brown says there were as many as 4,000 of them in Edo.

With new clothes being unaffordable for the average family, when it came time to update the wardrobe, old garments would be washed and taken to a dealer to be exchanged for refurbished items at a small fee.

These dealers would take apart kimono, dye them and reassemble them for resale, a task made easier due to the way kimono are designed.

As clothes would begin to wear out, they found new life as aprons, diapers, pouches, cloths and eventually kindling before becoming ash which would also be repurposed.

Barrel repairers and recyclers

If you knew your way around a bamboo barrel hoop in the Edo Period you could make a steady living for yourself repairing the various types of shoyu, sake, miso or vinegar barrels found in the average home.

The more experienced itinerant barrel hoop makers could also find work as barrel recyclers, a specialized craft that saved reusable barrels and casks from early disposal.

After collection, recyclers would inspect, grade, refurbish and resell them onto brewers and liquor shops who would choose from new, new-looking, slightly used or worn barrels depending on their intended use.

Ashmen

Most daily items in the Edo Period were made from burnable plant-based materials such as wood, bamboo, straw and cotton.

Rather than have worn-out rope, sandals, hats, raincoats or baskets end up in landfill, these items could be burnt to provide heat and turned to ash, which is where the ashman comes in.

Rather than discarding of ash, households and businesses such as public baths would collect their ash and sell it to local ashmen.

With ash from straw and cotton cloth containing large amounts of potassium, it was in high demand as an additive for fertilizer or for use in ceramics, dyes or sake production which created a lucrative business for motivated ashmen.

#shared #history notes #historical notes #history reference #historical reference #history research #historical research #Edo period #sustainability #recycling #article

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aaalongtech · 2 years

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Embroidery on Cotton Rope Basket: A Comprehensive Guide

Embroidery on cotton rope baskets is an increasingly popular craft activity that combines the practicality of storage baskets with the creativity of embroidery. By stitching colorful thread onto the cotton rope, you can transform an ordinary basket into a beautiful and unique piece of home decor. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll take you through everything you need to know about embroidery on…

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#Cotton rope basket #Decorative basket #Durable basket #Embroidery on Cotton Rope Basket #Handmade basket #Natural basket #Organizer basket #Soft basket #Storage basket #Woven basket

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oneatlatime · 1 year

Text

Haybending

I got bored today and started daydreaming. The results:

In Bato of the Water Tribe, Aang haybends. Obviously he airbends a bunch of hay, but let's dig into haybending a bit.

As I understand it, Hay is a bit of an umbrella term for a bunch of animal fodder-producing plants, which means that haybenders bend more than just one plant; they can bend a bunch. That implies that they are bending what plants are made of rather than a single species or genus of plants. Hay is made of cellulose. Cellulose is what (I think) practically all plants are made of, and there are some bacteria that deal with it (?) as well. Biology class was a while ago.

What things are made of cellulose?

How about natural fibres? Cotton, hemp, flax/linen, burlap. (Not animal fibres or petroleum-based ones.) A cellulose bender could therefore bend all natural textiles (and blends so long as the natural content is over some percentage threshold, but I have yet to see evidence of petroleum or plastics in Avatar). It would certainly be useful in a fight if you could make your enemy's clothes trip them up/detain them. Everyone wears clothes made at least in part of fabric. Unless you rock the all leather look or just never wear clothes, you'd have no way of protecting yourself from a cellulose bender. Imagine the wedgies. Imagine how much easier it would be to put clothes on squirmy toddlers if the clothes were on your side.

What about making textiles? Would a civilisation that could cellulose-bend even bother inventing the loom? Imagine the heights of artistry that would go into cloth where each and every thread was conducted into place individually and simultaneously. I bet they could produce cloth while holding their threads floating in the air. A bender wiggles his fingers and what look like piles of tangled thread soar into the air and arrange themselves into a paisley-patterned button-down. Can you imagine the quality of tailoring you could accomplish if you had power over individual threads? Would you even invent sewing or tailoring if you could shape each individual piece to fit, then join them without seams? Can you imagine the implications for embroidery?

What about paper? Would a cellulose-bending civilisation ever invent ink? They could bend cellulose into paper, then instead of writing/printing text on paper, they could bend the cellulose in the paper into the shapes of the letters. Might not be faster than regular writing, but certainly more economical than how we currently produce braille books. You could literally throw the book at your enemies. Bend whole libraries.

Wood is made of cellulose too. Wood houses, carts, ships, bridges, all would be manipulable. Wooden shaft on the enemy's spear? Tie it in a knot. Woodcarving would be possible without tools. Who needs carpentry when you can bend a house out of a forest? Could you bend a bowl out of a tree and then put it back after dinner? If your cart had wooden wheels, could you propel it? If you're camping in the woods, could you bend a grass or branch hammock and then put it back the next morning? Could you obscure your tracks?

Can you imagine what a beast a rope-bender would be in combat? Canvas is made from hemp or cotton; a sail-bender could ground a whole fleet of sailing ships. A seaweed bender could ground propeller ships. You could knit without needles, crochet without a hook, open the curtains without getting out of bed. You could weave a basket on the spot, so long as you're near grass. Near-infinite biodegradable packaging at your fingertips. You could juggle coconuts without touching them.

And what about applications on plants that are still living? For more benign uses, imagine shaping your garden with a wave of your hand. Make vines climb trees, tree branches go where you need shade, weave elaborate living fences from shrubs. You could make a tree grow in the shape of a chair, then cut it down and use it in your dining room. What about forests? Could a cellulose-bender make a forest get up and walk? If you needed to move your herd to a different field, instead of a sheepdog or a cattle drive, could you just bend the wooden fence with the animals still inside and shuffle it to new ground? Hunting would be easy - just spot what you want to kill and then turn all the surrounding grass into snares.

And this isn't even touching the implications on agriculture.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #this is some nonsense let me tell you #but nonsense is good for the constitution #avatar the last airbender

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isawas-here · 1 year

Note

Hii! Im not sure if you take requests rn, but could you do some fluff w Mickey (Scream 2)

Basically the plot is they're going on a double date along with Derek and Sidney and Mickey is somewhat nervous about impressing the reader

Reader can be male or gender neutral! <33

OMG YES FOR SURE TY FOR THE REQUEST!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh come onnn, it’ll be fun I promise!” Sidney said as she dragged you along the campus. “What’ll be fun?” You heard a familiar voice. You turned to see Derek hugging Sidney from behind smiling cheekily. “Well I was just trying to see if y/n wanted to come with us maybe on a double date..” she smiled at Derek hoping that he’d say yes. “Well who would I go with hm?” There was silence in the air besides the students bustling to there classes. “Exactly no one!” You looked at them. “I mean I have no problem with that” Derek said. “Oh cmon are you serious you have to side with Sidney”, he just laughed. “Hmm what about Mickey? I’ve seen him eying you!” she spoke up looking at you with a sly grin. “I’ll think about it… I’m not sure if I like him like that.” You walked away clutching your books in your arms trying not to think about the possibility of Mickey liking you. I mean he was very sweet and very funny , two things you liked in a partner. Maybe he did like you? Maybe he didn’t.. Why were you worried about it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were in your dorm room listing to music softly playing in the background; working on assignments. You get a little beep on your phone. Mickey: it read. You opened your phone to Mickeys text messages

Hey it’s Mickey

Hey!

I heard by Derek and Hallie that there was going to be a double date between Derek and Sid

Oh yeah haha they tried to rope me in with them

Well I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go with me

I set my phone down and started squealing like a six year old.

Yeah ofc!

Great uh I’ll pick you up at 7?

Sounds great talk to you tomorrow!!

Same goodnight y/n!

Goodnight Mickey :)

what the hell. I can’t believe im going on a date with Mickey… do I even like him? Romance is confusing. Welp time to sleep I thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up and got ready meeting Sid and Derek in the library. “Soooo any news from Mickey, with the double date and all?” Sid asked as I slid into one of the comfy chairs. I rolled my eyes. “Yes actually he asked if I wanted to go with him and I said I’d go…” I looked at the table kinda embarrassed. “Oh my god he totally liked you y/n!” She laughed in response. “Well im not so sure if I like him yet.. I mean it’s Mickey” I looked at them with a small frown. “Also I said he’d pick me up at 7, do y’all know where y’all wanna go?” I continued. “Yeah I’ll send you the address!” Sidney said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wore a red velvet dress and some small pumps and light makeup. I grabbed my purse and a light jacket, and walked out the door. Mickey should be here any minute now. I opened the front doors of our dorms and walked outside. It was kinda weird knowing that Cotton Weary was out here and the Ghostface killer was still around, you’d think he’d die by now but nope still prowling. A few minutes passed as you checked your watch, soon enough Mickey rolled up in his car he got out the drivers side and opened your door. You smiled and thanked him as you slid inside. “Do you know where we are going or is it a surprise?” He smiled at you. You hummed a mhm and told him the address. You pulled into a old fashion diner. You got out the car and walked up to front inside hoping to see Sid and Derek, you spotted them sitting across from each other in a booth. You’d think they sat together but they didn’t, I bet they planned it. You said hello to them and sat by Sid while Mickey sat by Derek. A waitress came towards the table with her notepad and pen asking “Do y’all want anything sweeties” you looked at Mickey and he looked back at you then back at the waitress. “Can we get a basket of fries and 2 Millshakes!” he asked. Derek cut him off by “correcting him”. “Uh actually 4 Milkshakes, 2 different checks please”. You looked at Mickey. “Why the fries??” You laughed. Mickey looked at you like he’s been shot in the heart put to bf his hand over his chest. “Are you telling me you’ve never had fries and milkshakes before” he looked at you with a shocked face, you next response would probably have him in a coma. “No… I have not” you looked at him kinda shyly. “Welp im about to change your life Miss L/N” he looked at you with a intense passion. You started blushing a little bit hoping non of them would notice. “Ew guys stop flirting” you heard Sid say. Now you probably looked like a tomato and you started protesting that you and Mickey weren’t, yall wre just talking like normal people. The waitress came back soon after delivering the food to the table, you watched Mickey dip a fry into his milkshake and eat it with satisfaction. “You want to try it?” You nodded. You picked up a fry and dipped it in your own milkshake, you were weary at first and then put it in your mouth. It was actually quite good. “That’s actually really good!” You smiled at him. “Look what I can do” he gave you a sly grin and picked up a cherry from his shake and put it in his mouth. He took the stem off and started moving it in his mouth, “Hold on” he put his finger up and opened his mouth revealing that the cherry stem was tied in a knot. “Wow that’s pretty impressive” he laughed. “I know I’m just that cool!” all you could do was look at him with a smirk on your face. The rest of the night was just everyone passing laughes,telling jokes. updating their lives and feeling comfortable around another. We were departing as we got up to leave the diner. You and Mickey walked back to his car in silence driving out for he parking lot on the way home. You didn’t mind but you wondered what he was thinking. He stopped the car right infront of your wing of the dorms before he came around the car to open the door for you. “Thank you” you smiled at him. “Your welcome, I had a great time tonight thank you for coming” he looked at you shyly before rubbing his neck. “Of course you are quite the gentleman” you swayed back in forth as you looked at him. “I try to be, we’ll I’ll leave you too it goodnight y/n” he walked around the car to the drivers side. “Goodnight lover boy” you smirked as you walked back to your dorm.

(RAHHHH OMG OKAY THIS WAS MY FIRST ONE I DID MY LITTLE SPIN ON IT SORRY IF ITS WEIRD)

#scream #scream 2 #mickey altieri #timothy olyphant #fanfic #writers on tumblr #mickey altieri x reader #scream x yn #scream x you #slashers

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the-fiction-witch · 11 months

Text

Girl P1

Media The Last Legion AU

Character Romulus Augustus (Age Up)

Couple Romulus X Reader

Rating Dark Smut

The winners write history, is a phrase I'm sure many are familiar with. and It's something many of us have to remember whenever looking at any recorded history, It's always a massive asterisk that needs to be remembered. That history is recorded by those who win, by those who control and rule, and who want the world to look favourably on them.

That and history books often skip over smaller things deemed less important.

I walked the blood-stained cobbles of the once beautiful city, through the bustling market littered with wooden stalls graced with sweet cotton fabrics and the various items being offered. The tall buildings looming over us all create a shade for us all from the intense sun and merciless heat. I wore my little grey sandals laced up my legs well, my little cream dress, with my wicker basket in hand filled with the items I had already picked up. I continued with my shopping and did my best to stop myself from purchasing things I didn't need.

As I turned the corner in the market I stopped short a moment as I saw the blood red and shimmering gold on the amour of city soldiers at the foot of the statue of Mars, three of them stood one clearly a commander barking orders to the others, the other two stood hassling a young girl in green. She couldn't have been much older than me they were trying to take her to a nearby cart but she was scared and trying to argue with them but that was a useless display as the soldiers were too strong merely picking her up and forcing her onto the cart where I noticed many other girls sat. I didn't want to pry into what was going on, perhaps some kind of round-up over some new law. But I trod carefully as I continued my shopping.

I stopped to check over some pears and oranges when suddenly my basket was forced from my hand and the guards began to take me to the cart.

"What- Where are you taking me!?" I complained trying to get out of their grip but they just pushed me into the cart with the other girls. "What's going on?" I asked one of the girls

"I don't know, they've been gathering up girls all day," she says

Soon enough they led the cart through the city, I did my best not to panic looking at the city, people bustling about their business, the soldiers at every corner.

They took us to the tall gates of the palace, they took us inside the palace and forced us into a line in the high luxury corridor. I didn't know what was going on but anytime someone tried to speak to each other soldiers would force their silence. There were only women in this line and I was at the end of it. I was fearful, unsure of what I had done or why I was here not being helped as the line moved deeper and deeper into the palace's grand halls. Finally, the hall opened up to the grandest room I had ever seen in my life.

The room was huge bigger than the temples with pillars of marble and curtains of glistening gold the walls were lined with guards in red and gold uniforms, the line of girls being marched across the floor. At the head of the room two souls sat, the first in a small wooden chair graced in white robes with red embellishments was the balding, sickly-looking man, I knew who he was from announcements and other such things. The royal advisor, he was the highest of the senate and the man who had to carry out that which the emperor demanded you could tell the role of this weighed heavily on him. And the other soul.

I had rarely seen him, no one had. But he was identifiable all the same. He sat on the throne of Roma and her empire, but he sat on it sideways so his head dangled off the armrest, his legs off the chair so the back of his knee sat on the other armrest, he was barefoot, in clothes worth more then everything I owned tight black trousers and a shirt of deep royal purple with gold lining and rope around cut-outs that went down the top of each sleeve even if the sleeves only reached his elbows, his face shockingly youthful and a head of the golden blonde hair he was well associated with.

Romulus Augustus and several other names that I honestly didn't know. He was a Cesar... apparently. I imagine if Cesar had royal blue blood this boy's blood would be a pale sky blue at best, as his relative to the Cesars was thin some even doubted if he had any at all. But supposedly he was the last living Cesar, he was sworn in as emperor when he was only a boy and his parents were killed not long after.

I suppose in another world the young emperor may not have lasted long perhaps overthrown by another or raised merely as a political show with the senate in true control. But that was not the world we live in. He was sworn in as a child, raised in secrecy and spoiled beyond measure. And because of that or perhaps just because, he was cruel. He was known in the city for Being mercilessly cruel, oftentimes your life would hang in the Balance of his childish whim, his name was known and feared across the empire for his downright evil tactics. And even guards and senate members knew better than to question him.

I had not been this close to him since his coronation when I saw him in the streets, but I was so scared my blood ran cold.

He had a small knife in his hand and was using it to file the nails on his other hand.

They brought a girl from the line directly In Front of the throne

"Your grace" the advisor began

"No" he snapped not even looking up

So they threw that girl to the side and brought the next one

"No" he snapped again not looking up from his nails

This went on until I was pulled In Front of him as scared as I was confused, and at that moment the advisor snapped

"Your grace!" He began "Forgive me, but we have been at this all day. Will you please at least look at them"

He pouted stuck his knife into the throne and turned to sit normally looking me up and down "No. Next"

"There is no next we've run through every girl in the city. You're having this one"

"You don't get to tell me what I am or am not doing!"

"Just look at her. Please"

He rolled his eyes getting up from the throne he came closer to me and paced around me like a hungry vulture,

"I don't like her"

"Perhaps you shouldn't have done that to your last one"

He turned sharply "She got what she deserved"

"Be that as it may"

"she's too chubby."

"she can be thinned"

"she smells funny"

"We can wash her"

"I don't like her hair"

"We can cut her hair"

"fine" he sighed returning to his throne "Show me her teeth" He demanded and the guard beside me grabbed my jaw hard forcing me to open my mouth and slow my teeth he rolled his eyes and sighed "Fine," He sighed "Lift her dress" He demanded and the guard let my jaw go grabbing the hem of my dress lifting it up to expose my pussy which made me scream covering myself up "Better then I expected" He smirked and the guard let me dress go "Alright. she'll do. Take her to the baths"

Immediately the guard grabbed my arms and forced me along with him no matter how much I protested

"What's going on? where are you taking me!"

"Quiet. You belong to the Emporer now" the guard told me

They threw me into a hot steamy stone room with tall arched ceilings painted with gold, a few luxurious baths and waterfalls, along with areas to relax and a sauna in the corner, it even had a deck out to a garden with another hot spring pool with a waterfall of stone. They locked me here so I just took a seat and tried to come to terms with all that had happened.

Until the doors opened and the Emporer arrived and my blood again ran cold.

"Name?" he glared as he slammed the door shut

"I'm sorry"

"Okay," he sighed rolling his head back a little "First lesson. Do not make me repeat myself. Name. what is it?"

"Y/n y/l/n"

"Y/n. Fine. Take your clothes off and have a bath" He demanded as he slipped off his clothes leaving him utterly naked, his body as thin as I imagined but his erection half hard, I quickly looked away, I didn't want to argue and carefully slipped off my clothes and climbed into the water before he could see me

"What's going to happen to me?"

He sighed rubbing his eyes his arm leaned on the bath his body surrounded by the water"I will explain this, Once and only once." He says "Yes?"

"Yes Your Grace"

"Good girl, Now. Here's the deal. I get bored. This place is boring, the work is boring, it's just fucking boring so I need something to entertain myself or I'll end up killing somebody. So I need something to keep me entertained, And the advisors are constantly shitting themselves about bastards, terrified over another succession fight. So our way of dealing with this is they let me keep... a girl. For my amusement. You get room, food, and medical if needed."

"What would I have to do?"

"You do what I tell you. You belong to me body and soul. You do as I ask Without question. Without argument. silently if possible. You do as I say no matter what I say."

"And If I don't?" I asked

He smirked "Then I'll make you wish you were dead." He said "We clear?"

"Yes Your Grace" I nodded in fear

"Good girl," he smirked "Get out of the bath."

I didn't want to argue nervously getting up and climbing out of the bath using my hands to cover my body

"Hands," he demanded with a smirk

I gulped but took my hands away

"Humm. Not as nice as my last one. But... fantastic tits." He smirked "Jump up and down"

I sighed but did as he asked making him chuckle

"Good, here now" he smirked suggestively running his hand through the water so I moved climbing in and moving close to him, he smirked and grabbed my waist pulling me into his lap "I think you and I are going to have fun" he smirked

"I hope so your grace"

"ah ah" he warned "This mouth. Is for one thing and one thing only. My cock. if my cock isn't in your mouth it needs to be shut. I don't want your opinion. your conversation. or your goddamn voice. That mouth is for my cock and my seed nothing else. Understand"

"Ye-" I began but stopped short and simply nodded

"Good girl." he smirked his fingers dug into my skin as he turned and threw me against the edge of the bath I did my best not to complain as the edge hurt my stomach he grabbed my ass and dug his nails in tightly as he spread my cheeks as far as possible "Legs open" he demanded

I bit my tongue and did as he asked me to, and he quickly forced himself inside me, I quickly put a hand over my mouth to prevent making any noise as he buried himself deep inside me almost enough to make me scream, he held me tight and moved fast and hard with very little concern for me even if it felt unbelievably amazing the sound of our skin connecting and water splashing I did my best not to squeal from the pleasure until he got slower and sloppier pulling himself out and forcing me to turn back to him my body sinking back into the water and he took his cock in his hand for a few strokes before he came sending his seed across my body immediately I grimaced at the substance now all over my body but he only smirked more seeming amused by my disgust

"Lick it."

"No-" I began

"Excuse me?"

"No, that's revolting!"

"You belong to me. and if I say you do something you do it."

"Yes your Grace" I sighed

"Now lick it off" He demanded

I hated it but did as he asked licking and swallowing the horrible stuff as quickly as I could which only amused him more

"all of it" He demanded but I was perfectly clean I looked rather confused and he just glanced down at himself and the amount that remained on his shaft I did my best not to hurl but did as he asked licking it off and swallowing quickly even if I at one point gaged so hard my eyes welled with tears which made him chuckle "I own you girl. better get used to it" He smirked heading off to another part of the baths "Now clean yourself get that peasant stench off you"

"Yes your grace" I sighed

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