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watchmegetobsessed · 2 years

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❄️HOME THIS CHRISTMAS❄️

A/N: hope you uys have been having an amazing christmas so far! for this fic i want to say special thanks to @futurecherry !

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

SUMMARY: Harry Styles is back in town and all eyes are on the two of you, because everyone knows how much he broke your heart when he left.

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This fic is part of ❄️ FANFICmas 2022 ❄️ Read more about fanficmas here!

You always thought the saying ‘talk of the town’ wasn’t real, not in the way movies loved to portray. The whispers behind someone’s back, the stares, the looks, it all seemed way too dramatic to be real. Right until you became the person it happened to.

December is by far your favorite time of the year. You hate to be a cliché, but it truly is the most wonderful time of the year. The town turns into a cozy winter wonderland, every shop and home is decorated, lights are guiding the way through the streets you know better than the back of your hand, the smell of mulled wine and hot chocolate puts a spell on you every time you walk past the square in front of the town hall, there is nothing that could ruin this time of the year for you.

Or so you thought. Because the returning of Harry Styles just made you the talk of the town and ruined the festive mood for sure.

Who would want to step out of the house just to see everyone looking at them with pitiful looks, whispering about the poor girl who now has to face the guy who broke her heart? No, that’s not even expressive enough to describe what Harry did to you when he left town five years ago, never even looking back to see the mess he left behind him.

Word spread across town fast when he was first spot at his mother’s house, picking up some old stuff of his. Mrs. Cromwell saw him through her kitchen window. She phoned Mrs. Adler who was just about to leave to the grocery store. She told the news to everyone she ran into and in a matter of hours everyone in town knew that Harry was back.

Including you.

It’s been a week since the first sighting and your life has turned upside down since then. Everyone wants to know what you think about his return, how you’re doing now that you can practically run into him anywhere and anytime.

Well, you’re already over that.

The first meeting went just as awkward as one would expect. He came into your bakery on a Tuesday afternoon, you were shocked to be face-to-face with him at first and he seemed just as speechless as he stared back at you while everyone else around you were dying for the scene to unfold.

When the two of you recovered, the conversation went something like this:

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve moved back.”

“No, what are you doing in my bakery?”

“I came to see you.”

“But I don’t want to see you.”

“Can we talk? Please?”

“No.”

And with that, you rushed back and locked yourself into the closet sized office for an entire hour. He was gone by that and so you ignored the curious stare of your employees and carried on like nothing happened.

Since then, you’ve been avoiding him at all cost and you realized you can do that the best if you just never go anywhere. His return is nerve wrecking enough already, but he has managed to ruin your favorite time of the year for you too. You can’t enjoy the Christmas market, the decoration, the festive vibes because every time you step out you’re afraid you might run into him again.

You’re convinced you wouldn’t survive it.

Looking at him last time was painful enough, mostly because you clearly see the version of him you were in love with and who broke your heart and left without looking back. You could notice the changes on him, his hair, his face, it wasn’t the same and yet… you were still stuck in the past.

There’s just way too much hurt in you after what happened, lots of questions and even more anger towards him that you’ve kept bottled up all these years and you fear you might snap if you have to face him again.

“Are you gonna hide in the back today as well?”

Willa, your student cashier gives you a look as you walk past her when you finally arrive in the afternoon. She’s been working for you for almost a year, she’s trust-worthy and very hard-working, but she also has a tendency to speak her mind quite openly. She is never afraid to call you out when you’re acting ridiculously.

“I’m not hiding,” you hiss at her. “I have… some billing… stuff to do,” you mumble and you wonder how you got to the point where a seventeen years old girl is telling you off when you were supposed to be her boss.

“Whatever you say, boss,” she shrugs as an elderly woman walks in and she busies herself with serving her.

“Kids these days…” you mutter under your breath before locking yourself up in your office.

Running your own business luckily usually has your hands full when you’re at the bakery, so you forget about Harry’s existence as you dive right into work. Unfortunately, it seems like today won’t be the day when you can escape through work.

“Boss?” Willa appears at the backdoor right after you finished a call with one of your suppliers.

“What’s up?” you smile at her, but then see the worried look on her face and you just know already what this is about. “Don’t say—“

“He’s here. Asking for you.”

“Damn it,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “Tell him I’m not here.”

“That’s not gonna work.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already told him you’re here.”

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Okay, then tell him—“

“Or maybe you could just talk to him.”

Harry’s voice startles you. You both look at him, he’s standing a few feet away from you and you feel heat rushing through your veins, which is kind of useful since you’re not wearing a coat and it’s quite freezing out here.

“I’ll be… in my spot,” you hear Willa say before rushing back inside, leaving you alone.

“I’m sorry, but I’m really busy and whatever you want—“

“I want to talk, Y/N. You can’t just avoid me forever, I live here now.”

“The town is not that small, we can just live next to each other without crossing paths.” You turn to head back inside, but he grabs your hand and pulls you back, the sudden touch of his hand on your skin sending jolts of electricity through your whole body. You yank it back as you turn to face him.

“Y/N, don’t you think we should at least just talk it over?”

“You wanna talk? You wanna talk about how you fucked me over? How you broke my heart and left me when I needed you the most? How you said you’d love me forever, but you didn’t even love me enough to stay when I put all my money into starting a business and a life here?”

“Y/N—“

“I never wanted to do it alone! I explicitly told you that I don’t want to go into it on my own and you said you’d be here and that we could do it together. And then you lost your mind, said you can’t handle being tied down here and that you needed freedom. You threw me away like you didn’t promise me forever a million times before. So you want to talk about that?”

Your sudden outburst is a surprise to the both of you, but it also feels liberating to unload it all.

“I think we are way past the talking phase, Harry. You wanted to leave, me and the town, whatever! You can do whatever you want even if it destroys other people. But don’t be surprised when said people don’t want you in their life.”

This time he doesn’t try to stop you when you storm back inside. He doesn’t come after you either.

You think about your encounter nonstop for the next few days. He is all you think about and you hate him for that. You also ponder whether you were way too harsh with him or not, but you always get to the same conclusion. Your words do not compare to the pain he caused you when he left.

The twenty-third is the last day the bakery is open, but seeing the heavy snowing in the morning you ring in to tell the shift that you’ll be in soon and they can leave early, have the rest of the day off. It’s a little past ten when you arrive, you help them close and prepare the place for the few days off. You stay after everyone is gone, doing some last minute paperwork and barely even notice how time flew by.

And how much snow has fallen.

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath when you see the whole street covered in inches of fresh, white snow and it’s still heavily falling. The wind has picked up too, it might soon turn into a whole storm so you better get going.

You parked down in front of the bakery, so you easily get in, but as you try to start the car, it refuses to do anything.

“Come on, come on!” you groan, turning the key in the ignition over and over again, but it wouldn’t start. You’re forced to walk home, which means about 45 minutes out in this weather.

You zip up your jacket, pull your hat on and brace yourself for freezing to death before getting out of the car and you just start walking, hoping for the best. The first few steps are not that bad, you let yourself believe you’ll be home in no time, but by the time you reach the corner, you’re thinking about just turning back and waiting for the end of the snowing in the bakery. You’re eyes are watering up, but the cold wind is practically freezing it onto your cheeks. There’s snow everywhere, your feet are slipping on the ice underneath the fresh snow and you know it’s just a matter of time until you land on your ass.

And then a car pulls up beside you.

“Y/N? What are you doing out here?” Harry calls out over the passenger seat.

“Having a grill party, what do you think?” you scoff, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “My car died.”

“Get in, you’re gonna get pneumonia!”

“No thank you, I’m totally fine!” you stubbornly say and start walking again.

“Y/N, please! I’m not letting you walk home, you’ll never make it on foot!” He drives slowly beside you as a harsh wind blows right into your face, almost pushing you off your feet. “Just get in the car!”

You clench your jaw as you think about your choices: freezing to death on your way home or spending a few minutes in a car with Harry to get home safely. It’s a hard one.

“No talking, okay?” you say as you get in his car, the warmed up seat immediately melting up your frozen muscles.

“Okay,” he nods as he starts driving, but the silence lasts for about five minutes. “You really thought it was a good idea to walk home in this weather?”

“Where’s the no talking?”

“I’m sorry, but you just… You’ve always been so stubborn, it’s good to know you’re the same,” he chuckles softly, but it just gets your blood boiling.

“I’m not the same and you know nothing about my stubbornness. Now would you just drive me home and not talk to me like you promised? Though promises don’t mean shit to you, that I know.”

Your words cut like a knife, but at least he goes silent. Staring out the window you watch the snow fall, it’s unusually thick, you haven’t seen anything like this in years around here. It mesmerizes you so much you don’t even notice where you’re going, only when Harry kills the engine and you see an unknown building instead of your home.

“What? Where are we?” you ask, looking around, trying to see what part of town you’re at but you can’t make out because of the snow.

“My place,” he answers.

“Why? I don’t live here, take me home!”

“Y/N, your home is another at least fifteen minute drive from here, but I can barely see the front of the car in the snow. Just wait it out at mine and then I’ll take you home.”

“Hell no! I’m not waiting for anything!” you protest.

“I bet Clement Road is already blocked, we wouldn’t even make it to your place!”

“You planned this whole thing out, didn’t you?”

“What?” he chuckles in disbelief. “Oh yes, I ordered the snowstorm and killed your car too.”

“Wait, you did?” your eyes widen. “I-I mean the car, did you do it?”

“Oh my God, Y/N, I did not!” he throws his hands into the air. “I did not mess with your car, I was coming from my grandma when I saw you. Now please just be rational for a minute and wait until the snow stops. I promise, I will take you home as soon as the roads are drivable.”

You hate to admit that he is right, that it’s your only and best choice if you don’t want to walk home and freeze to death. So, true to your stubborn self you get out of the car without a word and march up to the front door of the house he parked in front of. Moments later you hear him get out of the car too.

“The no talking rule still applies,” you mumble under your breath as Harry keys the two of you into the townhouse. He nods, pushing the door open and lets you go inside first.

It hasn’t processed that you’re now entering his private space, a place that’s his home, but you’ve never been to. He was still living with his mum when the two of you dated, you knew that house like the back of your hand, it was a second home to you. You haven’t been there since the breakup.

“How wet are you?” he asks and your eyes snap wide.

“What?”

“Your clothes,” he adds with a cheeky smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth. “How wet did they get? Do you want a change?”

“Um… My pants are kinda saggy. And my socks.”

“I’ll get you a full change. Make yourself home,” he says, before disappearing down the hallway.

For a few seconds you don’t move, feeling odd to be here, but when you recover, you wander into the living room that’s on the right from the front door, looking around curiously.

He still hasn’t packed out fully, there are a few boxes lying here and there, but the place looks cozy already and most importantly a lot like him. You see pieces of him everywhere, decors and furniture that just screams Harry, or at least the Harry you know from years ago.

He returns with a pile of clothes in his hands and he has already changed as well into sweatpants and a shirt.

“Here, the bathroom is on the left, throw your wet clothes into the dryer. I’ll make us hot tea.”

He hands you over the clothes and his signature smell hits your nose right away, nostalgia washing over you as you nod hazily and leave to the bathroom. You strip out of your wet clothes and put on the sweatpants and shirt he gave you and suddenly you’re back in time when you used to spend days without end at Harry’s and you had to wear his clothes because you’ve run out of yours. You loved stealing his hoodies and shirts, they felt like his warm embrace, but now… it confuses you.

Walking out you hear him on the phone and judging from the conversation, it’s probably Anne. He has put the kettle on, two mugs set on the kitchen counter as he stands by the window, staring out while talking to his mother. You don’t want to invade on the private conversation, so you return to the living room and snoop around a bit.

What caught your attention first thing when you walked in is the fireplace. He used to tell you about how much he wanted one so he could drink tea and read in front of it. You wonder if it’s what sold him the place when he was looking around.

On top of the fireplace there are a bunch of memorabilia, picture frames, gifts he has gotten over the years. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but as you scan over it, you find more and more things that are connected to you.

First there’s a candle you bought for him after a fight as your peace offer. Then there’s a photo framed from Anne’s birthday, it’s got her, Harry, Gemma and you on it. The more photos you look at, the more you’re met with yourself. You would have never expected him to showcase any pictures that has you in it, but he clearly doesn’t mind looking at you every day. Reaching into the little wooden box that sits on the left edge of the fireplace, you find movie and theater tickets, most of them he used with you on dates. He has a whole stack, probably with every movie and play you two have seen and there are a lot.

“I kept them all.”

His voice startles you, you were so busy snooping around you didn’t notice he finished his call. Shutting the lid of the box you turn around and fold your arms over your chest to stop you from touching anything.

“Why?” you question.

“Because they are memories. Good ones.”

He sets down two mugs on the coffee table, hot tea steaming from them, but they get ignored as he walks up to you and grabs the box. Digging into the tickets he grabs one and hands it over to you.

“Do you remember this?”

Taking the piece of paper you look at the title. It’s from the old cinema in town you used to go to almost every month. They always had some of the old gems playing and you loved having the experience of being in the movies, watching a film that can’t be seen elsewhere.

This particular ticket was for The Breakfast Club, one of your biggest favorites. You missed the few times they played it in the theater and you were bummed. So Harry got them to add one more date, on your birthday. It was the sweetest thing someone has ever done for you and you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t fills your chest with warmth.

It’s a happy memory you share with him.

“I remember it. Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat as you hand the ticket back, knowing you have it saved at home too.

“You’ve seen that movie so many times, you were mumbling the lines next to me,” he chuckles, as he places the box back.

“Why do you have all these?”

“Told you, they are good memories,” he shrugs, ignoring what you really meant by your question.

“You shouldn’t be holding onto them,” you shake your head, taking a few steps away from him to put some distance between the two of you.

“Why?”

“Because you left me,” you snap at him. “These memories weren’t good enough for you to keep you here. With me.”

Spite is dripping from your words, words you’ve been meaning to get off your chest, but you kept them buried deep inside you.

“Y/N, I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to be with you or because I wasn’t happy.”

“Oh, so you just woke up one day and decided you had better things to do?” you scoff.

“Jesus, would you stop belittling our relationship and my feelings for you?”

“Feelings?” you can’t stop yourself from laughing. “What feelings did you have that made you leave me, huh?”

Whenever you thought of having this conversation with Harry you imagined yourself staying calm and collected, not letting him show how much he hurt you, but you’re more like a deranged mess.

“I panicked, Y/N, okay? I was… I was young and for a moment I felt like I was running out of time. I was wrong, but by the time I realized, it was too late.”

“Trapped? You felt trapped in our relationship? Well, that’s just great to know.”

“I had no reason to feel like that, it was a momentary craziness. Have you not gone through that? Have you never questioned your decisions before?”

“Of course I did, but I didn’t move across the country or left behind the people I said I love.” It’s a hit below belt, but you can’t help it.

“I made mistakes, I’m human! But I’m here to make things right!”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m here to earn your forgiveness. I hurt you, caused you a lot of pain and I want to make up for that.”

“That’s very noble, but I’m not a partner in that.”

“I’m not asking you to take me back, I know I fucked up big time. I’m just trying to do the right thing and earn your forgiveness.”

“Stop saying that!” you growl.

“What?”

“That you want to earn my forgiveness!”

“But it’s the truth!”

“You wouldn’t need my forgiveness if you loved me enough to stay!”

“Would you stop refuting my feelings?!”

“Don’t lecture me about your feelings! I’m only seeing the facts, that you didn’t love me enough not to leave! So if you want to get me to believe you still love me and want me back, I can assure you, it’s not enough now! You left me when we had so much at stake, when I spent all my money on a business we were supposed to start together! I was all alone, I lost my lover, I lost my faith in a future we planned together! If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done that!”

“You think I don’t love you?” he raises his voice, clearly short on his patience as well.

“Oh, I know you don’t!” you scream at him.

For a few heartbeats he just stares at you and you have no idea where this is about to go. Then, without a word he storms back into his bedroom and you stand there, stunned with your chest heaving.

When he appears a few moments later he is carrying a big cartboard box. He throws it to the floor in front of you and opening he reveals a big collection of… everything that has anything to do with you.

“I kept every tiny thing that reminds me of you. Everything! All of our polaroids!” He grabs the dozens of photos the two of you took over the years and throws up into the air like confetti. “I have every gift you gave me, every clothes you got me, everything!”

He keeps throwing things out, laying them in front of your feet as you stare at him with your lips parted.

“These,” he continues, holding up a stack of papers, “are letters I wrote to you since I left. Over eighty letters, Y/N! Every time I wanted to run back to you begging for you to take me back, I remembered that you probably hate me, so I wrote you letters I never sent!”

He throws the letters into the air too and you watch them fly around in the room as Harry stands up.

“Wanna know why I still have these? Why I’m here? Why I came back? The only fucking reason I came back?”

Blinking you feel a tear rolling down your cheek.

“Why?” you whisper.

“Because I love you! I never fucking stopped loving you, Y/N!” he screams at you and this time you. “And if I have to spend the rest of my life paying for what I did to you, I will fucking do it, because you’re my everything and I would rather atone forever than live a moment knowing I didn’t try everything to make up for what I did!”

He’s breathing heavily and so are you. The intensity of the moment is swallowing you in whole and you feel like you could just collapse any moment. His confession has broken everything you’ve built up in you in the past years and now as you stare back at him, you go fully blank before…

You move before you could even think and Harry mirrors you the same moment, the two of you meet halfway and unite in hard, demanding kiss you’ve fantasized about so many times, beating yourself up about it.

You lose every ounce of self-control, you both do. Everything you do is so primal, just wanting to fulfill this burning need inside you for each other. You push against Harry, fingers grabbing onto his hair hard while his hands dig into your waist, he is making you walk backwards, stumbling and stepping on his letters and polaroids, but nothing matters.

It’s tug of war as you head to the bedroom without stopping the hungry, almost violent kissing and you tear your clothes off of each other as if they were poisonous. When he presses you against the wall at one point, pushing his erection against you, a loud cry bursts out of you, grabbing onto him even more desperately.

By the time he throws you onto the mattress you’re naked and he’s ridding himself of his last piece of clothing. You moan as you see his hard cock springing free, begging to be buried in you finally. He climbs on top of you and the weight of his body presses you into the mattress heavenly. You don’t even notice that you’ve started crying as you cling onto him as if your life depended on it.

He stops for a moment, brushing the tears off of your face.

“Hey,” he softly says, kissing the corner of your mouth and lifting himself up. “We don’t have to do this if you—“

“Please!” you gasp, pulling him back. “Please stay here,” you beg, linking your arms behind his head to keep him as close as possible. “Please stay here,” you repeat and you both know your words have a meaning beyond just wanting to keep him in your embrace in this moment.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours forever,” he assures before thrusting into you. “I’m yours forever.”

Harry seems to be asleep beside you when you finally decide to get out of bed and get yourself a glass of water. He stirs gently when the mattress moves underneath you, but doesn’t open his eyes. Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen and grab his shirt from the floor, pulling it on. You grab a glass and fill with tap water and stare out the window while sipping on it.

The storm has stopped, everything is covered in fresh, thick snow, right in time so you’ll have a white Christmas.

You repeat what happened tonight over and over again, trying to figure out how you truly feel about it. When you had Harry pressed up against you, you clearly wanted him in any and every way possible, but now that the lust as died down, momentarily, you’re finally using your brain to think.

You might have jumped at him too fast, it doesn’t mean that everything is smoothed out and there are no hard feelings. There are still questions and fears in you that you won’t be able to bottle up anymore.

“Everything alright?”

Harry’s voice startles you again and as you turn around you see him padding closer to you, wearing his sweatpants and a sleepy look on his face. He stops a few feet away from you, assessing your expression and he sees you the worry etched onto your face.

“Talk to me, Y/N,” he whispers, taking your face in his hands and you hold onto his wrists.

“We got a little carried away.”

“Do you regret it?” he asks and you can see panic rising in him.

“No,” you say without hesitation. “But… I can’t do this if you’re gonna leave again.”

Tears dwell in your eyes. You’re not angry anymore, but scared, that you’ll get hurt again, because you fear you wouldn’t survive it.

“I meant what I said, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you want me to leave. I’m never making the same mistake again, I paid for it too.” Leaning down he kisses you softly, painting his promise onto your lips. “I promised myself I would be home this Christmas. But it’s not the town. You’re my home.”

You breathe in his words, let the relief settle in your chest as you nod and rest your forehead against his. Minutes pass by and he just holds you, ensures you silently that you’re not about to make a mistake by starting over with him.

“You must have heard how popular the bakery got, huh?” you joke with a chuckle.

“Ah, absolutely,” he grins, kissing the tip of your nose.

“I’m not letting you get into the business though.”

“So I can’t be a kept man? Damn it!” he laughs and you giggle against his neck. “I’ll prove you that it’s not a mistake, okay? I’ll earn your trust back.”

“Okay,” you whisper with a nod.

“Come on, let’s get back to bed. We can talk more in the morning.”

You follow him back into the bedroom and you gladly settle in his embrace, cocooned in his arms, knowing that this Christmas you’ll be home too.

Harry’s arms are clinging onto you when you slowly wake in the morning. His hands have sneaked underneath your shirt, the warmth of his palms coating your naked skin underneath the layers.

He has always been a clingy sleeper, you learnt that early in your relationship. All those mornings you spent tangled up in each other, soft, lazy kisses, Harry’s hands all over you, because he could never get enough of you.

“I love you, my Y/N.”

“My sweet love, good morning.”

“So soft, so warm, all mine.”

He was always the sweetest in the morning. And he was the same the day he decided to leave. You felt his touch on your waist, stomach and chest, he hugged you tight, his body pressed up against yours in bed as the morning sunshine beamed through the window. It was like every other morning, only that he didn’t go to bed with you that day.

You stretch blindly, enjoying the feeling of Harry wrapped around you, but slowly, you feel like you’re tossed back in time to the day he left, reliving the possibly worst day of your life.

“Mm, morning,” Harry murmurs behind you, his lips pressing to your shoulder before he gently turns you in his arms and he kisses your pouty lips once. Twice. But before he could go for a third one, he realizes something is off. “Babe?”

“I’m… S-sorry, I just…” you sit up in bed, looking around, taking in your surroundings as sleep wears off of your eyes. You’re in Harry’s bedroom at his new place, yet you still feel like you’re in the past, stuck with the version of Harry that will leave you. Again.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just breathe for me.” He gently rubs your back as your breaths are rapidly heaving through your chest. “It’s alright, baby.”

“Are you gonna leave?”

The words roll down your tongue before you could even think twice and you want to take them back, afraid that they might hurt him, but they also root from your fears you’re still struggling with.

Harry stares back at you for a moment and you expect him to walk out on you, but it never happens. Instead, he cups your face in his hand and leaning closer he brushes his lips softly against yours.

“I’m not leaving, Y/N. Never. I know it’s hard to see anything other than the past, but I will work hard to change that.”

“It’s just… so many things remind me of what was before,” you whisper, almost embarrassed, but you just can’t help this feeling that keeps crawling up your spine, into your mind.

“I know. It’s okay, I don’t expect you to change so fast, I know I have to work for it and we’ll get there, to the point where I earn your trust back. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod shortly as he rests his forehead against yours.

“I love you. We’ll get through this.”

“I love you too,” you coo and crawl to his lap, letting him wrap in his embrace as he lies back in bed, pulling you with him.

“Do you remember how we used to spend Christmas?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “We got a Christmas tree together just before Christmas, made gingerbread house and exchanged gifts on the twenty-fourth, because we were too excited to wait till the morning,” you say with a tiny chuckle.

“What if we did everything different from now on? Make new traditions?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, we could decorate the tree earlier, look for a different recipe to bake and wait till the morning with the gifts.”

“We could attempt to wait… But we might fail.”

A laugh rumbles through Harry’s chest from where you lift your head to look at him.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”

“Don’t be. Just let me be there for you when it happens.”

“Okay,” you whisper and push yourself up so your lips could meet his and this time, it finally feels new. It’s your fresh start.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

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plumbob-pudding · 3 months

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On a late Friday evening, a few hours before Abe was due to return from the city, the mailbox clanged with the sound of letters. Willa hurried to sort through the mail, eager to receive news from home but when she spotted a small tear-stained envelope from Felix, her excitement evaporated.

"Dear sister," it read, "Papa is sick and the doctor doesn't think he has much left. We'd all like to see you and pay our final respects together. Please come as soon as you can."

Tears filled her eyes as she took in the words. She hurried upstairs to pack a small suitcase, wanting to make it to the station in time for the last train. As she folded in the dress she'd worn to Mama's funeral, heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden floor boards. Abe was back.

"Papa's sick," she explained to him, "I must get going."

Abe looked at her with weak pity, wearing that face he always wore when he was about to say no to something Willa really wanted, but surely he couldn't say no to this? Willa thought.

"It says here that he's been sick for a week now" Abe read out Felix's letter, "sick with that sickness your mother had most likely."

Willa nodded, conscious of the time being wasted. If Papa was as sick as Mama had been, she couldn't afford to waste any second.

"My sweet," Abe began and Willa felt all her hope leave her. Abe kept talking, saying she was the most important thing in her life and she ought not to selfishly risk her life by going into the city, but Willa had stopped listening. She knew she would have to disappoint her family yet again so that she could keep Abe by her side.

#sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 legacy #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 simblr #the mosleys #gen 3 #tw: gaslighting #tw: domestic abuse

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years

Text

Fireleaf (Part Three)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Part One ⤲ Part Two

Hi! I wanted to get this out sooner but I have a stinking cold and kept falling asleep whilst writing lol. Anyway - enjoy!

@greeneyedivy has been such a massive help with this story so far. Those braincells deserve all the love 😉💋

Warnings: None for this part.

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“Beron’s announcing the engagement tonight – at the feast.”

Willow glanced up from the belongings she’d spread out over her bed. You’d seen to it yourself that she and her husband got the suite closest to yours. If your sisters were going to be hovering around for the next two weeks, you wanted your favourite one as close to you as possible.

Willow’s blue eyes studied you, her night-black hair rippling like silk as she tilted her head. “And how do you feel about that?”

Slowly, you shook your head from where you stood at the window overlooking the garden. It had been a task, in itself, to break away from the circles of acquaintances gushing over each other, to get some time alone with your youngest sister. She’d spotted you trying to rub the panic out of your chest and had made an excuse to Dion about needing to show you something in her suite.

“I feel…” Your eyes remained pinned on the lawn, bouncing over the people who were chatting and laughing and drinking. All far too wealthy for their own good. All as shallow as one another. “I feel trapped.”

There was a rustle of clothing, and then Willow was by your side, placing a hand on your arm. “I know this cannot be easy for you, Y/N.” She studied you. “But is Dion really so bad?”

You frowned, glancing down at your clasped hands. It wasn’t about whether Dion was the nicest person in the world or as much of a brute as his father. It was about you, your choices – your life. Your freedoms.

They didn’t seem to exist anymore.

“He doesn’t seem bad.” You admitted with a small shake of your head. “From what I can tell so far, he’s…polite. Kind. But I could still be proved wrong. And I didn’t want any of this. I’m not sure I ever even intended to marry at all.”

Your sister continued her appraisal of you. What her eyes were searching for, you didn’t know. But even though she was younger than you by five years…in that moment, she seemed older than you. Wiser. As if, in your situation, she would have just accepted it without complaint.

“I’m the only one who didn’t get to choose.” You quickly said, hoping to nip her thoughts right in the bud. “All four of you did – you, Molly, Clem…even Sara, who can’t choose which foods she does and doesn’t like day-to-day. Father may have made suggestions, but…your husbands were your choices. Not his. And Dion is Mama and Papa’s choice – not mine.”

Willow’s face seemed to change at that moment. A change so quick, it took you a few seconds to discern that her bright, pretty face had been shadowed by something…bleaker. The ever-present light in her eyes winking out slightly.

“Yes. Well.” She murmured, stepping away from your side. She turned her back to you, returning to the items she’d spread atop the bed. “Choosing is not all it’s cracked up to be, I assure you.”

You stared at her – the back of her head. “What does that mean?”

No answer. You may as well have not been there as she separated her clothes from her husband’s, folding them into neat piles to store in the armoire. But her shoulders were tense – stiff.

“Willa.” You used her nickname, striding around to the other side of the bed to face her. “What do you—are you and Isaac not happy?”

“Drop it, Y/N.”

You blinked at your youngest sister; at her sharp, cold tone. The two of you…you didn’t have secrets. At least, you didn’t think you did. Her husband’s estate may have been a bit of a trek away from yours, but you and Willow made the effort to meet regularly. To catch up. And she knew everything about you. Everything.

Yet you could see – right now, she had a wall up. She was blocking you out in a way she never had, and it made your stomach twist with worry.

“Willow.” You murmured gently, perching on the bed. “You can tell me—if things aren’t alright with Isaac. It stays between us.”

Her hands seemed to falter on the shirt she was folding. You watched closely as she swallowed, her eyes tracking the items before her, and then flickering up to meet yours.

“We just…” She shook her head. “We had an argument, that’s all. A couple of weeks ago.”

“Okay, well…all couples argue–”

“He hit me.”

You looked up so quickly, your neck clicked. “Excuse me.”

“He lost his temper…and he hit me. He’s never done it before–”

You were already standing up from the bed. Already feeling a fire igniting inside of you, spreading through you. You were going to hunt Isaac down and deal with him yourself—

“Y/N, no.” Willow hurried into your path, blocking the door. “You’ll make it worse. It was one time, and he said he’s sorry, and he won’t do it again. Things are just still a little…raw. But they’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

“If he thinks he can lay a finger on you and get away with it–”

“He’s not.” Her touch on your arm was gentle. “Believe me, he’s not getting away with it. I’m not making things easy for him. He knows he did wrong, Y/N. Please, just…just keep it between us. Don’t tell him I told you. Please.”

You studied her face – didn’t know whether it was fear or desperation or both that shone in those wild, blue eyes. But whatever it was…it had you relaxing your shoulders, slinking back just enough to be rational.

It would make things worse if you stormed downstairs and confronted Isaac in front of everyone. Not just for Willow, but – but for you, too. You were sure Beron Vanserra wouldn’t appreciate such an outburst. And in front of his cohorts, no less.

“...Okay.” You relented – didn’t like it one bit, as you pressed your lips into a thin line. “ But, Willa…if he tries anything again…”

“He won’t. He won’t. But I would tell you straight away.”

You realised that was going to have to be good enough – for now. But while everyone was keeping their eyes on you throughout this gods-damn festival…you had a new person to mark. You were going to be watching Isaac like a hawk.

Scary, though – that Isaac had only dared to do such a thing once he had a wedding band firmly on your sister’s finger.

It didn’t exactly sell marriage to you any further.

⤲

It was by mid-afternoon that the more interesting celebrations had begun. The idle mingling and chatting around the estate had made way for the attractions that the High Lord had arranged — stalls of games and baked goods and the lilting caress of background music reaching out from across the green.

The atmosphere became easier with the arrival of the lesser fae, the working families. The people — farmers and land workers and pure grafters — that everyone had to thank for there even being a fruitful harvest at all. They turned up in droves, families of giggling, excitable children and their parents, aunts, uncles and older siblings who just seemed to be relieved to be doing something for fun.

You certainly noticed, however, the clear divide. That Beron Vanserra may have invited the lower dwellers of his court – the true backbone that kept it thriving – as a courtesy, a move to make himself look good and honourable – but with no real intention to acknowledge them. The cleave between your world and theirs was evident in the dull, tattered clothing that stood out amongst the gowns and tailored suits of the elite. And the way the noble members of the court watched them closely, judgingly, as though they were a smear on the landscape. As though they didn’t deserve an invite to the Harvest Festival that they had toiled to make happen.

It had you balling your fists at Dion’s side as you floated around, playing the part of the quiet, blushing female perfectly. It was a tad jarring every time he introduced you to someone as his fiancee, or placed a warm steady hand on your back. And not only did you have your family to contend with – their stares as they pretended to be uninterested in you – but Barric, also. It was clear he was acting as escort to your courtship.

He always remained a few steps behind, enthusiastically greeting people as he passed them and pretending to observe the various stalls that were set up. But he walked where you walked, looked at what you looked at — and stopped at the exact same moment that Dion pulled you to a standstill in front of a table where a High Fae female was selling homemade chocolates.

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” Dion asked you, a glint in his eye.

“I do.” You nodded, eyeing the sweets in front of you that admittedly smelled incredible. “Do you?”

“Oh, a terrible one. Chocolate, sweets, cakes — I love it all.” He turned to the vendor, his smile winning and charming as he said, “A bag of the orange chocolates for my lady here, please.”

His lady. It flowed so easy from his lips, like he’d been speaking those very words for years. You waited patiently as the expert chocolatier bagged the sweets up and accepted Dion’s coin in exchange. He fell into conversation with her, chatting and asking questions he seemed genuinely interested in the answers to. And you…you scanned the droves of people, looking for any glimpse of Willow’s husband. You may have promised not to say anything, not to act on your anger, but that didn’t mean you weren’t keeping a close eye on him, making sure he didn’t step a toe out of line—

But it wasn’t Isaac your eyes landed on. You should have been used, already, to the many flashes of red, flowing Vanserra hair around the place. The brothers were all dotted around somewhere, mingling with friends, partaking in the game stalls — but it was the youngest one your eyes found. Lucien.

It surprised you, somewhat, that he was even present. You were unable to stop yourself watching as he stopped at the small, rickety lemonade stand that a group of children were tending. Their clothes were clearly the grubby hand-me-downs that most of the lesser faeries seemed to be wearing, and it didn’t look like any noble members of the court had stopped by to humour them and buy what they were selling. Lucien Vanserra was likely the first.

He seemed to say something teasing, and all of the children broke out into a fit of laughter. And Lucien was grinning…so at odds with the contempt he’d worn when he’d looked upon you on the day of your arrival. He made a show of sniffing the pitcher of lemonade, of commenting on the aromas — and the children were loving every second of it. Hanging off every word. And you may not have been close enough to hear his words over the many voices around you, but you saw the way he ordered four cups of lemonade for himself — handed over one coin for each of the four children that were gazing up at him in pure amazement.

You were so entranced by the scene that you didn’t realise Dion was speaking to you until he was stood before you once more, a chocolate pinched between his fingers.

“Open up.” He smiled broadly. “Taste this.”

You blinked, your cheeks heating just slightly. Your eyes shot to the small gathering of your sisters and your parents, where they stood, sipping from delicate teacups and acting like they weren’t analysing your every move. A tad uncomfortable, you parted your lips and stilled as Dion pushed the small, round chocolate between them.

“Good, right?” He smirked as you took a bite. “They’re my favourite.”

They were good — there was no doubt about that, as you chewed and swallowed. The orange tangy and the chocolate creamy, it was an effort to stop your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“I’ll keep that in mind for Solstice.” You said — and almost blinked at yourself. You’d only been around him for forty-eight hours, and you were already talking about buying him Solstice gifts.

He held your gaze as he lifted his finger to his lips and sucked the remnants of chocolate off.

Clearing your throat, you turned quickly. “Those children are selling lemonade. How about we buy a cup?”

He smiled widely, offering you his arm. “Lead the way, my lady.”

⤲

You’d been primed for this.

It was while you’d been pulled this way and that, moulded into the prettiest, perfect vision for the evening feast, that Barric had joined you in your suite. He’d perched himself on the chaise across the room and detailed every aspect of what you were to expect that evening. Where you would sit, how you were expected to act, even what was appropriate for you to eat.

But most of all — most of all, you were to remember to smile, to look enthralled, while the High Lord officially announced to his court that you were to wed his second-eldest son.

You thought you might vomit before you even made it to the great hall. Because no amount of priming would be enough. You realised that when you approached Dion at the bottom of the grand staircase, your long skirts – and Barric – trailing behind you.

Dion’s eyes flicked over you, alighting with…something…as he took in the dark green gown. He swallowed, adjusting his collar. “...Wow…”

You stepped down from the last stair, your cheeks heating self-consciously. “Does it look ridiculous?”

Your fiance shook his head. “Quite the opposite. You…are a vision.”

From behind you, still hovering on the stairs, Barric cleared his throat. “Shall we go in?”

Taking Dion’s arm, the three of you did just that. Your heart thudded violently in your chest as you took in the sight of the room, your eyes searching for where your family were sitting; just beside the top table, where the High Lord and his family lounged.

“You’ll be sitting beside me.” Dion said into your ear. Barric had already informed you of the arrangement earlier, but you felt a second sting of disappointment at not spending the feast beside Willow.

The giant room was full with chatter and the aromas of so many different foods, it was overwhelming. But as you walked past tables, smiling politely at the people Dion greeted, sparing a wave for your own family, two things struck you.

That the spread of food was…exorbitant. A feast, indeed, but so incredibly over-the-top, the thought of its cost made you cringe; it seemed especially tonedeaf with the amount of people who’d been wandering the estate earlier in clothes and shoes that were more or less falling apart. And that was the second thing you noticed – all the Lesser Faeries that had joined in the fun that afternoon…the children enjoying themselves and the grafters letting their hair down after a summer of hard work…not a single one of them was present.

Your eyes bounced over every single table. Every person sat at those tables. Every last one was of a noble or aristocratic background. Every one of them wore garments and accessories that could have paid the rent on the lesser faeries’ land for an entire year.

“Where are they?” You turned to Dion, frowning. “The families that were here earlier.” You didn’t want to use the words Lesser Fae out loud; something about it left a sour taste in your mouth.

Dion seemed totally oblivious to your shock as he replied. “The common folk? They’re not invited to the feasts or dances – just the daytime events.”

You gawked at him, a slither of cold outrage snaking through you that he didn’t seem to notice. You were just about to point out that the very food everyone in that room would be eating was there because of the harvesters, the workers who broke their backs and put their sweat and blood into the community – but a hand landed on your arm, and you looked up to see Barric shoot you a warning glance.

“Come,” He said. “You two must be seated before the announcement.”

Fuck the announcement, was what you wanted to reply. How were you supposed to sit and watch these people bask arrogantly in their wealth when the people toiling over their lands were probably wolfing down a dinner of stale bread and cheese? There was plenty of room in here for more tables, plenty of spaces in which those people could sit.

You had to ball your fists, to bite your tongue – you looked over to your family, found your parents staring expectantly at you. And it was only imagining them in tattered clothing, eating gone-off food, that gave you the will to tamp down on your anger. For now.

You were led to the top table and seated in a high-backed chair between Dion and Jareth. Jareth sent you a wolfish grin, taking a long sip from his wine chalice.

“Evening, future sister-in-law.” He murmured, his eyes wandering over your body. “Don’t you make the pretty plaything?”

You scowled at him, facing forward. Jareth seemed to have an entire bank of leering, inappropriate comments for any female in the general vicinity. Only earlier that day, he’d stood and shamelessly flirted with you and all of your sisters – in front of their husbands, too

You were saved from having to make a remark by Beron standing from his throne at the centre of the table. He looked over the great hall, and then squared his shoulders. Tapped a fork against his glass loud enough that the cacophony of voices died out in seconds.

“Good evening to you all.” His voice was clear– confident – as he stared forward and made direct eye contact with people. “Welcome to our first feast of this year’s harvest. An old tradition of our people that I hope we can start anew. And what a bounty of good food we have before us.”

Murmurs of agreement broke through the room. You clenched your hands beneath the table.

“Before we indulge ourselves,” Beron said. “I have a wonderful announcement I’d like to share with you – my court. My people.”

That said it all – that he didn’t consider the landworkers of his court, their families, to be his people.

“I’m delighted to share with you the joining of two families.” He continued. “You all know my second-eldest son, Dion.” A glance at Dion, a flash of expectancy in his eyes. “Dion is engaged to be wed — to the fine lady at his side. Y/N, we look forward to welcoming you into our family.”

All eyes were on you, now. You felt your cheeks redden, your skin growing tight and hot under the intense scrutiny. You couldn’t help wondering what those many people might be thinking – whether there were jealous females thinking they would have been better suited for the role. Irritated fathers who were pissed that you’d wormed your way in with the Vanserras before their child could. Stuck-up mothers who didn’t deem you anywhere near good enough.

But you smiled – like you’d been told to. Inclined your head at Beron – like you’d been told to. Allowed Dion to grab your hand and place a kiss on your cheek – like you’d been told to.

And the crowds of people cheered, just like they were expected to.

“We hope you’ll join us in celebrating the happy news.” Beron raised his glass, and everyone in the room followed. “To Dion and Lady Y/N. Let the feast begin.”

⤲

It felt wrong – to eat the food. Every bite was like ash in your mouth. The only relief was the spiced wine you washed it all down with.

After an hour or so of feasting, the rigid formality seemed to dissipate somewhat. People rose from their seats, venturing to other tables to speak to friends, or even to approach the top table and engage the High Lord in conversation — conversations that had you clenching your fists harder and harder beneath the table, as you listened to Beron’s subjects gush about how generous he had been to invite the common folk to the daytime celebrations. Some even complained that said folk should have made a better effort with their clothing.

It was that comment which had you hitting your limit. You pushed your chair back, muttering an excuse about going to the bathroom, and breezed away without a glance back. Luckily, Dion — and all the other Vanserras — were far too taken by conversation to notice.

You didn’t think you could get away with leaving the room itself — not with Barric always keeping a watchful eye on you. But you floated around its edges, the cold, draughty parts where Autumn Court banners were hung and discreet alcoves dipped off into other parts of the manor.

It was in one of those alcoves that you spotted him — Lucien.

He leaned against a wall, wine glass in hand, his eyes dancing over the tables and his feet making no move to go any closer. You hadn’t even checked to see if he’d been at the top table with the rest of his family.

But something told you they wouldn’t have noticed — or cared — if he wasn’t.

Dressed in a tailored outfit a similar shade to his russet eyes, his long hair unbound, he looked like a painting in that alcove. The kinds your mother had hung up all around your family’s estate. He cut a solitary figure like he always seemed to, but appeared to be otherwise relaxed. Appeared to be fine with just standing and…spectating. Just himself and his thoughts.

As though he could sense your intense stare, his eyes flicked to yours. Those dark red eyebrows rose when he found you, indeed, staring.

You couldn’t explain it — the way your feet began to move towards him. He’d been nothing but unpleasant to you in the short conversation you’d had with him. But something about his solitary nature spoke to you. Something that made you want to speak back.

You stopped at a drinks table, grabbing yourself another glass of wine, before subtly sidling over to where Lucien stood. You tried to relax your stance, to mimic his casualness, his ease, as you pressed your back against the wall, a few steps away from him. He watched the entire thing.

You met his eyes once more, taking a sip of your wine and nodding in polite greeting.

“Is there a reason you’ve been walking around with a face like a smacked ass?” He said.

That was his greeting.

You blinked at him, your body somehow coiling tighter than it already was.

So — that rude conversation on your first night here hadn’t merely been the product of Lucien in a bad mood, then.

His head fell into a tilt as he studied you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile once since the feast started. Is our food not to your liking?”

It would have been so easy to scowl and stalk away — to not get into this with him. And would have been wise to, also. He may have had a terse relationship with his family at best, but you didn’t doubt he’d run straight to his father with any complaints of yours — if only out of spite, fanned by this bizarre dislike he seemed to have for you.

But clearly you weren’t feeling very wise. Not as your mouth began speaking before you could tell it not to.

“It just leaves a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.” You said through gritted teeth. “That we’re all here stuffing our faces, over-indulging, and yet nobody actually responsible for the harvest has been invited.”

Lucien cocked a single eyebrow. He angled his body towards you. “This sounds interesting. Please, do impart your musings upon me, Lady. I’m fascinated to know what goes on behind the pretty face.”

Pure, pure sarcasm. He was mocking you, being rude again — and you knew that. And never had you let anyone speak to you in such a way before; never had you stood for someone so freely ridiculing you.

But did you walk away, decide not to humour him?

No. You didn’t.

“Look around the room.” You simply said, holding his gaze. Your clenched jaw was the only symbol of ire you threw at him. “Look at every damn table. Every single person here is a noble, an aristocrat. High Fae. And yet the High Lord didn’t deign to invite the hard workers who slaved over the land all year so that he could even host this feast. None of the hard-working families that everyone should be celebrating and thanking. No, they’ll be stuck at home eating stale bread and cheese and receiving no appreciation for the back-breaking graft they put in.”

The words had just…tumbled from your mouth. Pent-up from an hour of watching people gush over the High Lord. You knew you should have stopped yourself, knew you should have kept your mouth shut and later ranted to Willow, or even your damn reflection in the mirror.

Not to the youngest Autumn Court son who had an inexplicable problem with you. Who was probably delighting in the fact that you had just slipped up.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together, his eyes narrowing. His head fell into a tilt.

“Interesting.” He said, his tone quiet. Cutting. “But have you completely forgotten your own privilege, Lady?”

You balked at him. Hadn’t expected that response. “What?”

“You are a noble. You are High Fae.” His eyes travelled over you, disgust curling his lip. “And you are here, looking just as prim and proper and stuck-up as the rest of them. When was the last time you did a hard day’s work in your life? It seems to me like the pot is calling the kettle black.”

Before you could even begin to formulate a response, he was pushing off the wall. Draining his glass and striding away without so much as a glance back at you.

All you could do was stand and gawk in his wake — stunned and stung by his words. You wanted to run after him, to chew him out and tell him how wrong he was. How much hard work you had put in over the years. That he’d got you completely and utterly wrong.

But as you drained your own glass and turned in the direction he disappeared in, not even a flash of red hair remained.

⤲

You should have left it alone.

Lucien Vanserra had made his thoughts of you abundantly clear — his dislike for you. And with his mind clearly made up, there was probably no use beating a dead horse and trying to defend yourself.

But the anger that had already been there, inside you, had snowballed. You remained at the edges of the room, helping yourself to the wine and not bothering to pretend you were happy to be there. Fortunately, nobody seemed to take much notice of you, either.

You stared with narrowed eyes across the room, watching Dion, who was now engaging in enthusiastic conversation with Willow. They seemed to be getting along perfectly — you’d suspected they would — and you were thankful that she was distracting him enough, making him laugh hard enough, that he didn’t seem to be aware of your absence.

Lucien had no right to talk to you like that. He didn’t know you, had no knowledge of the kind of work you had done. He’d formed an unfair opinion of you and run with it, and in a situation that was already lonely as it was, you didn’t need the added hostility. Did it mean you were weak, to be barely three days in and hitting your breaking point? Maybe. You didn’t care. You needed someone to sound off to, to give a piece of your mind.

That was how you found yourself slipping out of the great hall before anyone could stop you. You were going to hunt Lucien down, to confront him and demand to know what his damn problem was.

Your thoughts were a tad fogged by the wine you’d consumed. There was no real method or direction to the route you travelled, probably going round in circles. You strode through the long, winding halls with purpose, passing servants who took one look at your thunderous expression and averted their gazes.

Outside. Lucien Vanserra always seemed to be outside, somewhere, loitering around trees and in the shadows. You pushed through the huge glass doors that opened out onto the veranda — the same one you’d dined on only that morning.

You’d made it only halfway across the dewy grass before you heard him — heard them. There was a trilling, feminine laugh that echoed through the night, stark and loud in your ears. Movement in your periphery. You turned in its direction.

Just in time to see Lucien press a pretty blonde against a tree. To see his hands roaming her body as he kissed her feverishly, and they laughed sensuously into each other’s mouths.

You went still. Just…just stared for a moment. Stared at the scene before you and tried to understand the bile that rose in the back of your throat. The twisting in your gut.

Only when Lucien and his lover disappeared out of sight did it strike you — the hollowness you felt. The jealousy. Nothing…nothing to do with who it was, but…the intimacy. The freedom of that intimacy.

Because it hit you like a ton of bricks that Lucien Vanserra may have been a solitary male who liked to skulk off and brood alone…he may have been the black sheep of his family…but he clearly still had freedoms that you lacked. Such a fact stung like a slap.

You couldn’t just sneak off for a clandestine fumble in the woods with a casual fling. Couldn’t engage in a spell of brief, meaningless passion, just for the hell of it. Not anymore.

It left you feeling so, so terribly lonely. You didn’t really know why.

But that fire of anger inside you winked out. Left you empty. You didn’t feel like confronting Lucien Vanserra anymore, didn’t feel like chewing him out.

You just wanted to be alone.

⤲

“I like him. Dion, I mean.”

It was nearing the end of the first week of the festival when Willow slipped her arm through yours. The moon was beating down on the Vanserra Estate, and a sizable group of people had come along to The Offering – an Autumn Court tradition that had been built from superstition centuries ago. It was said that at moonrise, anyone who left offerings for the wild creatures of the Autumn Court were promised safety and good harvest the following year. Groups of courtiers wandered through the woods, carrying armfuls of jam jars and fruit baskets and crisp loaves of bread, all to be left for creatures that may not even exist.

“Dion’s nice.” You acknowledge with a small nod. You were careful not to speak too openly with your sisters lingering close behind. And the Vanserra brothers striding ahead.

It was true – as the week had progressed, you’d found yourself enjoying Dion’s company. He was easy to talk to, a male of flowing conversation and good humour. You’d taken to sharing nightly walks around the gardens, and you were perfectly happy to listen while he regaled you with stories and shared knowledge of subjects you knew nothing about. And additionally, he seemed to have truly taken to your youngest – favourite – sister. He and Willow already had a budding relationship built on teasing each other, on affectionate bickering. It wasn’t unusual to walk into a room and find the pair of them laughing – a fact that angered Isaac, no doubt. You’d been keeping a close eye on him all week.

And you’d thankfully not run into Lucien Vanserra’s path. Which was good. Which was fine. You weren’t going to bother with pleasantries when he clearly had no intentions of doing so.

“Do you have any idea of when the wedding might be?” Willow asked you, gently nudging you with her elbow. Her offering of a huge jar of honey was tucked under her other arm.

“No,” You shook your head. “It’s to be discussed after the festival. That’s when the preparations will begin.”

Her gaze flicked to you. “And are you…you know…attracted to him?”

“He’s a handsome male.”

“You know what I’m asking, Y/N. Do you feel…alright…where the wedding night itself is concerned?”

You spared her the slightest glance in your periphery. She was bound to have brought this up at some point…this subject that was a giant elephant in the room. Sitting on a secret that you had no clue what you were going to do about. Try as you might to bury it, it always lingered at the back of your mind – waiting to come alive and smack you in the face.

But you squared your shoulders. Played the fool, as you said, “I feel fine about it.”

Before you could think of a subject change, Willow was suddenly veering you both to the left, tugging you around a giant tree. She checked that you were truly out of sight before she turned back to you, her face pinched. There was something…comical, in the way she tried to look serious while holding a giant jar of honey.

“Have you even thought about the situation at all?” She hissed. “Things may be sweet and innocent right now, but come your wedding night, Dion is going to know. He’s going to figure out the state of your virginity – or lack thereof – and he might not like it. I hear the Vanserras have a thing about taking pure brides.”

You swallowed, your stomach bottoming out. It was far easier to ignore when it wasn’t being pointed out to you. And you didn’t know what you were going to do about that – whether you planned to tell Dion or not.

You couldn’t bring yourself to regret that one choice you’d made for yourself all those years ago – to have Linden, one of the few people you trusted more than anything – to be the first person you had sex with. He had been kind and careful, and you’d felt good afterwards – glad you’d chosen the person yourself, and never thinking it would be a decision that would come back to bite you on the ass.

And yet here you were. Engaged to a male who likely expected you to be…intact, as you’d heard other males say, on your wedding night. A male who expected to be your first and only lover.

“I highly doubt Dion is a virgin,” You shrugged defensively. “Why should I have to defend my choice to sleep with Linden? I wanted–”

“Holy Gods.”

The words, choked with incredulity and a lick of laughter, had not come from Willow.

You looked up, your entire body – entire existence – going cold as you observed Molly gaping at you from a few strides away, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised, her back ramrod straight.

“Damn it.” Willow mumbled under her breath. “Molly–”

“You actually gave yourself to that brute?” Molly folded her arms, her eyes studying you. “Do you have no respect for yourself at all?”

Your jaw clenched. “It’s none of your business. You shouldn’t be listening in on conversations.”

Your eldest sister placed a mocking hand over her chest. “I was concerned about my sisters wandering off into the woods alone.”

You took a single step towards her, to say, to do…what, you didn’t know. But Willow was grabbing hold of your arm. Glaring at Molly with an intensity that would have even the most hard-faced people backing down.

“You better keep your gods-damn mouth shut about this, Molly.” She said through gritted teeth. “I mean it – not a word.”

Molly smirked. Oh, she was enjoying this. To have leverage against someone was like having the Winter Solstice come early. Her eyes glistened with challenge.

“Keeping my mouth shut won’t change the fact that Y/N allowed herself to be defiled by that scum with a sword.” She sniped. “How, exactly, do you plan to explain yourself to your betrothed?”

“None of your fucking business.” You snapped.

“Tetchy,” That wolfish smirk widened. “You have no plan at all, do you?”

“I–”

“Swear you won’t say anything.” Willow cut in, folding her arms.

“Are you above begging?”

“Swear,” Your youngest sister repeated, her jaw ticking as she stepped forward, “you won’t say anything.”

“Mother Above, the two of you are so dramatic.” Molly made a show of glancing at her nails. Of sighing deeply. Of placing a hand on the swell of her belly. And then she smirked again. “I swear I won’t tell anyone – if only because I can’t wait to see how this pans out.”

She offered no chance for you to respond before she was turning and flouncing away, a trill of satisfied laughter in her wake. Your shoulders slumped, but you felt no relief – you didn’t trust Molly or her word for one second.

“Bitch.” Willow murmured beside you, scooping up the jar of honey. “Don’t worry about her. She’s all talk. Let’s make these offerings before the Autumn Court creatures materialise and decide to eat us instead.”

You forced a smile. Allowed yourself to be tugged back through the trees, onto the path that groups were still ambling along, only spaced-out faelights and moonlight illuminating the way.

Ahead of you, Molly had returned to strolling at her husband’s side.

She glanced back once. And grinned.

⤲

The end of that first week was a relief. Albeit a short-lived one.

You wanted to wind the week up by doing nothing. By holing yourself up in your room and reading, or sleeping, or—anything. Anything that didn’t involve plastering a smile on your face and talking to people.

And yet here you were, on a dragging Sunday night, trying to work out how you were going to survive the last week of festivities — all while the High Lord’s personal bard played to a tittering audience, and your sisters and Dion’s brothers chatted around the table you all occupied.

You almost felt bad for the bard. Nobody appeared to be listening. Every song he had played had been drowned out by the numerous conversations happening at once.

You felt…uneasy, with Molly sitting opposite you. She may not have spoken a word of your secret thus far, but the glances she kept shooting you were in no way subtle. The exhausting week had begun to weigh on you, and you bristled every time your sister opened her mouth. Beside you, Dion seemed to notice your resigned demeanour.

His hand landed on your leg, and he leaned down to your ear. “Are you alright?”

Glancing up at him, you nodded. “I’m fine – just tired.”

“We don’t have to stay for this — I can take you back to your suite.”

Across the table, a resounding tsk came from your eldest sister. Everyone looked to her in question, but her gaze was firmly on you. On Dion, and the clear direction his hand was leaning in beneath the table.

“Now, now, enough of that.” Molly said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I’m sure the two of you would prefer to keep things clean and pure until the wedding night.”

Your jaw ticked as Dion shifted beside you. “That isn’t what I meant.” He said.

“No need to sweat.” Molly smiled at him — and then glanced at you. Directly at you, her eyes burning into yours. “We all feel temptation beckoning us sometimes, right?”

“Molly.” Willow’s voice was low, warning, from the chair at your other side. “You’re being inappropriate.”

The tension around the table could be cut with a knife. But Molly seemed to be enjoying it, as she sat back in her chair and continued to simply smirk at you. So many retorts teased the tip of your tongue, begging you to rip into her, to give in and make that scene she was so clearly angling for—

But you were saved right at the last minute by one song ending, and another beginning. The bard’s swift musical transition seemed to sweep away the tautness that stretched around your table, and as if the last couple of minutes hadn’t occurred, conversation started anew — instigated by Eris, who was happy to sit and bend everyone’s ears with heroic stories about himself.

You were just thankful that the heat was taken off of you.

Even more so that only Willow and Dion seemed to be aware when you pushed out from the table, rising to your feet. Everyone else was too entranced by Eris waxing poetic about a hunting trip he’d been on.

“Can I escort you somewhere?” Dion peered up at you. There was a strange lick of apology in his eyes, his tone, as if he blamed himself for the turn the conversation had taken moments ago.

“No,” You answered quickly — too quickly — and cleared your throat. “No, thank you. I’m ready to turn in.”

He nodded in what seemed to be understanding — and perhaps a flash of disappointment. He reached for your hand, pressing a chaste kiss to your fingers. “Goodnight, then.”

The tinge of guilt you felt was almost enough to make you sit back down and tolerate Molly for the rest of the evening, just to appease Dion. Because all week, he’d been nothing but kind to you. Nothing but polite and accommodating and understanding that this situation you both found yourselves in was a bizarre one, a tricky one, and you were trying to puzzle it out yourselves with the watchful gazes of others constantly on you.

But if you stayed a second longer, you thought you might scream. You’d barely had a moment to yourself all week, and if you didn’t take that time now, you weren’t sure what you might do. What you might say.

You kissed Willow on the cheek and bade everyone goodnight, trying to ignore Molly’s eyes on you as you hastily left the room.

But you didn’t go straight to bed, like you were no doubt expected to. The one bit of solace you’d found in this place, in this situation, was the beautiful sprawl of land around you, as far as the eye could see. You wanted to feel the chilled autumn air on your skin, to breathe in its crisp scent whilst you walked the gardens — alone — and allowed your thoughts to roam freely.

You waited, just long enough to make sure nobody followed, and then made your way outside. You weren’t dressed at all appropriately for the bite in the air, but there was something pleasant about the cold temperature washing over you. Like you were breaking the surface of water and taking great, greedy gulps of air.

You allowed your feet to carry you aimlessly, putting distance between you and the manor, the sounds of music and chatter floating out from inside. The further you strayed from the huge house, the more you relied on the accompanying full moonlight to illuminate your path and guide you onwards. Shafts of its silvery light broke through the leaves as you began to wend through the trees, the smell of damp earth and bark somewhat of a soothing tonic to you.

You didn’t realise just how far you’d wandered until you could no longer make out the lights from the manor — or the sounds. The silence of the forest at this time was deafening, the only sounds made by your shoes kicking through leaves and stepping on twigs.

That was — until you heard it.

You couldn’t immediately make out what it was — what you were hearing. A sound akin to heavy breathing, but not that of a person; almost like a creature’s snout sniffing the air.

You stopped dead on the path you were wandering, frozen on the spot. Only around twenty feet away from you, you could just discern the outline of objects sitting at the bases of the towering trees. Small jars, bigger ones, cloaks and trinkets—

The Offerings everybody had left for the elusive Autumn Court creatures. You had wandered way, way too far.

You didn’t know what to do as the strange sound picked up, grew closer. You didn’t fancy your chances at running over the uneven forest floor in your gown — and certainly not if it would just invite whatever animal was lurking to follow you.

You stood ramrod straight, waiting for it to emerge. Perhaps a wolf, or a wildcat, or—

The…creature…that inched out from around a tree was a thing of pure, undiluted nightmare.

Its head was certainly that of an animal’s — a fox — with glowing yellow eyes and a maw that pulled back into somewhat of a sneer. But its body…slender and tall…it had to be towering at eight feet at least, and walking on two legs—

You were going to vomit. Never had you had such a strong, visceral reaction to a sight before you. The way you shook had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

You couldn’t move — not as you watched the giant beast stalk towards the offerings, its nose still loudly sniffing the air, sniffing for—

Something snaked around your face — a warm hand that covered your mouth, your nose. You had no time to react as you were yanked back against a firm, solid body, and slowly, slowly dragged backwards.

“Don’t,” A voice, lethally quiet, whispered into your ear. Lucien. “Make a sound.”

You obeyed. As much as you wanted to scream your head off in pure terror. Lucien’s other hand was around your waist, and you gripped onto his arm, allowing yourself to slowly, slowly, be dragged backwards, your eyes never once leaving the creature.

You thought he must know these woods like the back of his hand, with how expertly he stepped around trees and over dips, acting like you weighed nothing more than air as he pulled you along with him.

Only when you were far enough away that the creature was just a moving blot of darkness did Lucien stop. He pressed his back against the tree. And continued to hold onto you.

His hand splayed flat against your stomach as he gradually pulled the other from your face. “Don’t scream.” He told you, his voice little more than a sigh. “And don’t move.”

You couldn’t move, aside of the uncontrollable tremors wracking through your body. You were icy cold all over, and you pressed back against Lucien, savouring his warmth, his firm presence. His chest heaved heavy breaths as he held you still.

“…What…” You dared to whisper, “What was that?”

Because the creature…you’d never seen anything like it before. These things that you’d left offerings for…they were all supposed to be mere superstition. A nightmare entity that parents used to make their children behave.

But you’d seen it before you, in the flesh. A towering, fox-like creature that walked on its hind legs.

Lucien’s fingers pressed against your stomach. “It doesn’t have a name,” He murmured. “It just is. They’re rare, but…history says they would appear for the offerings left at the trees. And they track a person’s movement. Once they’ve spotted you, you’re done for. We called them Nutcrackers, as children. Because it allegedly cracks your skull between its jaws, like a nut, before you have a chance to react.”

The shiver that wracked through you was palpable. It felt like ages that the two of you stood there like that, your bodies pressed together, waiting for some indication that it was safe to promptly get the fuck out of there. After what felt like an eternity, the dark outline of the horrifying creature seemed to slip deep into the brush, its long, slender arms clutching a whole bounty of offerings.

You knew the coast must have been clear when Lucien exhaled — and pushed you away from him.

“What the fuck,” he stormed round to face you, “were you doing all the way out here?”

You rubbed your arms, too shaken to be put out by his tone. You shrugged half-heartedly. “I came for a walk. Didn’t realise how far I’d wandered.”

Your nonchalance seemed to anger him. He was a flare of red hair and golden skin — accented by silver moonlight — as he shook his head at you, his strong jaw flexing.

“You really are as daft as you seem.” He sniped. “Count yourself fucking lucky that I was here to get your ass out of that.”

You folded your arms. “Do you want me to thank you?”

“I don’t care what you do—”

“Or perhaps I should apologise,” You cut him off, “What were you doing out here so late? I don’t suppose I was interrupting another quick fuck against a tree?”

Lucien stilled — stared at you. And you wished — wished so damn hard — that you could snatch those words right out of thin air and cram them back into your mouth, down your throat. You didn’t know why you’d even said it.

It had achieved nothing — other than making it clear to him that you’d seen him sneaking off with a female on the night of the feast.

He stepped closer to you — so close that his hair tickled your face as he leaned down. So close that his scent pushed its way up your nose, invading you, smothering you—

“Do me a favour,” He hissed, “and stay far away from the woods. Stay far away from any potential danger so that I don’t have to stick my neck out getting you out of it.” Cruel, russet eyes flicked over you. “In fact? Stay far away from me. That’s what I want you to do, Lady.”

He turned without another word. Or another glance at you, as he stormed away, leaves and twigs crunching beneath his boots.

All you could do was watch his retreating figure, trembles still wracking your body.

You should have been thinking: Lucien Vanserra is a prick.

Should have been thinking that you wanted to smack his sneer from his gods-damn face.

But you watched and watched as he disappeared out of sight. You weren’t even worried about the fucking fox-nutcracker-hind-legged-creature anymore. Not as it was just you and the trees, and the sting of Lucien’s harsh words still hanging in the air.

All you were thinking was that Lucien Vanserra smelled like a heady mix of apples, of woodsmoke, of the forest after a downpour, the earthy tones of cedar and balsam fir. The most delicious concoction that your imagination couldn’t possibly make up. It lingered in your nose, rapidly fading with each passing second.

All you were thinking was that you’d never smelled anything — anyone — like it.

That you wanted to inhale that scent greedily.

Again and again and again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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transmutationisms · 1 year

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fucking love your takes!! you always hit the nail right on the head :)

if i can ask, whats your opinion on the roy siblings’ relationship to sex?? i feel like it’s interesting that their relationship to sex is such an integral part of each of their characters (romans entire thing, shivs issues with monogamy, connor and willa, etc) and im wondering why they set it up that way. out of them all, is there any u think has the healthiest relationship with sex? (im tempted to say kendall lol because his issues with sex seem more garden-variety ie. using sex to fill an emotional void for love and attention and power etc but idk. i feel like there’s more there)

the kids' sex issues accomplish a few different things. one is that, in general, the show leans heavily on the characters' fear of the body as an alien, uncontrollable site of potential humiliation. no matter how wealthy and powerful they are, they can't stop logan from aging and dying; they piss or shit or trip on the stairs; and they therefore have trouble relating to sex in an uncomplicated way. the sex issues telegraph an overall discomfort with their bodies and an alienation from themselves.

more specifically, the way each sibling relates to sex is a direct function of their assigned role in logan's system of gender and corporate hierarchy, and indicates the ways in which they struggle with those positions. roman has always been seen as weak, effeminate, and therefore disgusting; he doesn't identify with the dominant, normatively masculine role, and doesn't want to fuck anyone, in business or literally. his most fulfilling sexual encounters on the show have been gerri echoing the way his father talks to him, and roman getting off on the objectification. shiv instinctively identifies with the dominant role, and has some of the killer instinct for it, but has been excluded from it by her father's view of her as a kind of permanent adolescent girl, kept sexually pure and disembodied; she has difficulty transitioning to the role of wife or mother, as she sees getting fucked physically as equivalent to getting fucked metaphorically, and considers both humiliating and beneath her. her open marriage arrangement would in some ways be quite normative were she a cis man, but instead, it's seen as a violation of her gender role. connor was at one point the heir by default, but is now considered biologically extraneous; his politico-sexual ideology encourages the 'productive' use of sperm, namely through reproduction, yet connor is childless and only recently in a committed relationship. his relationship is transactional—like all relationships on the show—but it bothers him on some level, and multiple times he has tried to convert this into a more romantic language that he wants willa to speak. kendall has been placed in their heir role, which demands exercise of a specific form of masculinity that includes being the one who literally and physically fucks his partners / subordinates, but he speaks this language awkwardly and unsuccessfully in business, and although he can fuck and enjoy fucking, he views his own sex life through logan's eyes and sends away both naomi and jennifer when logan disapproves of them. he also relates to his body primarily as a tool meant to accomplish a task, rather than an object of desire: an obvious point of comparison is his confusion when naomi asks for a dick pic, in contrast to roman actively wanting to frame his own body as an object for consumption that he then sends to gerri.

broadly speaking, their difficulty adhering to logan's definitions of sexual normality are indicative of the violence inherent in those definitions. his disgust at roman's sexuality, disdain of connor's relationship, sense of ownership over roman's and kendall's sexual expressions, and persistent denial of shiv's body and sexuality are all part of the same system, and affect how the kids see themselves and their own sexualities. also, because sex and politics and business all operate within the same discursive field, it would sort of be impossible for any of them to have simple pleasurable experiences of sex as long as they're still trying to exist in waystar or indeed in the broader capitalist structure it encapsulates. for them, there simply is no differentiating their own sex lives from structures of interpersonal violence and economic exploitation.

i don't think the show is trying to argue that any of these is a 'healthier' relationship to sex than any of the others. in general i would challenge that framework (like, healthier for whom? healthier defined by whom? &c) and i also just think the siblings each have distinct shit going on, and it's not generally possible to 'rank' them on any kind of scale of severity; they're just different. additionally, i think all of the siblings' sexual behaviours are a mix of things that are benign on their own, and only appear pathological in relation to the demands logan makes of them, and then things that are more inherently painful for them, regardless of their father. & of course, sometimes those lines blur or shift.

#he doesn't even trust water

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strang3lov3 · 27 days

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Hi Bug!

I just thought I’d show up unannounced and uninvited to talk about QZ Roman Roy. I really like QZ Roman. He’s a real sonofabitch and he’s so nasty. I’m into it. I’m not proud of myself, Bug, but I’m not ashamed. I want him to catch me making qz hooch. Anyway, how do you think the rest of the Roy family fared during and after outbreak?

I’m right there with you, Bat. I don’t condone it, but I do understand it. We are who we are 😔 down bad for pitiful, off putting creeps.

Hmm. This has been on my mind all day. Let’s go through it.

Shiv

Shiv gets bitten. There’s really not much to the story, but this is what’s best for her. See, hatred has no place in the infected community. Everyone is united by a common goal and works together to spread the infection. There is no hierarchy, no competition, and in this space, Shiv can finally allow herself to trust others. She makes a really good clicker eventually.

Kendall

Kendall comes really close to surviving the outbreak. He and Shiv share a safe room, but Shiv is infected and doesn’t tell anyone. Bitten on the leg, infection hasn’t quite set in yet. When she gets a notification on her phone that Kendall tweeted something like “We’re in this together. Stay strong, stay safe. #outbreakday #cancelcordyceps” she bites him. She doesn’t think he deserves to survive.

Roman

Roman survives Outbreak Day. He ends up in the Boston QZ and can’t stand the idea of holding no power there, so he joins FEDRA. Working for FEDRA allows him to feel big and satisfies his craving to bully and harass people. He becomes FEDRA’s resident pervert.

Greg

Greg eats moldy bread at lunch on Outbreak Day. He spits it out in disgust, and then buys new bread for the break room. He’s doing everything he can to get those Waystar brownie points. When people start biting and tainted flour is revealed to be the cause of the outbreak, Greg is convinced he’s going to be infected because he ate moldy bread. However, while moldy, the bread he ate was not tainted by cordyceps, but the new bread he bought for the break room is. Greg is responsible for many Waystar cordyceps infections.

Tom

Tom survives Outbreak Day. Like during the shooting, he and Greg end up in the less-than-safe safe room. Greg confesses what happened in the break room, and Tom commends him for it. The Disgusting Brothers partner up and live a self-sustaining life alone together outside of the QZ, sort of like Bill and Frank, but worse.

Logan

Logan escapes the outbreak by private jet. However, on the jet, he eats tainted food and becomes infected himself. When the infection sets in, he attacks his pilot, and they crash land. Logan survives this and lasts long enough as an infected to become a bloater.

Connor

In the show, cordyceps adapted to survive in the human body because of rising temperatures. Connor doesn’t believe in climate change, so he doesn’t believe cordyceps is infecting humans. For those first couple days as whispers of the outbreak begin to spread, Connor thinks it’s all bullshit. Despite this, he survives the first day and long after. When shit hits the fan, he hides in his well-stocked underground bunker on his remote ranch with Willa and works on developing a cure. This is her worst nightmare and she daydreams about getting bitten.

#strang3lov3 #ask #succession #the last of us #magpiepills #bug loves bat!#roman roy #kendall roy #shiv roy #connor roy

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topazadine · 2 months

Text

Writerly Questionnaire

Thanks to @the-golden-comet for the tag! I enjoyed reading your answers, especially the part about your characters!

Alright, here goes.

About Me

When did you first start writing?

I wrote my first story at age 7, started my first book at age 12 (no you can't read it, it's terrible) and published my first poem at age 15.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Despite writing fantasy, I actually don't read much of it myself. My undergrad career focused most on British literature (specializing in Victorian lit) so that's what I'm most familiar with and what I like the most.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

I don't really seek to emulate anyone because I have my own unique voice, and I don't really get compared to anyone else either. If you have suggestions of what I might sound like, fire away lmao, because I don't really know who I emulate. However, I take a lot of inspiration from Willa Cather for atmosphere and Emile Zola for realism.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

I exclusively write at my desk. My setup looks like this:

I need my little guys and my Emotional Support Stuffed Cow (her name is Bluebell the Moobell because she has a little bell in her). Note the knitting I'm procrastinating on at the bottom right lmao.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Funnily enough, I often get inspiration from my day job as an SEO writer, even though it has absolutely nothing to do with the types of stuff I write. Sometimes I'll just be hammering away at a Construction Accident Personal Injury Lawyer page and it strikes me that I need to kill one of my characters.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Sort of. I have this thing I do where I like to mentally walk through buildings I used to visit as a relaxation activity, like my childhood elementary school, so that's given me a good memory of how places are laid out. As for actual settings? No, most of those are just made up of pictures I've seen of different places that I've never visited.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Some of my recurring themes include: Degradation/transformation of memory Struggling against fate/the unknowability of fate Found family Abusive relationships Moral relativism Satisficing (choosing between multiple suboptimal outcomes to pick the least harmful option) None of them surprise me; I recognize where they come from. For example, my obsession with the degradation and transformation of memory comes from my own struggles with dissociative amnesia, and my interest in satisficing comes from my International Relations degree. My concerns about the unknowability of fate come from the fact that I had a premonition that I'd die of a heart attack at 42. And I'm 32 right now. You can imagine that this influences my process lmao.

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

As a lesbian, I am not ashamed to say that I am deeply and passionately horny for Uileac (who you can meet in "Cachaille" or read about in 9 Years Yearning). Like how can you not go crazy for a man who thinks this is the perfect declaration of love?

He's so scary and so devoted, yet also very chill and laid-back? And funny? And athletic? And protective of his lil sis? He's just ... (screams into pillow)

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

Ono. He's a Sinan royal guard who is just so sweet but also kinda dumb.

There's a scene where he has to ask Cerie what kind of menstrual products she needs for their trip, which is both mortifying and really adorable. He's just a really gentle and nice guy who I think would get along with damn near everyone.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

I think Mordrek would scare the absolute shit out of me ngl. Like ... bro just ... does this kind of shit on the regular

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Uileac, Orrinir, and Ono were heavily inspired by Uguisumaru, Ookanehira, and Omokage from Touken Ranbu and I don't apologize for that. Obviously they are a bit different, but their personalities are quite similar. Cerie was developed from a roleplay where I was playing as Uguisumaru's made-up sister, so that's why she's Uileac's sister in Poesyverse. Haniya, Cerie's love interest, was made up by using personality testing and astrology to come up with Cerie's Perfect Match. No one knows where Mordrek came from. He just kinda showed up.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

They all have daddy issues. Every single fucking one of them.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

All the art I have for my characters was made with AI before I realized AI was absolute garbage shit, so I'm not showing it, but I did commission a painting of Cerie from the amazing artist Caleb over on Twitter:

My Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

For me, that's kind of like asking why a bird sings. It's just what I do and what I have always done.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Definitely when someone says that my writing helped them or resonated with them. My writing gives me catharsis and it feels really good when other people say they got that same sense of catharsis.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

As someone who takes risks that pay off.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Depicting trauma without being melodramatic.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

People have told me they like how meticulous and carefully set up my stories are without infodumping or being boring. They appreciate the work that goes into planning things, how it all pays off in the end and comes together nicely without plot holes.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

I think I've come a long way and continue to improve, which is what is most important.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

The last Kauaʻi ʻōʻō still sang until the end. So yes.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

I write whatever the hell I feel like when I feel like it. People tend to like it, but if they don't, I enjoyed making it anyway.

Open tag!

#writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #writing community #writing game #oc game #oc character #my ocs #tag game #tagging game #tag meme #my writing #literature #writeblr #writerscommunity

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sayorseee · 3 months

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Rating songs from ZOMBIES: The Re-Animated Series

Disclaimer: who cares what I have to say? If you disagree that’s fine cuz I’m just a girl with a phone.

Link to the album on Spotify.

1. Songs I Like cuz Nostalgia

My Year (Re-Animated Remix): 10/10. It’s always great when My Year is involved. I lowkey wish it wasn’t the theme song solely so we could have a music video of the full song rather than just the theme song bit!

2. Songs I Like cuz they’re just GOOD

Repeat: 10/10. Need I say anything else? It’s perfect. Group song, check. Fun lyrics, check. Vocals on point, check. Zed and Addison being in love, check. Bucky arrogance thrown in the middle, CHECK!!!

Work of Art: 8/10. We don’t have the episode yet but I don’t need the episode. Anytime Milo sings my brain explodes. It has such a good vibe and beat it’s perfect. And the message is so sweet!

3. Songs I like cuz they’re zeddison focused

Work of Art: zeddison

Brighter with You: zeddison but extreme. 7.5/10. This is another where the episode isn’t out yet but it’s a really good Addison song. It’s probably the best Addison song in the entire franchise.

4. Songs I like cuz the episode made them Good

We’re Bringin It: 8/10. Should be longer. Eliza morphing into the top Bucky is the best thing any has written ever. Bucky being reduced to a background dancer in his own musical number is perfect because he’s always interrupting someone in their solo of a song.

Be an Alpha: 6/10. It’s only good cuz the premise of Willa and Bucky training Wyatt to be an alpha and him horribly misconstruing the lessons is HILARIOUS. Points off because unfortunately the vocals aren’t great (they’re so bad, my sisters screams and threatens to run away when Wyatt’s verse comes on…)

When Worlds Collide: 5/10. I’m personally not a fan of Baby Ariel’s voice, buuuuut I like the general news of the song. Like the music and I like singing it, but I don’t like hearing it.

Be like Me: 8/10. Good Bucky song where Bucky isn’t singing.

5. Songs that are. They’re alright. I guess.

It’s Okay: 7/10. Again, I don’t think these are our strongest singers of the bunch. But I love the message. Just maybe less of those guys singing. (Also Wyatt hallucinating Willa doing a musical number is pretty funny)

Back to Back: 4/10. It’s good. Meg Donnelly has a great voice. But it’s just like there. Like there wasn’t really a need to have this song. It doesn’t move the story along or provide a fun break in the episode. It’s just there to be there.

6. Songs I don’t care for cuz I don’t care for the storyline or performance

Meant to Combine: -1000/10 everyone knows I’m a wyliza hater (WILIZA -WillaxEliza- FOR LIFE)

7. Bad

It’s Free Period: -10/10. I don’t like when Disney channel makes their shows and movies have raps in them they’re never good and they use so much auto tune it sounds even WORSE.

8. Honorable Mentions

Work in Progress: episode isn’t out yet. I’m not a fan of Wynter’w voice but hey maybe when the episode is out it’ll move up a few categories

Lemme know what you guys think! Anything you disagree with, or thoughts you might want to add!

#zombies #zombies the re animated series #disney zombies

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esther-dot · 1 year

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BNF will dissect each interaction or thought regarding Sansan to look the underneath meaning behind them. Despite writer is much more clear about their role and show how much Hound abused Sansa. BNF has no problem in shipping Willas and Harry with Sansa. Even when Willas never appear in books or met Sansa. And Harry appear in only one chapter in TWOW still people are expecting him to be Lord of Vale. Yet thinking that Jon and Sansa could be potential couple they feel it's crackship or people shipping them are delusional. Sansa being home safe and queen is absurd to them.

It is very, very amusing which ships are considered canon or noncanon by the fandom, and how, to them, certain things like say, verbal abuse, threats of violence, attempted rape, aren't an issue for a potential romantic relationship, but cousin marriage (in a story in which cousin marriage is unremarkable) is forbidden.

I think perhaps the problem is, we have read the story so differently, we look at the relationships / potential relationships in incompatible ways. For Jonsas, we look at this quote:

Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound's voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. "Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants." (AGOT, Sansa VI)

and we think Sansa's story isn't that she should listen to the men who abuse and molest her. We think, that despite the horrors she faces, her belief in knights and heroes is already being validated by Jon and Brienne, that it is only a matter of time before her despair, "no one will ever marry me for love" will be answered by someone who does love her.

That conclusion means that men who marry her to rise to power, men who molest her, insult her, attempt to rape her, men who want her to give in and give up, that they can't be the canon romantic pairing Martin has for her, because for one of them to be, is contrary to the story he is writing. The monsters will not win.

Some of us ship Jonsa for funzies and don’t think it was ever going to be canon (books or show), but for others of us, Jonsa is meant to happen to allow Martin to end the sentence he began in AGOT.

There are heroes, there are true knights, Sansa will be loved.

Jon beheaded Slynt, Brienne exists, we've have reason to be optimistic!

As for the rest of it, there are Sansa fans and Jonsas who don't think she will be queen, but calling people delusional for believing she will end up in Winterfell when we have a prophecy about her ending LF there...I don't see the point in denying it. Most of us would be thrilled with KitN Rickon, so you can’t even argue her being queen is wishful thinking on our part. It isn’t necessarily anyone’s dream ending, it’s just the ending some of us think Martin is heading towards. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#anti the hound #anti sansan #jonsa #dot chat #<<< for filtering #I’d much rather sansa live the rest of her life without a partner than end up in one of those ‘canon’ ships

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josephslittledeputy · 8 months

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WIP... Oh shit, its actually Wednesday??

Tagged by @wrathfulrook @clicheantagonist @marivenah @cassietrn @the-silver-chronicles @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and I thiiiiink that's it... sorry if you've tagged me & you're not on here, its been a hot minute since I've posted a wip wednesday & my memory is basically Swiss cheese

Tagging anyone who wants to self indulgently share a WIP! Feel free to tag me, I love to read new stuff :)

**Also terribly sorry in advance cause this turned out to be a bit longer than I thought it would be**

WIP 1: OG Verse - fun times with Celeste & Gabriel

He has to resist the urge to throttle her, lest he ruin the inside of his house filled with years of carefully handpicked items, ones he held a certain fondness for. "You ruined my life, Celeste. Or do you not recall?” "Your life?" She tilts her head in mock curiosity. "What life? The one where you were sent anywhere they told you to go, like some mongrel with a barely slackened leash?" “Excuse me?" “We can pretend otherwise. Keep up the illusion that your life was marvelous, picture perfect even. But we both know the truth, don't we?" She takes a step closer. “You were nothing but the High Council’s defanged pup. Cluelessly doing their bidding before I freed you. If anything, you should be thanking me." "Thanking you?" He clenches and unclenches his fist in an attempt to suppress his anger. "Hate me if you must, fight me even, but do it later. Right now we must get out of here. If they do not know where I am yet, they soon will. What do you think will happen once they realize one of their precious dhamphirs has been under their nose this whole time?"

Celeste truly is the nicest individual you'll ever meet :))

Including this little snippet from Gabriel's pov as well cause idk, I just really like it

Unbidden worry strikes him. He listens, waits, and when his ears pick up the sound of soft, even breathing he lets out a breath of his own. Celeste and the baby were still there, unharmed, perhaps even sleeping. It brings an odd sense of comfort, reminiscent of times long forgotten, times he didn’t want to remember. If he did, he’d have to remember what brought them to a halt in the first place and he had a job to do. Grief and old wounds had no place here, at least not at the moment. Kicking his boots off, he treks into the bathroom and gently closes the door behind him. It’s a simple design: Shower to his left, toilet to his right, and a sink with a mirror above it directly across from the door. Leaning against the sink, he ruffles his short, black hair that's shaved on the sides and traces his fingers over an old, faded scar. It runs down almost the whole length of his face, going over his left eye and stopping just shy of the corner of his mouth. Overlapping it is another, only this one goes across his face horizontally, over the bridge of his nose and from cheek to cheek. The only thing that remains of the old Gabriel are his blue eyes, once full of life and mischief, now faded and dull. Turning away from his visage, he heads toward the shower and turns it on, stripping down while he waits for the water to heat up. He doesn’t need a mirror to see the multitude of scars and tattoos that adorn his body. Aching for another drink—if only to dull his senses and lingering memories once more—he curbs the yearning and steps beneath the water.

WIP 2: They Watch From The Pews

Willa squirms, trying to dodge cold fingers that reach out to trace over the letters, caressing them with a sadistic fascination that makes her stomach curdle in disgust. Disgust quickly transforms into a desperation to get away once he finally reveals the knife kept hidden behind his back. “Usually I’d peel the sin off but… I think this will suit you much better, don't you?" Pressing the tip of his blade into her skin, he teasingly drags it across her skin. "Tell me, Deputy, how did you feel when you got the news of Samuel's death?" "Chipper." She spitefully answers with a sneer. John heaves a dramatic sigh and presses the blade down harder, prompting tiny beads of blood to bubble up as he traces over the letters of her tattoo. "You can make this easier for yourself, you know." "I've heard that before. Got me a bullet to the leg." "Because you ran. My men only acted accordingly." "Fuck you and your men, pussy." "My, what a mouth on you." He tuts and makes a deeper cut. Her teeth sink into the leather in her mouth, denying him the satisfaction of hearing her make a noise. Without pause, he moves onto the second letter, brows scrunched up in concentration as he goes over the lines again and again. It isn’t until he’s on the last letter that she finally breaks with a muffled groan. He stops, lifting his eyes from his work. “Comfortable?”

John & Willa are bonding so well. Truly, I think they're starting to get along!

#**wips subject to change**#nah i thought it was tuesday today like... huh #anyway guess what guys i actually have stuff for wip wednesday! granted its not that great but ehh we tryin & thats all that counts #i love when docs will put a red underline under my words like... hunni if that aint a word it is now!!#ohhhh gabriel may be taking celestes shit now but just wait for it... hes a man who suppresses his anger until it builds and blows <3 #i need gabriel like a dog needs a bone ya feel? (shh dont look at me...)#Cel & Gabriel's past history is interesting and a bit convoluted (yes; they fucked)#also i love writing willa bc im like 'how many times can i make her swear? yes!' she just doesnt care anymore #shes feral & angry & shes finally indulging in it #also willas overreacting it was a bullet GRAZE not a bullet WOUND**#meanwhile johns like 'hehe knife time while i interrogate you bestie! <3'#wanted to include some stuff from Sparrows fic too but ah well. maybe next time #ok tag spam done SORRY #oc: celeste night #oc: gabriel walker #oc: willa rook

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bamboobrat · 1 year

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succession s4 e7 recap: 🍆🍆🇺🇸

this week's recap is nothing short of a trauma dump from this here political operative.

never in my life did i think i would relate to nate, but there truly is nothing scarier than election eve....

we start the episode off the disguisting brothers, preparing for a long night at ATN.

tom has seemingly still not slept and greggory peggory is still recovering from his night on the town with one lukas mattson.

a few levels up, team shiv and team roman are also gearing up for a long night.

other than the distinct lack of booze, i'd say the vibes are pretty realistic.

roman with mencken was always my least favorite version of roman. this episode is no exception.

in fact, i think i'm demonstratively anti-roman in this episode.

and gerri is nowhere to be seen:((

shiv is worried about mattson letting greg in on their little plans.

as she should. rule number 1: don't talk to greg.

rava has to deal with kendall yet again.

this woman is a saint. someone save her.

ken is still on his "everything i do, i do for my children"-shit. you know, everything except ensure that a fascist doesn't make it to the white house.

honestly, this episode is really, very good.

i never wanna watch it again.

mencken bonds with roman over the fact that they both hate the word 'narrative'.

he is prepared to lose and for a millisecond i was hopeful.

tom and greg do coke behind a whiteboard.

this is the right wing politics that i know. 10/10 great representation.

however, we all know how tom is with drugs. he does them all wrong and feels wrong and immediately begins spiraling.

my body is very bad at many things, such as producing enough serotonin, but years of campaigning means my stomach has superpowers.

gas station sushi? no problem. leftover pizza from the night before? don't feel a thing.

i'm stronger than tom, is what i'm saying. activists just do it better, i guess.

connor represents all politicians, all the time:

now, i respect all the politicians i work for loads, but there is just something inherently narcisstic about having six people cater to your needs constantly.

and most of them are unfortunately not as funny as connor.

tom is being a little shit.

with no moves left, shiv tells him she's pregnant.

it's not entirely unreasonable of tom to ask if it's even true, or if it's a tactic telling him that, but he's still a little shit for doing it.

i hate hate hate that we only got like four minutes of shiv girlbossing before she was back to doing everything wrong again... i support women's wrongs, but c'mon:(((

connor is by far my favorite part of this episode.

i just think they are neat<3

ken has his sister's back and i could rewatch those few seconds over and over and over.

fuck tom and his stupid touch screens.

and fuck roman too.

basically, there's a fire in wisconsin and ballots have been lost. historically, those votes have been overwhelmingly democrat, but roman wants them to call wisconsin for mencken, disregarding the burnt up ballots altogether.

he sends his talking points to ravenhead, who goes on an on-air rant, and the rest of the sibs take to the floor at ATN as well, much to greg's dismay.

shiv tries to threaten greg so that he doesn't tell her brothers about her plans with mattson.

as much as i love shiv threatening to pull greg's organs out his asshole, it isn't very effective.

there's an incident with wasabi.

i question a lot of decisions made in this episode, but perhaps most curious of all is the choice of lemon flavored la croix??????

i would laugh more at this if i wasn't so ridden with anxiety.

connor lands an embassadorship in the new mencken administration.

willa is skeptical of the fascism etc but still....

connor makes a speech. i love it when he does that.

we get a brief moment with the old guard, gerri not included.

we get basically no karl:/

instead we get roman being an asshole scene after scene after scene.

pls stop i can't take it anymore!!!

kendall is torn between team shiv and team roman, presumably because he can't decide what outcome will be most helpful to his own ambitions.

oh and there's the whole "my daughter might be in danger if mencken wins", but that seems to be secondary.

because he was vulnerable with shiv for a minute, he feels even more betrayed when he learns about her plans with mattson.

from greg of course. fucking greg.

the hugging era is truly a thing of the past.

i wish i had more jokes, but honestly this episode just made me very, very sad.

roman, ken and tom decide to call the election for mencken, despite shiv's desperate attempts.

and i just have to say, i know shiv isn't altruistic. i know she thinks a jimenez win will benefit her more than mencken will. i knooooow.

it's still very sad.

they call it for mencken.

me every single election night.

roman is very much in the camp of nothing fucking matters, and i guess he is right in a way.

it won't really matter to him or kendall.

it will for sophie, though. it will for jess.

ouffff....

roman now has a direct line into the west wing.

that being said, i don't think he's a very reliable partner for them.

in the end, mencken will do what is good for mencken. the same goes for roman.

i think ken might end up regretting this whole endeavor very, very soon.

tom becomes the face of this political scandal.

can't wait for it to bite him in the arse.

shiv makes a final rallying cry to mattson, but it somehow feels hollow to me.

this shiv girlie is starting to lose hope.

anyway, rava doesn't want ken to come over to see the kids because he prioritized his own project of becoming his dad over keeping them safe.

i guess i agree with him that the poison does, perhaps, drip down.

what a depressing episode!

i'm glad we are getting something to celebrate next week - logan's funeral wiii !!

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nightshadehoney · 1 year

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The “Tom is a gold digger/status chaser and never really loved Shiv” take drives me up the wall.

Firstly because it’s often trotted out as an excuse for Shiv’s poor treatment of him. Like even if that was 100% true (I don’t think it is), it still wouldn’t justify treating him the way she treats him. Willa wouldn’t be with Con if he didn’t bankroll her lifestyle; their relationship started because she was an actual prostitute who he paid to be around him. Yet I somehow doubt that most of the people who say this about Tom would also say that Willa deserved it if we saw Con cheating on her and belittling her in public and pressuring her into sex acts she didn’t want.

But more the point, you kind of have to be watching the show with your eyes closed if you think Tom doesn’t love Shiv. You think someone only after money would’ve initially refused to read the the pre-nup before signing it? That someone who only cared about getting ahead would be constantly reeled back in after personal and professional mistreatment with “I love you”s and “I need you”s? If Tom was in this relationship purely for career reasons, he probably would’ve agreed with Shiv on their wedding night when she said the business part of the relationship made sense and wouldn’t have cared about having an open relationship. He was absolutely gutted that she cheated on him and called the idea of being married to him a “box set death march” because he loved her.

Tom is very much enamored with the power and prestige of the Roy family; he loves being rich. But those aren’t separate things from loving Shiv, I think it’s really part of it for him. People being into a someone because that person has what they desire but feel thet lack is pretty common. Shiv isn’t just rich: she’s a Roy and he’s attracted to the kind of power and confidence she has because she is a Roy. He’s so high off the idea that someone like that would want to be with him, that he let’s her walk all over him. A level-headed person would’ve gone running in the other direction after their fiance handed them a pre-nup with no infidelity clause and then implied that they will probably cheat on them and likely already have, but not Tom because Tom is a romantic deep down. He doesn’t want to look at that pre-nup because that would mean he has to acknowledge that there is any transactional part of their relationship. Tom essentially wants to have his cake and eat it too: he wants to to have a normal marriage where him and his wife love each other and have babies together and he wants to have a successful prestigious career. But openly talking about the latter interferes with his ability to believe he has truly has the former.

One of the central ideas in Succession as a whole is that when you have as much money as the Roys, there’s no such thing as a relationship that isn’t colored by their wealth. Even Rava, who really seems to have loved Ken in spite of his of him family rather than because of it, apparently did quite well for herself in the divorce. That scene is Austerlitz where Marcia asks Willa about her plans and tries to give her advice is all about this really highlights this. If you marry into this family you need to look after your position. It’s not a coincidence that Tom is also part of this discussion. Marcia acts like this is just a normal conversation about whether or not Willa wants children someday, but the subtext of this conversation, (that both Marcia and Tom understand, but maybe Willa doesn’t or is at least uncomfortable with) is “hey if you’re smart, you’ll cement your place in this rich man’s life by having his child as soon as possible, otherwise you are disposable”

This comes back in season three when Tom and Shiv talk about freezing embryos. That it’s embryos and not eggs is a concession to Tom; it’s Shiv saying “see you have some insurance because I am tying up my reproductive future with yours”. But Shiv is doing such a poor job in disguising how much this is a business discussion that Tom is uncomfortable; normal people talking about having children do not immediately start talking about the scenarios in which they would destroy their frozen embryos. So Tom just sort of flounders is like “I would want you to have my babies if I died” so he can pretend that is at all what they are talking about. It doesn’t make sense for him to act this way if he only cares about his position, very little of his behavior makes sense in this context. The only way it makes any sense is if, again, you are watching the show with your eyes closed and somehow believe that Tom is doing all this to somehow trick Shiv into thinking he’s nice. Shiv doesn’t like nice; she is uncomfortable with emotion and open affection--that Tom acts this way annoys her and makes her respect him less.

Shiv was never going to marry anyone who didn’t care at all about her money and name because it’s nearly impossible for anyone to exist in the family and not care. The only way any of the Roys could ever really have something like that is if they were with someone who was an equally successful billionaire from an equally prestigious family and Shiv would never marry somebody like that. Logan’s assessment of Shiv that she was marrying Tom because he was beneath her and she didn’t want to risk being betrayed, while cruel, is accurate. He’s a trophy husband--he’s “plausible” as Caroline puts it--plausibly successful that they would be together but unambiguously beneath her because he doesn’t come from the same kind of money she does and relies on her for his career advancement. People act as if poor Shiv was duped into marrying someone who only cared about her money like...she’s not blind. She’s not unaware of Tom’s naked ambition and social climbing--she knows who he is and uses it to her advantage. She sought out a relationship that is transactional in this way because that puts her in control. She would never feel safe marrying someone who wasn’t in a subordinate position to her; it would make her too vulnerable. Frankly, anybody who wasn’t enamored by her lifestyle wouldn’t put up with her shit. She married Tom because he’s safe--he won’t really push back on her treatment of him both because he’s a a huge simp and because he would jeopardize his career by leaving. She conducts her relationships the way her father does, using wealth and status in the company as a form control in her personal relationships.

#like I saw someone say that Tom threw a fit when Shiv went after the CEO job herself #which is super weird way to say he calmly told her she could say upfront she wanted it and that he would support her #what show did you watch?#hbo succession #succession #succession posting #tom wambsgans

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 1 year

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Dark!Aemond x oc (Snow falls, chapter 26: running around in circles

Concept: You are Willa Wyldewoods, lady of Wyldecrest. After being denied your hand in marriage, Aemond murders your family and makes himself Lord of WyldeCrest, out-powering you. He claims you as his wife and spoils, He commands and goes over your home now and as you will learn right now: No one is safe under his reign. Not even you.

WARNINGS: Non-con, smut 18+ dark!aemond and slight bookaemond, abuse, choking, obessed insane aemond, cursing,

He growls when grabbing you from the bed. "You think I'd kill for every brat I want in my bed?" He chokes you. You gasp helplessly. "You think I let anyone sleep in my bed, near me, where you can kill me, easily? You think I like it that the thought of another's hands on you makes me want to burn down villages and massacre civilisations?!" He shouts the words at you as you are scared but also confused. "I didn't fuck anyone since I married you! From the whore at your home, to the whores here in King's Landing! No one can even compare to you! Hearing you talk yourself down is making me mad!"

You are touched, scared and afraid and aroused at the same time as you hear those words leave the lips of your husband. So he didn't take anyone in his bed. Or so he claims. Perhaps he is lying.

Aemond seems to only now notice that he is choking you and lets go of your neck. "Now, my little fox…’’ He makes sure there is a pause when he takes in your shaking body and your widened pupils. Of fear, perhaps. But also of desire.

It was fucking Aegon, pleasuring Aegon and pleasing Aegon. All that she taught you was that Aemond likes his bedmates wild and untamed, and you are nothing of the sorts.

He moves on with his questions.

"Your friend. What did she learn you?' You know it best to answer honestly. And Aurelia didn't teach you anything sexual. Perhaps she showed you some things, but none of it was teaching you.

Aemond smacks your behind when you cry out as his cruel smacks. "You have a habit of rambling whenever you are nervous. Clear answers, pet." He groans when tugging at your fox coat.

You gulp and you have to clear your throat before speaking. Your throat feels dry.

''Not much. She did a few things with the king -"Your rambling is interrupted by two hard blows on your behind.

Aemonds hands gently caress your face. "Did you like it, Willa?' He asks. "Do you like it when you have no say? Do you like it when you are helpless?" He wonders out loud. Do you? You find it confusing.

You close your eyes and nod.

"He.. he had sex with her when I was present. She forced me to kiss her." And you touched yourself when you watched them. But you don't tell Aemond that. He said he already "dealt" with Aegon. You don't want your husband to risk his life by upsetting the king by making another example out of him.

You know you must answer. To your husband, yes. But also to yourself. Who are you, really? You must be honest. "I do, and I don't. I do like it when we are alone and you take control. But if your brother marched in here and held me down... I wouldn't like it one bit.' You confess. You picture the drunk smelly king on top of you compared to Aemond, and you know who you'd prefer in a heartbeat.

Aemond sighs when rubbing your back. "I should take his head for corrupting my innocent sweet fox." He murmurs softly in your neck. "You are so scared of my brother now. He has been warned not to play any games with you again. You are mine, little fox." He whispers. "Mine alone." Aemond declares, when kissing your cheeks of tears.

You chuckle a little nervously. That sounded an awful lot like treason. The worst of treason. Kingslaying, betrayal, murder and even kinslaying. "H-husband, you mustn't say such things. That could be treason-" If anyone heard him...

He is more interested in your lessons. "Did she told you to clench yourself when we fuck? Did she teach you how to milk me dry?" He asks.

Yet he hushes you.

"O, Hush. As if you give a fuck about my brother." He grins at you cheekily. "You must worry about your own fate, little fox. The things I'll do with you to make you repay your debt to me. To things I'd do with your holes and your body." He sighs as if he's picturing himself already cock deep inside of you.

You shake your head.

"No, I...I discovered it on my own." Aurelia only told you you were a slave and that you did not know Aemond. Not truly.

He grins approving.

"Naughty girl..." He touches your chin. You and him both forgot that he is partly covered in blood.

Aemond dryly stares at his fingers.

" I forgot I'm still covered in blood." He does not move however. He smiles at you. His wife. He waits for you to come up with a idea. He already knows you are clever, and he knows you want him to get rid of all the blood.

Aemond nods relaxingly when you finally touch his face. "I like my bath boiling hot, my little fox." He tells you with a wink. "Go prepare my bath for me."

You carefully make a suggestion.

"A bath might do you good. You have had a...intense night." You say softly. "I am sure we can find an unoccupied bathroom..." Aemond’s bathroom, for one.

You prepare the bath for your husband. Aemond first tests the water by entering one finger. You think of what else those fingers have entered and are turned wet. You quickly turn your head, avoiding your sinful thoughts as Aemond undresses himself, getting ready to sit in the bath. He sighs of relief and enjoyment when he finally lays in the big tub.

Aemond washes himself when you watch. He takes his time scrubbing the blood of his body and seems to be not aware of how nervous you are. You have been with your husband quite a few times by now but you never saw him or anyone bathe.

His bright eye goes open when he slightly lowers it into a glare. "Willa. Why are you so insecure?" His question comes out of nowhere. It hits you as a slap on your face. You freeze and stop breathing for a moment. So it is that obvious to him. Does he like it or does it annoy him?

You scold yourself for thinking of Aemond's preference first. These are your feelings not his. You need to be brave and strong now. Why do you care more for his preferences than the fact that these feelings hurt, kill and torment you beyond compare? They are the reason you nearly slept with a very unkind whore.

Aemond sinks back in the tub after your confession rubbing his forehead in thought as if he completely forgot that he once told you that.

You laugh but it's insincere.

"I mean, it's hard not to be. You vowed to me at the wedding after you first took me into your bed, a moment where you could have been kind, that many girls came to you and will come to you. That you would fuck other women. I could not satisfy my own husband enough that he would rather stay with me, his fresh wife. Instead he went to whores." You sound bitter. You are bitter. You hate how it still stings all those months later.

He does not answer. But then he does, and he blurts it out rather casually. "I apologize for making you feel that way." He apologizes now? Your brows raise in surprise. You must check the sky for pigs later.

You don't take his apology at first. You want to hurt him. To make him understand what he did with you. What his treason did with you. "I am not sure I can handle sharing you with so many. It is why I think I will never measure up and even wanted to fuck a whore for you." You want to hear he is sorry, but more importantly that he will never look at another woman again.

Aemond sighs deeply.

"That girl that I slept with..." that whore? What does he want to say? That whore at Wyldecrest? He never told you who it was.

He leans back, avoiding your eyes.

You glare boiling with rage.

"Yes?"

"I seem to have misremembered it." Misremember it? What does that mean? What does any of this mean? You are confused.

He has the audacity to smirk at you. As a naughty puppy who stole a biscuit. "It was an innocent little lie on my behalf." A lie. You will strangle him.

Yet your voice is sharp.

"Aemond?"

As an answer your husband growls and avoids you. So it is true. He was lying to you again. "Hm? You think I'm stupid? You are one of the richest families in Westeros. You might not be the richest, but your wealth outmatches every household in the North. You could barge into every house and throw a golden dragon at someone's feet before stealing their daughter away." He did so before. He did not even pay your family. He only killed them, at Aegon’s request.

Or perhaps this is a lie.

"I don't believe you. You did sleep with her and try to deny it now. Who would not come to you? How can anyone resist you?"

Aemond laughs, mockingly when you tear up. You married a monster. A beast. But his laugh is hollow. It is not real. And his smile falls when he speaks looking anywhere but your face. "Given the fact I am a mutilated half blind beast, most women find me unattractive and a monster. None were eager to crawl on top of me. This is why my brother got me a slave to blow off some steam." It is your eyes that avoid him now. He grabs your chin firmly so you are forced to look into his remaining good eye. His eye goes over your body, taking you in before growling in the shell of your ear."And to buy a whore? I don't buy my pleasures, Willa. I take them from their safe homes and I make them mine as you well know. It’s what I did with you.’’

Aemond growls thinking that you pity him. "I am a beast. A horrendous beast that no one would dare to curse themselves with." You lightly smack one of his hands and he hisses. You glare warning him of pushing you away again.

You are insulted by his reminder, you are insulted by him insulting your taste in men by insulting himself. Your face softens.

"You are beautiful..." You mutter to him and reach out to touch him.

You take hold of his face, caressing it gently. "You are not a monster." You tell him when leaning in, careful to not slip into the bath. He is surprised but doesn't stop you. You lean in closer, empowered by his silence and his curiosity. You feel brave and for the very first time... you feel beautiful. Wanted. Desired. And more...

You feel...

"You wicked little fox." He mutters to himself. "I am afraid that hitting your husband is a form of treason." He grins speaking to you. You smile.

Powerful.

In control for once.

You lean in and kiss Aemond on his lips before leaving dozens of little kisses over his face and even his scarred side. "There." You declare before moving away from him. He breathes out.

You recite a lesson that your septa told you long ago.``To fully forget and forgive one must face atonement for her sins." You don't think your maid would approve of your wicked plans with Aemond and yourself, but she is not here for it anymore.

You take off your fox fur coat and undo yourself of your nightgown when Aemond watches every movement you make from the bath. His voice is already affected by his lust being heavy and dark. "I agree, I didn't know the Old Gods believed in that as well." He is a Hightower. Half at least. Religion is in his blood.

Because Aemond killed her.

You ignore that thought, pausing it for now.

You tell him how you think it is. The old Gods, the new gods, the drowned god...it is all the same face. Perhaps they are all real, and you believe that. You believe they are all real and can co-exist. Just as many different people. "Gods are gods, husband. I like to think that just as all people, they have small things in common."

He nods, interested in your views. He does not mock you or laugh at you for not believing in his gods alone. "That is an interesting prospect. I can't say I thought of it before. You believe in all the gods, then?"

Do you? This conversation started so easily and now..."I, it's difficult husband. I believe there is something that keeps us safe. Something that drives us. My parents raised me with both the old Gods and the new. But perhaps there are more gods beyond those I've been raised with. Who am I to turn my back on gods because I wasn't raised with them?'

"You just crave approval." He murmurs to himself. "You are perfect." He finally has enough and moves on.

He is eying you with hunger and desire. "What will your attoment be, little fox? How will you pay for your sins?" He asks from the bath.

You laugh. "Sins? Are you a septon now?" You once had to call him master, he loves when you call him husband and loses control when you call him king so you are not that surprised.

Aemond thinks, smirking.

"No, not a Septon". ‘’Just your God. You worship me after all. When you nibble at my cock, when you beg me and cry for me. When you are on your knees for me..." You give a soft nod.

He warns you one final time.

"This won't be very pleasant for you, little fox. I will not hold back." He will hurt you. Good. You need to be hurt. You need to forget that you want to run away from him. You need to feel his desire and that he at least wants you. Now more than ever.

You lower your gaze.

"You may treat me as you wish."

He grins aroused by your consent.

"O, that never was not the case, little fox. You are my little pet and my little wife." You don't think you ever get used to Aemond's sharp tongue.

He gets out of the bath.

You look up to your husband.

"What will your attoment be?" You ask, causing him to nearly slip on the stone tiles.

He is shocked.

"I beg your pardon?" His voice is full of worry and offense. He finds it ridiculous that he must face punishment for his sins as you have for your own.

You are grabbed by your throat and choked. Aemond glares at you through his lashes and stops only when you are hushed and quiet. "Now, little fox. It works differently for me. You are a little WyldeWoods fox. I am a Dragon of the house Targaryen. The word "Blood" is in my house words." He tells you as if you are a foolish little girl.

You grin, explaining yourself.

It only makes sense. "if I am to be punished, you should be as well." It is only fair. "I have been unfaithful to you, and for that I will endure my punishment but you have killed. That is even worse-"

You stutter

"B-but-"

Aemond continues to glare at you. You nervously laugh. "Heh. You see, killing is why you need atonement not-"

He sharply pinches your left nipple. "No." He simply says.

"If you think you can punish me, you can try little fox, but I promise you, I will punish you back. You are already being naughty, defying your husband as this, making him wait for his much-earned reward for killing your enemies for you." He murmurs in your ear when you shiver by the thought of all the dead people just downstairs.

"Is that all you want me to suffer for?" He asks dryly.

You shake your head.

"For lying to me about the whore. For killing Aurelia-"

You feel guilty. Could you have talked her out of this? Had you not touched her, had Aemond not killed her? You will never know.

He groans annoyed.

"No one cared about Aurelia.' That is the truth. No one cared about Aurelia. Aegon only cared about her body. You only cared about what she could tell you about Aemond. And Aemond only cared what she had told you.

He reads you very well.

"She was not your friend, Little fox. She was another master for you to cling to. She played you." He says. You must believe him for your own sanity. Because you are not sure you can handle the thought of him killing a possible friend. Not again.

"You mustn't be frightened, little fox. You know by now that being under your husband's control is a good thing. You know I care for you and your...perversions." He mutters when sucking on your neck. You moan the way he likes. Soft and obedient.

You are pressed against the wall.

"H-husband?" You are pressed with your face into the wall when Aemond takes stand behind you, rubbing your ass when water drips everywhere.

He chuckles when you are frightened and worried. "One of these days you'll run out of excuses, or perhaps you cross a line where there is no coming back from. I'll throw you on your knees and finally, finally will fuck this tight little hole and claim you fully as my wife and my pet." He roars in your ear when rubbing you.

You give an absent, scared nod. You are terrified for that day. A blow is dealt to your bum, and you gasp when Aemond forces your hands to your entrance. He grabs your hands and lets them touch you. "Touch yourself gently with one finger. No rubbing or fucking. Just Touch softly." You obey, following his orders closely.

You turn wet against Aemond's front. "Good girl, let me see..." You are turned around and Aemond takes in your wet red and dripping cunt. He smirks when running his own fingers briefly over your folds. You shiver.

Aemond thinks for a while. "Get on all fours." You obey hesitant at first but allow yourself to crawl from your husband. Aemond nods approvingly when petting your head softly. "I am so sorry for what comes now, little fox. You will not enjoy it. I know you won't. But I need you." You try to escape but Aemond easily drags you back, sinking to his own knees as well. He forces your cunt against his front and with a deep rough trust enters you when you cry out in pain. "Nrgh!" Your cries echo through the room as Aemond sighs of pure delight.

You fall on your side, as Aemond chuckles in your ear. He is inside you, his cock pressed inside of you tightly. He makes himself at home, forcing the cock as deep and far as he can go. Until you are filled up entirely. You moan weakly and buck to get him off you but instead of stopping he smacks your behind and stars pounding.

Your face is pressed down and you feel the cock pound away at your pussy. You feel warm and wet and judging by his groans he enjoys himself. You cry weakly as Aemond takes you, unaware of your misery.

"I am nearly there." He promises you instead. "You are so tight for me, my fox. You were made for me. You fit me so well." You can only grunt softly and accept. Aemond becomes aggressive the moment you have surrendered, aroused by it. He groans before fucking you tightly and taking you when you cry and whimper. He is there. Almost there. You need to be brave and to keep strong. Any moment he can be satisfied.

You hesitantly buck back.

You clench your muscles as you did before. You feel him pound at your walls hitting different pleasure spots. Your vision blurs and you clench tighter. Aemond growls as an animal before fucking you on the painful stone floor. "Sstop..." You beg him helplessly.

He comes in his hands, rubbing it out over your face. You have cum and tears on your cheeks now. Aemond forces your head to his crotch and opens wide. You watch as his cock is entering your mouth. 'Clean your husband.' You suck him clean for him and you also lick his balls affectionately. Aemond fucks your mouth as well; but much lazier than he fucked your cunt. Your cunt is on fire and stings, burns and drips with cum and your own wetness. Aemond finished...

But you didn't.

"Good girl. You were so good today." He whispers. "I'm very pleased." You appreciate his kind words and lean into his touch.

"Shall I take a look?" He knows more about it than you do unfortunately. And that won't change for a while.

You make your voice a soft whisper when you rub yourself against his body forcing his fingers to touch your cunt.

"My cunny hurts." You whisper in his ear. Aemond grins but nods.

You nod once again.

"Yes please..."

You are a bit annoyed that he seems to repeat himself as well, when he might as well could fuck you. "I am already being punished. I am sorry.' You say.

He chuckles.

"You should not have gone to the whore, Willa. I don't like sharing you." you feel bad enough as it is about the dead people downstairs. He should not bring up your treasonous actions.

He chuckles darkly and you have your hair stand up on your arms.

"You will be, little fox. You will think twice about fucking any other person but me. No one else's cock will ever inject you and no other cock will bring you as high as I can. Is that understood?" You nod.

But he wants a verbal answer. So you give him what he wants.

"Yes, my Prince." You say.

Aemond notices your red glinstering wet cunt. "Yes. I see what the issue is." You are relieved. You hope it is not something serious or worse an illness.

Aemond growls.

"Master, you slut. Now spread wide, some me how pathetic and wet you are for me after my stern talking with you." You clumsily spread your legs for Aemond so he can inspect you.

Aemond nods before smacking your cunt. You cry out for mercy. He grins. "A classical case of a cunt due for a good fucking, as well as a greedy owner who wants to be owned as a slave." He tells you in your ear when rubbing your cunt with two fingers. You let him and gasp.

You feel your worry only grow.

"You do?"

You become aroused as the abuse continues. Aemond notices this and keeps from smacking you. "Your cunny thinks for you. I must teach you to use your little brain instead. Although, I doubt there is much over. I might have fucked it out of your head." He chuckles darkly. You nod, never agreeing to those words when you were not aroused but you agree to him so easily when you are aroused.

And he smacks down on it as well.

"Pathetic." Smack. "Ridiculous." Smack. You whimper aroused and yet terrified. "Pitiful." Smack.

Aemond sighs, letting his fingers go over you when you roll your hips and steady yourself. "Yes, this is the source of all our problems. Your sweet, little tight and wet cunny." He murmurs. "You like it when I touch it, don't you? Do you like this?' He briefly rubs you. You nod. "And this?' He fingers your folds, running his fingers over it. You nod again. "And finally..do you like this, you whore?" His fingers dig in three at once. You cry out in approval and wrap your legs around his arm desperately. You buck and moan.

After a while, Aemond stops you with a wicked grin on his lips, taking control of your pleasure once more. "Not so fast or the pleasure will fade. You will hold onto your pleasure until I fuck your cunny." You don't meet his eye. Aemond drags you by the hair and smacks you two times on your exposed cunt when you scream in pain or is it pure pleasure?

He grins.

"Fuck my fingers as if it is my cock. Make me proud, slut. Show me what you learned and how desperate you are for me." You nod, obeying your husband when he buries himself deep inside your extra wet and stretched out pussy. Your muscles and walls tighten around him and you let out the one after the other soft beg and plead.

"Is that understood?" He barks.

You are too aroused and nod when moaning. You hope he is satisfied.

"Y-yes..." You take the fingers deeper and more rougher. You need to chase it. You want to chase it.

Aemond rolls his eye.

He wants verbal answers and you keep forgetting. "Is that understood?" He barks before hitting you once more. You nod eagerly, not sure you can keep your promise if he hits another time.

Aemond notices your change very well and removes his fingers with a cruel smirk when you gasp as they are pulled from deep inside of you. Helplessly wet you gawk at him. "Good girl." He gives you a pat on the head before shoving a finger in your mouth. You imagine it's his thick shaft and lick it clean for him of your own wetness. You taste delicious.

"You are such a cumslut." He whispers in your ear. "Come here, my little fox." You obey. You scootch over to him, following him blindly.

You need to find pleasure. "Husband, I am nearly there."

So you do which much effort you do. "Yes." Followed by a very soft and timid. "Please master."

The kinslayer laughs cruelly.

"I know, you slut. Your cunt felt even more tight than usual. Do you wish for me to fuck you senseless and to make you spend as a dirty whore?" He waits for your answer. He wants to hear you say it.

"Now, follow back into the bedchamber." He commands you with a wink. You follow him.

He is pleased. Of course he is.

"Little fox, fetch me my robe." You obey and faithfully hand him his robe when he covers himself.

Aemond takes you back to your shared bedchamber. Instead of asking if you want to lay down, he grabs your ass and smacks down his hands on it, groaning when giving you an order. "On the bed with you." Excitement makes master of you as you are ordered on the bed.

You sit obediently and await for your husband to come out and play.

#dark aemond fic #hotd #SnowFallsAtWyldeCrest #non-con #smut #mentions of cheating #agression issues #jealousy #graphic descriptions #gore #mentions of murder #dark old work #AFAB Reader #Dark #head the warnings #writing #old work

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