#dressed up in very flowery language

[rxttenfish]

i love it when miranda gets to be stupidly dramatic over nothing. currently in the fic she's wildly upset that aaravi didn't compliment how nice the letter she wrote breaking bad news to aaravi was. she put extra effort making it sound all nice and everything!

[fxshigurosbae]

hello! can i pls request for breeding session w olderbf!gojo and youngergf!reader? like gojo is in his 30s and reader is around 19+..

also like the reader is so innocent and gojo's jist a pervy old man who wants to ruin reader's pussy and make her his good little toy

thankyou!!ᕙ( • ‿ • )ᕗ

my requests aren’t open but i’ll make an exception because this is a good request, thank you by the way! hope you enjoy it ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

the perverted boyfriend

୨୧⋆｡˚gojo satoru {32} x f!reader {19}

✶ mature content | mdni ! breeding, age gap, pet names, corruption kink, dacryphilia, cum play, barebacking, creampie, strong language.

taglist | masterlist

it’s taboo, but it’s your reality now.

you have a boyfriend who’s like a decade older. there was no true explanation for how you both even got together, specially because gojo satoru’s personality is quite eccentric, and he always looked like the type not to settle, so you becoming his young girlfriend was probably a weird, but also good thing.

you’ve only had a few intimate moments ever since you started dating a year ago — met at 18, dating a little before 19, now a few months from 20. gojo’s always made love to you, gone slow, used a condom, one round only, cuddles and after care, sweet kisses and no dirty talking (very contradictory), so that behavior was truly something unexpected, but you didn’t know his true colors. . . that’s because he knows how innocent you are. he knew that just by when you didn’t know what an orgasm felt like, and for having a pussy so tight, and soaking wet from only a few kisses and hugging your waist.

gojo’s not like this, he is just prepping you, because he’s a pervert.

he wants to ruin every single inch of chastity there’s still left in you, he always did. for him, he thinks you’re a little virgin. the explanation? because you haven’t sucked his cock yet, nor let him fuck you raw — after that, he’ll take you as his little personal toy, and no longer his pure princess.

little did you know how bad this man will ruin you.

gojo’s always the one who starts with the mood, he’s always the one looking for something, and he always gets it because he knows deep down that you’re a little whore at heart. by the way he holds you in his arms, kisses your cheeks, kisses the corner of your lips and moves on to making out so endearingly and careful is why he always, always, gets what he wants, he’s just being patient.

right now, he’s pursuing you again, but this time he’s got other plans.

why? gojo satoru’s been away for work for half a month now, and it’s made him wonder if you even tried touching yourself.

you innocently greet him at the door of your apartment, jumping onto him as he latches his bag onto the floor and hugs you back, his scent still there so strongly and he thinks the same about yours on your smooth skin. gojo knows you’ve worked extra hard on your appearance tonight, cute flowery thin silk dress, and you never wear this cologne he’s bought you, because you thought it was too sensual . . . and he takes notice of that. once he puts you on the floor, he admires your pretty face beaming at him with chuckles, looking up at him adorably as your height and size differences give you that gap.

“i missed you.” you giggle endlessly, holding onto his hands and swinging side to side, cheeks flushed. that brings him a smug smirk on his face that turns into a full gorgeous grin on his handsome face.

“i know you did, baby, i missed you too.” he replies softly, and his eyes take a peek at the round cleavage of that sundress you’re wearing, and his cock is already hard through his pants. why’d it have to be spring? “i’m gonna take a shower, wait for me?” he asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, luring you into his trap perfectly, with that honeyed voice and a caress on your head, restraining himself from jumping into you. your eyes gleam and nod as he leaves you with a small chuckle and goes on to the bathroom. your hands hold your cheeks to find them warm from blushing when he’s not looking.

you lie down in the bed, on your belly, ass up, sundress cleavage showing your tits, and on your phone until gojo walks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair with another smaller fabric. he walks towards you like this, something he’s never done before, and he stands in front of your face, making you look up and gulp down hard once you notice him like this.

“a-are you done? uh, wanna eat something?” you ask gently, blushing and seating upright on your knees. he throws the towel from his hair on the chair and reaches for your hand.

“hm, i do actually.” he replies pulling you by the wrist closer carefully, and he’s looking down on you with a soft almost predatory expression.

“i can make something, or order if you’d—

“baby,” he interrupts you, and you hum back slowly and shyly, doe eyes at him. “can i be rougher with you today?” and once he asks that, it takes you a few seconds to think. he notices the exact instant you understand what he meant, because your pupils dilate, your breath hitches and your cheeks flush darker, again.

“u-uh, d-do you, uh, do you mean like . . .” you stutter, becoming a mess just by his words.

“yeah, princess, like that.” gojo chuckles at your response, leaning down and kissing the right corner of your lips. “i’ve been dying to fuck you, you know.” once he says that with a whisper, your pussy clenches unconsciously, and you hum, closing your eyes and grabbing onto his wrist as his thumb’s pressing down against the skin on your inner thigh. “is that a yes?” you breathe out heavily, receiving his kisses on your face and jawline. “i’m not gonna hurt you, you know that.” he adds, his fingertips brushing their way inside your thin fabric dress covering your upper thighs, and this feeling burns.

“okay.” you moan out lowly and vulnerably — because you didn’t know exactly what he was thinking of, what that really meant, and you were curious — and his cock’s harder than ever once he looks at you with eyes still closed just taking in his pecks onto your skin, biting down your lower lip trembling. gojo’s making out with you, and he’s being aggressive.

he’s missed your glossy lips — imagining how your virgin mouth would feel around his cock — he’s missed your small soft innocent hands — imagining how they’d wrap around his dick — he’s missed your soft pussy — imagining how it’d feel to fuck it raw until you pass out.

you were already soaking wet, but with the simple touch of his index finger over your nipple you’re almost cumming. gojo notices your frail breathing against him as he pushes his tongue inside your mouth, other hand messing with your clit, pinching and rubbing under the hood as your thighs squish together.

it all happened so fast and intensely that you’re laid down in princess pillow position with legs spread by his hand as gojo pumps his cock with the other, gathering slick and making a mess in your folds as he rubs the tip against you. you think it’s dirty, and it’s all unknown, but you’re liking it, you just don’t know how much.

“‘toru,” you moan his name lowly, gripping onto the sheets and pillow under your head anxiously. he looks at you with his cheeks red and panting, he’s on the edge, he’s dying to fuck you, he’s dizzy and needy, and that look he gives you could again make you cum. “the condom.” once you say that, one side of his lips curve into a devious smirk, and he’s been waiting for you to ask for that.

“can’t i do it raw tonight, baby?” oh. your body responds to him, and you’re blushing harder and harder and you don’t know what you’re feeling. “you said i could be rough, remember? it’s gonna feel really good, i promise, so good.” he promotes, caressing your thigh as he rubs the pre-cum covered tip against your clit now. “can i make you feel good, my princess?” you let out a breath and look away. “f-fine,” you gather the courage to look back at his eyes. “i-if it’s gonna make you feel good too.” aw, that’s so innocent.

you shouldn’t have said that.

because now, he’s bullying your cunt over and over again, he’s got your knuckles turning white from gripping onto the sheets, a stiff neck from throwing it back against the pillow and sore legs from the weight he’s putting over you as gojo pushes you into a mate press. he’s going so deep, deeper than ever, he’s going so rough, rougher than ever, he’s being so loud, louder than ever, he’s being so dirty, dirtier than ever. the wrap and clenching around his cock is incessant and he’s dying over there, blabbering all sorts of dirty stuff to your chaste ears, and you’re becoming a mush under him, brainwashed. your hand uselessly trying to push his piston hips away as tears begin to stream your face, it’s too much and it’s too good for you.

“o-oh, fuck, fuck, baby,” gojo groans looking at your state. “you like it, don’t you, princess?” he’s been going on and on talking and asking the filthiest things for the past minutes — and you’ve came twice in such a short amount of time, he knows you did, you don’t — and you’re going insane from the tip of his dick kissing your cervix and the sloppy pace he’s set. you’re unable to answer but whine and moan dirtier than you’ve ever done, and you’re still restraining yourself, unable to even look at him from embarrassment. he leans down to keep fucking into you deeper while folding you in half at the same time. gojo frees one of his hands and pulls your chin to stare at him, and the way your eyebrows knit and the tears stream down your pretty cheeks turn him on tremendously. “talk to me, baby.” he whispers, groaning as he slows down and focus on pounding hardly.

“f-feels weird, ‘t-toru.” you moan out shakingly, trying to open your eyes but they threaten to keep closing due to the immense pleasure, and gojo tilts his hips up slightly and one more thrust hits a spot that you yell out, your toes curl and eyes roll to the back of your head.

“you’re being so dirty, baby.” he smirks, knowing he’s found your g-spot again, but in a better angle. gojo’s been trying to only please you with your clit the last times you’ve had sex, because he knew you weren’t going to be able to endure him using this one spot against you. “just let it go, ‘kay? it’ll feel so good, i promise.” and you look at him, breathing heavily as he continues to bully that spongy spot, your mouth turning into an open circle as you fail to breathe. gojo picks up the pace suddenly as he grabs both your legs again, he’s close, he’s so fucking close.

“i’m gonna cum in you, okay?” his words don’t even process into your head, as you want to kiss him, pulling gojo by the shoulders and neck, yet he doesn’t give in to you yet. “look at me and answer.” he’s demanding, and you’re aroused by that, your dizzy eyes look up at him. “i’m gonna fuck my cum in you,“ he’s talking so dirty it feels wrong, but your panting is only feeding him. “wanna be pregnant with my cum, baby?” your eyebrows furrow and you moan at the thought, it was an unconscious reaction, yet gojo now knew that you were done for as you squirted against his cock, failing to mute your moans as you bit your lip, and it was an intense orgasm. “i do.” you whine in the middle, and gojo has to throw his head back and chuckle at you, he’s got hearts in his eyes.

that alone makes him groan and cum inside you with another pound, and at this point, with how much you’re clenching him, you’re milking gojo dry quite literally. gojo thrusts without pulling out, he wants it all the way inside your cervix. “shouldn’t have said that, baby.” he whispers as his eyes latch down onto where you both connect.

you shouldn’t, you really really shouldn’t.

“ngh… fuc—fuck, you like my cum, don’t you, pretty girl?”, “knew you wanted me to cum in you, princess.”, “you’re such a dirty cumslut.”, “i’m gonna cum again, this time you’ll get pregnant, for sure, i swear.” you shouldn’t have said that because now gojo’s in the third round, and your pussy’s burning, destroyed and stretched out, filled with cum and it’s like your belly’s expanding at how much he’s came inside you, going in for another and more.

gojo knew he was a pervert, and he knew he was going to make a mess out of you, make you his little pretty innocent toy.

“holy fuck, princess, it’s all into your womb now, i’m sure!”

[unstable-samural]

THE NEW GIRL NEXT DOOR WANTS YOU - smut

Miyeon x Male Reader

one-shot

tags: blowjob, teasing, strangers tor lovers, penetration, creampie, girl next door

[Note: English is not my native language, So possible grammar errors and more rigid prose can be found in the text. But I ask that you give it a chance, if I don't give up on this, I will work hard, bringing longer and more effortful stories:)

This is the first version, I will eventually correct whatever is wrong.]

History:

The moving team worked very hard. Fortunately it would be a quick job. One of the many advantages of being a single and minimalist man: little furniture. Y/N helped the moving team by picking up the most delicate boxes that contained electronics and fragile objects. The neighborhood was beautiful on that calm afternoon, the golden sun radiated the green grass and the white fences of the houses on the street.

"Man, I'm going to love living here", thought Y/N, sighing with satisfaction.

He noticed that the neighboring house on the right had a beautiful flowerbed. Maybe it was a kind old lady who lived there. The whole flower and decoration thing indicated that. He still didn't know any of his neighbors. Y/N cut off his thoughts and returned to his task. It didn't take long to get everything inside the house, anyway.

The interior of the residence now had some furniture scattered throughout the rooms and several boxes that needed to be opened. Y/N wasn't in a hurry, he would do everything calmly, after all, it's not like visitors were going to show up anytime soon...

Well, he was wrong about that.

While he was drinking water, the doorbell rang, slightly startling him. Y/N really thought he was going to be completely alone, at least for the first few weeks until he adjusted to the neighborhood. The person at the door was probably one of the neighbors wanting to welcome him or something. Y/N was exhausted as hell, but he couldn't start things in this new city by ignoring people like that.

To his surprise, the one on the other side of the door was a beautiful young blonde. She holding a box of chocolate.

"Hello, new neighbor! I came to welcome you to the neighborhood." She said, quite excited.

The girl was wearing a red flowery dress that highlighted her small body.

"Hello! Are you one of my neighbors?"

"I'm the girl next door. I brought this to you." She handed him the box of chocolates.

"You didn't have to do that. Thank you very much. What's your name?"

"My name is Miyeon." She smiled at him. It was a charming smile.

"Y/N."

He reached out to shake her hand, but Miyeon pulled him into a hug. Y/N couldn't help but enjoy the heat her body emanated, the sweet scent was also delirious.

"I was watching you when you were bringing the furniture into the house." She revealed it to him.

"Serious?" Y/N questioned. "I did not see you."

"You seemed focused on the task."

"It must have been because of that. Are you, by any chance, the owner of that beautiful flower bed?"

"Yes! It's mine! I've been taking care of it for about two years. It's my greatest pride!" She told him, her little eyes sparkled with joy. "It's not very common for men to pay attention to flower beds and things like that. You're quite observant, Y/N."

"I think we both are."

Miyeon laughed, her cheeks flushed.

"I hope you like the chocolates."

"They look great."

"Do you have anything for dinner at your house?" Miyeon asked.

"Actually, I was thinking about ordering a pizza."

"Save the pizza for tomorrow. I can make you dinner at my house and bring it to yours. We both eat together. What do you think?"

Y/N quickly thought that: even if he was delirious with fever he would still be unable to refuse a proposal like that.

"If it's not too much trouble, I would love that."

"Me too! Then I'll see you later."

"I'll be waiting for you."

She said goodbye to him and went to her house.

He wasted no time getting ready. Y/N ran to the bathroom to take a well-deserved hot shower. In the shower he felt silly for being so excited about that dinner, he almost looked like a 15 year boy on first date. But Miyeon was a really beautiful and attractive woman, as well as incredibly friendly. He didn't expect a blessing like that to happen so suddenly on his first day in the new house. "Miracles happen," he thought. And also, after the last relationship, he deserved to breathe new air.

Breathe new women.

Y/N played poker on his laptop sitting on the sofa in the living room. The internet would only be turned on the next day, and he was starting to feel a bit of withdrawal from not being connected. But when deciding to leave the troubled capital, he should also get used to being a little offline. All the social media shit had been fucking with his brain for a while.

"I need to learn gardening or something.", he thought.

The doorbell again. And now Y/N didn't feel fear when he heard it, but rather excitement. Y/N took the notebook off his lap and placed it on the sofa, combed his hair a little more with his fingers and went to open the door.

"I hope you like lasagna!" Miyeon exclaimed, carrying a glass baking dish with both hands.

Y/N barely managed to speak since he opened the door. She was dressed really provocatively, and acted like she didn't give a shit, totally casual. She had placed the lasagna on the kitchen counter. The two were sitting on the sofa. Miyeon was cross-legged, and the short skirt she was wearing wasn't able to hide even half of those juicy thighs.

"You're going to live alone, right?" She asked.

"Yes. Do you live alone too?"

"Correct. I used to live in the capital, but I got tired of the traffic, the people there, all the futility and stuff. My job luckily allows me to live anywhere I want."

"We're not much different then."

"You also lived in the capital?!" She asked, amazed.

"Exactly."

"Now I'm sure we'll get along great." Miyeon commented, and casually placed her hand on Y/N's knee.

It was soft and warm. A thought came over him and he imagined her sliding that hand to his thigh, and from his thigh to his groin. Just by vaguely imagining this scene, Y/N felt his dick harden inside his pants.

"You know, I was actually watching you move in. You caught my attention. In fact, I've seen you since you came here last month to look at the house." Miyeon's voice was no longer animated from before. It was now in a low and sweet tone. Sexy. "I hoped you would become my new neighbor."

"I think if I had seen you too, I would have moved here a lot quicker."

She smiled.

"You're sweet" Miyeon slid the hand that was on Y/N's knee to his thigh. "And naughty."

"Why you say that?"

"Because I can see your hard dick in your pants."

Y/N couldn't contain himself and placed his hand on Miyeon's thigh. The grip was so intense and sudden that she couldn't take it and let out a muffled moan.

"I can't control myself with you dressed like that" he said, looking intensely into her eyes.

"I don't want you to control yourself, darling." when she finished speaking she jumped into Y/N's lap. He grabbed her small waist and started kissing Miyeon on every corner of her face: cheek, mouth, chin and neck. She was totally surrendered, and felt between her legs how hard his dick was.

Y/n slid his fingers along the strap of Miyeon's crop top, feeling the soft texture of her skin under her eager touches. With a slow, deliberate movement, he lowered the strap and, to his surprise and delight, saw that she was not wearing a bra. Miyeon's small but perfectly formed breasts were exposed. Without hesitation, Y/N leaned forward and captured a nipple between his lips, sucking it voraciously as his tongue played with the sensitive tip. Miyeon arched her back in response, moaning loudly with the pleasure that coursed through her body. "Yes, baby!" she said between muffled moans.

"I love having my breasts sucked. They are sensitive. This makes me so excited." She commented, ecstatic.

As Y/N occupied himself with her tits, Miyeon felt more and more aroused, her breathing becoming heavier by the second. With hands shaking with desire, she got off Y/N's lap, her mind fixed on one thing: completely drooling over that hard, thick cock that was waiting for her. In one agile movement, she unbuttoned Y/N's pants, eager to taste what was underneath.

Miyeon played with Y/N, caressing the dick that was inside his underwear with desire. "Make him wet for me, baby," she begged, slyly. Miyeon started kissing Y/N's dick. The warm, soft lips through the cotton of his underwear gave him indescribable pleasure. "Keep going...argh!! This feels so, so good," he sighed. It didn't take long for the underwear to become damp where the glans of the cock was. Y/N let out an anticipatory moan when Miyeon released his dick. He breathed quickly when he felt the skillful caress of her lips wrapping around his cock, which was pulsing with excitement. Y/N's eyes closed instinctively, getting lost in the overwhelming sensations that Miyeon's mouth provided. Every suck, every moan of pleasure she made, every flick of her tongue, pushed him closer to the edge of absolute pleasure.

With a husky moan, Y/N pulled away from Miyeon before she made him cum, her eyes shining with lust as he made her stand. "Sit on the sofa and open your legs for me!", he ordered, and she smiled at the order. With eager hands, he lifted Miyeon's skirt, exposing her wet, pink pussy to him. Without hesitation, he dove between her legs, his tongue finding the right spot of pleasure that made her tremble with desire. Miyeon's moans echoed through the room, her mixing with the sound of wet and obscene movements that filled the air while stroking Y/N's hair.

Finally, momentarily satiated by the intensity of pleasure, Y/N sat down on the couch, her eyes burning with desire as he watched her hungry for more. With a husky, lust-filled voice, he ordered her to ride him, giving in completely to the desire that consumed them. Miyeon didn't need any further encouragement, riding Y/N with a ferocity that only increased the intensity of the pleasure they shared. Her pussy turned out to be very tight and incredibly delicious. The hip movements were incredible, the skirt was lifted to the waist, while the top was pulled down. It was beautiful the way she rode on his lap, so that Y/N didn't want to close his eyes just to see her moving smoothly and steadily on top of him.

"Daddy!" She blurted out of her mouth.

"Do you like riding your Daddy?!"

"I love it! I love it! I love it!" She moaned louder and louder.

"Just like that! Yeah! Such a good girl!"

"Argh! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Miyeon moaned following the rhythm of her hips going back and forth simultaneously. That was art!

"What you said before?" Y/N asked between moans and heavy breathing. "Your boobs are sensitive, right?"

Y/N took his back from the back of the sofa and hugged Miyeon. He could wrap his entire body around her, and that was delicious, because that was what he felt like doing with her: wrapping himself completely around Miyeon until he ejaculated.

Y/N grabbed Miyeon's waist and it was as if she already knew what he was going to do because she automatically arched her back so he could suck her boobs. This made her go crazy immediately. "So good..." she moaned. Miyeon started to ride faster as she became delirious with pleasure.

"Like this! Keep sucking my little tits, Daddy! Oh!How naughty you are! You suck so good!"

Y/N squeezed Miyeon's ass tightly while licking one of her nipples without stopping. She was moaning incredibly loudly.

"Slap my ass, Daddy!"

"Ask again!"

"Spank my ass, Daddy. Slap it until it turns red, please!" She screamed.

He slapped her while she rode frantically. Y/N was going crazy with so much pleasure.

"I'm going to cum!" He groaned in her ear.

"Cum inside me, baby! Let's cum together!"

"I can?"

"Yes! I'm taking the pills.

Y/N thrust her hips making her accelerate at a pace she had no control over.

"I'm going to cum... I'm going to cum!" She said.

"Cum for me!"

"I'm going to cum on your cock, Daddy!" She screamed, then wrapped her arms around Y/N's back, scratching him in the act.

Miyeon flexed her thighs on his lap as her pussy squirted, gyrating her hips and rolling her eyes in pleasure. Those movements involved all the sensitive receptors in Y/N's dick, and that was the end for him, cumming inside her, pressing Miyeon's body against him, while she said:

"How delicious! I feel your hot cum inside me... Uhhh!" Her entire body shook. "Now it was dripping..."

She remained astride him for a few moments longer, while cum slowly dripped down her pale thighs. Y/N kissed her, slowly and tenderly.

"That was amazing!" He said. His body was completely relaxed and the brain had reset itself. Little by little reality returned to his mind.

Miyeon got off his lap and it was a surprise for both of them to see that his dick was still a little hard.

"Can you handle another round later?" She asked, giving him a teasing look. "I haven't felt this hot for someone in a long, long time."

"We can have sex after dinner. Now I'm starving... Damn, the lasagna must have gotten cold!"

"Do you know what the second best thing is to sex?" She asked, trying to hide a laugh.

"Hmm, i don't think so."

"Microwave!"

[magiccath]

The Prettiest Alien

tenth doctor x reader (fairly ambiguous relationship)

Summary: In which the Doctor gets a skirt

A/N: he'd look amazing in a skirt, fight me on it

The Doctor loved little shops. They were probably his favorite of all the things in the vast universe. You could find just about anything in a shop, even things you didn’t know you needed. Every time he passed a little shop he had to fight the urge to go in. You never knew what treasures could be waiting inside, his favorite coat had come from a shop on the West side of London. His life would have been miserable if he hadn’t gone into that shop.

Imagine his surprise and joy when the two of you stumbled across a little village full of small shops. The two of you spent the whole day there, just walking about. You spent hours exploring the village, peering into the windows. You would go into a few, browsing all kinds of goods. 

As you passed a shop window, the Doctor had an unmistakable look of joy and childish excitement. You looked into the window to discover a shop entirely devoted to rubber ducks. The Doctor sprinted inside without waiting for you, already gaping at all of the themed ducks. He held one up to you as you walked in, pointing enthusiastically at its purple wizard hat.

“Did you know the original rubber duck didn’t even float? It was solid,” he explained as he pulled his glasses out of his coat to look at the various ducks better. He studied them the same way that he did the various alien languages on the TARDIS console that you couldn’t read.

Later, he ended up rummaging around his coat pockets for Earth money, making you hold the various coins as he pulled them from his endless pockets, trying to find enough to buy a pair of duck-patterned socks. 

Really, you were just happy to just trail behind him, looking at the bits and bobs as he rambled on about everything and nothing. 

After a few hours of browsing, the Doctor stopped in front of a little boutique. He stared at the display with wide eyes, clearly admiring the mannequin. You peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. The window display was small with just one outfit styled for passersby to look at. The simple, sleek mannequin was dressed up in a dusty pink tulle skirt paired with a flowery blouse. You couldn’t help but think it was entirely Parisian. 

“Let’s go in!” You smiled at the Doctor, noticing his interest in the display. You didn't think much of it initially, considering you had been looking at the display with the same interest. 

The Doctor momentarily blushed before following you into the shop silently, keeping his head down in a very uncharacteristic manner. He followed you as you wandered through the shop, your hands brushing over the fancy and expensive garments. 

“I’ve always loved looking at stuff like this,” you giggled as you held up a fancy garment, your fingers rubbing against the silky fabric. The Doctor simply nodded, his silence confusing to you. He was usually extremely talkative, even when he didn’t need to be. Usually, he would be making some comment about the fabric - telling you the strange origins of the print or explaining how silk was made in more detail than you were typically comfortable with. Instead, he was just standing there awkwardly as you chattered on every now and then. It was a dramatic change from just a few short hours ago and it left you wondering what was wrong.

Deciding he was just uncomfortable in such a fancy store, you suggested that the two of you move on to others. The Doctor blushed, his eyes darting around the room before nodding. 

On the way out, you passed the rack of dusty pink skirts that had been in the display window. The Doctor halted, his slender fingers momentarily brushing against the puffy tulle. You stopped as well, taking in his gentle expression as he looked upon the skirts. 

That’s when it hit you. The Doctor wasn’t uncomfortable in the shop because he felt out of place or even out of disinterest. He wanted the skirt. The Doctor wasn’t one to ask for things, especially unconventional things. 

“Do you wanna wait outside? I’m gonna grab a few things,” you suggested with a soft smile. 

The Doctor pulled himself from his thoughts. He quickly withdrew his hand from the skirt, almost as if he was afraid it would burn him. His head hung in embarrassment, hoping you hadn’t paid too much attention to him. 

“Yeah, I’ll just head across the street, I think there’s a sweets shop,” he said, rushing his words. You nodded in agreement and he practically darted out the door, speed walking away from you anxiously. You laughed to yourself before turning your attention to the skirts. 

They really were beautiful, and they even had pockets! Donna would be proud, she was always an advocate for things having pockets, especially after her chaotically disastrous wedding. You flicked through the skirts, looking for one that was relatively the Doctor’s size. It wasn’t hard, he had such a slender waist. 

You picked out the skirt and carried it over to the counter, handing it to the lady proudly. 

“Fantastic choice,” she smiled as she wrung you up, “did your boyfriend pick it out for you?” She asked, gesturing her head to the door, clearly referring to the Doctor.

You shook your head and handed her your card, “no, it’s for him,” you said simply. It wasn’t that big of a deal to you. Thankfully, it wasn’t for the cashier either. 

“It will look great on him,” she said, carefully wrapping the skirt in some tissue paper before sliding it into a bag and handing it over to you. You smiled down at the parcel, feeling a warmth in your heart. You thanked her before rushing out of the store to find the Doctor, clutching the bag to your chest protectively. 

He didn’t question your bag, especially since you had told him you were going to get something. He just assumed you had treated yourself to something nice.

As the two of you walked back to the TARDIS at the end of the day he finally gathered the courage to ask, “What did you end up getting?” 

You followed his eyeline to the bag in your hands. He was looking down at it with thinly veiled interest, clearly excited to see what was inside.

“When we get inside I can show you,” you offered, holding the door to the ship open for him. He nodded as he walked inside. You followed him, setting the bag down on the console. The Doctor was doing a rubbish job of hiding his excitement as you pulled your coat off and got comfortable. The way he was eyeing the bag reminded you of an eager kid waiting to open Christmas presents.

Finally, you pulled the skirt out of the bag, unwrapping the tissue paper so you could hold it up.

“It’s beautiful-” the Doctor exhaled, looking at the skirt with admiration. 

“It’s for you,” you explained, handing the skirt over to him. He took the skirt from you, holding it in his hands with a delicacy that was extremely rare for the Time Lord.

“For me?” He asked, clearly confused. He looked down at the skirt in his hands, his face a mix of conflicting emotions. 

“I could tell you liked it and you deserved a present,” you smiled. 

“You got me a skirt?” he asked, looking up at you with wide eyes. 

“I thought you might like it…” you whispered, suddenly worried that you had misinterpreted his interest in the skirt. 

“You’re ok with me wearing a skirt?” he asked, his eyes almost watery as he said it.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you frowned. “If it was an ugly skirt maybe I’d have issues with it, but it’s a really pretty skirt.” 

“You got me a skirt,” the Doctor whispered, looking back down at it with a loving smile.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “D’you wanna try it on? I had to guess on your size.” 

The Doctor nodded, quickly unzipping the skirt. He didn’t even bother with taking his trousers off before slipping it on. He buttoned the skirt and looked down at his new piece of clothing, grinning like a madman. 

“It looks great, even with the trousers,” you chuckled, honestly just happy to see the Doctor this overjoyed. You had seen him happy plenty of times, but this was a different kind of happy. 

“Really?” he asked, almost self-consciously. 

“Prettiest Time Lord I’ve ever seen,” you teased, leaning forward to kiss his cheek softly.

“I’m the only Time Lord you’ve ever seen… Well, besides the Master.” 

“Fine, the prettiest alien I’ve been. By far,” you smiled, adjusting his tie. The Doctor’s cheeks slightly reddened at your compliment, which was a rare occurrence. Usually, he was the one making you a blushing mess. 

“I really mean it,” you whispered earnestly. The skirt really did suit him.

The Doctor grinned, kissing you quickly, his own way of saying “thank you”

After that, the Doctor started wearing his new skirt all the time. You really loved when you would walk into the control room and he’d be sitting on the floor like a child, the skirt pooling out beneath him as he worked on the console. You loved seeing his mismatched socks sticking over the top of his Converse, the perfectly chaotic pairing for such an elegant skirt. 

You ended up buying him another one. And another one after that. One needs variety, after all. 

[seresinhangmanjake]

Signed Away: Epilogue

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader Series

Summary: You find out about the contractual marriage your parents arranged with Jake’s when you were a baby. You’re plently angered by it, but Jake doesn’t seem too bothered. He might even be happy.

Notes/Warnings: smut-ish 18+, cursing, pregnancy.

Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, or commented on any part of this story. I very much appreciate it, and I’m glad this was something people could enjoy and wanted to stick around for :)

Masterlist

Words: 3659

-----

“Jakey Seresin!” 

You plopped down on your knees in the patchy wet grass, dirty droplets soaking into the fabric of your flowery dress and ruining the cream-colored tights covering your legs.

He heard you but didn’t stop molding the straight, raised path of solid mud in front of him, a couple feet long, smooth on top, and about five inches in width. You watched his mud-caked fingers work, tilting your head like a puppy searching for understanding. With a twig he drew a careful line down the center of his creation, then he tossed the stick aside and stretched an arm high so the toy airplane he held could soar above both of your heads. 

"I wanna marry you," you said when he still hadn't acknowledged you.

Jake’s eyes followed the plane, but his nose wrinkled in disgust. “No way. I’m never getting married.”

“Why?” you whined, bottom lip protruding in a pout.

“Because girls are yucky,” he said. 

The plane circled the space between you then went in for the landing. His thumb flicked a tiny piece of plastic on the toy and small wheels shot out from the belly of the plane.

“I’m not yucky!”

He paused, looked at you with a huff, and dropped the vehicle in his lap. “Sure, you are,” he teased. He pinched your cheek and pulled, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to give new shape to your face. “And you’re just a little baby.”

“I am not!” You tried to speak with determination, but the awkward elongation of your mouth from his tugging fingers made the words come out sloppy and muddled.

“You’re four,” he countered and released your cheek. “That’s a baby.”

“I’m almost five!” you snapped as you held up your hand, spreading all five fingers wide so he could clearly count each one.

“You still have nap time.”

“Not forever! I’ll grow up! Then we can get married.”

He appeased you with a pretend moment of consideration, then he shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

With a sigh of disappointment your head fell, forcing Jake’s muddy craft project to invade your line of sight. It sprouted new interest, allowing you to forget your heartbreak. “What did you make?”

When you looked up, Jake was staring at you, waiting for you to say more. A blond eyebrow rose. “Why?”

You shrugged. “I want to know.”

Another few beats of uncertainty passed before a grin took over his face. A glimmer shone in his eyes; excitement evident in the language of his body. “Ok, well these,” he pointed to the wiggly lines etched into the mud around his man-made construction, “are waves in the water. And this,” he motioned his finger up and down the long path, “is a runway. Like on an aircraft carrier.”

“What’s an aircraft car-eer?”

“Carry-er.”

“Carry-er,” you repeated.

He nodded. “It’s kinda a big boat. Navy jets take off and land on it in the ocean.”

“That’s weird,” you giggled, and Jake shrugged.

“Well, when I’m older I’m gonna be a pilot.”

“A pilot?”

“Yea. They fly the planes…jets and stuff.”

“Woah.” Your eyes widened. You weighed his words in your mind, tossing them around until you settled on your own understanding. “I’m gonna marry a pilot!”

Jake snorted and shook his head, then he picked up one of his planes. “Here,” he said, handing it to you. He watched your little fingers wrap around the wing. “Play with me.”

—--

26 years later

“I can feel your eyes on me,” you said. 

You were staring out the window of your home, loving how even in the winter, the sun shined bright—its warmth carried on the breezes traveling from the ocean that was your backyard. California was different than Texas in many ways, but the lack of winter chill was something you were glad to have be the same. You’d had your fill of the cold season over the past few years with Jake’s job taking you around the world. And while you loved the experiences and people and cultures, California offered things no other place could. Mainly, your family—or adopted family as you had taken to calling them—settled down all in one place. 

“My eyes are always on you.” 

Jake’s voice was as soft as the breath that caressed the shell of your ear. You shivered from the feel of it, gooseflesh spreading on your arms and raising the short hairs there. His hands rested on your shoulders and he began to knead his fingers into the exposed flesh, easily working around the thin, yellow straps of your dress. Under his touch, your body relaxed and allowed the massage to loosen any knots.

“You seem tired," he said. 

You chuckled but it quickly turned into a moan as his thumbs met at the base of your neck and pressed against your spine, moving up and down in slow strokes from your hairline to the chain of your necklace and back. “Carrying your child inside me is no easy feat."

“If it makes you feel any better, you look amazing while you're doing it." 

His lips replaced his fingers, drawing a line of gentle kisses over your shoulder. The second moan you released was met with a subtle growl, so low no one but you could’ve possibly heard it had a hundred people been near. Each kiss lasted longer than the one before and you loved falling into it. Whenever he kissed you, regardless of where, each nerve ending in your system happily hummed and tingled and begged for more. You could lose track of time that way. Often did.

You twisted in his arms and wrapped your own around his neck, willingly accepting the touch of his lips to yours. He ran the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you opened your mouth so it could slip inside to play. Fingers snuck under the hem of your dress. Rough palms dragged up your thighs and around to your ass, squeezing and pulling you closer. You savored the feeling while you could. Soon your belly would be too large for him to hold you this way.

When you separated for a breath, Jake's eyes grazed down to your neck. His finger traced along the thin chain, down to the new diamond that now sat at the center of your clavicles. "You like this?"

"I love it,” you said. “I love you.”

“I love you, baby.” he brushed a soft kiss on your forehead. "And now you know how much."

"I've always known, Jake." Always known—never questioned it—even when he’d neglected to inform you of what your mother had tried to do to the two of you. It came from a place of love, fueled by an instinctual need to protect you and the future you could have. The future you eventually got. 

"You were supposed to be off all day. What did they call you in for?" you asked.

"To get a couple things ready for the new class. Did Rooster come by already?"

"Yep. We're all set. So what do you want to do for our special day, Mr. Seresin?"

"It’s not wise to ask me that, Mrs. Seresin,” he said, tucking some of your hair back behind your ear. “We'll end up staying in bed all day."

"Oh, that would be very tragic."

He chuckled. "I gotta take you by the bar. Penny has a baby gift that she said she won't hand over unless she gets to see you herself."

When Jake decided to be a pilot after you were released from the contract, he quickly became one of the best, and it put him in line with his friends in no time. But being one of the best granted him the attention that brought you to California two years ago—to Top Gun. While you’d been unbelievably proud of him, that mission nearly killed you. You’d sat at home, not sleeping, your knees constantly bouncing, your nails whittled down to nubs. With your family off risking their lives, all you had was Penny. She understood; she took care of you. She became a friend, a confidant, and something of a mother figure.

“And after the bar?”

“Whatever your heart desires, sweetheart.”

—--

You watched him, your eyes glued to his face as he laughed loudly enough to fill the space, his head thrown back from something Penny said, his teeth on full display, and blond hair shimmering in the midday sunlight that coated the inner walls of the bar. 

He was so beautiful. He’d chuckle if you ever spoke it aloud, but it was nothing short of the truth. Every line and plane of his face seemed so carefully crafted. Like the work of an artist; a sculptor chipping away at a block marble to uncover the hidden beauty within. There was no poor angle; no slip of the chisel. He was undeniably perfect. And he was yours.

Ten years had passed since your wedding. Ten years of growing, of loving, of aging, and yet Jake looked just as good as he did when he stood across from you in front of that altar. Better, actually, when you gave it a thought. He had delicate little lines across his forehead, some at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but all a decade had really done was make him stronger, harder, wiser, firmer. He was a wall of a man. Somehow broader. Somehow thicker. But still devastatingly attractive. The same and yet different. 

When you pulled out your wedding photo that morning—the one you’d chosen not to hang on your pale blue wall; the one that was partially blurry because you were both too giddy to stand still—you were amazed at how young you looked. Babies. Without any physical wear and tear. Both fresh and new and standing a little taller after the weight of your mother was off your shoulders. It was so far from yesterday, but you could still remember every second of that day and the days that followed. You could remember having the thought that your happiness in that bungalow wouldn’t carry through to the rest of your life; that surely it wasn’t possible. But Jake made it possible. 

Your new reality was wrapped in happiness, and everything else—the business, the contract, your mother—became a dream. It all slipped away, losing power until you could finally say that you no longer acknowledged that life. You took the lessons you learned and stepped into a different world. A world with Jake. 

He laughed again.

You had promised one another you’d do something special for the day—lunch at your favorite restaurant or maybe an afternoon at the beach. But as you stared at your husband, you knew you didn’t need anything else. He was all you wanted. So after Penny smiled and threw her arms around you and handed you the gift—a silver rattle with the words Baby Seresin etched into the rounded shape—you leaned over and whispered in your husband’s ear all the things you wanted him to do to you. 

At that moment, any plans you'd considered for the day were canceled. He said a quick goodbye to Penny and grabbed your hand, dragging you out the door before you could finish your glass of water. 

You ended up doing exactly as he’d teased—spent the rest of the day in bed, kissing and fucking and loving every second of your bodies giving and taking the pleasure between you. You surrendered to the heat of the room, the thick air dampening your skin and molding you together. Pregnant as you were, you were surprised you managed to last so long, but Jake did everything to keep you in safe positions, comfortable and cared for until you’d thoroughly exhausted one another. 

You laid side by side, both staring at the ceiling, your chests rising and falling—admittedly, Jake’s a little more vigorously. 

“Any chance you’re hungry after all of that?” he asked through heavy breaths. 

“Starving.”

His fingers intertwined with yours and he sat up. “Come on, baby.”

As you walked through the door, you noticed for the first time that the sun's light had faded while you were holed up in your room. What felt like an hour, turned into many, and darkness sprouted stars in the sky. 

Jake led you down the stairs, his hand not dropping from yours until he opened the fridge to grab a leftover cupcake from the original dozen Phoenix had whipped up for you. He pulled the shiny wrapper down and tore off a small piece of the cake before holding it up to your lips. You parted them for him and he slowly pushed the sweet sponge into your mouth. 

Vanilla icing clung to the top of your lip as you chewed and with his index finger Jake swiped it off, sticking it in his mouth and sucking. 

He smirked. "I can still taste you on my finger through the icing."

"Let me see." You snatched his hand and wrapped your lips around his extended finger, tracing and swirling the tip of your tongue over the digit. 

Jake groaned.

"Baby, you can't do shit like this." His voice was rough, gravelly, deliciously drowning in lust while his eyes followed your mouth sliding up his finger before releasing it with a pop. "You know I'm just going to want to throw you onto that bed again."

"Maybe that's the whole poin—"

"Whatever dirty things you're doing to each other, stop now!" You jumped at the sound of Rooster’s voice coming from down the hall. Neither of you heard the door open, too distracted by one another. "An innocent child is about to enter the room." 

"We aren't doing anything," you called back. 

“Anymore,” Jake mumbled as he kissed your temple. 

Rooster cautiously peeked his head around the corner, a dark eyebrow raised and eyes scanning up and down your bodies to ensure you were fully clothed. "Oh, good. You never know with the two of you."

"You walked in on us one time, Rooster."

"And it scarred me for life."

The two-year-old child on Rooster's hip was giggling non-stop. So much so that his rounded cheeks had turned bright red. You grinned at the look on his little face—the joy he displayed as he laughed and wiggled in your friend’s arms.

"Mama!"

"Hi, bug!" you said. "Come here."

Rooster set your son on his feet and he dashed over to you, ramming into your legs and wrapping his tiny arms around them as best he could. You ran your fingers through his blond hair, straightening out the messy locks.

"Up!"

Jake chuckled and plucked his son off the floor. "Mama can't pick you up right now, little man. Do you remember why?"

"Sissy?"

"Mhmm. Mama is carrying your baby sister," he said, placing his palm against your rounded stomach. "Right in there."

You laid your hand atop his, returning the beaming smile Jake was shooting you before looking to Rooster.

"How was he?" You asked. 

"Easy as always. We had a great time. Watch this—Hey Caleb, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I'm gonna be a pilot like Daddy and Uncle Roo and Auntie Nat and—

You sighed. "Oh, lord."

"Well would you look at that, sweetheart."

"And let me guess: all of you are going to teach him now that you're instructors?"

"Absolutely," Rooster chimed. "My godson will be taught by no one but the best." 

Jake nodded, poking at his son's belly with his free hand until the beautiful song of his giggles rang through the room again. "We're gonna have to start practicing our saluting, aren't we, little man?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Jake kissed his cheek and put him down, giving a little pat to his back. "Alright, go say goodnight to Uncle Rooster."

Rooster crouched and spread his arms wide for a hug, and Caleb took off across the tiled floor, launching into him.

The two had a special bond. Rooster, like the rest of your friends, truly was family. And with your parents not in your son’s life and Jake’s still in Texas, you were thrilled Caleb had more people around to love him. You were able to give him what you never had, and every time you saw them together, it was one more reassurance that you were nothing like the woman who birthed you.

"Bye, bye, Uncle Roo."

"Bye, kiddo. Sleep well, ok?"

"Ok."

Caleb twisted in his spot and hopped back over to his father, gripping his outstretched hand with all ten fingers and swinging it back and forth. Jake let his arm fall limp, allowing Caleb to flail it about as he pleased. 

"Thank you, Rooster," you said, hoping the sincerity was evident in your tone. 

"I'm always here when you guys need a little break." He winked.

Then he left, likely to make his way to the Hard Deck to see the young fiery-haired bartender who had become your friend after you discovered your children were attached at the hip from daycare. She was sweet and loveable and you knew why he liked her. It was about time another one from your small group found someone. 

“Alright,” Jake began, “Bedtime.”

—--

"Is he out?" You asked as Jake shuffled into your bedroom. 

"Like a light." 

He peeled his clothes off, a piece falling to the floor with each step toward your bed. Then the comforter was pulled back and he snuck under it, settling into the mattress and yanking your body against his. 

You giggled, limbs uncontrollably writhing when his nose began to nuzzle your neck. "Jake, it tickles. Stop."

"No," he whined. “You smell too good."

You hummed contently as a kiss met your skin. "What do I smell like?"

"Just…” he sucked and nibbled, “like you."

A beat passed. Then suddenly your bottom lip moved on its own, the beginning of the quivers you were unsuccessful in tamping down. Carefully flipping onto your side to face him, you rose a hand to cup his cheek. 

“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he whispered. Your faces were so close, noses nearly touching, and his question was a warm puff of heat against your lips. 

That question had a dozen answers. The tears welled from countless places, pulling from every feeling contained in each cell of your body. You cried because you loved him. You cried because of how good he could make you feel. You cried because of what you had, and what you'd made. You cried because of the letter he left you that morning before going to work; the one that sat beside the box holding the diamond necklace now around your neck.

You blinked to clear the salty liquid that was blurring his face, squeezed-out tears falling and soaking into your pillow. “I’ve known you my whole life” you said, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb.

“And that makes you,” his brows twisted in confusion, “sad?”

“No, Jake. That makes me grateful.”

Dimples carved into his cheeks, then he closed the space, lips sealing, fingers tangling into your hair. It tasted sweet, a sugary hint still clinging to the walls of your mouths from the icing you’d both sucked on. 

Your body sank further into the mattress and your only thought was: Stay. Stay where you are, in the arms of the man who saved you and loved you, who you, too, saved and loved. Stay where you’re content and warm from the weight of his body beside you. Stay in this moment where your child sleeps soundly down the hall and the one inside you continues to healthily grow. Such a perfect time to freeze your life, and bottle it up for safe keeping.

But you couldn’t stay. You would have to continue on, as people do. Though, you weren’t afraid anymore. It had been ten years since the thought of your future terrified you. You couldn’t fear the next chapters of your life if you tried. There was too much good. Too much hope.

Jake took a breath. Smiled. Kissed your forehead. “Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart,” he said.

And you replied, “Happy Anniversary, Jake.”

—--

Sweetheart,

I’m sorry I couldn’t wake up with you. I got called into work this morning, but I’ll come back to you soon. Maybe the necklace will make up for it?

I want you to know something. Hopefully you already know it, though. Hopefully I’ve proven it time and time again. If not, then I’ll have to spend the next ten years doubling down on the effort, because you deserve nothing less. You deserve everything, baby. 

I want you to know how much I love you. I know you know that I do love you, but the depths of it, Sweetheart…it's hard to find the words to fully explain. But I’m going to try anyway:

You are the love of my life. You’re the love of any life I might’ve had. Of any direction my life might have taken or any universe we might have lived in, it would always be you. Had we not been friends as children, had we not been neighbors or gone to the same school or had parents that forced us together, it still wouldn’t have mattered. I believe we would’ve found each other, somehow. I believe you were made for me, and I for you, and anything else would not have been enough. 

You and I faced the biggest challenge we possibly could have and we made it out. We fought our way out, baby. And we built something perfect. We’ve given each other so much. Love and support and care. We gave each other Caleb and our baby girl, and I couldn’t ask for more. There isn’t anything else I want or need. I have our children. I have you. I have it all. 

I love you, sweetheart. Always. Happy Anniversary.

x Jake

THE END…kind of

---

A/N: Again, thank you to everyone who read and supported this story. It’s really meant a lot to me :) Hopefully this was a satisfying ending in some way. There will be future fics stemming from this so if you liked Signed Away, look out for those. Also, requests are open if anyone has any ideas for future things they’d like to see. 

To @xoxabs88xox, that thing we talked about happening is being moved to a future fic. 

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[feyhunter78]

Can I have a one shot where Aemond has fallen for the old librarians apprentice? He just stumbles upon her trying teach herself high Valyrian through books but she quite obviously and miserably fails so Aemond is determined to teach her himself. She ends up teaching him some things in return, they both tease and flirt with each other through Valyrian and common tongue and they both fall for each other. He asks her to marry him in the end but IT IS POSSIBLE!!! as she’s like a 4th daughter to a high-ish lord.

You definitely can!!! This one ended up being way longer than I meant it to be XD I hope you enjoy it!!!!!

Apprentice!reader masterlist

Study Sessions

You sat in a back corner pouring over the tomes before you, scratching notes into the parchment, and comparing your scribblings to the ancient texts. “Se ēbrion iksis zōbrie se lēdan lēda—lēda qēlos…” You groaned in frustration, sounding out the word in your mind, trying to wrap your tongue around the last syllable for the word ‘stars’.

“Qēlossās.” A low voice said, making you jolt, and nearly knock over the candle by your elbow.

Prince Aemond appeared from the shadows, dressed in simple trousers and a linen nightshirt, his hair was loose, and to your surprise he was not wearing his eye patch.

The sapphire that replaced his eye sparkled in the low light, and you couldn’t decide if it was more improper to stare at it, or the smooth muscles of his chest that were exposed by his nightshirt.

“The night sky is dark but filled with stars. A line from the Great Valyrian book of Poetry, if I am not mistaken?” He stepped up to the table and leaned down, scanning all the books you had laid open.

You bowed your head. “You are not, my prince.” You started to gather your things, and he held up a hand to stop you.

“Why do you flee? Surely my face is not so hideous you cannot stand to remain in my presence for a moment longer.”

“No—that is not my reasoning at all, I merely assumed you wished to be alone.”

“Umbagon.” He said, the word rolling off his tongue such in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“I am ashamed to say I only know the one line, and a few other basics.” You admitted, still trying to gather all your notes.

“It means stay.” He sat in the chair beside yours, and you sat down as well. “Might I inquire as to why you’re attempting to learn Valyrian?”

“It is the language many of the books in our great library are written in, and I wish to organize them without needing to bother a member of the royal family.” You answered, keeping your eyes on your hands, not daring to face the prince.

“And your studies are going well?”

Your shoulders slumped. “I do not understand why I cannot grasp the language. The written word is my love and my forte, it is why I worked so hard to serve here.” You glanced up at the rows and rows of books. “This is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

Aemond hummed and read over your notes. “I see what the problem is.”

You perked up, and for a moment you could have sworn there was a slight smile on the prince’s lips. “You do? Please, tell me.”

“You need a teacher.” He said.

You slumped once more. “The very reason I decided to teach myself was so that I would not bother any members of the royal family.”

He stood. “I consider it a challenge, not a bother.”

You looked up at him. “You would teach me?”

“I’ve grown bored as of late, perhaps this will serve as entertainment.”

You stood in a rush, curtsying. “My prince, I cannot thank you enough, I promise I will be a diligent student.”

From then on you and the prince would meet every night, and as the nights progressed, so did you handle on Valyrian.

“Se skoros iksis aōha udligon naejot bisa?” He asked, pointing to a line of poetry. And what is your answer to this?

“Even the moon herself envies your beauty?” You scrunched your nose. “I think I would find it too flowery for a proper response.”

“Perhaps you need to hear it, to understand the depth?” He turned your chair, so you were facing him, and held your hand in his. “Sesīr se hūra ziry envies aōha gevives.” The words were like silk, his voice low and calm, his violet eye focused solely on you.

You felt your face heat up, and you stuttered out an answer. “Yn se vēzos envies ao.” And the sun envies you.

Aemond’s thumb was absentmindedly caressing your skin, as he searched his mind for another phrase. “Māzigon sōvegon va zaldrīzes arlī lēda nyke.” Come ride dragon back with me.

“Iksan zūgagon zaldrīzoti.” You said. I am afraid of dragons.

He chuckled. “There is nothing to fear from Vhagar.”

You smiled at him, fond exasperation coloring your voice. He’d tried many times to convince you to join him on Vhagar and each time you said no. “You are her rider, of course you have nothing to fear, but I do.”

You shifted in your seat, noticing he still held your hand.

He’d been doing this more of late, holding your hand, brushing your cheek, complimenting you in Common and High Valyrian.

It sent a giddy warmth through your veins, and gave you a fluttering thing of hope in your chest that you feared could be squashed at any moment.

His eye followed your gaze, and he dropped your hand, reaching for the book of pastry recipes you’d pulled as well. “That is enough Valyrian for tonight, you were to explain the intricacies of latticework on pies, I believe.”

“Ah, yes, it is not as simple as many believe.”

This had been your exchange, Aemond taught you High Valyrian, and you taught him about pastries… Which seemed an uneven exchange to you, but you yearned for that attentive look he fixed you with, so you never voiced your worries aloud.

“Jaelan daor tolie yn ao.” He whispered, almost more to himself than to you. I want no other but you.

You tilted your head in confusion. “My apologies, I did not catch that.”

“I am excited to learn more about your pies.” He said, calmly, tapping one long finger on the painted image of an apple pie.

For some reason you felt as if he was lying, but pushed it away and focused on the recipe book.

You found it odd that the next night, Aemond was late. You waited for him, anxiously adjusting your notes, tapping on the covers of various books, eyes flickering to the doors every other moment. Finally, after an hour had passed you sighed, and gathered your things, before tucking them on the shelf you and Aemond had commandeered for your nightly lessons.

Walking through the aisles, you headed out of the library intent on retiring to your chambers, heart heavy as doubt wormed your way into your mind.

Perhaps the prince had gotten bored of you. Or did not wish to waste his time teaching a girl from a small house, when there were plenty of ladies from much more powerful families vying for his attention. Tears began to slid down your face, and you bit your lip to keep from making any noise. You were a fool to think he would be truly interested in you.

“Lady y/n?” Aemond’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

He was flushed and disheveled, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

“Prince Aemond? Did you run here?” You raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh.

He took your hands in his, expression earnest and apologetic. “My apologies for being late, I had to get rid of a particularly enthusiastic lady and her equally enthused mother.”

You had forgotten that the queen was bringing in ladies for Aemond to consider marrying. “Well, if you need to tend to your duties, I understand.”

He shook his head, eye scanning your face. “You were crying?”

You gave him a watery smile. “No, I was yawning.”

“Iksā gevie yn iā quba pirtirys.” He said, releasing one of your hands, his calloused fingers wiping away your tears. You are beautiful, but you are a bad liar.

“Se iksā iā dārilaros, aōha ābrazȳrys kessa daor hae īlva meeting bisa ñuhoso.” You replied, realizing your time together must end if either of you were to marry well. And you are a prince, your wife will not like us meeting this way.

Aemond pressed your hand to his lips. “My wife will find no grievance in our meeting if she happens to be you.”

“You wish to marry me?” You could hear your heart pounding in your ear, surely this was a jest.

“Avy jorrāelan; nyke jaelagon naejot dīnagon ao.” He whispered, pressing soft kisses to each of your knuckles, his eye watching your face for a reaction. I love you; I wish to marry you.

“Yes, kesan dīnagon ao.” You smiled, throwing your arms around his neck, and pulling him down to kiss him.

His hands gripped your waist, his hair falling across your skin like water. His heated lips claiming you as his own, pulling you deeper and deeper until you were breathless and giggling, basking in the warmth of your soon-to-be husband.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper

[russellsppttemplates]

We're here for you (Pierre Gasly & Charles Leclerc)

Note: english is not my first language. this is my first friendship prompt, hope I do it well, and, like usual, i like to say this: this request is special because this is a topic that I feel huge responsibility writing about and I feel grateful that I'm trusted enough to have it be requested (and you don't need to feel anxious or scared to submit things like this, this is not a learning platform necessarily, nor I am a teacher, but I'm more than happy to write about these things and materialise some ideas you have). As I've said before, I hate the whole idea of labelling, but I also know and understand how important it is to see some of you and your characteristics portrayed in a character. Also, while I took the suggestion from the submissions (second to last situation), I changed it a little, as I fortunately do not know how such a situation is, but I hope it's not written out in an offensive way.

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated, and while I'm not actively taking requests, I am writing some blurbs when I can (honestly, it's a very rare thing these days) so if you have any ideas or concepts that can be written in a small amount of sentences and you want to share, feel free to do so!

Tw: mentions anxiety symptoms, car crash, someone breaking in a house

The first time it happened was when you were at a karting race watching Charles and Pierre. Everything had been going well, you were enjoying yourself and, surrounded by Pierre's and Charles' family, you were in great company, "Y/N, chérie, do you want some of these biscuits? I know you really like these", Pascale offered you the tupperware along with a napkin for you to grab them, "Merci", you thanked her before looking back at the track. It was a nice sunny day, the clouds practically gone in the sky as rhe temperatures finally picked up enough for you to wear one of your favourite flowery dresses, sitting in the grass while you waited for the boys to start racing.

Charles was in front of Pierre for most of the race, but ended up second as Pierre took the lead on the second to last lap, granting him another win. While you helped tidy away the belongings, the adults started going on about their week ahead and your own week popped up in your mind. You had a test that, despite it not being your favourite subject nor the easiest one for you, you had studied hard for, and to practice a bit more, you decided to list things in your head as you tidied along. Everything was fine until you reached one of the topics your teacher had said was rhe most important one, and it was almost like it completely vanished from your head. Not even a word or idea from it, and it started working you up. You tried to make your brain remember them, but very few things came up, your breathing increasing and quickening while you tried to calm yourself down, your attention shifting elsewhere when Charles and Pierre arrived to greet you and the rest of the group, "hey, boys! Congratulations on your race, you both drove very well!", Jean congratulated them as you shook yourself out of the spiral in your head, dusting the non existent dust on your hands and coming to hug them both, "you guys did so good! I'm proud of you two", you said into the group hug.

It was almost like there wasn't a time where you didn't know them as your bestfriends. You have known Charles since you were little, and after accompanying him to the races, you quickly met Pierre and got along with him despite the initial fear that your bestfriend had found a substitute for you, only to find put that you'd be gaining another one. You had been together through every up and down with them ever since, your parents also understanding how much you cared for them so they would let you travel with Charles' family to the races or even travel themselves to support the boys when they had the chance. And naturally, they could pick up when you weren't feeling well, Pierre being the one to act on it this time over dinner, "Are you okay?", he began, "you seem a bit spaced out", he mumbled quietly, seeing Charles talk to the rest of the table and hoping none of them would hear your conversation, "just stressed out about school, not much", you explained, not wanting to ruin the mood but knowing that he would pick up on your lie if you told him one, "you're going to be fine, I know you will. After all, you're the smartest out of us. Not that we are the big brains here to be compared with, but that doesn't make it worse on that front", he teased you slightly, his hand coming to soothe your wrist.

.

Over the years, Pierre and Charles had grown accustomed to know your triggers and how to deal with them, something you were forever grateful for. So, as you watched Charles spin in the track and hit the wall, your foot started tapping the floor as everyone tried to understand how he was, your breath quickening and your hands starting to sweat as you looked at the screens. His radio connection was probably cut since they couldn't reach him to make sure he was fine, which only aggravated your senses and feelings, not wanting to add to the stress that was already in the garage's atmosphere while your fingers pressed the palm of your hands. You heard your name being called over and over but couldn't pinpoint its source until you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders, making you look up to see Pierre, who had been out for the race due to an unfortunate power unit issue in the third lap, "hey, focus on me, okay?", he urged you to look at him, "I want you to focus on my voice okay? Nothing else just my voice, there you go", he said once he noticed your eyes on his, your hands squeezing his, "Good, you're doing so well, Y/N. Now, tell me the things you can see", he prompted, "I can see you, I see your cap, I see the tube to fill the car's tank, I-", you took a deep breath, "I can see a chair, the swivelly ones, I can see my shoes", you wiggled your feet, also trying to regain feeling in them properly, "and what can you feel?", he asked again, "I feel your hands on mine, I can feel the wind on my face, I feel my glasses on my nose and cheeks, and the sweat in my forehead too", you chuckled, "and what can you hear?", he continued with the list he knew would help you calm down, already sensing your hold on his hands weaken and soften, "I hear the mechanics talking, goodness knows whatever they are saying because I don't understand, I hear the car engines going slowly and a beep, an annoying beep", you said as you opened your eyes again, "and smell?", he said, "petrol, burnt rubber, your perfume", you said as you seemed to have calmed down fully, "can you taste anything?", he asked finally as he helped you up, having heard one of the mechanics mention that Charles was already on his way back, "I think i bit myself from the nerves, there's a weird taste in my mouth", you said as you finally looked around, everything becoming clearer as your breathing regulated, "thanks, Pierre", you said as you hugged him, looking around to see a much calmer garage, "Charles is fine, he is on his way back to get checked, but he's already spoken to the team", he smiled, placing his hand around your shoulder while you waited, one of the team members giving you a bottle of water so you could take little sips.

As soon as Charles arrived back from a quick check up from the medical team, he spoke to some of the engineers, mechanics and the team principal before coming to greet you with a hug, "I love that you're doing what makes you happy, but I absolutely hate that these things happen", you hugged him along with Pierre, the French young man towering over you, "would you prefer us to drive something else?", Pierre teased as Charles kissed the top of your head, "I would prefer that you would stay put and safe next to me, but I guess that's not something you'll do, so I just have to deal with it, don't I?", you chuckled as you opened your arms, managing to have both bestfriends inside your embrace, "we'll help you all the way".

.

Pierre and Charles had insisted that they would walk you home, but since it was sunny out, you decided to go on your own, insisting you'd be fine. And you were until someone rang your doorbell, and when you took the interphone, you couldn't recognise the voice, "I'm sorry, who am I speaking to?", you asked, "I'm a big fan of Charles and Pierre, and I noticed you lived here. The other week actually, I have been trying to get hold of you, but you seem to leave work later these days, and you've stopped going to the bookshop like you do weekly", the person giggled and your blood froze. How did someone know you had been leaving work later than usual? How did they find out about your routine like that? "I would like you to leave, and never come back. This is not normal behaviour and if this keeps happening, I will have to call the authorities", you gulped before setting the interphone back in its place, your heartbeat quickening as you tried to look outside and see who was it at the entrance of the apartment building.

.

"Y/N, your phone keeps ringing", Pierre nudged it to you on the table, "it must be serious", he said as you looked at the caller, "If it's work, I swear I'm giving them a piece of my mind on monday", you said as you took the call.

From one moment to the other, Pierre and Charles saw your face drop and change completely, your mumbled okays not letting them know what was being discussed in the call.

Your eyes filled with tears as you set the phone down, Charles coming to face you, "what happened?", he asked as he tried to pry your hands away from your eyes, knowing that one thing he hated in this world was seeing you cry, but it was worse to see you cry and not do anything about it.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to form cohesuve thoughts in your head, despite the spinning and the need to sit down, "a few weeks ago, someone rang my bell and at first I thought it was the mailman or one of the neighbours, but it turned out to be someone who knew my name, and they asked for you, because that's how they knew me and, and they knew my routines and everything", you gulped, "and apparently someone has broken into my place, the police caught them and apparently it's the same person, and I, I", you tried your best to breathe better, but it was proving difficult until Charles allowed you to sit down before he laid in head on top of your legs as well as on your abdominal area as Pierre helped you sit straight, "breathe for us, breathe for me, Y/N", Charles asked softly as he looked at you, your hands coming to rest on his hair as you combed through them, "That's it, nice and slow", Pierre encouraged as you regained feeling back in your limbs. Charles stayed like that until he could no longer feel your excessive heartbeat and instead felt your normal breathing and heart rate, looking at Pierre as he handed you a glass of water, "how long has this been going on?", Pierre began.

You placed your hands on Charles' head and tapped it, signalling him that you were okay for him to get up and sit next to you, "a couple of weeks ago. And I have been careful, trying to get home at reasonable times, not at the same time though, because they know my routine, and I change up my things", you explained, wiping your face, "is this why you don't allow us to take you home now and always get a cab?", Charles reasoned, and as soon as you nodded, his fist closed further.

"What did the police tell you?", Pierre said in a calm tone, "that it doesn't look like they were in any of the rooms but my living room, that is where all the rummaging happened, but they are now looking and inspecting everything", you sniffed, "and that I should consider either moving out, permanently or for a good while, or get some security", you said.

Pierre and Charles couldn't help but feel like they had some fault in it, "I know it's not worth anything now, but you could have told us, Y/N", Charles said as he brushed the hairs out of your face, not scolding you in the slightest, "I'm sorry that, in a way, we've caused this", he said as Pierre apoligised too.

"Could've happened to anyone", you said, "I'm just happy that we're all fine", you looked up at Charles, "but is it okay for me to stay with you? I don't have anyone else in Monaco these days, and I don't want to be alone", you explained. Charles straightened himself, "sure you can, we have security in this building. And I'll hire someone to be with you for a while", he offered, "no, no, that's too much for you to bother", you argued, "Non sense, we don't want you to be unsafe", Pierre argued back.

.

Charles was giving an interview after his first race win while you and Pierre just stayed back, waiting for him to finish his duties, "today is such a special day, right?", Pierre said, "yes, I'm very proud of him. He's worked so hard for it", you said, "yours will come one day, soon, I know it", you nudged his side, still fiddling with your hands, "Do you want these?", Pierre fished out the magnetics beads he used to carry around with him for you, "yes, please. Thank you", you accepted with a small smile, you fingers now busy with something else other than picking at your own skin, "it's okay, I can only imagine how much it is for you now that more people know you're dating", he began, "we both wanted to come clean about it, we both feel comfortable, but yeah, it weird seeing some article written about how we were matching and arriving to the paddock and all that", you mumbled, "I do the same I did before, but now, to them, it has an all different meaning", you finished, seeing Charles bid goodbye to the rest of the journalists as you were left just the three of you, "Oh, I had this for you here too, sorry I didn't give it to you earlier", Charles said as he pointed to his bracelet that you loved to fiddle with, the bead on it helping you distract when you were both together, "it's okay, Pierre had these", you smiled, "you know I'm really grateful for you two", you began, "you always worry about me, even when I feel like I don't need it, but you're both always there in your own ways", you said, trying to put each of your arms around their shoulders, "c'mon, dunk a little so I don't look crazy, I'm not that tall you guys!", you giggled, "we want you to be well, I will always do anything you need to help", Pierre began, "even if this guy ever does anything wrong to you, I'm the first one to make sure he learns his lesson", Pierre joked as Charles his the back of his neck, "hey!", you yelped too, "I'm sorry, amour. But it is true what he says, we want your well being. And I'm more than happy that you let us do that", he said as he kissed the top of your head.

[seaoflove07]

🌹 Oc Introduction 🌹

• Artwork by The Drawables •

The red rose symbolizes romance, love, beauty, & courage.

It was the beginning of you and me,

Little by little,

You haunted my heart

and I

Became your Rose.

- Poetry By Me.

• I created my Oc on Picrew •

~ Diabolik Lovers Oc ~

A human young adult.

Name: Christine Melendez.

Gender: Female.

Pronouns: She/her.

Age: 20 years old.

Nationality: Hispanic American.

Languages she speaks: She is fluent in English and Spanish.

Blood Type: A+

Favorite Color: Pink.

Birthday: October 21st.

Favorite Flower: Pink and Red Rose.

Favorite Season: Summer.

Favorite Food: Pizza.

Favorite Drink: Coffee. She's a coffee lover who drinks 5 or 6 cups a day. Please don't judge her.

Hobbies: Reading Poetry, Coffee Dates, Listening to Music, Baking Cookies and Nature walks.

Places she loves going to: The Beach, Botanical Gardens, Mall, Coffee Shops, Museums, and Bookstores. (Even though she only reads on her Kindle)

Christine is very hard-working and responsible. She hates laziness. She is a very outgoing person, loves hangouts and she's very talkative. She is not a shy person when it comes to meeting new people.

She lives in the United States and works at an Elementary School. She's one of the younger Teachers. She loves working with children.

Christine has a kind heart and loves helping others. But her little self can get moody at times and she gets angry easily. But she knows how to control her temper.

~ APPEARANCE ~

• Artwork by December Custom •

Eye Color: Medium Brown.

Hair: Blonde and her hair is 24 inches long. Sometimes she will have two different hairstyle.

Example: Left soft wavy. Right soft curls.

Height: 157.48 cm.

Breast size: B cup.

Scent: Roses.

All her body care, hair products, and perfumes are rose-scented. She's obsessed with the scent, it brightens her mood and it’s relaxing to her. Christine has a lot of perfumes but her favorite one that she wears almost every day is a perfume oil called,

“Pure Rose.”

• Photo by Me •

The scent is described as a Flowery scent of pure fresh red roses in full summer bloom. 🌹

It's Azusa's favorite on her as well. 🤭

Style: Girly and Feminine.

• Artwork by Mark BrushesHands •

My Oc will not have a main outfit. She will have different outfits in all her arts.

Christine loves fashion and getting doll-up. She loves dresses. (Casual and Elegant)

She also loves skirts, cute blouses, high heels, and gold jewelry. Her favorite everyday necklace is a Gold Cross.

~ Diabolik Lovers AU Story Information ~

Story Title: Love Planted a Rose. 🌹

It will be a Trilogy. Dark, Maniac, and Ecstasy.

Art Cover and Story Description, Here.

Christine Diaboy Ship: 🔪Azusa Mukami.

• Artwork by The Drawables •

Azusa will be her one and only, I will NOT do Love Triangles or Multi-ship with the other Diaboys.

~ Why he calls her “Rose?” and not “Eve?”

Azusa calls Christine “Rose” mainly because of her scent of roses. But he has also said that the Red Rose in general reminds him of her.

Quotes is from a short Fanfic I wrote.

Azusa: “… I was… walking in the garden… and I picked up this… red rose for you...”

Caressing her cheek, he looks at her with so much love in his eyes.

Azusa: “You are… just… like this rose… You’re pretty… like this rose… you smell nice… like this rose … your skin is soft… like the…rose petals… and your blood… is the same color… like this rose…”

Quotes are from my Novel, Chapter 3.

Christine: “Rose? Why are you calling me “Rose?” When my name is Christine.”

He moves closer to her, runs his fingers through her hair, and strokes it. While caressing her arm with his other hand.

Azusa: “Your scent… is so good… and your skin… is so soft… like rose petals… you remind me of a beautiful red rose… The name suits you…”

“So nice... my own... little rose...”

Azusa likes to give roses to Christine as gifts, he also loves to place roses and other flowers on her hair. To him, she looks adorable. Later on in their story he also bought her a Red Rose hair clip. (The Red Rose in her hair that you see her wear in most of her arts, that's the clip he bought her) ☺️ Azusa also knows how to make Flower Crowns but he will only do those on special occasions.

Azusa and Christine both like going to the Garden a lot. They love taking walks together, holding hands, and enjoying the beautiful view of the different colors of the roses.

Roses are a huge symbol of their relationship.

The reason he doesn't call her “Eve” is because Yui Komori is in my story. She is the only true Eve. I did not want to replace Yui with Christine for the Eve Tittle. So I came up with another plan instead. Yui in this story her Diaboy choice is Ayato. (They are my favorite Ship) 🤭

Yui and Christine become good friends and you will see lots of interactions between them in the story.

So there is no reason for Azusa to call Christine “Eve” when she's not Eve.

Karlheinz has a different plan for Christine. He personally chose her. But I won't reveal that plan yet because it's a huge spoiler and a big character change. I'll probably reveal that plan in Maniac.

More information about their canon story and Ryoutei Academy. This will all be in another separate post.

~ Past Relationship ~ ⚠️

Before Azusa, Christine had a 4-year relationship with a guy from her hometown. His name is Mark. He was her first love.

Their first two years together was fantastic, and she was madly in love with him. But in their third year together everything changed. Mark started to be cold, he became verbally abusive to her. It was so bad to the point she started to believe his words. Making her feel worthless. They had lots of heated bad arguments. One time out of anger he almost raped her. He didn't succeed because someone knocked on his apartment door.

They continued this terrible relationship.

Christine even though she was unhappy she still loved him and tried to make it work. But nothing was good enough for Mark and he still continued to treat her like garbage.

One day he told her that he had been seeing someone new for a while now and that he wanted to start a serious relationship with that woman. He ends the relationship with Christine.

The fact that he was cheating behind her back, that he ended it first and moved on with someone else like she was nothing.

That broke her.

• From Picrew •

There will be Flashbacks of this topic in Love Planted a Rose, and the asshole Ex will make his appearance in Maniac.

Love Planted a Rose, (Dark) will come out in either January or February. It will be published here on Tumblr and A03.

Admin Note:

If you read up here, thank you! I did try to not make this extremely long.

If you decide to read her story with Azusa, you will get to know Christine's personality even more. And of course, you will see her relationship with Azusa bloom. 💗🔪🌹

I do plan soon to open my Ask box again and maybe to do some Interactions with other Ocs.

I don't do Rps here on Tumblr. Only on Discord. If you want to Rp with Christine, just send me a DM and we can plan.

Christine Aesthetics.

~ Flower Crown ~ Angel ~ Flowers ~

~ Lavender Haze ~ ~Christmas 2023 ~

~ Reading Azusa’s Love Letter

[apolloanddaphnis]

Sigtryggr x Uhtred's Daughter Headcanons Part I

Disclaimer: She is Uhtred and Gisela's daughter, a year older than Stiorra. Because of this I don't see the harm in naming her instead of calling her 'y/n', because I doubting 9th century times of Saxons and Danes with Dane parents she will be named Ashley or Cameron or Soledad, most of these languages didn't even exist yet.

With that rant aside, I am giving her the Norse name Kelda, and because she is Uhtred and Gisela's daughter she's going to resemble them.

Kelda is the oldest child of Uhtred and Gisela

When their mother left for Valhalla she took on the maternal role.

She looks after her father because he cannot look after himself when it comes to eating and getting enough sleep.

She encouraged Young Uhtred's dream of following the path of the nailed God, and was always trying to convince her father he must be supportive, and that he has that rebellious nature he inherited from him, and being a Rebel in this family means being a Christian

As much as she wanted to smother Stiorra for whining and complaining about being stuck with the children and in hiding, she refrained and understood how frustrating it could be. She prayed to Snotra at least ten times a day for guidance and wisdom.

She needed Stiorra though, for she's more of a warrior than Kelda.

Stiorra does what sisters do and taunt Kelda, saying she's too soft for a Dane and they would never want a flowery wife, Claiming she's better for a Saxon man.

Kelda rolled her eyes but she did worry.

She spends many time in the forest, worshipping the the huldrefolk, the skogsrå, Freya, and the nature deities. Often found dancing ritual circles outside, often naked.

She is very beautiful but doesn't see it herself, a womanly soft figure she resents, wanting to be petite like Stiorra like her mother was. Her breasts could hardly ever even be confined by her dresses.

And how she wished her hair were smoothe like silk like Stiorra and her mother.

Instead wild curls that tangled down to her wide hips was what Kelda possessed. A golden brown color amd usually adorn with flowers or prettily plaited. She washed it everyday with a lye soap she made with mint and lavender herbs, the lye is what caused her light brown hair to have a goldness to it. She would bathe in honeysuckle oil water she made as well and wash her face four times a day with chamomile soap and water. She dedicated these grooming times and beauty spells to Freyja.

Stiorra felt it to be silly and vain of Kelda, but these routines kept her constantly tumultuous life going, to being Uhtred's daughter, a little sane.

Kelda sewed herself dresses usually a similar color to cornflower, it was as her favorite as well as earthy blush tones, all made her hair color more pronounced, looked lovely against her sun-kissed skin (since she was always outside), made her very fully rosy lips appear more rosy, and her warm doe brown eyes appear almost golden.

She used to be very fond of Finan, and would learn Gaelic from him , but when she became older she realized how silly she was and felt nothing for him but familial love.

When she, Lady Aelswith, Stiorra, and Aethelstan were kidnapped, she was very afraid but only for the others not herself.

She vowed to do anything to protect them.

The stares of Haestens men did make her weary though, the way they'd comment on her sweet smell or her soft hair, or comment on her breasts. Stiorra squeezed her hand when she saw her sister tear up in fear of being taken by force.

But miraculously the journey to Winchester, or what was left of it, she was unharmed they all were.

When they arrived, she felt ill of the wild pregnant shieldmaiden, the Goddesses warned her she could feel it. But she stood in front of Stiorra and Aethelstan protectively looking brave and showing no weakness.

Catching the eye of the warlord, Lord Sigtryggr of Ireland.

His icy blue eyes had the most difficult time removing from this maiden who was obviously Freyja herself in the flesh.

He looked stoic to all in the room but all he could think of focus on, was how well her developed body filled out her torn blue dress, looking like a tempting huldrakall with her thick blood colored lips beckoning him like a spell, wild and beautiful goddess like hair with a color that reminded him of the sun lighting the earth, wanting to smell the locks. He looked into her wide, innocent eyes, lidded with long eyelashes and a pretty dark shade of the earth. Her cheeks are round and rosy despite her sun-kissed skin and Sigtryggr hardly recognized himself, for no maiden has ever made him feel this way. Unable to breathe, forgetting his plan and reason.

Brida demanded them to prove that they are Danes and asked the other girl who Frigga's handmaiden is, he was impressed with her correct answer proving her Dane heritage. She insulted the beauty and called her a Saxon outright. But she surprised Sigtryggr and all in the room when her sweet, soft voice spoke back with firmness. "I am a Dane like my sister, I worship Frigga and Freyja, I dance in midsommar for Sól and braid flower wreaths, I give myself to Freyja's Magick, pray at her alter. And right now I look to Snotra for guidance!"

His heart never raced so fast, and Brida seemed to recognize the girls claiming them to be the Dane-Slayer's children.

Brida wanted to throw the beauty to the men but Sigtryggr didn't let her, calmly demanding her presence with him.

Little did he know, she too could hardly take her eyes off of him as well.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Bedside Manner

Y/N visits their boyfriend in the hospital after a particularly…brutal injury. Of course, all his buddies had to come along too.

Johnny Knoxville X Gn!Reader

(Fluff)

1.2k Words

Warnings: Suggestive content, hospitals, drug use, alcohol, crude language, description of injury

An: I had this idea stirring arround for a while and I thought it was finally time for me to dredge it up!! :) I just love this man and his broken crank!

By the time you rushed to the hospital, your boyfriend was already so drugged up he could barely recognize you as you stood next to his bedside, staring up at you with confused, blown out pupils. His speech was slow and almost slurred as he squinted up at you from the gurney they strapped him to, “What're you doin’ here?” You thanked god that it was the painkillers, not annother head injury as you sighed, taking his limp hand in yours, “Johnny- Johnny. It’s me, Y/N.” It was like you could see the synapses firing behind his eyes as he blinked once before a look of realization flashed across his face, a goofy smile taking the place of the slack jawed expression he was wearing, his words excited but loopy, “Y/N! Oh…I missed you, honey.” He took your hand, bringing it up to his warm cheek and moving it to press a gentle kiss onto one of your knuckles like he was comforting you, not the other way arround. “I got some bad news, sweetheart…” He looked up at you with those big, dinner plate eyes, “My weiners broke- and I know how much’y liked it, but I think it’s gonna be outta commission for a while…” Staving off all urges to laugh, you patted his hand soothingly, “I do really like it, but we can talk about it later. I was worried about you!” Johnny giggled, “Aww, that’s sweet…” This might’ve been a very sweet moment under any other circumstance.

Because of his line of work, it wasn’t uncommon for your boyfriend to end up in these situations, but you were always there to pick up the pieces for him. From bull spills to concussions- at the end of the world, the only things that will be left standing are roaches and Johnny. His accidents were, more often than not though, a pain in the ass to deal with. As much as you ached for him every time he busted his ass, you couldn’t really feel too bad for him, especially when his idiot friends got involved. You always gave the obligatory phone call to his buddies, but they were never any good.

From behind you, you could hear the sliding door whoosh open and that’s when it all started. Parading in like he owned the place, Bam’s awful cool dude facial hair brushed against your cheek as he peered over your shoulder at the giant flag of Japan Johnny had made on the white sheets right above his crotch, “Oh, dude! Knoxville’s got’is period!” Bam reached into what sounded like a plastic shopping bag and threw a box onto your boyfriend’s lap, rolling until it landed face up. It was a box of tampons- extra absorbency, of course. Before you could call Bam an ass and smack him with the back of your hand, Johnny started…laughing. It seemed like this was the funniest thing to him, pointing at the sheets, “Oh, if you think this looks bad, wait till’y see what’s under here!” He grinned, peeling away the wet layers of linen, “It’s like I gotta Franken-cock…”

“I- I don’t think that’s really…” You hurried to cover him up, just as he was yanking up the hem of the little flowery paper gown the doctors dressed him in, looking up at you pleadingly, “Aww, c’mon baby!” Johnny only ever called you that when he was drunk or high. He gave you puppy dog eyes and gave you with that sweet, persuasive little smile that always got him his way with you. Before you could dissent further, the rest of the guys crowded in the room around him like a tsunami, washing you away to a corner. From your position in the room, you could hear Steve sounding surprisingly earnest as he crimged over Johnny’s crotch, peering at the mangled thing between his legs, “Dude…I feel so bad for Y/N.”

Chris laughed that dumb stoner laugh, reassuring him, “Don’t worry, Knoxville! I’d be happy to sevrice’em any time!” You wouldn’t admit it to your boyfriend, but there was a moment where you contemplated that. Johnny didn’t really comprehend what he was hearing as he leaned back against the pillows, his head lolling to the side to avoid the harsh overhead lights as he turned to face Pontius, “Ah, thanks man…” The guys all talked like girls at a sleepover, gossiping about you like you weren’t even in the damn room with them. Bam, always looking for a reaction, put a hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder, leaning in and trying to provoke him a little, “Really, dude? You’re just gonna take that?” He seemed to think for a second, as much as he could in the state he was in, and just sort of…shrugged, “He’s just bein’ nice.” Bam grinned at the prospects of Johnny letting that slide, “Hey, I can be nice too! Maybe I could hit that…” That idea was much less appealing. “Okay, okay-“ nudging your way to his bedside, you sighed, “nobody is hitting anything for a while!” You shot a wink at Chris, leaving the rest of the guys (sans your actual boyfriend) slack jawed as he chuckled.

Just then, Dunn, fashionably late as always, practically kicked open the door, a six pack in his hand. Turning to him, Steve whisper-yelled, “Dude, this isn’t a party!” Beside you, he seemed like the only person who was taking this seriously. Ryan took a seat in a chair near his buddies, passing one to the boy in the hospital bed, “Didn’t think it was one. It’s a funeral for Knoxville’s ding ding.” Taking the cold, wet can from him, Johnny cracked it open, taking a sip, “It’s not a funeral- the thing’s repairable!” The six pack was passed around as Ryan cracked his open, “Great! Then it’s a party!”

“So, the doc says I gotta get ‘constructive surgery…” Johnny poorly explained what he was told before the little hospital party was crashed, “So maybe, I could get’im to make it, like-“ his eyes widened like a kid talking about what he wanted for Christmas as he gestured about three feet with his hands, “this big!” Your eyes went wide. Ryan pilfered through a medical supplies drawer with his back to Johnny, looking over his shoulder to face him, “You'd’ have’t tuck it into your sock, man- imagine gettin’ Lombardi’d with that.” The guys, including you, all laughed. As much as you hated them, your boyfriend's friends really knew how to liven up a hospital room. Steve piped up amidst the chuckling, “Yeah, I have!” Suddenly, silence. “…Y’ know, Indonesia?” Johnny thought back for a second before a look of realization hit his face, “Oh, yeah! Good times.” Steve elbowed his bed bound buddy, his joking keeping him in good spirits, “You gotta promise me to gimmie one if you get that done.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, man!” Johnny continued his rant, turning to you with sparking eyes, “- But that’s what I want- one that size! Whadya say, babe? Think y’could put in a word for me with the doc?” You giggled, “I think that’d be a little too much, Johnny.”

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 25: Fitz's Magic Show

Masterlist

June 1905

TW: mind control, kidnapping, hypnotic language

Cards were moving smoothly, flowing from hand to hand like they were made of water, with a practiced ease that made it seem effortless -- much like Fitz's charming grin. The crowd was never as large as he'd like, at least for now, but they were watching, enraptured, glued to every small movement and every syllable of his patter.

When he was in his element like this, soaking up the attention, it made everything seem worth it.

"...and the queen of spades is in this hand, right? Who thinks the queen of spades is in this hand?" He showed an empty hand. "Does anyone want to guess where the queen of spades is? In my nose, you say? Sir --" He stopped shuffling and crossed his arms with a mock glare. "Sir, do you normally keep playing cards in your nose?" The crowd chuckled. "Of course, that's not where the queen of spades is. Here she is, in my sock! I'm glad I found her before she ended up in my laundry."

As he did simple tricks, he was scanning the crowd for a good volunteer for his showstopper finale, his eyes lighting on a woman in the front row. She had a simple blue dress and mouse-brown hair, looking almost like she'd blown in from a farm, with an innocent expression, and she'd been watching Fitz with an enraptured expression the entire show.

"Now, for my next few tricks, can I have a volunteer?" He flashed his smile at the woman, and was vindicated when her hand shot up. "How about this young woman in the front? Yes, you, come on up." He held out his hand to help her up the front steps of the stage, her grip surprisingly strong and her hand freezing cold. "Now, what's your name?"

"Lily."

"Lily, a lovely name for a lovely lady. Let's all give a big round of applause to our lovely Miss Lily!" 

Lily giggled. "Are you trying to charm me?"

"Well, that depends. Is it working?" he asked. Truthfully, women like Lily weren't his type. Women weren't his type at all -- yet another in the long list of reasons why he'd left his family behind to pursue his own ambitions. The money, the status, all that had been nothing more than a gilded cage jam packed with stifling expectations. Here, on the stage, where he wasn't Fitzwilliam de Hastings but The Phantom Fitz, he was free.

The young woman was eating from the palm of his hand as he had her choose a card and pretended to forget which one it was or where he had put it. "You know, Lily, confidentially, sometimes I only find my assistant's card in my icebox the next day," he stage whispered to her. "But this time, I think I know where it is. No, not in your nose. I believe it's caught in your hair." He reached around her flowery accessory, using it to conceal the motion of snapping a card out of his sleeve.

"Is this your card, Miss Lily?" he asked. 

"Yes, it is!" she said, but her smile had changed somehow, in a way that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Well, as long as she was still playing along...

"Well, hopefully I've earned your trust with that display of my abilities, because I'd like for you to participate in my final trick of the evening." He gestured to the box in the back of the set, one he'd painstakingly constructed from memories of similar tricks he'd witnessed, one he'd painted himself in deep blue with glittering constellations. "If you wouldn't mind stepping into this box, I promise that no harm will come to you, and the audience will get to witness something amazing."

"Trying to make me disappear?" she asked with a wink.

"Nothing escapes you, Miss Lily," he said. 

"...That is very true."

He stopped for a moment, perplexed, before resuming his spiel. "You won't be gone for more than a moment. You have my word -- I swear upon my dear departed childhood kitten's grave." He closed the door with a dramatic flourish and turned to the crowd. "Please, no one tell her that I don't remember where my beloved little Mittens is buried." 

He spun the box to a side that looked identical to the one that had been facing the audience, and opened it up to the false back. A dead simple trick, and not at all difficult to figure out, but with the right atmosphere, the dim gas lighting, and the patter, he could still get a reaction from the audience -- and tonight was no different. "Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced Miss Lily! I certainly hope I don't find her in the icebox the next day. Or in someone's nose!"

The crowd laughed, and Fitz beamed. Simple tricks and corny humor, but it paid the bills. He was right where he belonged, and his star could only climb higher from here. Soon, he'd move up the ranks to become a headliner, take his act on the road, go wherever the wind took him as the money poured in. 

-------

The cape was flung haphazardly in a corner, the thickest of the stage makeup wiped roughly from his face, his props scattered across his dressing room table. Another successful show.

Fitz was rubbing at his exhausted eyes and wondering what he should do to round up some food when there was a firm knock on the door. He hoped it wasn't the theater manager with some petty complaint yet again. "Come in," he called.

He wasn't terribly surprised to see Lily's head peek in. It wasn't the first time members of the audience snuck backstage. Judging by the fact that she was alone, she must've gotten the wrong impression from his flirting. He'd kindly dispel any misunderstandings and send her on her way, simple enough.

"Miss Lily!" he said, his stage persona snapping back in place. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wanted to let you know that I very much enjoyed being a part of your act this evening," she said. That was that strange smile again, the one he found so disconcerting but couldn't place. "I confess that I'm a bit of an amateur magician myself, so it was nice to see your sleight-of-hand up close. You're very talented."

"Why, thank you," said Fitz with a huge grin, unable to stop himself from eating up the flattery. He could always turn her away in a moment, when she was done complimenting him.

"I've been working on some magic tricks myself, if you wouldn't mind taking a look? I'd love to get some pointers."

"I'm always happy to help a fellow illusionist with their trade. Let's see what you have."

"All right," she said, unfurling a chain with a beautiful teardrop-shaped ruby on the end of it. "This pendant is an old family heirloom of mine, and I don't want anything to happen to it, so I'll need you to watch it carefully to make sure it doesn't disappear." She began slipping the chain through her fingers, swaying the pendant back and forth as she fluidly passed it from hand to hand. Her deft fingers were mesmerizing to watch, gentle and rhythmic. "Keep focused on the pendant, please."

She didn't need to remind Fitz, who couldn't take his eyes off it. Her speed and grace were top-notch, her talent for sleight of hand easily surpassing his. She seemed to have a knack for making the ruby sparkle in the most alluring way with every pass.

"That's right, just keep looking, just keep focusing, or you'll miss the trick," she said. "Keep watching the ruby as it sparkles and shines, stealing your attention away from everything else. Focus, don't look away. Focus and listen, Fitz, focus and listen."

Her voice was good for patter too, with a mesmerizing quality that was so easy to listen to. A natural.

"You've been working so hard up there on the stage. You must be tired. It must be so nice to just focus on my simple little trick. Easy. Compelling. Relaxing. No need to think, only to watch, and listen. Watch and listen. Isn't it nice?"

"Yeah..." he murmured, leaning forward. "You're good at the... the..."

"Oh, I know. Almost as good as you," she said confidently. "Just keep focusing, watching the ruby... have you figured out the trick yet?"

"The trick?" he said hazily. "You're going to make the pendant disappear?" He must be tired. He felt so sluggish.

"It's not the pendant that's going to disappear," she said. "But oh, that's right, silly me. The trick only happens after you're asleep."

"Asleep?"

"Aren't you tired?" she pressed, the ruby glinting in the gas light. "Aren't your eyelids heavy? Aren't you getting sleepier and sleepier?"

"Sleepier... mmm." A warning bell sounded in the back of his mind. She was trying to pull something over on him. With difficulty, he managed to tear his eyes away from the pendant. He looked up at Lily and realized what it was he had been trying to identify in her smile. Her demeanor had been so disarming that he hadn't realized how confident and predatory it was.

Nor had he noticed the hint of sharp fangs.

He recoiled as his mind tried to catch up with what he was seeing. She was...

With great effort, he lifted his strangely heavy arm, feeling as if he was moving in a dream, and caught the pendant. "You're trying to mesmerize me," he said, trying to wipe the cobwebs from his mind and restore his usual cocky smile. He must have been imagining what he had just seen. "That's the trick here. Clever, and you aren't half bad at it."

Her delighted laugh rang off the walls. "Guess you're too strong willed for something like that, Phantom Fitz."

"Guess I am," he said, although he was surprised by how much she'd taken him in. "Your technique is excellent, though. You're practiced with your hands."

"I have had a lot of practice," she agreed. "But now that you've seen my trick, care for a bit of a gamble?"

His smile came easily now. "Always."

"Five more minutes of watching the pendant and following my instructions. No tricks, no trying to break free." She reached into her purse and produced a crisp five dollar bill. "If you can avoid falling under my spell, you win."

Fitz was as transfixed by the money as he was by the ruby. Five dollars was more than he made for an entire show. That extra money would really help him stave off bills and debt collectors and the ache of his stomach. 

"And how will we determine if I've fallen under your spell?"

"I'll have to get you to do something you wouldn't normally do. Like, for example -- I'll get you to call me 'Your Majesty.'"

"Ha! I'll take that bet," he said. "Do your worst, mesmerist."

He didn't have five dollars on him, of course. He had barely a quarter to his name. But she didn't need to know that, because there was no way he was going to lose this bet. Sure, she had him dazed when he didn't realize what was happening, but now that he was on to her, that money was bound to be his. He could already taste the steak he was going to treat himself to if he won it.

"All right then. Five minutes, Fitz." She unfurled the ruby in front of his eyes once more. "And all you need to do is focus on the pendant and listen to my voice, and the money will be yours."

She began to swing the ruby in a slow, sweeping motion, perfectly rhythmic, easy to follow with his eyes.

"Focus," she said, and Fitz could immediately tell there was something different about the way her voice echoed in his mind. "Relax and focus. Watch the ruby. Watch it go back and forth. Watch it shine. Utterly focused on its movements. Utterly focused on my voice."

This was different from before. He could feel his mind slip, his gaze narrowing on the pendant. A little voice in the back of his head was nagging at him, but he was an old hand at quieting his own better sense, especially when money was on the line. He stubbornly kept watching.

"Good, Fitz, very good," she said, her voice like honey poured into a cup of soothing tea. "Keep watching. Keep watching even though you're so tired. So drowsy. So sleepy. Stay focused, even though the slow swing of the ruby is making you sleepier and sleepier. Drowsy. Heavy. And focused."

His eyelids blinked, so heavy, as he kept watching. He must be so close to getting that money. It must be halfway over at least. So close...

"Sleepier and sleepier with every swing. More and more mesmerized. More and more focused. Your eyelids are getting heavy, Fitz, so heavy and drowsy, but you can keep them open. You have to keep them open and keep watching the pendant, just like you said, or you'll lose the bet, Fitz."

That's right. He had said he'd watch the pendant and listen to her instructions for five minutes. He had to do that. Had to keep watching. Had to keep listening.

"You're so sleepy, Fitz, so sleepy. You need to keep watching, but it's so hard when you're this tired. Your eyes want to close so badly. You want to sleep, don't you?"

"...No," he said, with considerable effort. "I want to keep watching so I can win."

"Of course you do," she said. "You want to keep watching, even though the pendant is putting you to sleep, fast asleep. Only a few minutes more, and you'll have won the bet and can go to sleep. Only a few minutes of trying to keep your heavy, sleepy, drowsy eyes open. Only a few minutes of being so dazed and helpless and vulnerable..."

Yes, only a few minutes. He felt his eyes drift shut for just a moment, before he caught himself and wrenched them open again, his gaze fixed on the pendant once more. 

"Soon you can stop watching and rest. I'll give you your money and take good care of you. Just watch the pendant and let it sink you down into hypnotic sleep." With her free hand, she ruffled his hair affectionately. "You're doing so, so well. You're perfect, Fitz." 

He smiled drowsily, soaking up the praise and the comforting touch. He'd been struggling so long, ever since he'd run away from his family as a teen. Working questionable jobs, going hungry, scraping by on his wits and charm. God, it'd be so nice to be taken care of for a change. To drop the many layers of personas and guards he habitually carried and relax. It'd be so nice to rest...

"You've about to win, Fitz," she said, her voice low and so near to his ear. "You can shut your eyes now. Shut your eyes and go to sleep. Deep, restful sleep. Everything is going to be just fine."

His head tipped forward as his eyes closed all on their own, impossibly heavy, as a warm sense of peace settled over him.  

"Go to sleep, Fitz, just go to sleep, nice, deep sleep," she soothed. "Let me put you to sleep and take care of you. I'm going to take such good care of you. All you have to do is sleep, and don't wake until I tell you to. All you have to do is drift off into blissful dreams."

Fitz didn't answer. His mind was already gone.

Part 24 >> Masterlist >> Part 26

Thank you for reading this interlude about another man who was doomed.

Five dollars was more like $175 then.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @snakebites-and-ink @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog

[kudriaken]

Heil Almer design. Designs for one of the main characters in my story. WARNING! Long description below and sorry for my poor English. Heil is the 2nd prince and 4th child. He is a trueborn child of the Emperor born from marriage with Edlyn Lare, High Lady of Valmont. Heil, despite his father being revered the one of the most powerful warriors in recent Imperial history, never was considered a strong man himself. His own source of power was always his intellect and ability to manipulate emotions of others to his own advantage. Growing up in a court full of intrigues and dangers shaped him to almost always play a certain role rather than being true self. This way, Heil is often conflicted between his real feelings and his outer decorum. However, he fails to put this false front whenever he has to manage family relationships. And this is usually the main source of his struggles and failures.

Heil with his advanced social skills has a talent of making people comfortable around him. He makes connections everywhere he goes, however, he struggles to have deep attachment to people or enter in a relationship.  Such attitude developed heavily because of his childhood experiences.

Some facts:

Heil is very artistic person, he is great at poetry, music and painting. He also fluent at multiple languages.

He was a sickling child, and thus had limited physical training. His current best physical skill is horse riding.

As a teenager he used to travel across Empire and write what he learnt about different places and cultures in his journals.

While being very polite on surface, he loves to provoke other people into debates. 

About design:

Colors – black currently is a fashionable color among noble men, that historically associated with magical orders, red is Heil`s personal color reflecting his passionate and risky personality.

Clothes –fashionable asymmetric pattern with a lot of expensive layers of fabrics.

Motives and symbols – flowery ornaments are similar to those his mother used to wear, and star is a symbol common among mages. Unlike his other siblings he rarely dress in family motives.

[bicycleboyblog]

Hi! Could I ask if you have any fascinating tidbits to share about the Senator's design? It's interesting how she strikes a balance between tactical wear (the cargo pants, the jacket, the gloves) and more posh choices (the red ascot stands out the most). I think the most interesting thing about her design are the red shades she shares with her soldiers - to me they seem to function as a tool of depersonalization, a way to put a barrier between themselves and others. I just love a good villain, that's all. (You don't have to answer this ask if it's too spoiler-y.)

The Senator is very particular about appearances. Mostly I wanted to hint that she's a fancy lady who comes from a wealthy family (also involved in politics / warfare) and had a stupid amount of money before the apocalypse. She's dressed to the nines her whole life. She has so many outfits that her whole wardrobe remains in excellent condition. She must look perfect and powerful. Ever striving to exude the utmost, maximum masculinity, she favors men's clothes, and jackets that alter her silhouette to give her bigger shoulders. Or just make her bigger in general. The Senator is tall, but lean under her many layers of clothes.

Still, practicality is key. If she goes out on a mission with her men, she will dress in more practical military garb.

She expects her soldiers to conduct themselves the same way, but of course, being their leader, she razzes it up the most. To her if you are beautiful, you are simply worth more. Those who aren't must always strive to be more beautiful. This of course deeply fucks with the people of Fort Anne - they squabble and fall into starkly different classes due to varying levels of perceived "beauty" and "usefulness" (ability to work). Soldiers and leader are worshiped above all.

Her followers admire the fuck out of her, though. So, early on in all this, they got copying her mannerisms, her flowery language, the glasses thing, just clamoring for her approval. She was annoyed at first but came to appreciate it as a powerful tool for control. We haven't seen these guys interact when there isn't a prisoner or outsider present, so. I'll let the comic expand on the glasses.

Related to the role model thing, though -- a common twist in conversation for the soldiers is to battle each other's wits by seeing who can spin the fanciest poetry on the spot, lol. Now you know why they talk silly.

[differenteagletragedy]

so… idk how interested you are in stuff like bridgerton/pride and prejudice/etc, but i’ve been obsessing over the idea of like a Regency au ever since my friend was like “baxter is in the wrong genre. that man is suited for historical romances. he dreams of writing by candlelight and fainting onto couches.” so do you have any hcs on a regency/historical romance au? assuming you do aus? thanks :)

I haven't watched Bridgerton! It's been many years since I read/watched Pride and Prejudice so apologies if this is a little too Darcy, but I think there would be some similarities between him and Baxter!

-- Baxter is a fancy man now, so living in a time period when men dressed fancier in general, he's going to have to kick it up a few notches. I'm thinking flashier colors, maybe some floral patterns.

-- Those little dances they threw all the time? You know he's there all the time. He has tons of one night stands with people he meets there, but then he meets MC and they are Different.

-- Baxter on a horse Baxter on a horse

-- Does he need a cane? No. Does he have a fancy one anyway. Yup.

--You're not going to catch him in a hat. He knows he's pretty and he doesn't want to take attention away from his face.

-- Basically this version of Baxter is unbearable lol but he does have his charms! Maybe he's playing charades with MC and throws the game just to be a silly little guy and make MC laugh. Or maybe they're playing cards and he keeps pretending to make dumb mistakes, again for a laugh.

-- Everybody talks with that flowery language, so he's going to have to lean on something else to make him stand out, and I think it would be his goofiness. Like he's still charming, of course, but he's not going to be a weirdo in the way that the Baxter of today is.

-- He'd still go on a walk with MC and make up a bunch of nonsense about the things around them.

-- Why am I researching this like I'm writing an essay

-- He would very much want to court MC, but he wouldn't feel like he was worth it. So what I think would happen would be that he began the courting process with the knowledge that he'd eventually just stop.

-- Liz is their chaperone lol

-- Baxter and MC are going for a walk and Baxter is running his mouth and Liz is just like "good god this guy ..."

-- A historian spoke to PBS (this is getting so serious) and explained, “You would initially address one another as sir, my lord, or madam, depending on rank, and then progress to Mr. and Miss So-and-so, or Lord and Lady So-and-so. To use a person’s Christian name during courtship was a special mark of intimacy. And we can often see the moment in their letters when someone asked to be called by their first name, signaling that a relationship was becoming much more serious and, in fact, might later progress to pet names and things like my dearest love or my dearest life.”

-- So the first time MC actually says Baxter's name it's just going to absolutely wreck him, it's going to hit him right in the heart.

-- And when they end up together Baxter calls them "my dearest life" CAN YOU IMAGINE

-- Apparently if you ended a courtship then the proper thing to do was return the letters you'd sent each other, Baxter cannot do this emotionally

-- He'd be like "I burned them they can't have them" and keep them like under a floorboard so he could read them at night and cry.

-- MC's reputation is definitely going to take a hit. Baxter's was already bad but now it's worse, and now he feels guilty for messing with MC in the first place.

*a few years of mess*

-- Baxter has traveled, seen places and done things, but he finds himself back in his hometown. There's a ball. He'd decide to go for old times sake, and you were probably married by then so nbd

-- There you are though!

-- He wants to throw up, but he asks you to dance anyway because he can't help himself. MC agrees because dang that Baxter is smooth.

-- Ok ok, so back in those days if you danced with somebody twice then people thought that was a Big Deal and that you basically wanted to marry them.

Baxter: I would ask for another dance, but I don't deserve it.

MC: Why don't you try asking anyway.

Baxter: But if we have another dance, people are going to talk ...

MC: Let them talk ... Baxter.

Baxter: *swoons*

-- Yeah that's corny and silly, but we're just having fun here.

[redahlia-writes]

dark sonnet. (part one) | aemond targaryen

part 2

Abstract: “You -” she paused, her head slightly tilted as they took some more steps, a dance that ended by a tree, Aemond’s shoulder bumping the trunk as his gaze remained on her, unwavering. “I’ll admit I’ve never quite figured you out, prince Aemond.”

He faltered - something about the way she said his name, not as if she feared him, but as if she wasn’t exactly sure she should be saying it out loud the way she had with Helaena’s. And for a moment, she didn’t care.

Words: 15K

Content: f!reader (can be read as oc, no use of y/n / her hair is dyed red, no mentions of natural hair colour); canon typical everything - allusions to rape and an abusive family, a whole lot of yearning, slow-burn (but not really), tension, hands, a lot of imagery and flowery language, scars, characters are aged up, smut (like 3k of it), canon? we don’t know her 

A/N: i don’t know what possessed me to make this this long - and i just covered half the plot originally planned. part 2 will be posted as soon as possible, when life allows it (please be patient); loosely based on neil gaiman’s poem dark sonnet. translation for high valyrian will be at the end

also on AO3 - masterlist

feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

It must’ve been the wind unseen bringing him into the corridors that night.

He’d usually stick to the secret passages he knew like the back of his hand when the hour was late - at times, even during the day, favouring the darkness offered by the hidden corridors to the open one bustling with people. Yet for some reason, that very night, he simply didn’t.

So Aemond found himself walking past his brother’s room just as the heavy door closed, and even in half-darkness a cascade of dark hair flashed his vision. A sigh, a frustrated groan and loud steps hurried along the corridor - just a few steps, then no more.

He moved forward, keeping to the shadows, past the room and the guard who hadn’t as much spared her a second glance, and turned in that same corridor - he was no stranger to his brother’s antics, and knew they usually ended in tears.

Perhaps he was just curious. Perhaps there was more, something inexplicable bringing him over.

The woman had her back against the wall, dishevelled looking with her hair unbraided, her dress slightly askew, eyes closed as she lifted one shaky hand to her forehead - the light caught a flash of skin, a red ring marking her wrist. Slowly, with another heavy sigh, she sunk to the ground, the skirt pooling around her. He stepped closer, and noticed her hair was red - a red so dark it resembled that of old blood, framing her flushed face as she shielded her eyes.

“Are you alright?” he wasn’t sure what had compelled him to speak - he’d seen plenty of young women, maids and ladies alike, in a much worse state than that, and though he’d tried to approach them, they’d simply quivered back from him, too. He couldn’t blame them.

But not her. Perhaps it was exactly the resilience, or the frustration coming off of her in waves - something akin to anger - that had moved him forward.

“The usual,” she did not seem startled by him, hadn’t even flinched at the sound of his voice breaching the quiet. Still, her eyes were covered, and she spoke with such casualty - “I’m fine - you know how it is.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he replied, quietly, somewhat amused. He saw the frown form underneath the shield of her hand before she lowered it to her lap, head tipped back to look at him. Eyes widening, she hastily pulled at the lowered shoulder of her dress - it was ripped, Aemond noticed, and would not stay up unless she held it.

“Prince Aemond,” she breathed out in disbelief, glancing from him to the ground, attempting to figure out how to get up and then looking back up at him. “My apologies, I thought you were someone else.”

“Evidently,” he couldn’t help his lips quipping in a half grin watching her. Ever so slowly, he stepped closer and offered her his hand in help. She hesitated, eyes dancing from his flexed fingers to his face, still holding her dress up to cover herself.

He wondered who she’d expected him to be - a guard, perhaps that same guard who’d seemed so disinterested in her, or someone from the staff, somebody she knew, and who knew her. Recognition flickered across Aemond’s eye - the young woman who now rested her hand in his, letting him hoist her up, was Helaena’s companion. 

He let go of her right away, though his gaze fell to the red mark again, palm tingling in the wake of her soft, cold fingers.

“Are you?” he asked, and she stilled in her attempt to adjust her dress once more, blinking rapidly her confusion up towards him. “I’m sorry, my prince, I’m not sure -” she tilted her head, a little frown knitting her brow. “Am I what?”

“Fine,” he let his gaze roam down her ruined dress. He noticed it matched the one his sister had been wearing at dinner - had she been there, too? He would’ve noticed. He lingered on her hair, a halo of rust. “Are you alright?” seemingly taken aback, she blinked again, still looking at him. “I - of course. Thank you,” the last words had an almost dubious intonation, and she cleared her throat. “It’s nothing.”

“Ah, but there is something,” her gaze flickered to the end of the corridor, over Aemond’s shoulder and towards his brother’s room, lips pressed shut. “Does this something look a little bit like me, perhaps, or Helaena? Same hair, same eyes, though a little bit of a -”

“He hasn’t touched me,” she blurted out, and Aemond’s eyebrows arched slowly. There was unkempt fury in her gaze, holding his for a split second before turning her head, exposing the column of her neck. He could almost see her heart, jumping under her skin. “He doesn’t touch me. Not for lack of trying,” the last sentence was just a whisper, making his lips quip in a grin.

“Oh, I know,” she tensed at his words, forcing herself to keep her gaze away, arms wrapped tightly about her middle. “He bitches and moans about the one he doesn’t get, even got a couple of scratches out of trying,” her expression fell, eyes widening as her lips parted - Aemond leaned in, not too close for discomfort but enough that, when he lowered his voice, the echo did not respond. “Good job.”

“My prince -” she spoke in a gasp, head whipping around to look at him. It seemed she hadn’t noticed him get as close, and the vicinity had her step back - in doing so, the ripped sleeve she’d somehow tucked back into place fell down again, uncovering her shoulder, part of the front rolling onto itself - there were goosebumps over the skin of her chest.

“Not to worry,” he unknotted his cloak and removed it from his shoulders. He moved carefully, offering it to her - again she hesitated, but eventually took it from his grasp. She draped it across her shoulders, making quick work of the knot at the base of her throat and hiding the ruined dress. “He did not wish for it to be known - what kind of brother would I be if I went around revealing his secrets?”

It had been a while since anyone had looked at him so openly, with such curiosity and even a little bit of gratitude - perhaps it was the aid of darkness, or the tiredness in her bones, but the woman didn’t shy away again, returning the prince’s gaze firmly.

“Thank you, my prince,” she said at last, tightening the cloak around her. “For this, too,” she added, letting the fabric move about her, long enough it brushed the ground, though Aemond found he didn’t really care about it. “The hour’s late - I better go.”

“Of course, my lady,” she parted her lips as if to speak again, then cleared her throat and closed her mouth once more as she shook her head lightly, almost as if pushing away a thought. Aemond’s brows knit, a curious glint in his eye, yet she was already curtsying and stepping away. “Good night!”

He remained there as she walked away without another word, her steps soft along the corridor and his cloak trailing behind her like a shadow - he stood watching until she was too far away and he could only hear her, a door opening (Helaena’s door, he knew - she’d be waiting for the princess to come back from Aegon’s room) and closing.

In the morning, his cloak was back in his room, a vague scent of roses clinging to it.

No one ever went to that side of the gardens - it was Aemond’s corner, and besides the gardeners he’d shared it only with Helaena every now and then. His sister had liked the flowers and insects crawling around the grass, and she seemed to have returned to that same spot on her own accord.

From the other side of the yard, he watched the princess beam at her red-haired friend - in sunlight, the red was deeper, liquid fire braided and pinned to her head to uncover her face. Aemond had found himself catching glimpses of those flames across halls and rooms whenever his sister was about, following it with his gaze until he found her, always a step behind, always ready to catch Helaena’s hand when she asked for it and smile at her when she turned her head to speak. He’d observed lords and ladies alike all his life, knew the pretend smiles, the polite ones, and the ones she reserved for his sister - genuinely interested, attentive, not merely a chore or a job she had to do.

Helaena, her eyes still bright, placed a crown of flowers atop the young woman’s head - her lips moved, a thank you too distant for him to hear. She then offered the princess her hand - she didn’t touch her first, waited for Helaena to be the one to decide, and when she took her friend’s hand in both hers, she gave it a squeeze and stood up.

“Shall I come with you, princess?” Thethe wind carried her voice over, much softer when she spoke to the princess than he’d heard it the other night. Helaena shook her head, letting go of her hand as she stepped back - she did not insist, her posture deflating a little as she sighed and watched her walk away, a light skip in her step.

She watched until Helaena was out of sight and then, closing her eyes, fell back against the grass. Her dress spread out around her, a splash of colour over the green, and her hands were joined above her stomach.

Ever so slowly, Aemond approached - once again unsure what compelled him to. He watched carefully her face bathed in sunlight, the way it coloured her skin, eyelids trembling and eyelashes kissing the top of her cheeks. One more step, and Aemond’s shadow fell on her face - she relaxed for a moment, then opened her eyes.

Her gaze lingered on his boots for a moment, then quickly made its way up until it reached his face, his head tilted just slightly, and she sat up with her eyes widened.

“My prince,” her voice was low and breathy, her eyes darting to her skirt and then back up at him as her lips parted. “The princess has just gone inside.”

“I did not mean to startle you, my apologies,” again he offered her his hand, and again she hesitated - this time for a moment only, then placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her up. “I wasn’t looking for Helaena, merely some quiet,” he added then, not stepping back as he’d done that night.

Instead, he reached up with his other hand, fixing the flower crown sitting askew on her forehead. Her lips parted again, gaze lifting to his hand as it moved back from her face, and then cleared her throat, bowing her head.

“I shall leave you to it, then,” she seemed to realise just then her hand still rested in his, and almost hastily pulled it back as she curtsied, gaze flicking up for a split second. “Your -”

“Walk with me,” he offered instead, and she looked up fully, surprised, perhaps a little confused. Why, the question written in her eyes, and Aemond wasn’t really sure he could give her an answer. “Quiet doesn’t mean complete solitude, does it?”

“I suppose it doesn’t,” she nodded, turning towards the spot where Helaena’s guard was before - she didn’t seem unnerved by his absence, and when she faced Aemond again, her expression was more relaxed. Tranquil. “Until Helaena calls for me,” she agreed - a flicker of nervousness at her slipping the name of the princess, which Aemond pretended to ignore as she fell into steps beside him.

“I’ve rarely seen my sister as happy as when you’re at her side,” she walked on the side of his good eye, and he saw her turn her head to look up at him, almost surprised. It was a confession all of its own - admitting he’d been looking at them, that he’d noticed them both. “How’d you come to be her lady in waiting?”

“Not a lady, my prince,” when she spoke, she smoothed one hand down the front of her dress - he could see the tip of her fingers linger on the green embroidery, most likely his mother’s thinking. “Merely a handmaiden - a lucky one. Your sister liked me, asked I stood by her, thus I was schooled and dressed accordingly.”

“So you live in her shadows,” a scoff left her, and she was quick to mask it with a cough. “I’d be working in the kitchens still, had it not been for her,” she responded, and despite her words Aemond heard the tone of the lady she was taught to be. “It might be that, but these shadows are comfortable. And the princess treats me as a friend - I owe her a great deal.”

“You adore Helaena,” a surprised, gentle smile caught on the young woman’s lips, sincerity in her gaze as she nodded - still, Aemond continued. “So much so you’re willing to stay with her, even if it means putting up with Aegon.”

Her expression fell, that tender smile reserved for his sister vanishing in the blink of an eye, and for the first time since he’d approached her, she looked away - the same way court ladies did when they saw him, his eyepatch. Yet it hadn’t been him causing that reaction, but the mere mention of his brother.

“Despite the circumstances of our first meeting, I wouldn’t speak ill of your brother, my prince,” her words were clipped, a ghost of the anger seething in her that very night.

“My brother is a cunt,” Aemond scoffed, and at that her eyes returned to him - he expected her to look offended by the brazenness of his words, instead she just looked… surprised. Curious, even.

“Your brother is the son of a king,” she retorted, words measured. Her lips remained parted, an inhale as if preparing to continue, her steps faltering - but then she shook her head as she’d done that night when he’d called her my lady, as if shooing a thought.

“Fear not offending me, my lady,” again appeared that surprise in her eyes at the title he knew to be wrong. He hoped she felt the sincerity in it, knew he would not be mocking her. He leaned in a little, hands locked behind his back as he lowered his voice. “I can take it - and, as I’ve mentioned, I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Still, she hesitated, and Aemond could not fault her. His gaze fell to her hands as silence went on, watching that motion he’d seen in his mother countless times - pinching her fingers, picking and pulling and scratching at the skin around the nail until it drew blood. When it did, she lowered her gaze for a moment, and then tucked her fingers into her palms, hiding them from sight.

“You princes and lords have a way about you,” she spoke plainly, but did not meet his eye this time. Careful. Controlled. “A hubris - knowing you can get whatever it is you wish for.”

“I believe in Aegon’s case, it was time someone showed him that’s not the case,” Aemond said, then turned around to face her, walking backwards as he opened his arms, an almost theatrical motion that had her slow her steps - she didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, just watched him with curiosity. “But what do I know? I’m just a prince myself, am I not?”

“You -” she paused, her head slightly tilted as they took some more steps, a dance that ended by a tree, Aemond’s shoulder bumping the trunk as his gaze remained on her, unwavering. “I’ll admit I’ve never quite figured you out, prince Aemond.”

He faltered - something about the way she said his name, not as if she feared him, but as if she wasn’t exactly sure she should be saying it out loud the way she had with Helaena’s. And for a moment, she didn’t care.

“Does my good sister not speak about me?” he mused, crossing his arms and leaning back. “She does - highly, too,” she conceded, and her hand ran down the front of her bodice again, tracing the edges of the embroidery, over and over. “But to know one person through another’s words and thoughts doesn’t mean to actually know them.”

“This way I may yet have a vantage in winning you over, then,” her hand stilled, a little hiccup shaking her shoulders at his words. “I do wonder why we’ve never spoken before,” he hummed then, his head tilted as she watched the expression shift yet again on her face.

Everything he needed to know was in her eyes, and still she felt so distant. An open book in a language he did not yet master.

“Because your duty does not include speaking with the likes of me,” she said, letting her hands fall in front of her, thumbing the edge of the bodice where it met the skirt. “And mine is to not be seen by anyone but the princess.”

“Yet I do see you,” another shudder ran across her shoulders as her breath hitched at his words. “You seem to be everywhere - wherever I look, there you are,” he pushed himself off of the tree, half a step in her direction. “You’re hardly unnoticeable, my lady.”

“Not a lady,” she breathed out, her lips parting with a quiet gasp. Before she could say more, the clatter of the armour of a guard joining them interrupted her, calling her name, too - her name only.

“The princess Helaena has asked for you,” the guard said - then, suddenly noticing Aemond, blanched, bowing a little bit too deep, a little bit too fast. “Your Highness.”

“Of course,” she said, clearing her throat - she’d begun to pick at her nails again, and twisted her torso from Aemond to the guard whose gaze was fixed onto the ground. The prince sneered, but the grimace fell when he met her eyes one last time before bowing her head. “Apologies, my prince. I have to go.”

“Naturally,” he nodded, mirroring her movement - head bowed, gaze lifted to watch the nth shift of her expression. “I will see you at supper.”

She moved quickly, turning around and heading towards the entrance - for the second time Aemond watched her walk away, head held high and her dress dancing around her at her rapid steps, with the guard following shortly at her heels. Almost royalty herself.

It was no secret that the young prince didn’t enjoy public gatherings - balls and celebrations and festivities, at times even meals with his family felt tedious, let alone when half the kingdom was present. Too many people, too many conversations, too many glances at the eyepatch adorning his face. It bothered him to no end, knowing it was his duty to uphold a certain image, be polite and pleasant - he’d do it, for his mother, to some extent for his father, too, but those nights could not end soon enough.

There were positive aspects to it - his brother looked as miserable as he felt, for example. And, standing in Helaena’s shadow, always within arm reach, was her. Aemond knew everyone looked at her at least once - he’d seen them, lords and ladies alike, curious and perplexed. He never let her or his sister out of his sight as the night went on.

She held her head high, but her gaze low, soothed and smiled at Helaena whenever the princess turned to her, spoke to no one but her - when a lord tried to get her attention, it was Helaena who responded. Despite everything, theirs was a balanced relationship - protector and protected alternatively of the other.

Aemond had learned the tell-tales of his sister’s moods - she was always first to retire to her chambers, at times accompanied by their mother, most of the time by her instead. From the other side of the room, he saw her shake her head, lean into her friend’s embrace.

It was perhaps low of him to take advantage of the situation, but as he approached them, he saw her eyes flicker towards him - she hadn’t spared any lord or lady a second glance, but for a moment held his gaze before bowing her head.

“Your brother, princess,” she hummed softly, and Helaena turned around, her eyes softening when she saw it was him.

“Sister,” a tired smile took over the princess’ lips. “Would you care for a dance?” “Oh,” she sounded surprised, and it took everything Aemond had to not let his gaze wander past her shoulder. “Well, I -”

“The princess wished to return to her chambers, my prince,” she said in her stead, almost defensively. She then turned to look at Helaena, searched for confirmation or a change of heart, her gaze soft. Do you? only her lips moved, with no sound.

“I’m sorry, Aemond,” Helaena nodded a little, then smiled again - small, polite, tender. He bowed his head, lowered his gaze as the two women’s arms interlocked.

“Then perhaps,” he stopped them before they could walk away, and the princess looked at him curiously, almost surprised as he continued, “I may ask your friend to dance with me in your stead?”

Her eyes widened as Aemond stopped pretending he wasn’t looking at her, lips pressed in a thin line before letting her gaze dart around the wide, crowded room. He could almost see her thoughts racing, and when he looked down she’d already started picking at her nails, and was quick to hide it.

“These people are tedious,” he continued, an admission under his breath that had Helaena giggle - a lie, too, and they both knew it. “I merely wished for a familiar face.”

“Princess?” she did not address him directly, though for a moment longer her eyes remained on him. There was a lost look in the princess’ eyes, distant as she sometimes got. “Helaena?” she called again, softer, careful not to touch her anywhere else but where their arms were still connected.

“I’ll go look for mother,” she responded after a fraction of a second, smiling again as the other woman’s shoulders sagged in relief. She squeezed her wrist, then turned to Aemond and tilted her head just a little, speaking again. “Mind the fall.”

She left them there, a little stunned by her words, a little lost by her absence - she’d never been anywhere else but at her side during such gatherings, and it had been a while since Aemond had been left pondering over something she said.

Still, he lifted his gaze and met hers. Smiled. For the third time now, he offered her his hand.

“My lady?” for the third time now, she hesitated. “Still not a lady,” with one last glance around the room, her hand fell into his. Her fingertips were as cold as the first night, and he brought her closer as he moved towards the dancing area.

She stood a step behind as he temporarily turned his back on her, moving her hand from one of his to the other behind him, a gentle, delicate touch caressing the tips of her fingers as he did so - almost a dance before the dance, palms and fingertips and a heartbeat trapped within the wrists. He then brought her close and turned to face her again.

“You’re pretty adamant about it, are you not?” he wondered, a grin in his words. He expected it - she did not lower her gaze when she met his.

“Merely saying what has been reminded to me for years, my prince,” she retorted, their arms lifting at the same time, palm against palm as he guided her other to his shoulder, knuckles brushing her fingertips and then reached for her green-clad side. “That this is not my place.”

“Whoever said that hasn’t looked at you enough,” her gaze moved up to where their hands were joined mid-air, his slender fingers wrapping around her as music started again. “You fit right in,” he bowed his head, a little too close so he could whisper and be heard by her only, “my lady.”

He felt the shift in her ribs as she inhaled sharply and they started moving. Aemond had only ever danced with his sister, or his mother when he was younger - unless forced, he asked no lady to dance with him, and no lady had ever approached him to do so, not after the incident. But the years of training had made him graceful, elegant even, and he believed the partner picked played a role in the effortlessness he felt in his movements, if only a little out of the rhythm.

“I want to ask you a question, but first -” though the room moved as one, he only saw her twirl, skirt singing with the movement and her hand quickly finding his shoulder again as she met her gaze once more. “Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal,” she echoed, her head slightly tilted, that curious look she’d seen her get from time to time. She was an observer, like him. “Complete and utter honesty from this moment on - nothing hidden between us,” her eyebrows arched, clearly taken by surprise by his words and following grin.

“And why’s that, my prince?” his hand curled against her side, gently pushing to the side, under his arm, behind his back, shoulders brushing together. “I believed you enjoyed your secrecy.”

“I do,” he confirmed, the back of their hands touching as they stood side by side, then moved in a slow circle looking at each other. “Yet I’d like to know all there is to you,” a quick turn to face each other again, arms down against their sides - his hands twitched to reach for her. “It shall go both ways, of course.”

“Of course,” she tipped her chin up a little as she stepped towards him, hands joining again. “What was your question, my prince?”

“What are you thinking about?” he wondered, his head bowed so close it might’ve been unbecoming if not for the music playing, his voice so low only she could hear it. “Right now - what’s going on inside your head?”

If his curiosity surprised her, she did not show it, nibbling at her lip for a moment.

“I am waiting for the whispers,” she said then, an admission. “For them all to notice who you’re dancing with and wondering how I got here, with you - they’ll ask you about it, after this,” she was so sure of it, it brought a frown to Aemond’s brow.

And then she smiled - a curious smile, one he’d never seen when she was with Helaena, or when they’d spoken the other times, casual conversations often cut too short when duty called, lingering in doorways and at a table over the course of several months. He’d gathered bits and pieces of her like that, and still he couldn’t put them all together, couldn’t seem to truly figure her out, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

“What else?” he wondered, eye falling to the grin on her lips she fought so hard to hide. She hesitated - not out of shyness this time, but with a shimmer of amusement in her eyes.

“You’re the one supposed to lead, my prince,” she whispered, so low he almost didn’t hear her. Surprise flashed across his face, and she was quick to turn her head, tucking her chin against her shoulder as his lips parted.

“I am,” he retorted, confusion lacing his voice. “Am I not?”

Her laughter caught him by surprise again, a little too loud, joyous as he’d never heard her - he thought it’d be worthy. The perhaps humiliation, the knowing he hadn’t had control for however long those dances had lasted - it’d be worthy to hear the sound of her laughter all over again, unabashed and quickly smothered by the back of her hand as she stepped away from him, out of sight and into the shadows again. 

He followed her into it, away from glances and gaze, her shoulders shaking with silenced laughter - when her eyes moved up to him, almost apologetic, he felt himself smile, too, and then reached for her arm. His touch was always so gentle, she thought fleetingly, even as he pulled her along, away and far from the crowd, the guests, the looks, out of the doors and into a secondary corridor she couldn’t remember ever seeing before.

“Apologies, my prince,” she was slightly out of breath, and when her hand interlocked with his, Aemond pulled her closer, deeper and deeper through the passages now hidden of the castle. “It is not you I am laughing at, it’s just - the whole situation - I hadn’t danced in so long -”

“Fret not, litse mēre,” it slipped, lost in the moment as he stopped at the end of a corridor - there was nowhere else to go but back, and she lost her balance a little when she halted in front of him, face still alight with laughter, eyes shimmering underneath the feeble light of the torch above their heads. “I was merely getting away from the questions - I didn’t feel like justifying my choice of dancing partner.”

“Still,” she cleared her throat as a flush crept up her neck, rolling her shoulders back to regain some composure - her hand was still in his, her thumb absent-mindedly drawing circles across his knuckles. He’d seen her do that same gesture with Helaena, on herself, and it brought him an odd sense of comfort as he lowered his gaze to it. “I shouldn’t have laughed like that - it wasn’t very ladylike of me.”

“Hm,” he let his gaze move up the curve of her arm, a lock of hair fallen out of her up-do - a little more elaborate than her usual braids, but still simple. Elegant. The red was bright against the green of her dress, and Aemond felt a surge of gratitude for the colours chosen by his mother. “Good thing you’re not a lady then, is it not?” he mused, and when he glanced up at her face again, she beamed. “May I show you something?”

“I -” she blinked her eyes quickly, the excitement wearing off a little, smile faltering as she turned to look at the corridor behind them. She kept her head turned long enough Aemond felt himself inhale, fear, the hold on her hand loosening as he let his gaze wander down the column of her throat, away from her face - he did not see the shimmer returning in her eyes when she squeezed his hand, once. “Of course,” she said soft-voiced, yet with resolve.

She watched him move quickly, turn to the wall at their side and reach with his free hand for the torch hanging there - there was a click when he dismounted it from its place, a whirring sound that had her jump back, almost bringing her with him. Her eyes widened as the wall moved like a door, revealing a dark passage that brought them warm air. She gasped, unable to move her gaze from the deep darkness though her head turned in his direction.

“It is safe, I can assure you,” he spoke under his breath, and his voice was carried down the passage, a distant echo that had her draw closer to him, still mesmerised. She said nothing in return, just nodded and, after a moment longer, he guided them both forward - once she stepped away from the wall, it closed behind her and she flinched, tightening her grip on Aemond’s hand.

The silence was broken only by their steps, her quickening breaths as they walked, and walked, and walked - he could feel the heat radiating off of her body as she moved closer to him, so close he could almost hear her heart, running wildly in her chest. Not fear, but excitement, the unknown clad in darkness in front of her.

He should’ve asked how much trust she could put into him, but the more they walked, the less doubt crept down his neck like a shiver. Instead, there was only anticipation, and a slight haze as the high from the dance and her closeness wore off. He felt like he could get used to it - the weight of her hand into his, her body pressed tightly against his own.

She jolted when a low rumble came from in front of them, breath hitching - and then she stepped forward, almost in front of him, her neck craned to search for the source of the noise. Unafraid.

“Rytsas, uēpa riña,” Aemond called and, with another step, Vhagar’s face came into view. At the corner of his eye, he saw the woman’s eyes widen in awe, tilting her head back to take in as much as the dragon’s form as she could - the back of her was still hidden in darkness, and he saw her squint lightly as if to get a better look.

“She’s beautiful,” with a breathy whisper, she squeezed Aemond’s hand and then let go of him, bringing both hands to her chest, as if to hold her heart under her skin. She rocked forward, as if to take a step, but moved back instead, her brow knitting. “Helaena told me you speak to them in High Valyrian - was that it?”

“Yes,” he said, and forced himself to look back at the beast. “Vhagar, sagon sȳz, emi iā zentys,” a low rumble rolled down the creature’s throat, and Aemond stepped closer to both her and Vhagar. “Do you want to get closer?”

“Can I?” she asked right away, a strain of hopefulness in her voice - she still hadn’t turned to look at him, too enthralled with the dragon’s figure. “What did you tell her?”

“Hello, old girl,” Aemond translated, moving one arm behind her back and guiding her forward with slow steps - her shoulders shifted under his touch, deep breaths as they got closer and closer. “I told her to be good - we have a guest,” a smile caught on her mouth, lips quivering when they stopped close enough to her neck he could feel Vhagar’s heat as well.

Her shoulder bumped against his chest, head tilted back to see where her body ended, scales shimmering in the light emanating from the torch. When Aemond lowered his gaze towards her, he saw her pick at her thumb, her only sign of worry in being so close to the beast.

“Give me your hand,” he said, his voice low, bowing his head towards her shoulder - he could smell the scent clinging to her hair, that perfume of roses that had remained on his cloak.

She lifted her arm slowly, licking her lips as she turned her head this side, then the other, and Aemond’s hand closed over hers, guiding her forward. She sighed when her palm connected with Vhagar’s skin, the heat stinging but not unbearable, and her eyes fell shut as the prince ran their joined hands across the scales of the creature, a low, long rumble similar to a purr making the earth under them tremble.

Her back was pressed against his chest now, encased between the prince and the dragon, and he could feel each thumping of her heart against her ribcage, the amazed little hiccups cutting off her breath whenever Vhagar’s muscles shifted, or she got a little louder.

“You’re not scared,” Aemond murmured, and though it was meant to be a question, he only sounded surprised. Her eyes flew open, and she turned her head to look at him, her gaze lowering for a moment to where their bodies touched, as if she’d just now realised how close he was. 

“I think she’s magnificent,” she responded, and her voice was still a whisper, eyebrows arching in surprise when Vhagar huffed, whipping her head back around to see her neck push against their hands with her sigh. Her gaze lingered on Aemond’s hand then, the way it almost cradled her own. “And you assured me it was safe - I believed you,” he felt her eyes move up his arm as she turned her head again, face flushed when she looked up at him. “Still do.”

“Gevie,” his hum rumbled in his chest, so similar to Vhagar’s she held her breath, curling her fingers back from the animal’s skin - Aemond’s hand closed over hers, their arms falling at their sides as she turned her head to look forward again.

“What does that mean?” this time, when she spoke, she did not meet his gaze. Aemond knew that, if she had, he wouldn’t have been able to keep it to himself - beautiful, he thought instead, hesitating in loosening his hold around her hand. When he did, she turned around in the circle of his arms, fully facing him, her arm stuck between their close bodies, the tip of their fingers holding onto each other a moment longer. “It’s gotten late, perhaps I should -”

Whatever she meant to say burned away when he crashed his lips to hers - he let go of her hand to pillow the back of her head as she gasped against his mouth. Aemond’s kiss made her stagger back a step, her hands grasping his sides as he held her up, kept her balanced while the leather of his clothing creaked under her touch.

Her hold was tight on him as he bowed his head furthermore, and when he brushed the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip - though he hadn’t seen her drink for the whole night, the faint taste of wine lingered, making him believe he could get intoxicated on that alone - she parted her lips for him, a whine escaping from the back of her throat when he licked into her mouth, searching more, searching all.

He curled his fingers into her hair, and it fell like liquid fire into his hand, soft and smooth and that scent of roses enough to drive him insane - he groaned, a sound of praise that he could not voice otherwise when her back arched into him, so much so he was sure he could feel the embroidery of her dress directly onto his skin.

His hold on the torch almost slipped, the flames grazing his skin - and then, Vhagar growled. The noise echoed in the dragon pit, and in a split second she’d jumped out of his arms, leaving him panting when she stepped behind him, putting distance between her, the dragon, him.

His fingers remained caught through her hair a moment longer after he felt the absence of her, and when he turned she had both hands folded against her heaving chest. Eyes shimmering, a red halo around her lips and bright cheeks, her gaze danced around the room, the darkness, doing everything to not settle on him. Aemond felt dizzy, a little drunk, and stepped towards her again.

“I should go,” her voice was hoarse, and she was out of breath as she stepped back with his movement, keeping the distance between them even. Aemond froze then, searching for her gaze - he could feel his own heart beating loudly, stopping the moment she met his eye. “Thank you, my prince. I - thank you.”

“Then I will -” her hands curled above her chest when he took yet another step forward, and she one step back.

“I can find my way back,” she anticipated, eyeing the torch carefully before returning her gaze to him. He could not understand the look on her face - dazed or angry or scared or just confused. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, ask, say anything, the words stuck like a knot in his throat.

Glossy lips pressed in a tight line, she bowed her head, the nod of a curtsy, Aemond watched her walk away hurriedly, vanishing into the darkness and leaving him aching, afire.

Wherever I look, there you are.

In halls and rooms and doorways, she moved just at the corner of his eye, over and over again. Sometimes, he saw her with his eyes closed, too, when the night was late and dark, and he had to remind himself he was alone. She lingered on the tip of his tongue, against his lips, in his hands, every inch of skin she’d touched or brushed against carrying her mark.

And yet, for days, she eluded him - remained closer to Helaena’s side, kept her head turned and her eyes low. She walked fast across the corridors, made her way out of a room when he walked in, unnoticed by all but him. He knew she could feel him looking at her, could see it in the flush of her neck, in the blood on the tip of her fingers after she picked too much on her skin.

He’d never known to be patient, and in this instance it was eating him alive.

“You’re distracted, my prince,” Ser Criston Cole called, swinging his morningstar too close to the prince’s face - he leaned back, out of reach, returning the blow with his sword, which the knight avoided carefully. “Your mind is elsewhere.”

“Yet I am still able to best you, Ser Criston,” he retorted, smacking the flat of his sword against his arm. The knight dropped his weapon with a scoff, lifting his hands in surrender - the training had left them both out of breath, and as he regained some composure, Aemond scanned the yard. A flash of red got his attention, and he saw her face in the crowd - he knew it was her, because the moment their eyes locked she vanished from his sight. “Excuse me.”

“Your Highness -” Cole tried to stop him when he dropped his sword, but the prince had already moved across the yard, cutting the training session short.

He wasn’t being careful, he knew, calling her name out loud, when so many people were around - but he’d gotten tired of waiting, and she was just there, just out of reach, across the yard and towards the gardens. She slowed down only once the Weirwood tree came into view.

“My lady, please,” he called then, still too loud, and she froze on the spot. The prince couldn’t remember the last time he’d even uttered the word. Please, a prayer carried by the wind through the leaves of the Old Gods’ tree, to her. She turned slowly, her hands interlocked in front of her. “You’re not going to argue with me calling you that?” he took a tentative step back and, when she didn’t move away, his shoulders sagged.

“What is it, my prince?” if anything, he could find comfort in the fact she didn’t sound angry. Her voice didn’t quiver, nor did it let on any other type of emotion. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your training.”

“I must apologise for the way I behaved the other night,” he spoke urgently, taking yet another step in her direction. Her eyes widened, glancing quickly around - no one else was there, no one but them. “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” still, he spoke carefully - her words made her shoulders lock. “I was no better than Aegon.”

“My prince -” her voice was much lower than his, and she rocked forward when trying to respond. For the first time, Aemond was the first one to look away from someone, his gaze lowered to the grass.

“You told me - you were right. We take without asking, demand and not wait for an answer,” he continued, and barely heard the rustle of her dress as she took a step in his direction, didn’t see the frown across her brow either. “I should’ve known better, I went too far. It was vile of me.”

“You’re nothing like your brother,” he looked up as she lifted her hand - the moment their gazes met again, she curled her fingers back towards her, as if she’d been in the act of reaching for him and thought better of it. “What he’s tried to do - do not think, even for a moment, what happened in the dragon pit was anything like it.”

Aemond shuffled forward, steps still careful as he approached her. Despite everything, despite his pentiment, he still craved being near her - his body betraying his words. He glanced at her hands again, half hidden in the folds of her skirt as she pushed her thumb over her forefinger, cracking it softly, over and over again.

“You caught me off guard, with -” when he looked back up, her cheeks were stained red, and she cleared her throat. “With that kiss,” she went on, brazen though her voice was low - the wind carried it away, towards the tree, through its leaf. The Gods were listening. “And then Vhagar - I was so caught up in the moment I forgot there was a dragon.”

It was his turn to frown, and when he realised how close they’d gotten, he let his knuckle brush the back of her hands. She sighed softly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she shook her head, quickly licking her lips.

“You got scared?” he didn’t mean to sound surprised, nor amused - somehow, he was both, and she huffed, tucking her chin down. “Yes,” she admitted. The prince hooked his pinky finger underneath her index, slowly guiding her hand up.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” relief had washed over him - he could still come back from the misstep. He could make it right. “Why?”

Her thumb locked over the tip of his finger, and she held him for a moment - her eyes were trained on his hands, dust staining his fingertips after the training, palms reddened from his grip on the sword. She let her gaze wander, nibbling at her bottom lip as she followed the curve of his knuckles, the shadow of the veins across the back of his hands, down to his wrist.

“What’s going on?” he asked again, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, palm against palm. “Does our deal still hold?” at that, her gaze flickered up to his face, worry creasing her brow.

He almost reached over, almost tried to smooth it down, almost kissed the creases until they went away. Almost, almost, almost.

“I got scared because for years I did not allow myself to need anything,” she spoke fast, words tumbling over each other in a whisper, the confession for him and the Gods only. “To want anything,” want, want, Aemond thought, watching her free hand move across her abdomen, drumming against her side for a moment, two. A flicker of desire to flee rather than speak crossed her gaze, but she tipped her chin up, met his gaze. “Not since I ran away.”

“You -” Aemond stilled - he had not realised he’d been rubbing circles across the back of her hand, an imitation of her gestures that night after dancing. “What?”

He thought he’d gotten a full picture, maybe some missing pieces about her - a single sentence, and he realised all the pieces were out of place. She swayed a little, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth - he wished to reach over and set it free from its cage, his thumb pushing into the soft flesh. He squeezed her hand, gently, instead.

“I was betrothed once - an awful man, who fell ill a few days before our supposed marriage,” he understood why, when speaking, she did not look at him - yet he desperately wanted to see the look in her eyes, try to get what she could be feeling. Thinking. “My family knew I didn’t want the wedding, so they blamed me - it was just luck, really. In return, I ran. Even changed my hair, hid myself for long enough they believed me dead.”

His gaze flickered to her braids, wrapped around her head like a crown, the crimson locks brighter in the sun. Her hand was limp in his, almost trying to get away but not really - Aemond did not let go, and on the tip of his fingers pressed to her wrist he could feel her heartbeat, rapid and erratic. 

“No one has ever known - though I believe the princess has her suspicions,” this time she sounded fearful, and he slowly brought her hand closer to him, holding it to his chest. Her fingers curled around his, knuckles brushing the leather. “I started from the ground, and once I knew my family would not come looking for me, I moved up.”

“You’re highborn, aren’t you?” it only made sense - that it felt like she fit in because she did. That no matter how hard she tried, old teachings were difficult to forget. “Yes,” she said, simply.

“So you are a lady,” the tease caught her by surprise - no remarks, no questions. A joke, accompanied by a grin as he stepped closer yet, the tip of his shoe grazing the hem of her dress.

“No, not anymore,” she shook her head quickly, while his fingers interlocked with hers. “They’re gone - dead. Whatever fortune I might’ve had went to some cousin, or uncle, I’m not sure,” she shrugged. “I have no title, all my possessions come from my work. From Helaena.”

“Have you ever regretted it?” his breath fanned across the back of her hand when he brought it up to his mouth, her eyes widening just slightly when his lips brushed across her knuckles.

“At times. Not getting out of the marriage, or leaving them behind, but life would’ve been easier, and -” a hiccuping gasp fell from her lips, eyes trembling shut. “My prince, I can’t -”

“Want it,” he left the ghost of a kiss on the back of her hand, her fingers curling in his hold while he twisted her arm gently, exposing her wrist. “Just want it - because I do,” he was sure her heart was racing, pulse loud under his lips. “Litse mēre -”

She was more alert of their surroundings than him, despite the shortness of her breath - when she ripped her hand from his grasp he ached, until he heard the noise of steps over his shoulder. Ser Criston appeared with a frown across his brow, Aemond’s sword in hand and gaze temporarily perplexed until it found him.

“You should return to your training, my prince,” she cleared her throat before and after speaking, gaze wandering everywhere but on his face. “And I should go back to the princess. She’ll be expecting me,” she bowed her head, taking a step back.

Before she could move too far, Aemond grabbed her wrist - not tight, not hurting her. Had she wished it, she could’ve moved away; instead, she looked at his hand then at him, a little startled, a little perplexed. From behind him, Ser Criston called him.

“Can you make your way back to the dragon pit?” he asked, a little hastily, ignoring the knight even as he got closer. “Tonight - through the passages?”

“I -” her gaze flickered towards Cole, then back to his face - he didn’t know what she saw in his expression at that moment. Hope, perhaps. Anticipation. Worry, too, if he was being honest. “I believe so, but -”

“Meet me there,” he urged, half a step forward to shield her from Cole’s sight - or to hide him from her, regain her full attention. “Let me and Vhagar show you the sky - please,” again that word, that plea akin to prayer.

He did not wait for an answer, forced himself away, forced his gaze to turn - this time, he was the one walking away, and still he ached. Still he hoped.

For the whole day he hoped, distracted out of his mind. Everything he did, he did half-heartedly - he seemed to come alive only when she stepped into a room he was already in, her arm intertwined with Helaena’s or at their mother’s side, the queen talking to her rapidly. A princess’ companion, a queen’s confidant. A prince’s desire.

By nightfall, he’d already gone to the dragon pit and waited. Waited and waited, hour after hour, with Vhagar rumbling at his restlessness. He waited with his heart in his throat, wondering whether that had been the overstep - he’d given her the opportunity to decide, go to him or not, but would it have felt like a choice to her?

The lights of the torches flickered across the walls, and for a moment he didn’t see her - Vhagar noticed her first, her rumble turning in a purr at the sight of the flames reflecting across the woman’s hair. Aemond had not realised how much he’d truly hoped she would show up until she appeared, wrapped in a dark cloak, her hair unbound.

“You came,” he said softly, and she tilted her head a little at his surprise.

“I seem to have overestimated my ability to walk these passages,” she admitted, clearing her throat, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “I followed the warmth, hoped it would bring me here.”

A grin flashed across Aemond’s face, even as he watched her hold on the torch she carried tightening, the constant movement of her body - a slow rocking side to side, cloak and hair swaying with her as she looked at him, then Vhagar, then back to him.

“But you came,” he said again, taking a step in her direction. She remained on the spot, lowering the torch a little - there was enough light for them to see each other anyway. “I wish you to know you’re under no obligation - you can still walk back, and I shall leave you alone.”

“I’m here, am I not?” she asked, breathlessly, yet as she spoke her gaze did not falter for a moment. “Make no mistake, my prince, I’ve been at court long enough to know this -” she gestured between the two of them, vaguely, and simultaneously making it clear as day what she meant, “is no rare occurrence. I’ve also seen the consequences of it,” how Aemond wished to reassure her, to let her know he’d give her all she desired, if only she asked, and never before had he felt like that. Then she went on, her chin lifted, “But I am here.”

“Do not worry, litse mēre,” he smiled, one last step in her direction offering her his hand - this time, she did not hesitate, in spite of the light tremble of her fingertips. Aemond guided her closer until she was walking ahead of him, and in speaking again he bowed his head towards her shoulder. “I know you’re here because of her. I get it. Paktot, Vhagar?”

On hearing her name, the dragon lifted her head with a grumble - the woman seized his hand, eyes widening as she followed the creature’s movements. Aemond grinned again at the stupor painting on her face, the admiration as she still kept moving forward.

“It is not just her I’m here for,” he would’ve wished her to admit it while looking at him still, but he was content enough to hear her while seeing the look of awe in her eyes. When they stopped at Vhagar’s side, she frowned a little. “How do you -”

Before she could finish her sentence, Aemond had let go of her hand and kneeled by her side, one leg bent and his head thrown back to keep his gaze up on her - her lips remained slightly parted, one hand reaching for her chest as the other grasped the empty air where his had been.

“See that rope there, on her side?” his hand came to rest against the back of her leg, the warmth of his palm spreading even through the cloak and her dress, from the back of her knee down her calf. “You hold on to that, I’ll boost you up.”

“Have you done this before?” she wondered, prying her gaze away from him to spot the rope. She moved carefully as she grabbed it, pulling a little with both hands before looking back down towards him.

“Are you asking because you doubt my abilities or because you wish to know if there’s been someone else?” she huffed at his grin, tightening her hold onto the rope when his hand moved underneath her skirt, wrapping around her ankle. “Rȳbagon, Vhagar. Sagon sȳz.”

The movement was smooth, and she found herself straddling the saddle with a gasp, letting go of the rope to hold onto it, leaning a little forward as she regained her balance. A moment later, the prince climbed behind her, securing her in the circle of his arms. She felt his cheek brush the side of her head, lips almost brushing her ear as he reached for the chain that rested in front of them.

“There’s been no one else,” he murmured, fastening the chain about them, securing them to the saddle. Nor will there be, he thought, perhaps wished. This close, the scent of roses was almost overwhelming, the tip of his nose brushing the top of her head. “But you can trust me.”

“I do,” she didn’t even wait a beat to reply, turning her head just a little as if to look at him. Aemond reached past her, took hold of the reins - in doing so, her whole back was pressed against him, their bodies locked together.

“Good,” he hummed, sliding one arm fully around her, his hand splayed against her stomach. “Sōvegon,” he ordered then, his voice louder, and the dragon moved.

Long, thundering steps first, gaining ground as she spread her wings as much as the pit allowed and, once out, lifted off the ground. The prince felt her hold her breath as the creature’s body shifted underneath them, and could see at the corner of his eye her eyes widening, the grip she had on the saddle growing tighter to the point her knuckles whitened.

Aemond leaned forward, his chin hooked above her shoulder as his hand moved from her stomach to her chest, her collarbones, brushing the sliver of skin left uncovered by her cloak and dress with his thumb. Under his hand, her heart beat loudly, wildly, chest heaving the higher they got.

“Alright?” he asked, so close to her face his lips brushed her jaw. When she turned her head, her eyes were shimmering, and what he’d believed to be simple wonder parting her lips proved itself to be a smile, wide and perhaps a little wild. “More?” she nodded at both questions, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. “Tolī adere! Eglikta, Vhagar!” he called, and Vhagar jolted forward.

The woman’s hand left the saddle to rest over his, right above her chest and, after staring up ahead for a beat, laughter bubbled in her throat - loud and unabashed, tilting her head back so that it rested against the prince’s shoulder as her hair whipped behind her, past him, a crimson stain in the dark night sky. He left a kiss to the side of her neck, quick and bold, and she squeezed his hand in response, tilting her head enough to nose his jaw, just for a moment.

He would be content if that was all they had - a night of freedom, her eyes closed as she rested against him and laughed, the sound so lovely he’d forever cherish it. A single night with her secured in his arms, roses flooding his senses, the sea with no end in front of them, the infinite starry night sky above.

She fell from the saddle right into his arms with another laugh, quickly grasping his shoulders to keep herself up, her legs threatening to give out underneath her. Her face was red from the wind and euphoria, hair mussed around her head, her eyes so bright it seemed little fires had found their place underneath her eyelids. 

“That was -” her voice was hoarse, but down to a mere whisper as she straightened in front of him, smiling so brightly lines etched at the corners of her eyes. “I have never felt anything like that, I -” again she cut herself off, regaining her breath as her hand fell into his, perfectly interlocking as if they’d done it time and time again. “Thank you, my prince,” she said at last.

He would’ve brought her to the sky every night if it meant see the look in her eyes again, feel the weight and warmth of her pressed against him even now that they’d moved away from Vhagar, her hands cold in his. He almost told her, too.

Instead, he reached up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and then tucking the curled mass behind her ear as best as he could, thumb ghosting her cheek as he did so.

“Do you wish me to accompany you back to your rooms?” he spoke softly, the wind still roaring in his ears. She eyed the passages behind his shoulder, clicking her tongue before returning her gaze on him, nodding.

“Please,” she hummed, drawing closer, her head tilted to lean into his touch. He lingered there a moment, rubbing his thumb across her cheek as if he could collect the colour that tinted her skin.

When he dropped his hand and turned, he felt her shake her head lightly - she was still reeling from the flight, her heart beating so loud it was almost painful, and from his touch. Reassuring, firm, yet somewhat gentle - he’d shown her a care no one ever had before, and it twisted her insides, sent her mind spinning. She knew it was a dangerous thing, to let herself want so much, to let herself want him - but so many years she’d spent shutting her desires down, and he’d broken a dam that had already been cracking with his kiss.

There were torches up on the walls of the passages that she did not remember from the first night, nor from her descent that same evening, and she got the vague sense they were moving in a different direction. Aemond seemed to know the layout like the back of his hand, and she hurried along - he felt her get closer, hold on tighter, and glanced above his shoulder with a light smirk.

“I won’t get us lost, litse mēre,” he reassured softly, his thumb drawing a circle across the back of her hand. “The worst that could happen is we end up in Helaena’s rooms instead.”

“My prince,” a half scolding, and he slowed down. “You must stop calling me that,” he didn’t look at her again when speaking, but pulled her closer as they moved through a narrower passage.

“You know I can’t,” it fell like an almost bitter whisper from her mouth, her eyes trained on the back of his head.

The prince stopped in his tracks, turning around in one swift motion and trapping her between him and the wall. Her cheeks, still a little red from the night air, burned brighter as her eyes widened, shimmered when he bowed his head towards her.

“Say my name,” his voice was low, a raspier edge to it, echo of his shouted commands to Vhagar. “This once, say it,” he said under his breath, so close he could feel the places where her dress shifted against her legs.

“My prince -” the hand that she wasn’t holding rose across her body, the tip of his fingers tracing down the side of her neck, that same spot he’d kissed while under the stars, down her exposed collarbones, her chest and abdomen, tracing the lines of the embroidery absent-mindedly as his gaze followed the same trail.

“Say my name,” he repeated, squeezing her side from underneath the cloak. Each touch was electrifying, and she felt herself tremble through her shuddering breaths when he brought his hand behind the small of her back, guiding her forward with his fingers splayed against her spin, pushing her against him.

“Aemond,” she sighed, eyes fluttering shut. He let go of her other hand to reach up and cup her jaw, slowly tilting her head back. His gaze was scalding her skin as he pushed his thumb into her cheek, gently, her lips parting with a quiet exhale.

“Again,” he brought the tip of his thumb to the corner of her mouth, just barely brushing her lips. She held onto his side, swaying a little under his touch. Almost like the time they’d danced, a slow rocking as the leather of his clothes creaked into her palm.

“Aemond,” and then, bringing her other hand to the nape of his neck, eyes hooded as she searched for his gaze. “Please.”

How could he resist her, when she sounded so sweet?

Holding her chin, he bowed his head fully to kiss her - delicate, almost, and she melted into him with another sigh, heavy in his arms. This time, her lips parted without him having to coax her, as if she couldn’t get him near enough, close enough.

She was bolder this time, kissing him back with the same intensity, her tongue caressing the roof of his mouth - she groaned softly when the back of her head hit the wall behind her, a deaf thud that would’ve pulled him away, had it not been for her hand clasping behind his head, locking him there. Aemond let his hand move down the column of her throat, toying with the knot of her cloak without actually undoing it.

When they parted, it was to regain their breaths - she was panting, her nails gently scraping the nape of his neck. Aemond’s chest ached for lack of oxygen, yet he dropped his head lower, pushing her cloak away to kiss the area just beneath her collarbones - he could taste the sea air on her skin, hear the night in her heavy sighs as she buried her hand through his hair at last.

“I have something to confess,” his voice sounded distant, drowned by the rushing of his blood. He spoke against the tender skin of her throat, pushing her head slightly to the side to expose and reach more and more of her. “I don’t know how to get to your rooms from here.”

“That’s alright,” she chuckled, breath and low, and a small cry left her already parted lips when he nipped at her neck. “Take me to yours,” she whispered, tilting her head so her cheek rested against his temple, the strap of the eyepatch digging into her skin a little.

Aemond pulled back almost hastily, quick to bring his gaze to her face - flushed, her lips red and plump, her hair falling messily around her head, she glanced back at him. He needn’t ask anything - she was nodding already, a little hiccup making her chest heave as she brought one hand to his face. The heat of the moment tempered at her tender touch on his cheek, her fingers still somewhat cold grazing his skin - he wasn’t sure when someone had last touched him so gently.

She staggered a little when he moved away from her, quick to take her hand and start walking again - he kept her at his side this time, a nonsensical need to make sure she was there settling in his bones. As he walked, the distance seemingly infinite, he held her hand up towards his face, peppering a series of kisses across the back of it - it was almost amusing, the shy smile creeping across her lips at that gesture after the moment gone by.

He opened the door in front of her and walked in with his hands grazing her throat as he undid the knot that kept her cloak up, lowering his head to take her scent of roses, eyes fluttering shut. He let the dark fabric fall to the ground, hands never leaving her as he guided them further into the room, shoes abandoned somewhere along the way.

The fire was already lit, and its warm light reflected against the side of her face as he moved in front of her, her eyes wide as she took in the unfamiliar room, her lips slightly parted. There was wonder on her face, curiosity as she tried to gather as much knowledge as possible about him from the space he inhabited.

“So many books,” she mumbled as his hands reached her waist - instinctively, hers reached up his shoulders, rocking a little side by side with him as he lowered his head towards her again. Instead of kissing her lips, he found himself brushing across her cheek, down her jaw. “I’ve been told you’ve studied philosophy, and history, and -”

“Litse mēre,” he hooked one finger in the ribbon keeping her dress up fastened. “I truly do not wish to talk about philosophy, nor history, right now,” she lowered her gaze to his hand as he slowly undid the lacing. The ribbon sang underneath his calloused fingers, her breath quickening all over again.

“What does that mean?” she asked softly, and reached up his neck, unhooking the clasp at his throat as the upper piece of her dress loosened around her. “You’ve called me that before.”

“It means pretty one,” he answered, truthfully, opening her dress to reveal the wrinkled chemise underneath. His gaze lingered on her, hands dropping to her sides as she toohers back to remove the dress piece fully. “Ñuha litse mēre,” he hummed as she reached back up to finish undoing the fastenings of his clothing. “My pretty one,” he added as her palms slid underneath his shirt, cold hands kissing his skin, making him hiss softly.

Her lips were crooked in a little, almost sheepish smile, and she dropped her gaze from his face to his torso as she undressed him - her touch was terribly gentle, tracing the shape of his collarbones and down to his chest, tip of her finger following the lines of his muscles, the finely chiselled alabaster of his skin, further down to his abdomen, lingering at the V of his hips and the waistband of his trousers.

When she looked up again, as if to ask for permission, he leaned in instead, kissing her instead, his hold firm on her hips. She sighed into it, mellow and pliant under his hands - ever so slowly, he dropped his mouth to her neck again, and explored the spaces now left exposed with his lips, down her chest, tugging the lace of her chemise with his teeth before going lower.

She gasped when he knelt in front of her, trailing kisses across her sternum, stomach, hands pushing her skirt down until it pooled around her ankles - he gripped her hips, holding her upright when she swayed at his kiss to her hip bone. Left side, then right, gaze lifted towards her to catch a glimpse of her expression as she held herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other threading through his hair.

“Twice you’ve gotten a prince on his knees for you,” he whispered, breath warm through the thin layer that covered her stomach. “I wonder if it was more - wonder if Aegon -”

“Don’t talk about him now,” she snapped, a shadow of the wild thing that he’d seen in the sky, her grip tightening on his hair - the tingling against his scalp made him smirk, pulling against it to kiss her stomach again while his hands slowly reached underneath her chemise, brushing up her bare legs.

“As you wish,” he hummed, slowly gathering the fabric up, inch by inch of skin uncovered to the warm air of the room and his gaze. She aided him, removing the chemise and, down to only her undergarments, she held her breath underneath the prince’s gaze. “Gevie,” he whispered, his eye shimmering.

Scars littered her body, most small and thin, white marks shimmering in the firelight, a few from deeper wounds - in time, he'd ask about them, have her tell their story, her story (but that night, he only kissed her until his lips were sore).

“You used that before, too,” she said, breathlessly, as he got up again. Her hands found purchase on the waistband of his trousers, joining at the front as she toyed with the fastening, tilting her head back to keep her eyes on him.

“It means beautiful,” he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about fully undressing her first, his fingers slowly making their way past the waistband of her underwear, stretching the fabric as he caressed her hip bone. She undid the clasp of his trousers, lip trapped once again between her teeth - her pupils were dilated, chest heaving at his barely-there touches.

He kissed her lip free as he pushed the last piece of fabric off her body, a yelp suppressed between their connected mouths when he lifted her off the ground just a notch, moving her away from the pile of her clothes - he kept his arm around her waist, their naked chests pressed together as he backed her towards the bed, his steps a little too long, a little too quick for her too fully keep up as she grasped at his shoulders, arching furthermore into his touch.

She held onto him as she fell back on the mattress, the prince landing between her spread thighs as his free hand rested at the side of her, holding himself up. Still she kissed him, and he kissed her, and he could get lost in it all night long. Get lost in her all his life.

He pushed her legs a little more open as he pulled back, guiding her until she was lying between the pillows - her hair was spread around her, a holy halo of blood and her, a saint with bruised lips. Her hands, losing their hold on him, wandered unsure across her stomach and chest, almost covering herself but not quite.

Aemond held himself up with one hand, and let the other trace a straight line up her body - navel to throat, across the valley of her breasts. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, neck craning as if in offering to him, and when he reached for her mouth, he tapped it gently.

“Open up,” in spite of the hungry look in his eye, his voice was softer, sending a shiver down her spine as she parted her lips, wide, glossy eyes set on him. Her teeth grazed the pad of his index and middle finger, and she wrapped one hand around his wrist when he pushed down on her tongue - he half expected her to pull him away, instead she wrapped her lips fully around him, cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucked on them. “Good girl,” he whispered, almost breathlessly, thumb brushing her jaw.

She moaned around his digits when he straddled one of her thighs, eyelids fluttering shut at the weight of him on her, his unbuttoned trousers straining. He could not stop looking at her, the slight bob of her throat as she kept licking the pads of his fingers while his thumb pushed into her cheek.

And then he pulled back, her eyes flying open as she whined at the loss, fingers digging a little into his wrist - he smirked, his head tilting ever so slightly as she met his gaze and her face burned, chest tightening. She felt out of control, unable to regain her grasp on it - so many years restraining herself, and it all crumbled around her at his touch.

“Easy now, my lady,” his voice sounded deeper, or perhaps it was just her blood rushing in her ears as he trailed back down her body, following the same path as before with wet fingers - sternum and chest and stomach and navel, further down her mound. There was a taunting note in his voice, in his smirk as he dipped his fingers between her legs, still observing carefully as her lips parted in a silent gasp at his stroke against her folds. “Seven hells, look at you.”

“Aemond,” a weak cry as she moved her hand up his arm - relinquishing control to him fully, hazy eyes carrying a plea. “I need you. Please.”

I did not allow myself to need anything, her words echoing in his mind, so fearful then, so heavy. Her choice of words was deliberate, and it struck just the right nerve in him. The prince’s gaze darkened, pupil blown wide enough the violet of his iris almost vanished completely and he leaned forward - the kiss he left at the corner of her mouth was almost chaste, and he hastily pulled back before she could deepen it.

He wanted to see her expression shift as he dragged his fingers past her folds again, the movement slick up to the apex of her core - she shook when he reached her clit, tracing a slow, circular movement over the bundle of nerves. She did not close her eyes, but bit down hard enough on her lip she risked drawing blood. Still stroking her, Aemond reached up with his other hand, pulling her lip free.

“Do not hold back, litse mēre,” he moved back down, and slowly - agonisingly slow - began to push one finger inside of her, knuckle by knuckle as she fluttered around him. “I want to hear you.”

She did not know whether it was his voice, so low and husky it felt like warm water rippling across her skin, his words, his unwavering gaze, or his finger, stroking her walls, curling inside of her and hitting a spot that had her vision flash white - she moaned his name, again and again, grasping blindly at the covers at her sides.

He dragged it on, pumping first one finger, then adding the second one, in and out of her, an unrelenting pace that had her panting, writhing under his touch, arching off the bed with his weight on her leg being the only thing pinning her down. The heel of his hand caught her clit again, the added pressure making the coil in the pit of her stomach taut, with shuddering breath and trembling thighs.

It was like nothing she’d ever felt, a fire scalding her from within, the strength of her release making the room spin - she cried out, unintelligible words and praises as she came gushing on the prince’s hand. It went on, making her shudder even as he pulled his hand back, drawing himself away enough to undress himself fully.

She reached for him as he situated himself between her legs again, keeping her thighs apart as she kept twitching, her chest heaving - one look in his direction, hands grasping at his shoulders to bring him closer, and Aemond was pushing himself inside of her. She whined at the stretch, head thrown back fully exposing her neck to him, the sensitiveness burning to the point of melting the line between pleasure and pain.

Aemond groaned when he bottomed down, hips pressed harshly into hers while he let his forehead fall to the curve of her neck, one hand pinning her down as she squeezed around him.

“Fuck,” her voice was hoarse, a deep exhale as her nails scraped his back - the signs would vanish by morning, angry red marks he wished instead to carry with him forever. “Oh, fuck.”

He kissed her neck then, the skin hot under his lips as he slowly made his way up to her jaw - canting his hips up into hers, he drew another cry from her, her walls fluttering around his length. For a while, he stilled, just kissing her skin, her parted lips, almost sloppily. He traced his way back up her body, each touch making her shudder, tremble, groan into his mouth when he cupped the side of her neck, thumb pushing under her chin before he pulled back.

“No,” she complained at the loss, hand buried through his hair to pull him back down - he felt the band holding his hair back snapping in her grasp and chuckled, fingers cradling the side of her face and tipping her head back.

“There’s no need to be greedy,” he let his thumb travel from her chin to her bottom lip, raw from kissing. “I want to look at you, want to see how you take it,” her exhale wrapped his finger, hot and heavy - and then her lips turned, almost a smirk.

“You want an awful lot, my prince,” she hummed, rocking her hips up into his. The friction made him groan again and grasp her chin - he pinned her body down with his, hitting a spot deeper inside of her that had her eye roll back with a choked back cry.

“My name,” he warned, leaning in close enough their lips were almost touching, teasing. “It is my name I want to hear from this pretty mouth of yours,” he rocked his hips to punctuate the words, releasing her chin to caress down her cheek - harsh and tender at the same time. “Go on, say it,” he pulled back, then drove into her again with a snap of skin against skin.

“Aemond,” combined with the grip she had around him, it was almost enough to tip him over the edge.

It turned into a chant, breathy and desperate at each snap of his hips, his own resolve starting to fail when her legs locked at his sides, her muscles going taunt. Aemond, Aemond, Aemond, a moan, a cry, her voice hoarse and sweet even when she cursed, writhing beneath him - and then, just like down the passages, she cupped her hand at the nape of his neck, gaze meeting his -

“Please, Aemond,” she whispered, and he kissed her.

It was the kiss that rocked them both, the prince’s movement turning sloppy a few instants before he stilled, pressing himself almost harshly into her as he twitched and came, a surprised moan falling from his lips that she swallowed while shuddering, the second wave of her own orgasm merciless, each muscle of her worn-out body mellowing.

For moments after, nothing could be heard in the room but the crackling of the fire and their heavy breaths - Aemond still slotted between her thighs, chest against chest as their running hearts reached for the other, bodies glistening and tired; in her haze, she’d started stroking the prince’s hair, silver locks singing between her fingers.

“Did I hurt you?” she frowned a little at the worried edge in his voice, muffled into the crook of her neck. She shook her head lightly, craning her neck to leave a kiss against his temple.

“Just sore,” she mumbled, and felt him exhale. Unable to help herself, she smiled, resting her cheek against him - she believed she could stay like that for the rest of the night, with his body draped over hers.

Aemond shifted to the side instead, pulling out of her with a groan kissed to her collarbone, and flopped on his back. She moved into his side, her limbs protesting with the movement as she tucked herself under the circle of his arm and tangled her legs with his. He turned his head just enough to see her - he’d never believed anyone would nestle into his side like that, her arm draped across him, a blissed out expression on her face.

Her eyes were closed, and the prince took the moment to just observe her - the now regular raising and falling of her shoulders; the goosebumps forming across the skin of her arm, fingers twitching as if to hold him tighter, but not actually doing it; her hair was ruffled around her head, partially covering the arm Aemond had snuck behind her to keep her close - as if she would vanish, should he not be holding her; the small marks that littered her body he absent-mindedly traced with the tip of his ring finger until he could reach them.

It pained him to move, but he slowly tried to detangle himself from her and gently push her to the side with a sigh - she groaned in complaint, suddenly holding him tighter, her fingers digging into his side.

“What are you doing?” he chuckled at the slight whine in her voice, bringing his hand up to her head and gently stroking her hair. “I’m just gonna snuff out the candles,” he moved down to rub her back. “Close the blinds - so I can take off the eyepatch,” he admitted, and she shifted slowly.

“Does the light bother you?” she wondered, turning so her chin was resting on his chest and her eyes, still a little glossed over, were lifted up to his face.

“No,” free to move his arm from underneath her, he reached up to brush a lock of hair that had fallen against her forehead, fingers feather-like over her skin. “But you needn’t see it, it’s not a pretty sight.”

She frowned lightly then, the tip of his finger catching the creases forming across her brow as she shifted again a little higher, arms crossing over his chest.

“Did it hurt you?” she asked quietly, brushing her knuckles across his chin, jaw, up to his cheek, lingering a moment where the scar ended - he didn’t even care her elbow was digging into his chest, however lightly, leaning into her gentle touch instinctively.

“I’m not sure,” he shrugged. “I was so euphoric about having claimed Vhagar, and worried about what might happen to my mother,” he wasn’t sure how much she knew about that night, whether Helaena or the queen herself had told her anything, but she seemed understanding enough he did not have to go into too many details. “I barely remember how it felt. It was just - disorienting.”

She hummed softly, thumbing the edge of the eyepatch. Aemond’s hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her motions - not harsh, but firm.

“Really, it’s not pretty to look at,” when he spoke, his voice was softer - fearful, even -, his thumb pressed into her pulse. Regular, calm, unflinching.

“I doubt it,” she replied, catching him by surprise as an almost amused smile appeared on her lips. “Not on this face of yours,” he laughed when she pushed the tip of her finger into his cheek, finding the dent of his dimple. Her smile brightened at his laughter - such an unfamiliar yet pretty sound. “May I?” she tried then, brushing the edge of the eyepatch again.

Aemond hesitated - losing this would be worse than losing anything else, he thought. Losing her, he thought, might ruin him.

Let’s make a deal, his own voice echoing in his head. Complete and utter honesty from this moment on - nothing hidden between us. I’d like to know all there is to you.

“Yes,” he said, letting go of her wrist - the skin around it was a little raw, and he fought the urge to lean in and kiss it better.

She moved slowly, a touch far more delicate than he’d ever used in removing the leather, up and over his head, mussing up his hair a little as she did. The air was cold against the now uncovered spot of skin when he leaned back against the pillows.

Her head was slightly tilted, and the hand that was not supporting herself up from his chest cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over and past the end of his scar, over and past, tracing the mark left behind by the eyepatch. There was an indecipherable look in her eyes, and Aemond felt his heart jump in his throat at the quiet.

“Well?” it amazed him how distant his voice sounded, a moment of panic seeping through. Waiting. Wondering.

“I think I expected an amethyst,” she said then, her thumb stopping at the corner of his eye. “To match the other one, you know?”

It was Aemond’s turn to frown, blinking repeatedly as he tried to process her words. His eye flickered to her mouth, watched the corners quiver with a threatening smile at his baffled expression.

“Are you -” his heartbeat slowed down, his whole body relaxed, and he buried his hand through her hair, the locks tangled in his hold as he reached down to brush her hip. “Are you jesting?” she laughed at the mock offence in his voice as she followed his touch.

She draped her leg past him before straddling him, pushing herself up with both hands resting on his chest. Her laughter etched lines at the corners of her eyes as both his hands fell to her hips, squeezing the flesh as she nodded slowly.

“A little,” she admitted, and her smile was so bright it burned his skin like dragonfire.

She bowed forward then, hands resting at each side of his head as she reached down to kiss his brow, right where the scar began. She repeated the motion under his eye, the spot on his cheekbone where the wound had ended, and Aemond let his eyes fall shut with a sigh. She left one last, light kiss against the scarred eyelid, and before she could move back he wound his arms around her, pulling her against him - inch by inch of skin touching, scalding the other with a little yelp coming from her, followed by another soft laugh, leaning into him.

“It truly does not bother you?” he whispered, a breath away from her lips. She shook her head, the motion small, tip of their noses catching - even at that distance, he could feel her gaze still on him, and he welcomed it. How many people had shied away from him, averted their gazes, avoided looking at him altogether - not her, never her, not even like this.

“Of course not,” she matched his tone, resting her forehead against his. “There’s more that makes you than blood and bone, Aemond,” she tilted her head, kissing his cheek - again a brush to his scar, making his heart lighter. “And nothing I could not want - certainly not your scar. Not when I have plenty myself.”

He caressed her side, the area where he knew there was one of those marks she kept so carefully hidden - a long, thin, ragged line across her ribs. She tilted her head to the side, sighing at his delicate touch. With the movement, he had access to the curve of her neck, where he left a quick peck that pulled a smile across her lips.

“Then I believe I must make sure none of them bother me,” he sat up, helping her onto his lap - she rocked into him with a hum, a chuckle, arms loosely hanging around his shoulders. So he kissed down her collarbone, her shoulder - a dark mark stood there, like a bruise that would not go away, and his kiss lingered over it. “One by one.”

litse mēre - pretty one rytsas, uēpa riña - hello, old girl sagon sȳz, emi iā zentys - be good, we have a guest gevie - beautiful paktot, vhagar? - right, vhagar? rȳbagon, vhagar - obey, vhagar sōvegon - fly tolī adere, eglikta - more fast, higher

[herbgerblin]

That poll you reblogged got me thinking. What would you, an artist who does commissions, consider a good character ref sheet? What do you need/consider when drawing someone's oc/dnd characters/character you don't know?

Shoutout to @ceilingfan5 for that poll because I was also very interested in the responses.

I answered a question about what info to include in the description of your character (s) here. But I can definitely expand a bit more! Disclaimer: Not every artist works the same way.

Example prompt to use for requests is under the cut!

If you have drawn your own ocs, but are afraid of using them as references, don't be! I never judge anyone's examples, and I've seen references from a wide range of skill sets. I'm not an art critic, I'm just here to interpret your work and translate it to my own style. You know your ocs best, so I try to pick up on the details that you clearly want to see.

If you can't find the exact right reference, say so before I start drawing. I keep a lot of stock images on hand and I scour the internet for references all the time. I can probably get closer to what you have in mind. Or I will just model the image myself (I have used myself as a model several times.)

Write objective descriptions. Descriptions written in flowery, poetic language can be hard to parse, especially when I need to read them multiple times to make sure I didn't miss anything. I recommend using bullet points if you require a lot of specific details.

If you have a preferred name and Paypal deadnames you, I will 100% only use your preferred name and I will ignore it on PayPal if it comes up. I don't know if there's a way to filter out customer names on PayPal. I only need the email address to send invoices. If you want to go the extra step of making an email just for commissions, that's fine with me.

I don't do a lot of dynamic scenes but if you ask, include what camera angle and POV you want the scene to be viewed from. Providing reference images of a different scene from that angle is also a huge help!

I repeat: If you have no previous examples of your ocs, I recommend using a Pinterest board or google drive folder with references. But keep them to like a 3-10 minimum (unless there are multiple characters, in which case include more than that.)

Example prompt below ->

Hi [artist]

I am requesting a [insert type of commission] for my character(s) [name(s).] I have attached reference pictures of their hairstyles, outfits, poses, and an example of the scene. I have included a description of the commission down below:

Character A is sitting at a small cafe table. They are wearing a button-up dress. A mug of steaming coffee is resting on the table near their hand. Character B is pulling out a chair opposite Character A. They are wearing a hoodie, jeans, and a silver necklace. They look a little damp and disheveled like they've just come in from the rain, and maybe blushing from embarrassment. A wet umbrella is leaning against the side of their chair. Character A is laughing good-naturedly. The background doesn't have to be detailed, but if you could make it feel like the lighting is warm and slightly dim, that would be great!

Please let me know if you would like any further details.

Thanks,

[Preferred Name]