#the spread of knowledge is my true duty...

[xiaowhore]

happily ever after.

premise. perhaps in your last life, you wished for an extraordinary romance; a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, a dashing prince to kiss your hand, and an eternal love that could only be found in fairy tales. now, as you acknowledge that this story is not yours, your greatest desire is to remain out of the limelight while you watch your dearest protagonist twirl in the ballroom with the man of her dreams.

and just like every other time, fate has other plans.

word count. 7.8k

note. i honestly thought i wouldn't be able to finish this, but here we are. i hope you enjoy!

“The duke of Marechaussee is looking for a bride!”

The news spread far and wide, each new piece of gossip shared through word of mouth more convoluted than the last. But the gist of it essentially remains true—the reputable head of the most prestigious duchy in Fontaine, Neuvillette, whose abstinence from marriage had nobles speculating his intentions to practice celibacy, has now unfounded those rumors.

For others, this is an opportunity. For you, this is a cause for a headache.

Let's have a brief recount of your second life thus far. Ten years ago, you found yourself in a body that was not yours, one that was far too dainty and sickly for your liking. You were born to a powerful aristocratic family, your father bearing the title of Marquess. It was your greatest joy to find this new family of yours was loving and affectionate, bursting into tears of relief upon your return to consciousness the very first time you opened your eyes in this world. You were told you had nearly fallen to disease, and your parents spared no effort in finding the most knowledgeable doctors across the continent. Their embrace was incredibly warm, hands clutching your small body so tightly as if once they let go, you would be lost to the winds.

And, well. As far as you’re concerned, it isn't the worst life to live in. Your eldest brother is almost overbearingly protective, but he’s beyond considerate and cared for you greatly. Your second brother isn't honest to a fault, and you heard he often played tricks on you before, but ever since your worst fit of sickness, he's been incredibly careful in his treatment around you.

Life passed peacefully like this, adored and doted on by your beloved family. To repay their kindness, you wish to aid your eldest brother in the future and pursue your studies, but your parents assure you you don't have to do anything you don't want—including being bound by marriage.

For any other aristocratic family, it is a daughter's duty to secure a beneficial relationship with other houses of similar prestige. But your family spoils you rotten, and they hold no greed; why would they wish for more power when they already have everything they could possibly want in the kingdom as a Marquess family?

It is for that reason you are able to avoid the biggest red flag that could potentially lead to your demise: the engagement with the House of Marechaussee.

With how much you used to read webtoons and played otome games with the “I died and woke up in the romance novel I used to read” premise, you aren't all that surprised to realize you found yourself in that very situation. What did surprise you is the lack of daddy issues, and how easy you have it as a villainess.

You woke up in the world of “My Royal Darling,” an otome game with a plot as creative as its title. Cliche as it is, you ate that shit up back in your previous life and knew the story like the back of your hand. Your character [Name] Silva mainly appeared in the duke's route, a villainess who loved him deeply for his kindness and gentleness beneath his cold facade. As far as villainesses went in this game, you are certainly not the worst; the girl in the prince's route actively schemed against the protagonist and received a befitting punishment as a result. The worst [Name] Silva did was beg her doting parents for an engagement with the duke and use her sick sob story to garner pity.

All you have to do is avoid the duke at all costs, and you won't be part of the drama at all.

...That was what you thought before you went ahead and befriended the protagonist. Goddamn it.

“The duke is searching for a bride-to-be. Can you believe it?” Lumine giggles in all her protagonist glory, twinkling laughter as pleasant as the song of birds. Her etiquette is impeccable as ever, starting from her straight posture down to the elegant curve of her fingers as she raises her cup to sip tea. Her dress is not nearly as intricate as yours, the difference between your status glaringly apparent, but it's easy to envision her as a perfect princess. It would soon come to reality, you realize.

“And because of that, just about every girl I know is flocking to tailor shops to prepare for the social season.” You grimace, picking up a chocolate cake from the cake tower laid before you. You are currently having tea with Lumine in your rose garden, a bi-monthly arrangement where you shared gossip and traded information. “I fear I will be ridiculed for not following the latest trends soon. All of the shops are probably too busy to accommodate my order.”

“You must be joking. Who would dare refuse you?” Lumine shakes her head. “And even if they dressed up to the nines for the duke, they couldn't possibly compare to you.”

“I'm not trying to gain his favor,” you counter, poking at a strawberry on your plate. “I simply want new additions to my wardrobe, and the banquet hosted by the imperial family is coming up soon. My parents indulge me, but even I can't skip out on it.”

To avoid the love interests as much as possible, you minimize the frequency you go out to parties. Using your weak constitution is enough of an excuse to decline the invitations that pour out in the mail each day. But refusing an invitation from the imperial family is equivalent to a death sentence to your social standing, and even the protectiveness of your older brothers couldn't spare you from that.

If you have it your way, you absolutely would not go. The royal ball is where the official story starts, the prologue to a fairytale romance. All the love interests will be present, and the routes will branch out according to who Lumine will choose to talk to. Though you have no idea who Lumine will pick and you’re certain you were already ruled out as a villainess character ever since you made yourself her close confidant, you don't want to take on any risks. Alas, reality is unkind. You suppose you'll just see it as an opportunity to see the drama up close.

“Forget me, do you already have something to wear?”

“That is...” Lumine appears to be forlorn. “I plan to wear a dress I've worn before. We deemed it more favorable than purchasing a new dress I'll only wear once in my life. Besides, I doubt anyone would remember me wearing it already.”

She places too much faith in people. Nobles thrive on gossip—they find every possible flaw in everyone to gain leverage over them, and you've seen them ridicule Lumine in the game enough times to know. As the daughter of a humble Baron, she's already being picked on by the upper ranking ladies. If she goes to the banquet hosted by the imperial family wearing a gown that's already fallen out of trend, you have no doubt she will be regarded with derision.

But you won't allow that to happen.

“Do you have time this afternoon?” You smile. Lumine tilts her head in confusion yet nods nonetheless. “Let's find you a dress in the commerce street. We'll test out that theory of yours that they won't refuse me.”

Immediately, her eyes widen. She knows what you're planning. This is far from the first time you would be treating her. “No, it's fine! We don't have to go there!”

“Oh, c'mon, Lumine. Your birthday is coming up. Just think of it as me giving you your birthday present a few weeks in advance.”

At that, her shoulders slump. This is not the first time, and so she knows well there's no arguing with you once you put your mind into something. “If you insist so much…” She tries for a grateful smile, but it looks more guilty. When will she accept that she deserves nice things like this and so much more?

Just like Lumine said, you shot up the priority list of the tailor shop without much of a fuss. You make her try on numerous dresses, forbidding the tailors from telling her how much they cost if she ever asks. You end up choosing a pale blue dress that accentuates her good figure and complements her skin, and you manage to grab a couple of matching jewelry when she isn't looking.

Hopefully soon, you think as you begin to scarf down what remains of the cake tower, eager to go shopping. If she goes with the prince route, he’ll give her an entire castle. I should probably tell her about that cage in the basement from the yandere bad ending, though.

Lumine looks good in everything anyway, so it isn't a very time-consuming affair. You even have some time left to check out the merchant stalls before curfew arrives and you have to send her to a carriage back home.

“I don't know about you, but I'm craving some donuts.” You're raring to go to the best bakery in town, and Lumine laughs at your eagerness. Your family never looked upon fried food kindly, and you only have a chance of eating them when you're not within their supervision.

“Aren't you full from the pastries we ate earlier?”

“Hardly.” You grab onto your inconveniently long dress, prepared to race. “Come on, Lumine, we better hurry up before they run out!”

In your haste however, you fail to notice a child walking towards the opposite direction as you. She crashes to your leg, the impact sending her to the ground. You gasp, wasting no time in crouching down to her eye level and helping her up, uncaring of how the hem of your dress slides against the dirty floor. “I'm terribly sorry! Are you hurt anywhere?”

You pat away the dirt on her skirt, searching for any sign of blood. “No, I'm okay! I'm sorry too, miss!” The girl does a little cute bow, one that would normally make you coo if only you didn't feel so guilty. When she gives you a reassuring toothy grin, eyes shining bright with innocence, you can't help but pat her on the head with your clean hand.

“Did you get lost? Where are your parents?” You bring out an embroidered handkerchief from your pocket, wiping her hands free of grime. Lumine scans the nearby area and notices a man running over.

“Mister!” The child exclaims happily, pointing at him. You look up at his direction, momentarily at ease, until you actually see who she's pointing to.

Apprehension pools at the pit of your stomach. The man is the very picture of someone that children should be taught to avoid. Draped in a dark cloak that conceals half of his face, his attire is practically the standard getup for kidnappers in an abduction scene, the type that says cheesy lines like “hand over the gold or I'll kill your girl right now” and ends up getting decked in the face by the prince that saves the heroine.

Before you can say anything, the little girl runs toward him, her arms outstretched for an embrace. The man is quick to lean down and cradle her in his arms, reprimanding the girl for his carelessness. The severity of his words is utterly lost when he's too busy scanning the child's body up and down in search of any injuries to be intimidating.

“Didn't I tell you not to run? You could get into an accident,” the man admonishes gently as he uses the napkin in the girl's hands to wipe away the remaining dirt on her palms. “Not everyone is as forgiving as this kind lady. Did you apologize to her?”

“No, it's fine, it was my fault,” you interject, doing a quick curtsy reflexively. “I got too excited about buying donuts that I wasn't paying enough attention to my surroundings.”

The man pauses when he gets a good look at you, making you shrink to yourself. You put on commoner clothes to blend with the crowd better, but you wonder if you have something incriminating of your status on you.

“Did you get hurt?”

You blink at the unexpected question. How could bumping into a tiny child cause you any injury? “...Not at all.”

His lips curl into a smile, still visible under the shadows of his robe. “Then that's a relief. We apologize for this incident. I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, but I'm afraid we have somewhere to be.”

“Oh, of course!” You laugh awkwardly, raising a hand to wave at the child. “Be safe on the way there.”

The older man bows his head and the little girl yells an endearing “farewell!” as she's carried away by her guardian, spinning on his heel to turn to their destination.

In doing so, you catch a glimpse of the ornate sword strapped to his waist. A silver dragon wraps around the hilt, its scales gleaming under the sun. The sapphires in its eyes are a deep blue, the color as vibrant as the sea, a contrast to the dull shade of its scabbard.

You swear you've seen that sword before.

“[Name], we should hurry. The sun will set soon.” Lumine snaps you out of your thoughts, reminding you of the direness of the situation.

“The lady was really pretty!” The little girl—Mamere—begins to ramble as she fiddles with the handkerchief you left her. She's walking on her own now, but the man makes sure to match her slower pace. “I thought she would get mad when I bumped into her, but her voice was so nice and soft. And she patted my head!”

“My donuts!”

“She was very kind,” the man agrees, remembering the genuine worry on your face when Mamere fell to the ground.

“But what do I do?” Mamere pouts, staring at the intricate embroidery on the napkin. “I don't know how to return this to her.”

Her companion hums. “I don't think she's expecting you to return it. Didn’t she give it to you?”

“But I feel bad…” Mamere admires the careful stitching, her fingers lightly tracing its shape. “It looks so beautiful… she must've worked hard in embroidering it, didn't she?” Suddenly, her eyes sparkle with realization, an idea popping into her mind. “Mister, if it's you, you can return it to her, right?”

The older man blinks. “I suppose so. However-”

The girl offers the handkerchief to him. “Please give this to her when you see her, Mister!”

Conflicted, he stares down at Mamere, but he eventually folds when she puts on her best puppy dog eyes. He takes the handkerchief from her hands, his thumb brushing over the meticulous embroidery.

Only a fool wouldn’t recognize the insignia of the Silva House.

A strong gust of wind pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing long hair the color of moonlight. The golden hue of the sunset basks his pale skin in a bright glow, his eyes soft as he gazes upon the handkerchief.

“I have a good idea when I may see her next,” Neuvillette assures Mamere, causing her smile to brighten even more.

All too soon, the day of the imperial banquet arrives.

Though whether she wants to see me or not is a different matter.

Natully, your escort to the event is none other than your protective second brother, but you'd argue he's a better choice over the eldest who'd probably glare daggers at anyone who comes within five meters of your vicinity. It's not even like you have other men in your life aside from your family and the knights at your service.

You intend to appear as inconspicuous as possible, but the nobles' curious gazes still follow after your shadow. Consequences of your actions, you suppose. You managed to dodge that eventful first meeting with Duke Neuvillette since you knew you would bump into him at a social gathering, but you had to go through the extra mile to avoid attending every party you could skip because the game was so goddamn vague and only described the scene as “The lady of House Silva fell in love with the duke the moment her eyes landed upon him at a banquet.”

Thanks to that, you’re rarely seen by nobility and thus attained a ridiculous nickname along the lines of “the precious flower of Silva” for being thoroughly pampered by your family, hidden from the rest of the world. Embellished tales of your beauty spread across society, and you can only hope they weren't disappointed to see the real thing in the flesh.

Damn it, you think grimly, the downturn of your lips hidden beneath the intricate fan you've taken to using in order to hide your expression. It's hard to approach the buffet table when they're all staring at me like this.

Truthfully, you’re grateful all they're doing is staring. If not for your eldest brother’s protectiveness, you’re sure more than a crowd of men would be vying for your hand in marriage, flooding your house with mail and wedding offers. Your second brother is not so fortunate, pinned by pointed stares from all sides by unwed women waiting for the right moment to pounce on him.

He pinches the edge of your sleeve before you can attempt to sneak your way towards the buffet table. “And where exactly are you going?” Amazingly enough, his pleasing smile doesn't falter even as he grumbles out his admonishment, still as flawless as ever.

“To eat. The catering is wasted on you socialites, no one bothers to take a bite just to talk to other people.” You’ve learned a thing or two from your brothers, and so your own polite smile doesn't twist into something more fitting for the tone of your voice.

His mouth opens again, definitely some spiel about how you should try making other connections because as much as Lumine is pleasant company, she will not be of any help to your trading endeavors, but a girl adorned in frilly lace tries her luck in hitting on him and you slip away when he's not looking.

As expected, the feast on the buffet table is untouched. You help yourself to a few plates, searching for Lumine all the while. As per true protagonist fashion, she’ll arrive fashionably late at the banquet and bring attention to herself when the grand doors reveal her in a stunning dress. Had you not intervened, she would've gotten a pretty dress some way or another anyway—it’s bound by the law of the universe. In the original game, she helped an old lady cross the street and she turned out to be the owner of a high-end boutique.

But time goes by with no sight of familiar blond locks, and you’re getting pretty full from the steak served. You’re thinking about going to your brother to spare him from the women when someone approaches you, a series of footsteps gradually becoming more audible—from a respectable distance, of course, but near enough to know they came with a purpose. You stop yourself from sighing, taking a moment to collect yourself and school your expression into something more elegant.

Your efforts are rendered useless when your jaw immediately drops upon seeing the figure of the very person you were trying to avoid.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

Standing before you is Neuvillette himself, the crowd behind him parted like the Red Sea. He’s finely dressed, crisp suit accented with his House’s signature colors blue and gold, and his long hair is fashioned into a low ponytail that rests on the side of his chest. His intimidating air rivals that of the royal family, a commanding presence that drives people to bow to him at once. Yet this time, the crowd instead unashamedly stares at the spectacle the pair of you must make, both parties that are often absent in galas now crossing paths.

The etiquette lessons hammered into your body makes you curtsy in a show of respect, starkly contrasting the crude expletives roaring in your head as your eyes lock onto a vague figure behind him. It’s hard to meet his eyes. “Good evening, Your Grace. I believe this is our first encounter.” But I worked really hard to make it never happen, you know?!

In turn, Neuvillette bows his head in greeting. “Indeed. I’ve heard much about my lady, so I am glad I have the opportunity to meet you at last.”

The smile on your face twitches, the fabric between your fingers wrinkling under your tightening grip. “Pardon?”

“Your older brother is quite fond of you. He’s been telling me stories of your family whenever we have tea.”

Which brother is he talking about???

If it was your eldest brother, he would at least take care not to harm your clean reputation, but his gushing about his cute younger sister could be embarrassing. However, if it was your much more tactless, stupid brother who still holds a grudge over you eating the last tea cake given by foreign ambassadors from a neighboring country, he’d probably tell Neuvillette everything that would make your “precious flower of Silva” title entirely undeserving.

“A… haha… is that so…” you begin fanning yourself harder, trying to keep your nervous sweating at bay. Neuvillette turns his head, looking around your surroundings.

“I believe you were escorted by your brother. Is he preoccupied?”

The corner of your mouth curls into a slight smirk. “Certainly. Women have been trying to pique his interest since the banquet began.”

At that, Neuvillette’s smile turns wry. You’re sure he relates to that a little too much, the poor guy. Even at this very moment, there are countless women observing the situation, attempting to find the right chance to jump in the conversation and steal him away. Though you do feel bad for him, you’re also wishing to find a good opportunity to leave without looking rude. After all, in the possibility that Lumine happens to like him, you’d soon be acquainted with him as his significant other’s closest friend.

Just as you’re cheering on a lady that’s beginning to approach the duke, he starts speaking. “If that’s the case…” Bowing once more, he outstretches his arm gracefully, offering his hand. The sight looks like a sparkling CG, and you’re not sure if the flowers surrounding him are really there or if you're starting to hallucinate. “Would my lady mind if I escorted you for the time being?”

Your fanning hand comes to a sharp halt. “Pardon?” you say for a second time, sounding more disbelieved than the last.

“I happen to be in a similar predicament as your brother,” his voice lowers to a hushed tone. “Though we haven’t known each other for long, I hope you can lend me a hand.”

Why is this happening to me…

And as if his pleading tone isn’t enough, he tops it off with a charming smile truly befitting a love interest in a dating simulator. “I’d also like to take this opportunity to be closer to you, my lady.”

--

You bite back the urge to sigh, lest Neuvillette think you thought he was an utter bore as a dance partner. Really, he’s nothing like that–there’s no way getting to see that handsome face up close could ever be boring. He’s a nice partner, actually; he leads the dance in a way that makes you comfortable, and you’re no dance prodigy, but you feel like you can close your eyes and dance just as well as long as you follow his lead.

Another point of thrill is the incessant glares you can feel on your back. Truly, Neuvillette’s more ambitious fans are terrifying. As the one in charge of the territory covering the boundary between the kingdom and the land of monsters, Neuvillette must be used to frightening creatures, but lovesick women must be a whole ‘nother terror for him altogether for him to ask for your help to avoid them.

Still…

He’s the only person I’m trying to avoid at this place, and now I’m dancing with him. Haha. What am I even doing here?

You feel him squeeze your hand softly. “Is something on your mind?” Neuvillette’s voice breaks you out of your trance. You look up at him, noticing he looks worried.

“I apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.” You shake your head, giving him a small grin.

He frowns. “It’s not that. If you feel tired or unwell, please tell me.”

“I’m fine! Very much so!” You suddenly feel bad for cursing him, albeit indirectly, in your head. You understand why the original villainess liked him so much, but you should avoid interacting with him unless strictly necessary… once this dance ends. “I must say, Your Grace has quite the number of admirers. This is the first time I’ve been stared at so intensely by a crowd of women.”

He hums thoughtfully as you twirl away from him as part of the step sequence, and he catches your waist with ease when you return. “I could say the same for you. Gentlemen we pass by have been eyeing me with hostility ever since we started dancing.”

“What?” You look around the ballroom, making a sound of surprise when you see multiple nobles eyeing Neuvillette with some amount of envy and detestation. You’ve been so caught up with the attention Neuvillette’s been getting that you overlooked your share of trouble.

“The son of the viscount in particular seems to be the most eager to ask for a dance.” He averts his gaze to the man standing by the buffet table who’s been glaring at the pair of you pretty hard. Farthest thing from your type.

“I suppose I’ll have to find my brother when this song is over, then.”

Silence ensues in the remaining duration of the song, but it’s a comforting one. You’re not much of a talker anyway, and it’s hard to think of things to talk about when practically everyone in the audience is looking for a chance to steal both of you away from each other. Eventually, the last notes of the violin are played, and you finish the dance with bows of courtesy.

“Thank you for complying with my request.”

“It was nothing. I’m glad I could lend a hand.” Your eyes roam over the area, securing the shortest route to get to your brother. “Our encounter was brief, but you were truly pleasant company, Your Grace.”

You plan to leave it at that, the heel of your foot already spinning to turn in the opposite direction. Okay, good. That’s just an irregularity. It’s too bad I couldn’t completely avoid him, but as long as we don’t get too involved with each other, it should still be safe-

But then you feel a gentle hand wrap around the tips of your fingers. You turn back, the initial confusion wearing off to shock. Neuvillette is holding your hand. Neuvillette is holding your hand. Slowly, he brings it closer to his face, and for a moment, you think, Oh, his eyelashes are pretty long, before you feel him press a soft kiss on your knuckles.

You hear a gasp. Numerous, you correct yourself, on varying levels of shock. You hope that god-awful dramatic one didn’t come from you, but you aren’t too sure because the only things on your mind are Neuvillette’s hand around yours, his irresistible smile, and the words that leave his lips.

“If my lady doesn’t find my company disagreeable, would you consider meeting me on another occasion?”

In your time living as a noble, you’ve somewhat gotten used to speaking in formal language. In nobility terms, that’s basically Neuvillette asking you out on a date.

“...Pardon???”

Word spread quickly throughout the social network. That’s within expectations, knowing how nosy nobles can get. By the time the imperial banquet ended, everyone in attendance already heard that Neuvillette had taken interest in a woman, and that woman happened to be the daughter from the Silva family.

Objectively speaking, it isn’t a bad match. Both families have something to gain from a marriage union, which is why the original duke from the game agreed to the engagement in the first place.

Subjectively, however…

“I’ve gathered you all here today to have an important discussion.”

Presently, you are situated at the family dining table. As usual, there’s a heavenly feast spread out on the table, but all the food remains uneaten because there’s apparently a more pressing matter at hand.

“...The duke has spoken his intentions to court our [Name],” your eldest brother says grimly, hands locked together and placed under his chin.

“You’re overreacting, he just asked me if I wanted to meet him another time.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the garlic bread appetizer. He promptly swats it away. “Hey!”

“That’s basically the same thing,” your second brother argues. “Not that I don’t like His Grace, but it’s so sudden. Nobody has caught his eye until now, and I find it hard to believe you’re the first one ever.”

“Now you’re just dissing me.”

“I don’t see why you’re all unhappy about this,” your mother cuts in, smiling pleasantly. “The duke is an honorable man, one of the few I think are deserving of our [Name]. If he shows his loyalty and dedication to her throughout the courtship, we’ll see how well he’ll treat her.”

“That is if [Name] likes him. If she doesn’t and he continues to bother her, I’ll have to step in, status aside.” Your ever protective father frowns as he slices the steak on his plate. “Do tell us if he’s making you uncomfortable, honey.”

“Uh, no, I wouldn’t go that far…”

The only issue you have with the duke is that he’s a love interest. In the original game, him and your character would have nothing to do with each other if it weren’t for the original you insisting on being engaged to him. You don’t know what happened to her in the bad endings, but the situation probably wasn’t ideal. You thought as long as you avoided him, you could steer clear of trouble…

But if he’s the one running after you, what are you supposed to do…?!

“At the very least, you don’t dislike him, do you?” Your second brother cocks up an eyebrow.

“Not really, no.”

“Then hypothetically, if he invited you for a boat ride in the town today, would you go?”

“Hold on a second!” Your eldest brother interrupts. “We still haven’t discussed whether or not he’s worthy of [Name] yet, have we?”

“I thought we were past that.”

“We need to discuss it in detail.”

“Discuss what? The duke’s abundant treasury, contributions to the war against the dragon lord, or his reputation of being a gentleman towards all women?”

“...There has to be something he lacks.”

“What he lacks is a wonderful, caring wife,” your mother says. “And if [Name] is interested in the duke, we shouldn’t get in their way. I know you’re worried, dear. [Name] has always been stuck in the house because she’s sickly, but if a man wants to take her out to have a fun excursion, you should let her. His Grace is also very considerate of the people around him. Surely, if he notices her feeling unwell, he’ll take care of her.”

I haven’t said anything about wanting to go on a date with him though?!

“Fine. I don’t disapprove of him, but…” Your brother eyes you warily. “You best be home before sundown.”

A day passes. You hear three knocks on your door. When you allow the servant to enter your room, a maid rushes to you in a hurry, a letter sealed with the insignia of the Marechaussee House in her hands.

“Brother, I haven’t even received an invitation yet…”

--

The cake tower in front of you is magnificent. The fresh fruits topped on whipped cream are vibrant pops of color, and the frosting is piped beautifully in intricate swirls and shapes. The cakes pair well with the tea served, too, and you’re already planning to bring Lumine here the next time you’re both free to talk about the imperial knight she ended up talking to at the banquet. That route is definitely your favorite and you can’t wait to hear about the details.

Damn it.

There’s nothing wrong with the food. This pastry shop has been making its rounds in the newspapers for its delectable new additions on the menu, and they didn’t disappoint your tastebuds.

Though you have to say they’d be a lot more enjoyable if you weren’t surrounded by women eavesdropping on your little meeting with Neuvillette.

“This strawberry shortcake is delicious,” Neuvillette notes. “I’m not too fond of sweets, but they taste great. You should give it a try.”

“Oh, yes, when I finish this one…” The mango cheesecake is to die for, but it’s kind of hard to swallow with the death stares pinpointed at your direction. You hope the pastry shop allows takeout. “Thank you for inviting me to come here, Your Grace.”

“I noticed you mostly ate desserts at the imperial banquet, so I thought you would enjoy trying the food here.” He’s smiling, but when he glances over at your unwanted audience, his eyes gloss over and appear colder. “I didn’t anticipate there would be many people today. I’m sorry for that.”

Some of the women visibly twitch. They weren’t exactly caught red-handed, but it does prove that they’re guilty. Someone probably saw us here and told everyone else… Gossipmongers are scary.

“This situation is out of your control, you don’t have to apologize. And, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something, so your invitation came at a good time.” You fiddle with the edges of your sleeve, plucking at the lace.

Sensing the mood, the duke places down his fork to give you his full attention. “What did you want to talk about?”

Well. Here goes nothing. “Um… your invitation back at the imperial banquet… are you referring to a friendly chat or…” It’s sorta hard to say “Do you want to date me?” straight to his face. In the small chance you’ve gotten the wrong idea, you’d hate to appear presumptuous, so self-absorbed to think the highly-praised Neuvillette fell for you of all people. Lumine, you’d understand–the girl has a knack for melting the coldness of your heart and taking down people’s walls, and it’s why you became friends with her despite the odds. You, though… Nothing specific comes to mind.

Unexpectedly, a soft chuckle reaches your ears. You raise your head, surprised to see Neuvillette laughing. It’s possibly the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life. When he catches you staring, he composes himself, but the dazzling smile remains on his face. “I was certain I made my intentions clear, but I suppose I’ll have to be more forward next time.”

A flush crawls up to your cheeks, burning hot. “No, I swear I know what you mean- just making sure, you know? I mean, I wouldn’t want to assume the duke is interested in me without knowing for certain-”

You stop yourself from rambling, feeling you’ve said too much. Fuck. Is it just you or is Neuvillette’s smile a bit wider now? You stuff your stupid mouth with the shortcake he placed on your plate. It’s good. Your acting is very much not.

He clears his throat, getting back to business. “I understand you don’t see me that way. I would like to court you, but if you tell me to stop now, I will.”

Isn’t he backing off too easily? I mean it’s great he respects my decision, but if I turn him down now, it’d probably be bad for his reputation…

“Before we… have that discussion, I still have more questions to ask.” You sip on your tea to wash down the sweet taste on your tongue. It’s silent once you put the cup on the table. Placing your hands on your lap, you look directly into Neuvillette’s eyes, searching for an answer. “May I ask Your Grace why you took an interest in me?”

The silence persists for a few seconds more. It doesn’t seem like he’s thinking of the perfect words to swoon you over; he’s thinking about how to verbalize what he truly thought of you.

He opens his mouth after careful consideration. “...It began as curiosity,” he starts, tapping rhythmically on the table. “I had my own reasons for turning down invitations to parties, so I wondered what were yours.”

You swallow. Officially, you turned those down using your health as an excuse. But your constitution has improved greatly compared to when you were young, and evidently, you’re almost just as healthy as any person. At the very least, you’re not at risk of passing out or losing breath in the middle of an event anymore. He must’ve picked up on that.

“I’ve heard about you from other people. According to their words, you were ‘the loveliest flower’ in the kingdom, with unparalleled gracefulness and beauty… but your elder brother’s stories suggested otherwise.”

I’m kicking his ass when I get back home.

“And yesterday, I met you myself. I thought you differed from how they described you.” He pauses, drinking his tea. “I’ve heard many say you were quite the stoic character, always hard to read. But you make a lot of interesting expressions behind your fan. You don’t hide your true thoughts when you speak, or perhaps you’re simply bad at hiding them. I previously found your brother’s stories unbelievable, but now I can see that the colorful personality he was talking about wasn’t very far off.”

??? “Colorful personality”?? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

“...I understand.” You really don’t, but you won’t bother asking him for more details. Everything he said thus far lowkey sounds like a diss. “Let me rephrase my question, then.”

It’s okay. This isn’t unfamiliar territory, and you’re not stupid. Obviously, if you do different things from the original, the story will derail from its original course. That’s what always happens in transmigration manhwas, after all. You noticed that early before the plot could truly change. If so, perhaps you can control the amount of change that will happen.

You sit up a little straighter, eyes laser-focused on his reaction to what you’re about to say. “What are you after, trying to get closer to me?”

You know these tropes. If you give him what he needs, you can separate soon, no strings attached.

Neuvillette makes an expression of confusion, his brows knitted. “Your hand in marriage,” he says it like it’s the obvious answer.

“Not that! Is there anything you need help with?”

“I did say I was having trouble with the women at the banquet, but that was more of an excuse to talk to you.”

You sputter, “W-well, you need someone to fake-date or fake-marry then?” Fake-dating often leads to them actually dating, but if you’re careful, you can probably keep that from happening, right?

The furrow in his brow deepens. “I don’t want to use you to stop women from chasing me. I want to marry you.”

Goddamn it. Does this guy have his own set of dialogue choices and he keeps on picking the one that raises affection? “…Okay, I get it! You need something from my family! What is it? We don’t need to be married for me to help you.” You cross your arms triumphantly. That should do it.

Instead of agreeing, Neuvillette looks forlorn. “Lady [Name], is it really that hard to believe I want to marry you without something else in mind?”

Now Neuvillette looks like a kicked puppy and you’re solely to blame for it. Fuck!

You sigh, rubbing circles on your temple. “I just… fail to see why Your Grace is interested in me.” You’re not talking yourself down, nor do you have low self-esteem. You simply don’t recall doing anything that would make him fall for you at all. Logically speaking, there’s just no reason behind his actions.

Your eyes widen when you have a moment of eureka.  Maybe talking yourself down is actually the way to get him off your trail?

“I’m sure Your Grace is aware, but I have a weak constitution…” you begin your pitiful tale, coughing softly to prove your point. “I can’t work very long, and I require plenty of rest to function in daily life. In the case that we marry, I might not be able to keep up with the tasks the lady of the house is expected to handle. Rather than support you as your wife, I might merely become a burden to you. And most importantly…”

A lot of what you just said aren’t complete lies, but you did exaggerate them greatly. Even if he isn’t convinced with those, you still have a hidden card up your sleeve, one that’s sure to discourage him.

“...With my feeble body, it would be difficult to sire you an heir for the duchy,” you state firmly, placing emphasis on this one point. Successors are absolutely a requirement for each family, because who else will inherit the title and everything that comes with it when the current head comes to pass? For this, you’re not even sure if you’re exaggerating anymore. The future of the original [Name] Silva was left unclear, so who knows if your body will improve or deteriorate with time?

Neuvillette’s face becomes stoic. This much is expected. Any moment now, he’ll take back his words…

…As you’re thinking that, you feel him touch your hand once more, not unlike the time at the banquet. You don’t know when you started fidgeting with the napkin on the table out of anxiety, but he’s rubbing a thumb over your knuckles to soothe you now, gentle touches that verge on ticklish.

“I’m prepared for that,” he says softly. “I won’t spare any expense on your treatment, of course, and in the case your condition worsens, I won’t stop finding ways to make you feel better. But I would never make you do anything to push you beyond your limits. I’ll take on everything you can’t do. Eventually, we’ll need to talk about successors, but I need you to know that I won’t force you or put you in any risk. If needed, I’ll talk to my relatives and figure out something from there.”

???!?!?!?!?!!!?! He wants to pass on the title to someone who’s not a direct descendant?!?!?

Your mouth is agape. You’re sure your jaw-dropped face doesn’t look very pleasant, but the affection in his gaze doesn’t dwindle. Heavy. Everything he just said is so heavy. The future is scary to think about, but when he says it like that, why does it feel like you can lean on him freely?! This is no time to be getting swept off your feet, [Name]! Focus!

“Are you still not convinced?” He moves his face closer, concern in his eyes.

“No, I get it! I get it already!” You take your hand back, but his warmth still lingers. You hold your fingers like they’re scorched, yet pain is the furthest thing from what you’re feeling, and your heart flutters traitorously in your beating chest. “You’re being unfair. If you go that far, there’s no way anyone could turn you down.”

The smile returns to his face as he takes his hand back as well. “I take it that you’ve given me permission to court you, then?”

!!! Sly! That’s what this person is, sly! He knew what he was doing!

You make a face. “Ugh… maybe persistent guys are too dangerous for me…”

“Lady [Name], you’re speaking your thoughts out loud again. Not that I dislike it, though.”

The duke of Marechaussee has found a potential bride.

“I-! Nevermind…”

That’s putting it lightly because everyone that has heard of them is certain that they’ll marry in the near future. With the amount of flirting the two have done (leaked by the eavesdropping jealous-admirers-turned-shippers), it’s a mystery why they haven’t made the announcements yet.

Notably, the pair of them frequented restaurants the most, visiting the shops highly regarded for their sweets. Chatting in slow boat rides seem to also be one of their most favored dates, and at one particularly disastrous time when the boat tipped over by accident, the duke had fretted over the lady while she merely laughed in joy, insisting she was fine and her partner was being too much of a worrywart. Both started to attend more gatherings, almost never spotted to be straying from each other, and it was more or less their indirect way of telling the public eye they were exclusive.

Their romantic dates are all common knowledge to anyone nosy by now, but there’s one thing they absolutely cannot spread.

“Don’t tell this to anyone,” a woman whispered to her loyal companion. “And I truly mean that this time. Don’t do it.”

“What is it? Is it something really bad? ‘Some high-ranking noble has a secret love child’ bad?”

“No!” This time, the woman took care to whisper her words even quieter, “I heard the duke requested a jeweler to craft an engagement ring…!”

Things I couldn’t fit into the fic:

Neuvillette already met you when you were younger. In one of the first gatherings you attended, you talked to each other because you were near in age. However, you collapsed due to your constitution and he was the one to alert the adults and carry you to a sick room. He used a handkerchief embroidered with his initials to wipe away the blood you threw up, and you hid it away in your bedside table after cleaning it in hopes of returning it (if he still wanted it back, soiled once and all) when you saw him again. Unfortunately, your family members were worried and didn’t let you outside for a long time to avoid having you perform strenuous activities, and you didn’t recognize him at a later gathering when he tried striking a conversation with you. He noted you were slowly getting better, but wondered why you weren’t attending parties if you were relatively well now.

You probably interacted with him when he was pretending to be a normal commoner several times already before your “first meeting.”

You didn’t fall for him immediately, but it was a slow progression until you forgot about the whole ‘I’m in an otome game world’ thing completely.

[witch-hazels-musings]

Harbinger Diluc - Match 10 -  Convocation

Synopsis: One day, the Harbinger meets someone who ignites something different in him - and all he knows is to keep what he wants close, that’s all that matters

Harbinger!Diluc X FM Reader | Anthology

Match 1 - Introductions |  Match 2 - New Normal |  Match 3 - Trust  |  Match 4 - Knowledge | Match 5 - Realizations | Match 6 - Commitment | Match 7 - Awakening | Match 8 - History | Match 9 - Snezhnaya

Warnings (specific to each chapter) -> Fatui Harbingers are def OOC because I don't know them all, I did not do research, and I'm tired -> slight spice described (flashback)

(also not my best chapter. I know that. And I'm sorry.)

   🔥🔥🔥

Diluc drove his knuckle into his temple. The headache once a tickle was now an unrelenting pressure that spread across his eyes. He hadn't slept or eaten, and the untouched water before him had long evaporated due to the steady stream of irritating heat he couldn't abate.

He hated these.

Gatherings of the high and mighty on the high and mighty. Hated the 'duty' they all hid behind. It was all a game; each and every one. And he didn't want to play anymore.

"The impact of a lost foothold in Sumeru will have its effects on our supplies," the Captain said. "It may strain our benefactors until we can acquire suitable arrangements."

The Regrator flipped through his stack of neatly arranged papers, sliding one out with ease to evaluate it. "The Mondstadt contracts will cover the losses and we've heard word from Liyue of a fresh backer. I will inquire on their progress."

"That does not solve the ongoing nuisance," the Doctor said under his breath. "We lost valuable research in Sumeru and without the Akademiya vital advancements will be slow to gather."

"That may be true, but your gathering the Gnosis won't threaten our Lady's ultimate plan," the Captain interjected, his tone even as it always was. "Though, Il Dottore, note it is not lost on this body that the extracurricular you engaged in would."

A chill filled the room and the Doctor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The Captain continued, unaffected, "The west will be our next mark. I have prepared plans to venture there and my men are standing by."

The Jester, quiet and stoic beside his chair, acknowledged the First before moving on. "Arlecchino, reports on Fontaine?" The Fourth twisted, disinterest clinging to her expression as she spoke.

Diluc pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed. The ache made his eyes twitch so he closed them to rid himself of another annoyance but the darkness did little to satiate the itch he'd been trying for the last two hours to avoid scratching.

Your face. Beautifully parted lips panting, breathing out his name. Desperate hands clenching the sheets, pulling at your hair, his, pawing his chest and shoulders. Delicious drags of your nails across his back. The feeling of you in his palms. Over and over. Your gasp. Your laugh. Your scent and essence. The arch of your back he commands with nothing more than a simple caress. A touch, a drag of his fingers across your skin. Insatiable presence --

"Noctua."

Diluc blinked, inhaled, and adjusted, grateful for the massive table as he tugged on his pants and sat up straighter. His body was stiff, in more ways than one. "Sir."

"Report." the Jester commanded, irritation lingering in the corner of his eye. The room weighed heavy, all eyes looking his way; Diluc clenched his jaw.

"Perhaps we should have waited another day. Noctua has only recently returned from active deployment. He has had little rest," Pulcinella said and gestured to Diluc before returning his hand to his cane. The interjection wasn't unwelcome, nor surprising. Pulcinella was like a father to him. more than his own ever was. And they both knew it.

"We ensured there was time for ample rest. It is not on us if he chooses to use that time elsewhere," Regrator hummed, his lips curling into a knowing, dark smile.

"Noctua, are you unfit to report?" the Captain asked before another word could be shared around the oblong table. Diluc was glad for it, otherwise the chains of his straining resolve would have snapped and coiled around the neck of the Ninth.

Diluc rolled his shoulders and sat straighter. "My brigade was able to locate the artifact without much issue -"

"Yet you were unsuccessful in returning it untouched," the Doctor spat, cutting him off. Though Diluc could only see his mouth, the deep frown relayed his irritation.

"That is accurate," Diluc continued. "I encountered far more difficulties retrieving the artifact than we organized for. The domain was set to impede all progress and though I managed to push into the chamber, several of my patrols were lost in the process."

"We've read the report. What I fail to grasp is how you could let it be soiled!" the Doctor seethed, his hand slamming against the table and rousing the Damselette. The Knave placed her hand on the woman's head and glowered at the Second, specks of crackling red flickering to life before fading into the shadows.

"Multiple Heralds were guarding the -"

"It is not on us if you were outmatched. I specifically instructed the artifact remain untouched," the Doctor continued. "Was that not made clear?"

"It was." Regrator asserted with a soft nod. "Rest assured, compensation for this error has been made. Noctua and Tartaglia acquired the body in which the artifact now rests. You will have your time, Dottore."

Diluc tensed, his gaze meeting Tartaglia's in a flash. He knew they'd find out; spies were everywhere. He just hoped to keep it, you, under the radar for as long as possible. Diluc gripped the arm of his chair and the wood strained at the pressure.

"Then it will be provided to me immediately," the Doctor demanded.

Diluc's expression darkened. "No."

"Experimentation must begin --"

"Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged."

Diluc rose from his seat and the Doctor straightened, a horrific smile stretching his thin lips to the point of pain. A ball of contained fire ignited in Diluc's palm, rage, and fury coiling, threatening to explode. Of all the Harbingers, it was the Doctor Diluc loathed the most. If it weren't for their vow, he would have incinerated him until only the wind could make him move.

Tartaglia leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. A goading grin unimpeded as he stretched his legs to watch the fight unfold. Pulcinella shook his head but when the Captain stood, slow and calm, the fire in Diluc's palm snuffed out. "Sit, Noctua."

Violence tore through Diluc's chest but he did as instructed even if the thoughts of tearing the Doctor limb from limb didn't settle when he did.

"Il Dottore, how familiar is your knowledge on releasing a bound artifact?" the Captain asked, still standing.

The Doctor eased and waved his hand dismissively before answering. "Minimal. To conduct a thorough analysis, I must have the specimen. And the longer it is kept from me, the more damage could be done to the power transposed to them."

The Captain sighed and looked to Diluc who answered the question he knew was coming with a quick, "No."

"Noctua, it was your mission to gather the -"

"And I did as commanded."

"Then you will carry out the remainder of your task and provide -"

"He cannot have her!"

The chamber fell into a heavy silence, the rhythmic ticking of the Marionette's puppet the only life left in the room. Diluc clenched his jaw and cursed at himself. His fingers curled against the cold table, and his shoulders strained, trembled. Diluc did his best to avoid the pained eyes of Pulcinella; empathy did little for him now.

He should have never let you come. His weakness would be your downfall.

"That magic was not meant for her," the Doctor said.

"You will find another way," Diluc told him. "She has already wielded its power. She may very well tame it."

The Doctor sighed. "I do not have the capacity nor energy to explain to this room the reason why we sought after the artifact but Its owner has already been identified. And they are not known for their patience."

"If I must, I will speak to the Tsaritsa myself."

The Doctor let out an amused puff of air. The Regrator shook his head while the other Harbingers sat silently. "If you are that concerned about your plaything, I will design another. Multiple if you wish. I'll be extra certain they meet all your desired expectations."

"I will warn you once, Dottore, touch her and there will be no end to the suffering I will inflict." Without warning Diluc's body shifted into his Delusion. Parts of him now dawned in hardened black metal, his face shielded by a mask with an obsidian shimmer. His sword crackled at his side. Arcs of flame licking out and skittering across the table. The Regrator gasped and patted a sheet of paper ignited by a bouncing spark.

A gust of heavy wind knocked Diluc back, destabilizing him and shutting off his delusion like pinched candlight. He winced at the sudden shift but didn't break eye contact with the Doctor whose feathering jaw became washed in waves of pink from the twirling vial in his fingers.

"Noctua, you will provide the woman to the Doctor -"

"I will not."

Tension filled the meeting hall. Tartaglia's leg bounced, The Knave's gaze fixed on the Harbinger sitting menacingly beside her while Pulcinella sent wave after wave of 'stand-downs' Diluc's way but he didn't. Wouldn't.

Take his life. End it here. But they would never have yours.

"Find another way," Diluc said, demanded.

"One cannot magically appear you bumbling bafoon. She will die without extraction!"

"One warning," Diluc reminded him, his gaze fixed, unwavering.

The Captain, still standing, moved to the Director's side. Their heavy whispers were hard to hear over the pounding blood in Diluc's ears. When they were done, the Captain turned to the group chin raised. "We are at an impasse" -- he held his hand toward the Doctor, silencing him -- "the artifact's power is contained for now. Il Dottore, you will investigate methods of removing the power on your own while we identify our next move."

The Doctor's knuckles turned white and the vial in his grip trembled. "That is unsatisfactory --"

"Il Dottore." The Jester glanced his way and he twitched, leaned back in his chair, defeated. Furious. "You are all dismissed."

The Harbingers stalled, unsure until the Knave slid from the table and roused the the Damselette from her sleep. Diluc turned on his heels and made for the door only to stop midstride.

"Noctua, you will stay."

Clenching his jaw, Diluc stepped to the side while the other Harbingers made for the door. It took everything he had not to snag the Doctor's neck as he sauntered past, but his restraint failed at the side of the ginger.

Tartaglia paused and peered at his wrist before glancing over his shoulder. When he met Diluc's eyes, his head tilted in pity. Tartaglia slipped free of Diluc's fingers and faced the open door. "I'll check on her," he whispered before disappearing down the hall and leaving Diluc alone in the conference room with The Captain and the Jester.

🔥🔥🔥

You turned to your side, hand sliding across the silken sheets only to startle awake when warmth met cold. You blinked and adjusted to the darkness the curtains created. A gentle band of light cut through the opening on the left and you crawled toward it to see the sunlit room empty and void of Diluc.

Carefully, you slipped from the sheets, drawing the softest one around your body as you searched for your discarded clothes. It didn't take you long to find them, but you ran into a problem when the shirt you slid back into refused to clasp. It seemed in the heat of shared desire, neither of you were careful about fabric and threads.

Slipping around the bed, you opened the armoirs and found a plethora of gowns, shirts, clothes, and adornments you'd never afford on your own. Some you recognized from the ship; the blouses and fittings Diluc had prepared for you at the docks but the others were unfamiliar.

You ran your hand across the assortment and wondered when Diluc managed to find the time.

---

You were alone when you exited the washroom, dressed and clean. It had been far too long since you had a proper bath. The small tub on the ship was cramped and the constant jostling made it impossible to keep the water contained. So you took your time, relishing the warm, unsloshed water and clean skin.

The clock above the fireplace told you it was well into midday but you would have figured that considering the painful grumble your stomach wouldn't cease. Throwing your wet hair into a bun, you scanned the room hoping to find something to eat when an energetic knock at the door made you jump.

You froze, hesitated. It came again but this time with a voice. "Hey, Comrade, you gonna let me in?" Easing your shoulders, you made for the door, peeked through the small opening, and sighed at the familiar face looking down at you. "Hungry?"

Tartaglia slipped into the room while you snagged the plate he was holding. The aroma filled your nose and made your mouth water but the flavors were what weakened your knees. Sliding into the seat next to the desk, you satiated your appetite while Tartaglia wandered around the room before leaning against the back of the couch, arms crossed and legs stretched.

"Your room is nicer than mine," he huffed.

"I promise I didn't ask for it," you said through bites of food. "Wanna trade?"

"I'll survive. I guess." He ran his hands through his hair and glanced at the door.

"Where's Diluc?" you asked.

"Held up."

You stopped eating. "What's wrong?"

Tartaglia scratched behind his ear and shifted on the back of the couch. He wouldn't meet your eyes. His tone held hints of playfulness peppered with unease. "How'd you sleep? Or did."

"I slept fine. What's going on. Is Diluc in trouble?" You twisted in the chair to face him, food long forgotten.

"It's fine. I'm sure they're trying to figure out what to do with you."

"What's that mean?"

"Well if you haven't forgotten, that power, it wasn't meant for you," he said and pointed to your arm. "And there's people here who really, really want it back."

"They can have it."

"Not that simple I'm afraid," he mumbled. "How much do you know of the other Harbingers?"

"Enough. Why?"

"I'm only looking out for -- ah, listen, we Harbingers aren't really known for our ... agreeableness. So just keep your guard up, alright?"

You sat up straight, eyes narrowing on the 11th. "I'm more capable than you might think. It never crossed my mind to trust any of you; not when it's readily known the things you've done to Teyvatt."

"And yet you are in bed with one of us."

Tartaglia's words cut deep and made the food in your stomach spoil. He was right. You loved a Harbinger, a man who had rendered villages to their knees, a man who captured you like a mouse in a snare. Second-guessing guilt tore at the threads of your heart but a plume snuffed it out.

Trust was earned.

And Diluc had attained it in spades.

"I guess that makes me a liar then," you said, unapologetically.

Tartaglia huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I guess it does." He pushed off the couch and fixed his long sleeves, turning toward the door with a swift pivot. "Just be on alert, comrade, there are those of us who will stop at nothing to get what we want. We might be on the same team, but it doesn't make us collaborative."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." Tartaglia reached the door but looked over his shoulder, his eyes flickering to you quickly before falling to the polished marble. "Keep clear of the Doctor, alright?"

"Dottore?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

"Good. Good." He opened the door but your voice stopped him before he could leave.

"Why'd you come? What do you get out of this?"

He didn't answer at first. Instead, he rested his forehead against the door. When he met your eyes, you registered the emotion trapped in the blue.

Homesickness. Ache.

"Just be careful," he said his words settling at the sound of the closing door.

Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to abandoned plates, and when Diluc finally returned, he refused to let you leave his sight.

[inkofthebrain]

Imperial

[Paul Atreides x F!Reader] 1468 words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of y/n, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? (More strangers to lovers tbh) ARRANGED MARRIAGE TROPE, not proofread LOL

Warnings: mild use of the voice on reader. Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions. Jessica being Jessica….

A/n: this chapter goes from 0 to 100 plot wise: be ready >:) sorry 4 whiplash… || Thank you for all the support! I upload these chapters as i write them so apologies for the spontaneous new chapters. My request are open for one shots and more!

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masterlist

Three———

The following weeks with the Atreides are spent planning, discussing politics, and all the while you continued to silently observe Paul and his mother.

There are two things you are certain of. One, Bene Geserit have been at work, a congregation of women who you have always been weary of, and two—their plan had gone horribly wrong. Paul was the byproduct of a story not of his own which he, or should I say his mother, has appropriated for political power.

“Abomination”

Your fathers truth sayer’s words ring through you ears. You are terrified for what is to come, you gaze out of your bedroom window at the sloshing sea lapping at the edges of the cliff.

The nightmares about your soon to be home still plagued your nights, you were getting less and less sleep and as the wedding grew nearer your exhaustion grew with it. You prayed Arrakis would kill you quick.

You and paul spent hours in the Caladan meeting room, discussing the various political forces across the galaxy, alone and with both the Atreides and Imperial advisors. the details were complex, and Paul's understanding of the universe was quickly expanding by the day.

He learned about the various noble houses, the political factions within the houses, the imperial courts and their complex bureaucracy, and the many conflicting religions and belief systems across the galaxy.

This was just the basic information. the true power came from analyzing and understanding the social complexities and hidden motivations of the various players. Paul knows he must oblige with the current way things are running before slowly putting his own reforms and systems in place.

As you taught him the complex workings of the imperium and its politics, you realized his intelligence was unmatched. It was as if he absorbed the information like a sponge, taking it all in and putting it to use. his natural abilities coupled with his hard work and dedication made him a formidable political force.

You sensed that his thirst for knowledge and a desire to understand what drove the universe was insatiable, just as yours was.

You had grown closer to Paul but your shared disinterest in the Marriage lingered. You did not care for marrying a stranger, that was bound to happen, it was the circumstances of your engagement that lit an unpleasant fire in you. Paul, on the other hand, was clearly longing for something, someone, he knew he could not obtain.

You both were children who were manipulated, selected, and bred for this. And now as adults you must face your unnerving future.

Duty is everything in this world.

———

The day of the wedding was a week away, but the planning began much earlier. The ceremony was highly anticipated by the imperial court and the noble houses. rumors were rampant, various debates and gossip spread like wildfire. It was clear that this wedding was much more than a marriage of political convenience. It was a pivotal event for the empire, one that everyone would be watching closely and analyzing under a microscope.

As you walked to the dining hall, Delia at you side making occasional small talk, you mind was racing. You had compiled a highly educated theory based on observation and the small bits of Benne Geserit secrets you sister had let you in on. You were determined to gather more data to support this.

Jessica sat at the head of the table, Paul sat to her right and you sat to his left. The three of you were discussing the political ramifications of the wedding, how they would be viewed by the various noble houses and imperial courts. Your discussion was respectful and polite, but under the surface there was a tension, a subtle underlying pressure, that nobody acknowledged but was very present. After clearing her throat and waved the guards out of the room.

Your stomach dropped as she looked to you "Now, there's one other matter we've yet to discuss." She turns her attention towards you and looks straight at you, with a serious look on her face.

Jessica continues. "I am aware you understand the political nature of this union, and you understand the political implications of the ceremony itself. But what isn't discussed enough is the reality and expectation of the marriage after the ceremony. The two of you are to consummate the marriage immediately after, and the child that results from it will have enormous political implications. Do you understand what i'm saying?"

You almost choke on your wine at her boldness. Paul glances at you, he is alert to the seriousness in her tone, the way she is careful to drive home this specific point.

Still watching your reaction, she finally resumes speaking. "The consummation is expected to immediately produce a child. The pressure will be immense, and I am asking you to treat this with the upmost seriousness. The birth of the child will create a political shift that will alter the galaxy for generations. I trust you understand the gravity of the situation at hand? Correct?”

You take a large swig from your wine glass. “May I speak freely?”

"Yes, by all means, speak freely.”

You take a deep breath. “I have not been trained by the Bene Geserit like my sister so I am not privy in the ways” you pause. “But from my observations I have compiled a theory. There is a plan, a plan greater than us all. And you, Lady Jessica, set that plan on fire by giving the late Duke Leto a male heir. Yet they allowed you to become a Reverend mother after disobeying the high order.” You pause, watching her reaction. “Now you must scramble to solidify your disobedience into the prophecy”

Jessica is frozen for a few moments, eyes locked on your own, trying to hide the surprise you've seen through. It's clear that you've struck a nerve here.

Paul leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours. "This is impressive. Very impressive." there's a glimmer of admiration in his eyes, and the slightest of smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I assume I am correct then?” You look between the two

Jessica finally nods, a hint of a proud smile on her face. "You have struck at the very heart of it. My disobedience is not my own, Paul was set to be the bridge between the Bene Geserit and Atreides... and the imperium's entire future. And because of my actions, that entire future has been brought upon us prematurely. We have a plan, it is true. I will ensure that paul's inheritance of the empire remains intact. But you are key to that plan, and you must comply with my direction on this matter."

“Tell me everything.” You demand, your temper growing short as your heart starts beating faster and faster. “This is my life and the legacy of the Imperium!”

She leans forward, her intense gaze meeting yours. there's a firmness in her eyes, and she speaks with a sense of conviction. "Listen to me; if you wish to ensure your safety and the safety of Paul and the empire, then you will need to trust me. Do you trust me?"

“No!” You yell, “You made your son a false prophet and I refuse to go along with it until I am aware of every detail of this plan.”

“Calm yourself and listen” Jessica demands, her voice is dark and distorted. You are enchanted instantly—She has used the voice.

“Mother…” Paul says, guilt pricks at his soul as he watches your face go blank, but Jessica ignores him.

"I will not tell you everything at this very moment, but trust me, you will see it all in time. Just like I have, just like Paul has. There are some things that are necessary to keep from you until that time. I will tell you what you need to know, nothing more and nothing less. does that sound acceptable to you?"

Her hold on you breaks and you look to the mother and son in disgust. Everything about this woman is fabricated so she may complete her plan, a ploy in which you are just a mere stepping stone. Rage runs through your entire body with such velocity that you feel sick. You sit in silence.

“Do. You. Understand?” Paul’s voice is stern and startles you and you nod your head.

“Good” Jessica says flatly.

You turn your head to look out the window, closing your eyes while taking a deep breath you attempt to collect yourself. Paul and Jessica are staring into you. You can feel it.

———

Next chapter

🍾 Taglist @aoi-targaryen

[twstfanblog]

Hiii so this is probably so very cringe fail of me but-

manwha AU where Yuu is like Cale Henituse from Trash of the Count’s Family.

manwha AU where Yuu wakes up, memories intact, everything replaying in her mind, and she decides that she’s gonna do everything in her power to just not interact with anyone and live a slacker life.

manwha AU where Yuu decides that since the trio sees her as a bitch, she’ll be the bitchiest around.

manwha AU where Yuu makes Crowley and Crewel proud by how much she spreads her network using the political information gained from her past life, and raising their family higher than ever before for her slacker life.

manwha AU where Yuu communicates with adults and said adults wonder if they’re even talking to a child since said child knows way too much about things that they shouldn’t.

manwha AU where Yuu no longer keeps the trio at a friendly distance but at a political acquaintance distance.

manwha AU where Yuu insulted as psychotic trash who hides her true intentions behind a lazy smile, and she just turns, smiles, and says: “why thank you, I live to please.”

Just. Lazy badass Yuu. I need this desperately. Please. (Trash of the Count’s Family is really good I recommend you read if you want male mc who is reincarnated as a villain who uses his knowledge of the story to his advantage and personal goals without romantic harem)

Cringe has no place in my domain, only enjoying things. I normally don't like manhwas without romance since to me thats the whole point XD but I'll check it out!

Honestly, Yuu is already isolating herself by refusing playdates with her only three friends and then becoming a shut-in. She's going to ha e duties still since she is the ONLY CHILD of the grand duke. Sadly, if Crowley can't dodge all his responsibilities, neither could Yuu.

Crewel and Crowley are actually already very concerned just because Yuu's been so sad lately and few things are able to lift her mood. If she had started talking like a full adult with info she shouldn't know, they'd instantly think possession.

I haven't had a chance to write it yet, but I will allude to it during the next Manhwa chapter. Yuu is actually a pretty violent child, a trait she keeps into adulthood. Crewel is already ready to verbally set you on fire in front of your loved ones. Yuu may actually do it and she can get away with it because she's the grand duke's child. Very few ever try to actually insult her. Because either Crewel kills them publically and slowly or Yuu beats them into a coma publically.

[flowerandblood]

The Man in the Black Gloves

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: public sex, fingering, smut, angst, threats, sexual tension, domination, violence, mention of the murder ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Although the thought of marriage and motherhood had terrified her before her father's death, now, being married at last and hoping to become the mother of her husband-king's children, she understood that it was all just a matter of the person she was to spend her life with.

Her husband, though terrifying and cruel, understood his duty as a husband and as a lover and fulfilled them to the best of his ability. She did not expect sweet words or confessions from him, knowing that they were not in his nature, however, he showed his affection to her in a different way.

Through his actions.

When that insolent woman dared to suggest that she become her husband's mistress in the future, that she would bear his child, she felt disbelief and a sense of betrayal spill over her insides.

She clenched her lips, trying with all her might to hold back the tears of humiliation that appeared under her eyelids.

How dare she?

"Hold her." She heard her husband's cold voice and saw him stand from his throne with a sudden, impatient movement.

"− give me your sword −" He said to Ser Criston in an unobjectionable voice − his guards grabbed the woman under her arms and forced her to kneel before them. She noticed with satisfaction that there was no longer a trace of the certainty of a moment ago on her face.

Her husband was unpredictable, burning like a fire that could not be tamed.

Anyone who tried was doomed to burn.

She listened to her desperate explanations with her lips clenched, pale, begging in her mind that her husband would not change his mind, that he would not let her go after what she had said, allowing her to leave a scar in her heart forever.

The thought that one day they would meet again without her knowledge and her prediction would come true.

A great uproar spread around them, people shouting at each other, until suddenly a blade swished swiftly in front of her − the woman who had just stood before them was deprived of her head, which rolled down the stairs to the stone floor with a thud.

"Her every breath would be an insult to my Queen. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to plot against her. Guards, lock Lord Ronwell in the dungeons until she decides what to do with him." He said lowly, with some kind of regret towards himself for allowing such a situation to happen.

He looked at her with a calmness in his eye, a conviction that he had done the right thing, that whatever this woman had predicted would never come true.

Once again, he made her feel an overwhelming sense of relief, like when she saw her mother and learned that she was alive.

She thought, looking at him with parted lips, feeling sweet throbbing between her thighs, that she would give him everything, would drown with him in her blood, would not let him carry the burden of this sin alone.

He did it for her.

Never before had she come as hard as she had that evening, feeling the tart taste of blood in her mouth as he slammed into her with quick, brutal thrusts of his hips, stretching her weeping cunt with his fat, swollen cock, aroused as much as she was.

She couldn't even remember when she reached her peak, feeling that she almost screamed with pleasure along with him.

She sighed quietly as she felt his hot seed finally spill inside her, feeling only fulfilment, only peace.

"− good gods − are you all right? −" He asked uncertainly, horrified surely as she was at how brutal and sacrilegious this closeness was.

She felt ashamed at the thought that she hadn't been this relaxed in a long time.

She heard him sigh out loud as she nodded her head, his large, rough hand stroking lightly her soft buttock.

"Let's take a bath." He suggested and she nodded again, completely without strength.

They undressed slowly when they were left alone with the steaming tub filled with pleasantly warm water. She dipped her feet into it first and then sat between his legs, resting her wet back against his chest, laying her head on his shoulder. She heard him hum quietly, feeling his fingers combing through her hair in a tender gesture.

They lay like this in silence, calming down at last, fingertips of his free hand trailing thoughtfully over her bare body making her feel goosebumps.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked her suddenly, startling her completely − his voice quiet and uncertain, on the verge of a whisper.

She lifted her face higher, twisting with a quiet splash of water, wanting to look at him, raising her fingers to his cheek and running them over his skin.

"No." She replied softly, warmly, his hand combing through her hair with a light, musing gesture.

"I tried to kill you." He said lowly, as if merely stating a fact that he felt should concern her.

"Then why am I still alive?" She asked tracing her fingers along his chin, cupping her nose against his cheek. She heard him snort under his breath.

She didn't have to look at him to know that an amused grin was painted on his face.

She felt his hand trace a circle over her lower abdomen, massaging her warm skin under the water, knowing that all he was thinking now was the fact that she was filled with his spend.

Neither of them said anything more.

They conveyed most of the things to each other without words. She felt that he was able to express more with his hands than with his mouth, his fingers combing through her hair, stroking her naked body at night showing her what he felt, what he desired.

They both knew how empty and worthless words could be.

After what had happened to Alys Rivers, no woman dared to even attempt to come close to her husband anymore. She decided to show mercy to the lord who had brought her before them and was plotting against her, knowing that if her husband killed him, his whole family would turn against him.

She knew that the whole court had witnessed what would befall those who would try to come between them.

She found with amusement that they did not understand where their attachment and affection came from, thinking that it had a purely physical undertone that could always pass when someone more beautiful or more tempting appeared on the horizon.

Their marriage, however, was primarily based on how deeply they were bonded by their pasts, how they experienced things similarly, sunk in darkness, coming out at night to haunt the castle's inhabitants like ghosts.

She had the impression that there was a disturbing aura around them, that people feared them not only because of their power, but also because of that hint of madness they saw in their eyes.

After a time of war and unrest, her husband's lords advised him to take advantage of the fact that the new year was approaching, to use the date as a break from the past and to allow celebrations in the fortress as well as throughout the kingdom.

"Do you think it's appropriate? To hold a carnival and balls for chattels and drunkard lords?" He asked, sitting stretched out in his chair, obviously unconvinced by the idea, yet realising that his cool nature may have overlooked some of his subjects' needs, which did not mean that they were not important.

"The people have at last regained their King, peace has prevailed. Even though you won't do it, they want to move on and forget what happened eight years ago, begin again. Let them enjoy themselves, give them a day full of wine, bread and dances, let them decorate their town and enjoy themselves as they wish." She said softly, looking at him with a gentle gaze. He sighed heavily, massaging his forehead with his hand.

"Am I supposed to sit for hours behind a table and watch them make fools of themselves?" He asked impatiently, and she pressed her lips together, approaching him slowly with the quiet rustling of her gown.

"Arrange for it to be a masked ball. Let's blend in with the crowd. Don't we also have reason to celebrate, my husband?"

To her surprise, after much thought, he agreed to her proposal. His lords accepted his decision with relief, themselves apparently looking for an opportunity at long last to get out of the stress and sacrifice they had put in to help him regain his throne.

None of them told each other what they would wear or when they would appear in the throne room, recognising that it would spoil everything. She ordered that a matte, soft black gown be prepared for her, with a cut neckline with exposed shoulders and back, bold and unworthy of a queen or true lady.

She wore a black mask over her face, sheathed in a material identical to that of her gown, her dark hair loose. She did not put on any jewellery − she liked the simplicity and at the same time shamelessness of this attire.

She thought that this night she was not a Queen, she was not a lady but a shadow, a phantom, a mist, something intangible, something she had always wanted to be.

As she left her chamber she was immediately struck by the sounds of violin and flute music, loud conversations and laughter. She turned into the corridor and noticed hundreds of people discussing with each other, each of them disguised, masks over their faces.

She noted with satisfaction that no one bowed to her, that no one paid any attention to her, that she was like air.

She felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, a sense of empowerment and impunity at the same time.

She stepped into the main hall, which was the throne room, looking at the couples dancing in the centre of it − lovers for just one night pressed their bodies close to the walls, enjoying the time they were given as best they could, knowing that tomorrow they would have to return to their husbands and wives.

They all had goblets filled to the brim with wine − she could smell the roasts, soups and breads from the tables around her.

It seemed to her that she had joined some temple of promiscuity and splendour, her heart pounding like mad.

She walked unhurriedly among the crowds of people, gazing intently at their fanciful costumes, eavesdropping on their conversations, listening with amusement as the apparent anonymity gave the court's inhabitants the courage to speak their minds about her and her husband.

"I once passed by our King's chambers at night. There were such noises coming from it that I thought they were both dying in agony." Said a woman with light hair pinned up in a bun, her mask and gown blue, adorned with gold threads.

"She is a witch. As a traitor's daughter, she certainly has her ways of deceiving the King's mind." The other woman, younger, replied − she seemed to recognise in her the daughter of one of the lords who had strenuously tried for weeks to stumble upon her husband in the crown's library, wishing to seduce him.

"They are both mad." She hummed to them with amusement, and saw that they looked at her, trying in the semi-darkness to recognise who she might have been, but she did not let them stare at her and moved on, looking thoughtfully at the dancing pairs.

She was surprised to hear someone moaning behind her, and spotted a couple who were clearly just having a rapture with each other − both of them pressed up against the wall, hidden in the shadows, apparently hoping that no one would interrupt their obviously wonderful delight.

She smiled under her breath, turning her face away − she felt a throbbing between her thighs at the thought that her husband might take her in the same way this evening, in front of everyone.

She almost laughed at the thought that perhaps these prudish ladies would recognise them and their moans.

"My Lady." She shuddered when heard someone whisper behind her, masculine and low, pleasantly throaty. She did not turn towards him, looking ahead.

"You caught my attention right away. That beautiful back." The man muttered, running his fingers over her exposed skin − she felt a pleasant shiver, but did not bestow a single glance on him.

"I have to dance with you, my Lady, because I swear I'm going to lose my mind."

She lifted her chin higher and hummed, considering his words.

"We have enough madness in this stronghold so I am afraid I must prevent your downfall and agree, my Lord." She said, extending her hand to him − he took it respectfully and led her towards the spinning pairs.

She hadn't done it for months and never in this way and this man, whoever he was, was an excellent dancer.

He dared to shamelessly place his hand on her bare back and only then did she lift her warning gaze to him; his hair was dark and curly, reaching his shoulders, he was well built and tall.

She saw that he parted his lips when he saw a small part of her face, her eyes, lips and chin emerging from under her black mask, looking at her as if his breath had been taken away.

"Tell me you don't have a husband." He choked out between one turn and the next, their hands meeting in another movement.

"I have a husband, my Lord, and I am a faithful wife." She said softly − the man licked his lower lip, leaning over her, only to take a few steps away from her, their hands touching again.

"Is that so?" He murmured defiantly, and she smiled, amused, feeling herself throbbing at the thought that her king, her husband might have just watched her from afar, might have recognised her, might have been furious with jealousy.

That he might have wanted to kill this brazen man.

"Mmm. I would be careful if I were you, my Lord. My husband is dangerous. He is a breathing death." She whispered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart at that thought, feeling with excitement that she was wet, her fleshy walls pulsing around nothing.

"I don't fear death. What I fear for is that I will never see you again." He said when the music ended, applause echoed around them, even though he should have done so, he didn't let go of her hand.

"You can be sure of that." She hummed with amusement, taking her hand and turning away from him, disappearing into the crowd.

She heard his desperate calls behind her and laughed, feeling like a mermaid who was leading an innocent young man to be devoured by a monster.

She was hot and walked over to the table to pour herself some wine, however the steel gilded jug was heavy and she had trouble lifting it. She shuddered and gasped when someone stopped right behind her, a large hand dressed in a black leather glove took it from her and filled her goblet halfway.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my Lady?" She heard a cold, deep, familiar voice behind her, a powerful shiver of desire passed through her − she involuntarily parted her lips feeling the unbearable pulsing of her walls and lifted her cup to her lips, taking a deep sip from it.

"Yes, my Lord." She replied innocently, feeling his hot breath on her neck, his dark, dangerous, sinister aura.

"Dance with me."

She felt her heart stop for a moment and swallowed loudly, turning over her shoulder.

A tear-stained mask on his face, a hood on his head.

He looked like one of her father's ghosts.

Vhagar.

He held out his hand to her and she placed hers on it, allowing him to guide her between the couples spinning to the rhythm of the music.

She felt stunned by his scent and his presence − if a moment ago she had been a cruel siren longing to devour, now she longed to be devoured, wanted to burn in the fire of his wrath, to die in the embrace of his arms if that was his wish.

As they made a turn their hands clasped tightly over their bodies; they were far too close to each other to consider their dance decent, however this night no one paid any attention to such things, his gaze from under the transparent black material cold and distant.

"Do you enjoy balancing on the edge of life and death, my Lady?" He asked low, his voice like ice, like a sharp blade − her pink lips swollen with desire parted slightly, droplets of sweat on her bare arms as they spun around each other, their hands touching.

"Yes." She whispered and heard him hum, as if he accepted her answer.

She felt overwhelmed, at the same time knowing who was behind the mask, yet being able to pretend that it was a complete stranger, a phantom who wanted to kill her, rip her entrails apart.

They didn't take their eyes off each other for the entire dance − there was something sensual in their movements, his gloved hand barely touching her bare back, she felt like she was about to die of lust.

She wanted him to do this to her, and he knew it, he could see it in her eyes.

When the music silenced they bowed to each other. She immediately headed towards the crowd, glancing at him meaningfully over her shoulder, watching to see if he would follow her. She stopped only at the wall, with nowhere else to go, her face illuminated only by the flame of a torch hanging nearby.

He walked towards her with a calm, lazy, firm step, like an executioner, like a judge, like a sentence to be imposed on her. She moaned as he turned her violently towards the wall, immediately pushing against her, she felt his hardness pressed against her buttocks.

"Whore." He hissed, she parted her lips and mewled, feeling her moist core throb around nothing, her cheek pressed against the wall, her fingers clenched helplessly on the cold stone.

She heard him pull off his gloves and throw them on the floor − one of his hands grabbed her neck and forced her to arch back and buck up, the other with an impatient, rough movement lifted the material of her gown at the front, slipping immediately between her thighs, they both groaned low with pleasure when he felt how wet she was.

"− what happened here? − hm? − fuck − all sticky −" He breathed out between her helpless, sweet moans, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her womanhood, digging deeply into her skin around her pearl, teasing her with circular, sure strokes, involuntarily her hips began to rub against his hard cock hidden in his breeches behind her.

"− oh − oh gods, yes −" She mumbled dulled by how pleasurable it was − she heard him chuckle lowly behind her, his other hand clasped tighter around her neck. She squirmed as his finger tentatively slid inside her, only teasing her slit.

"− look at him − look at him when you fuck yourself with my fingers −" He growled and she obeyed his command, looking at the man who only a moment ago was ready to ask her to marry him − he stood in the distance looking at them in disbelief, his lips slightly parted.

She moaned, responding with her hips to his strokes when she realised that he must have imagined he was in the place of that black hooded figure standing behind her.

"− does your husband fuck you too rarely? − doesn't he stretch you well with his cock? − hm? −" He snarled, sliding his finger in and out deeper and deeper, pressing and rubbing again and again the wonderful spot hidden between her fleshy walls.

"− I − mghmm −" She mumbled out feeling that she was about to come, panting loudly along with him, his hips rubbing aggressively against her buttocks.

"− let's show him what duty a husband has to his wife −" He exhaled, sliding his finger out of her, his hand wet with her juices lifted her gown up.

She felt a chill wash over her exposed buttocks − there was music and loud conversations all around them, everyone could see what they were doing and although they weren't the only ones, the thought that it was happening right now and this way, made her legs tremble.

She heard him quickly undo the clasp of his coat, covering her with his body, not allowing anyone but him to see her womanhood, all swollen and wet with her moisture. She squirmed when she felt his freed, hard erection hit her bare skin, his fingers spreading her folds before him as the fat head of his cock pressed against her slit from below.

He opened her wide with one simple, sharp thrust, slamming into her like mad, his hand clamped around her neck forcing her to lean back more − she could feel his hot breath against her ear despite his mask.

"− look at him − he's fucking himself with his hand while looking at my wife − at my − fucking − wife −" He growled sinisterly, infuriated, rooting into her quickly and brutally, with each thrust of his hips forcing her sore, fleshy muscles to barely fit him in, his thick, swollen cock rubbing her so wonderfully that a cry broke from her lips − even if she wanted to she couldn't see anyone anymore, her gaze and mind clouded from pleasure.

"− you know he's already dead, don't you? − ah − would you want him to touch you before he died? − for him to root his cock deep inside you just for once? −" He hissed out between aggressive, deep thrusts, pounding into her with a loud slapping of flesh against flesh, both of them panting desperately, her body responding to his every move with rocking her hips.

"− n-no − your seed − I want it inside me −" She babbled with difficulty between her whimpers and his thrusts from which her whole body trembled − she heard his low groan of surprise and delight, his cock throbbing hard inside her, feeling her walls clench around him greedily.

"− beg − fucking beg −" He growled pounding it into her so hard that her pleasure was on the verge of pain − she cried out loudly sensing that a few more of his movements and she would come, feeling that wonderful tickle in her lower abdomen every time the tip of his cock rubbed against her upper wall again.

"− please − please, husband, have mercy − fill your faithful wife −" She mewled pleadingly, despairingly, pathetically, thinking only of the fact that she wanted him to come inside her, that she wanted to feel his spend trickling down her thighs when she looked again at this insolent man.

"− faithful? − you let him touch you − your bare skin that belongs to me − fuck − you don't deserve this grace −" He mocked licking his lips loudly, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud click of her wetness with each ruthless thrust of his hips.

"− p-please − oh − oh gods, m close −" She mumbled out in delight and parted her lips in shock as a powerful wave of pleasure surged through her body again, again and again.

She clenched her eyes shut moaning shamelessly − she heard him gasp lowly, pounding into her faster, panting heavily, his cock twitching all over inside her.

"− fucking take it − take it-take it-take it −" He growled rooting it into her so hard that her throbbing walls forced him to let go and at last he filled her with himself with a sigh of relief, rocking his hips inside her for a while longer, several couples standing near them looked at them in disbelief.

She squirmed with despair when she felt him slide out of her − he tied his breeches quickly and lowered her gown with an impatient flick of his hand, covering her buttocks and thighs where his seed was trickling down. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he had moved forward, between the crowd.

She sank to the floor, panting heavily, her face hot from the exertion huddled against the cold wall, her heart pounding like mad.

She saw that those around her were looking at her and she wondered if they recognised her.

After a moment, she rose as if nothing had happened and moved towards her husband's chamber, stepping inside without a word, slipping her black gown off her shoulders, lying on his bed with only her black mask over her face, her thighs sticky from their mingled moisture.

She lay in the dim candlelight as he stepped into his chamber − her attention immediately drawn to the fact that he had no mask, his hood slipped from his head, his hands all covered in blood.

With a calm, nonchalant movement, he approached the table and undid the buckles of his cloak, dropping it to the ground, sinking his hands into a bowl of water, washing them thoroughly of the sticky red.

"Has my wife enjoyed her evening?"

"Yes, my King." She whispered softly, lying on her back, one of her legs bent at the knee swinging slightly from side to side, her hands placed on either side of her head.

"Mmm."

"I warned him that I have a husband and that I am an obedient, faithful wife. That this was the last day of his life. But he didn't listen." She whispered, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, knowing that they were both mad, that she shouldn't feel such heat at the thought that he was so sickly jealous of her.

And yet.

"Mmm, no need to fret about it anymore, my love. He will never bother you again."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[kanmom51]

Don't listen to unsubstantiated rumours

Is all I'm going to say!!!

Those with knowledge of how the military rolls, and it wouldn't differ that dramatically from one country to another, would tell you that this new rumour is bound to be a load of crap.

You would not be placed in a unit for duties (a relatively small unit in a small military camp) only to be sent out of said unit after already serving in those duties, for training how to execute said duties.

You get my drift?

Easy example:

You wouldn't be working as a brick layer without getting basic training in how to lay bricks.

This kind of training would be done prior to said specific placement.

Any other specific to time and place (as in the actual unit, it's whereabouts and needs) training would be peer training, on base, what you would call practical training. This is training of sorts, as the person going through this would not be allowed to be on duty without peer supervision.

If we are with on the brick layer example, then this would be the apprenticeship. When he would be working side by side with an experienced brick layer. On site. And after he gets some kind of practical training (differs from job to job), only then could he lay bricks without supervision.

Bottom line is:

I know we are getting little to nothing from those two or even about those two. But that doesn't mean we should accept any and every rumour that is spread about either or both.

If past experience has taught us something, that should be it.

Remember one thing:

These two young men CHOSE to enlist together in a way that will have them spending the WHOLE 18 months of their service TOGETHER.

ALL OF THAT TIME!!!

There are many that would love to deny this. Many that would love for this not to be true. But that's a THEM problem. Not a JM/JK one.

On that note:

Happy Easter.

💜💜

And know that NO ONE messes with our bunny's JM!!!!

[kg-clark-inthedark]

I'm late!!! But here's my fic for @dhkinktober2024 Week 4 - Intoxication / Voyeurism

Relationship: Corvo Attano/The Outsider

Words: 8,170

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary:

In the four years since the Kaldwin rule was reinstated, Corvo's had his work cut out for him. He's filling the roles of both Royal Protector and Royal Spymaster, raising his daughter on his own, guiding the reconstruction of a broken and plague-weary Empire, and leading in the areas young Emily still isn't ready for. Exhausted, he adheres to his duties with grace, but he can't forget when it all went south, when he discovered himself for the very first time. Now he must keep those part of him buried for the Empire's and his daughter's sake, and he's never felt more isolated.

But there is someone left who still knows exactly what lies underneath his carefully crafted veneer. And Corvo's gotten quite good at knowing when he's watching. Once Corvo starts taking comfort in the entity's gaze, cast upon him from a world away, it turns out he'd do just about anything to keep that attention.

Excerpt: (below the cut)

As much as I may turn away from the reality of it, I was stripped down to my true self when I was forced into the shadows. Now with the rebuilding of the Empire I’ve had to paper back over what was revealed. Nobody can glimpse what lies underneath for risk of exposing an opportunity to strike. And Emily can’t see it either, especially not Emily, lest her confidence be shattered by seeing how bare the one thread holding everything together is. I’m utterly alone in all of this.

Well, almost alone.

There’s still the Outsider’s gaze every now and then. I at least have that. There’s solace to be found in the knowledge that someone, even a world away, sees what’s under the veneer and for some reason has yet to turn away in disgust. Somewhere along the way I came to rely on it.

The Outsider’s not watching me right now. His attention is elsewhere, likely focused on something or someone far grander along that boundless view of his. Tonight that notion agitates me more than I’d like to admit. In moments such as these, despite how wretched I am, the ache for his distant presence remains.

Luckily, I know exactly how to get the Outsider’s eyes directed back at me.

I toy with the idea of having a third whiskey and ultimately go for it. Pushing my chair back from the desk, the leather sighs under my weight when I remove my damp vest and shirt and let myself sink down. With drink in hand, I attempt to relax and let the acrid heat spread further throughout my chest.

Despite years without a word from him, there is one pattern to the Outsider’s attention I’ve come to know well. I never used to be one who spent much time tending to my personal needs. However, all this stress, all this Void-damned isolation… it brought on a shift in behavior. It started as simply a way to hush my mind, a way to get to sleep. But nowadays it’s a way to feel less alone.

Because the Outsider always watches when I touch myself. 

[pinkcreamypeach]

Rosalina's final redesign in my au. (Human)

"Waluigi & rosalina "

Here's some more info about them in my au.

In my alternate universe, Waluigi's real name is Jerónimo, and he's a Puerto Rican. Despite being known for his frequent suit stealing and robbing offenses, he had somehow managed to evade punishment. This was most likely because the stolen suits didn't cost that much, and as a result, the authorities chose not to prioritize his case.

Nonetheless, it was still a crime, and Wario would have undoubtedly found it amusing to see Jerónimo behind bars for such petty offenses. He even sported the stolen suits to try and impress Rosalina, which added another layer to the absurdity of the situation.

It seemed as though Jerónimo was simply a master of crime and deception, able to dodge consequences with ease. However, there was no telling how long his streak of good luck would last before he was finally caught.

Rosalina, the powerful and majestic space princess, has remained the same in terms of her personality and powers. However, with certain traumatic events and the passage of time, her character has evolved and now she displays a motherly demeanor, acting as a protective figure to those around her.

In her quest to find the secrets of the universe, Rosalina's powers have developed to include the ability to read the stars. When a constellation appears, Rosalina is able to harness its energy and create new stars, which in turn yield valuable cosmic energy. Furthermore, Rosalina's pyrotechnic powers, when combined with the fire flower, are capable of reaching temperatures of up to 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit, allowing her to manipulate fire and heat in impressive ways.

Despite her extraordinary abilities, Rosalina has also faced her fair share of challenges, including her trauma which has left her with both visible and internal scars. Despite these setbacks, Rosalina has remained committed to her duties and continues to use her powers to help those in need, spreading light and hope wherever she goes.

The young and innocent Rosalina, whose life was forever altered by the devastating loss of half her civilization and her parents, was forced to grow up far too quickly. Left to lead as a queen of the stars, Rosalina amassed vast knowledge and wisdom about the universe, but not much about the world of humans.

Despite this, Rosalina remains a fierce protector, using her newfound leadership skills to ensure the safety and well-being of her people. However, while she may be knowledgeable about the stars and the universe, her understanding of Earth cultures and the concept of romance is limited, as she has only ever experienced the love of family and her children, never having had a chance to fully experience the joys of childhood or the complexities of adult relationships.

Rosalina and Waluigi's relationship in this alternate universe is a complex one, as they started out as complete strangers before gradually developing romantic feelings for each other. They would often meet under the moonlight, alone, where Rosalina's beauty and voice would captivate Waluigi.

Over time, their conversations revealed their similar experiences with losing beloved parents, causing Waluigi's fake personality to fade away, allowing his true self to shine through. As he opened up to Rosalina, he gradually let go of his fake persona and became more genuine, revealing his insecurities and feelings to her.

Rosalina found Waluigi intriguing due to his appearance, and his true self began to emerge, causing them to relate on a deeper level. Despite their romantic feelings for each other, the two have yet to act on them, but their connection only grows stronger with each passing night spent in each other's company.

The blossoming love between the two characters is a gradual and inconspicuous process, and they are both oblivious to their developing feelings for some time. It is only much later in their friendship, when they have both grown closer and had the opportunity to know each other better, that they start to realize their true feelings.

Despite the slow pace of their journey towards love, their friendship has served as a foundation for deeper emotions to form, and they find comfort and peace in each other's presence.

(Next post will about mareach and Luaisy children)

@bberetd @maceincognito @house-of-xiii @magnas27 @peaches2217 @awesomewolf27

[moonandstcrs]

(ellise chappell, twenty-six, cis woman, she/her) you do not know me but rest assured i know you, LADY THEODOSIA HERMANCE GAMZATOVA. you are the MIDDLE SISTER TO THE RULING COUNTESS HERMANCE. you maybe be known for your COMPASSION but it is only a mask for the true nature of your HEADSTRONG ways. however, i am not here to spread slander on the queen’s jewels, though i suspect you are her PINK TOPAZ. the ton says your name reminds them of READING BYRON’S POETRY IN THE GARDEN, AN ATTITUDE FIT FOR A SHARPE NOVEL LOVE INTEREST, THE COOL BREEZE THAT BLOWS ACROSS THE BATTLEFIELD ONCE THE SMOKE SETTLES . how scandalous! you have been warned, dear reader, that i will prove if this is true and share every last detail.

i hate it here so i will go to, secret gardens in my mind. people need a key to get to. the only one is mine. i read about it in a book when i was a precocious child.

full  name  :  lady  theodosia hermance symonds gamzatova.  dob  :  16th of july, 1787.  age  :  six and twenty.  zodiac  :  cancer.  gender  :  cis  female.  pronouns  :  she  /  her.  orientation  :  heterosexual .  hair  color  :  brown.  eye  color  :  green/brown. 

no mid-sized city hopes and small town fears. i'm there most of the year 'cause i hate it here

theodosia hermance was the third-born daughter of the venerable hermance family, a household regarded with polite esteem among society’s more discreet circles. born into quiet privilege, she was a girl of measured words and practiced grace, raised to be dutiful, soft-spoken, and agreeable. where her elder sisters delighted in courtly dances and the flurry of the season, theodosia preferred solitude and simplicity: the rustle of pages beneath her fingers, the gentle pull of needle and thread, the tranquility of her paints spreading colour across canvas. she loved her sisters dearly—indeed, she often remarked that she felt rather like a shadow when they were not near—and in many ways, she had been content to follow their lead, to occupy the space they left behind.

from the earliest age, theodosia was praised for her obedience. she did as she was told, even when her heart whispered dissent. it was no surprise, then, that at eight and ten she was presented to the ton as a debutante, her name inscribed among the season’s most eligible ladies. the queen herself saw fit to match her to lord george symonds, a young man of considerable repute. heir to a vast coal empire and a knight in service to the crown, lord symonds was five years her senior, respectable and even-tempered. he was, in every regard, a model husband. and so, at nine and ten, she became his wife.

their marriage was civil. kind. marked by polite conversation and quiet dinners. george respected her, never raised his voice nor sought to command her affection. in another life, that might have been enough. but to theodosia, the institution of marriage felt more like a costume—layers of silk and expectation draped over her until she scarcely recognized herself. she played the part of the wife well, as she had been taught. but in the privacy of her mind, she could not help but feel as though her life were not truly her own.

when war spread across the continent, george answered the call—as knights were bound to do. to the surprise of many, theodosia followed. armed with nothing but the knowledge gleaned from her father’s collection of medical volumes, she volunteered as a nurse. what she lacked in training, she compensated for with diligence and determination. in time, she became known among the soldiers for her calm composure and capable hands. she saved many lives. and yet, it was not the wounded men or the battlefield horrors that changed her most—it was the freedom. the strange and terrible freedom that came from being unmoored from society’s expectations.

and then, one day, she found george on the field. broken. bleeding. dying.

she knelt beside him and made her choice.

when she returned to england, a widow in black, she wore her grief well—quiet, composed, almost serene. her father, ever concerned with propriety, insisted that she remarry once her mourning had passed. and so she did. only this time, it was not to a man chosen by the queen, but to a woman of her own heart.

naida gamzatova had been her friend for many years. brilliant, steady, and fiercely loyal, naida had always known theodosia better than she knew herself. she saw through her silences, understood the weight of duty theodosia carried like a second skin. their courtship was brief, their union simple, abroad and away from wagging tongues. it was not a conventional match, but it was, for a time, a happy one. naida made her feel seen. loved. safe.

but the old restlessness crept in.

marriage, even a marriage of love, was still a kind of performance. expectations. roles. the weight of being someone’s anchor when she barely knew how to keep herself afloat. after the death of her father, naida took her to the countryside, hoping the quiet would bring her peace. instead, it left her hollow. she wandered the halls of their estate like a ghost. she looked in mirrors and did not recognize the woman who stared back.

and so she began to slip away. not all at once, but slowly. she started venturing into the city under the guise of errands. her paths led her to places no respectable lady would be found—salons veiled in smoke and secrets, parties where names were whispered or not spoken at all. there, theodosia shed her titles. she drank too much, laughed too loudly, and indulged in pleasures that would shame her family name.

she was unfaithful.

and now, the weight of it presses on her chest like iron. not just the betrayal of a wife who did nothing but love her—but the betrayal of the girl she once was, the girl who believed in doing what was right even when it hurt. she does not know what forgiveness looks like. does not know if naida will still love her, now that she has been remade in shadow.

she is no longer the dutiful daughter. no longer the quiet wife. no longer the innocent girl who thought duty alone could shape a life.

theodosia hermance is caught between the roles she played and the woman she is becoming. and whether that woman deserves love, she has yet to decide.

[bruxadehekate]

Recently i came across a beautiful game that had me questioning a few things. When learning tarot i always stuck heavily with books' and instructions' help, a considerable amount instead of pure intuition (but of course there were some, or else it wouldn't be tarot). Other than that, i also kept constantly in mind that tarot was purely therapeutical and guidance rather than fortune telling, as many wiser Witches taught me.

This game however, showed me a completely different vision on how to read the cards, with very simple yet effective spreads and much more confident interpretations. I also have strong reasons to believe this is Hekate's idea.

TL;DR: I wanna try fortune telling instead of therapeutic tarot

Edit: i figure out some of my doubts and uncertainties, see reblogs!

Confidence, i think it's the keyword. When i started this blog, even if i wanted to stick with the guidance tips tarot i was taught, many people came to me asking things about their future and not much insights about themselves, and that made me so nervous because, obviously, i didn't want to make a wild, ambicious prediction and it be wrong, to disappoint the requester, nor did i want to bring the bad news. So to avoid it, i was the first one to bland it out and make it not a big deal. The grain of salt.

It is wise from a point of view, one's future is theirs to make their own, but constantly telling myself "I can't go too far" might have limited my own intuition power.

Of course a game is but a game, it is scripted and has the limitless of fiction, however i do firmly believe there are talented, gifted people out there that can predict the future through divination magic with precision unmatched (oh, the stories i heard), but it's something wlse entirely, much harder to believe i could be one of those.

Even if i am unfortunately not very constant with my tarot craft, because it doesn't pay my bills and all that, i do feel a strong connection with my decks and the things i learn through the little sessions and readings every now and then, therefore trying out a new thing could be doable

When im not in tune during a session, my cards kinda "refuse to work" until we fix the vibes, the question, etc, and when everything is aligned it flows with incredible accuracy and meaning. I never "predicted the future" per see, however many, dare i say most, of my readings sooner than later came to be true, the ones i had been close to watch it unroll, so it might be possible to channel that energy into something similar, bolder.

The more i think about it, the stronger is my feeling to dive into this possibility, because i know if that's something my decks are not okay with, they will give me the proper queues, leaving my on read, so back to insightful readings it is.

Just like i do with my hair, a little bit of experimentation will not hurt anybody

My idea is to go deeply into bold fortune telling, let my intuition go wild, align it with my current knowledge (and future, because that's never too much) and allow myself some creativity freedom, read the cards with my third eye and present the consultant with very different outcomes one might never have considered an option.

About Hekate's insight, this month i admit to have failed my duties more than other months, it got me a little sad, because it's partly due to work and rest routine that I'm terrible at organizing. But during one of my hunting sessions for games to relax, I came to find that game by paths i usually don't trail (navigation wise) and played the demo that instantly made me purchase the whole thing.

I have reasons to believe Hekate lead me to it, silently with a few odd clicks, just the way She initially lead me to tarot years back, with a simple instagram ad (an opportunity to take the first step, after many days of me pondering about it). The game, The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood, has a beautifully written script, nice game mechanics, pretty art and designs and wild interpretations of Witchcraft, a great piece of fictional entertainment watered with valuable pieces of basic information Witches should know about.

This totally wakened my senses, as i said, sadly not constant with tarot, i felt intrigued with the mechanics and possibilies, and after lots of research on the matter, my conclusion is yes, fortune telling could be possible for me, if im brave enough the flourish it.

Like the game protagonist, I'm a bit scared of what may come out of this, seen like i had a very turbulent past that made me insanely afraid of what the future holds (cough cough ptsd cough subject for another day), this can be a healthy way of helping deal with it.

I shall make a briefer post later, but my idea is to reopen tarot requests, making it explicit that this is a beta testing fortune telling kind of deal.

Although i feel strongly Hekate is the one once again showing me the way, i feel like gathering some additional sources to aid this possible journey, and read more into Apollo's devotes and their experience with clairvoyance is on my list, maybe i might be blessed with His dodgeball gift of prophecy red ball in the face, so if any of Apollo's fortune tellers, messengers or followers have any tips regarding prophetic matters I'd love to hear about it!

Hopefully I'll be back soon with news, thank you so much if you read until here, have a blessed week ✨

[beskars]

BESKAAAAAARRRSSSS!!!! DROP ANOTHER ANTHESIS CHAPTER, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!

(https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT2ncvNQR/)

lmaooooo i am crying thank you for this

chapter two is still very much in progress but here is a lil snippet in the meantime!

-

He turned to you, his mismatched eyes holding yours for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Your instincts were true."

Coming from him, the simple statement carried more weight than effusive praise might have from another chef. You inclined your head slightly in acknowledgment, trying to contain the warmth spreading through your chest at his approval.

"There's another matter," Corin interjected, setting down his notebook. "The list requires evolution to better reflect our current menu direction. Your knowledge of local producers could be... valuable to this process."

You glanced between the sommelier and Silco, surprised by this unexpected opening. "I'd be happy to contribute in any way I can," you replied carefully.

"Good," Silco said, his voice carrying a subtle satisfaction. "You and Corin will meet weekly to evaluate potential additions." He fixed you with that assessing gaze again. "This is about more than just finding interesting bottles. It's about telling Zaun's story through every element of what we create here. Our guests should taste what we're capable of—not just through my dishes, but through every accompanying note."

The implication was clear: he was entrusting you with an aspect of Crucible's identity, a responsibility that extended beyond normal server duties. The weight of this trust settled on your shoulders, at once heavier and more exhilarating than you'd anticipated.

"I understand," you said, meeting his gaze directly. "Thank you for the opportunity."

He nodded once, then rose from the table. "That will be all for now. Pre-shift at 4:30."

[24karatcherrygold]

Sir Ignatius Marc, known by many as Ignitor, is a knight of unparalleled honor and unwavering chivalry. His sense of duty and justice is as steadfast as his blade, making him a noble figure in the eyes of those he serves. Yet, despite his virtues, he is not without his flaws. His unwavering commitment to the ideals of knighthood can sometimes make him seem a bit naïve, especially when confronted with the complexities of the world beyond the battlefield.

Once a wandering knight driven by the thirst for glory and the thrill of battle, Sir Ignatius Marc’s destiny took an unexpected turn when he crossed paths with an elderly woman in desperate need of help. She spoke of a "great, chivalrous knight" who could aid her with a grave problem, and Ignatius, ever confident in his own reputation, eagerly stepped forward, swearing an oath to assist her without hesitation.

The old crone, her gnarled fingers trembling as she explained, spoke of a dire threat. The dragons of the Cadaverous Crypts—beasts born of dark magic and ancient curses—had begun to extend their corruptive influence over the Skylands. The worst of these dragons, a creature of flame known as Ignitus, had been sent to guard one of the fabled bloodstones, powerful artifacts that enabled the spread of forbidden blood magic. This dark power, when harnessed, could slowly erode the balance of the elements themselves, allowing the underworld’s corruption to seep into the very skies above.

The hag, her eyes glinting with secret knowledge, offered Ignatius a suit of enchanted armor and a trident to protect him from the blood magic’s corruption. Eager for glory, he accepted without hesitation and set his sights on the dragon’s lair.

Blinded by his thirst for fame, Ignatius missed every sign along the way. The so-called cavern wasn’t a dreary hole—it was an ancient temple. He ignored the dragon’s enraged roars, dismissing them as the cries of a creature in fear. He failed to notice the true purpose of the bloodstone he sought: not to corrupt, but to contain the dark magic.

It wasn’t until it was too late that Ignatius realized his mistake. The bloodstone shattered at his feet, the dragon's furious bellow echoed through the halls, and a maddening cackle filled the air—something far darker than he had ever anticipated. Ignatius had not saved the Skylands. He had doomed them.

The hag appeared, her laughter echoing through the temple as she entered. The dragon charged at her, but it was hopeless. With a wave of her hand, the hag’s dark magic tore through the dragon’s body, reducing it to nothing but ash and flame.

Then, the crone’s true form was revealed—Kaos, the greatest evil in the Skylands.

Ignatius stood frozen, bewildered. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!

"Thank you, sir knight," Kaos purred, his voice dripping with mockery. "You truly are my hero."

Kaos raised a hand, sending the burning remains of Ignitus crashing into Ignatius. The armor he wore, once thought a gift, became a curse—it kept him alive as his body burned, the flames searing his flesh. Ignatius would have screamed if he could, but in the end, all that remained was his spirit, trapped inside a cage of smoldering metal.

When the pain finally receded enough for him to think clearly, something inside him snapped. Ignatius, now a shadow of his former self, vowed to destroy Kaos and all who served him. He would seek revenge, but he knew he could not do it alone.

He would find the Skylanders. They were his only hope.

But he was no longer the knight he once was. He was something new—something born of fire and fury. He was Ignitor, the knight of burning vengeance.

-Written by Gold

Hey guys! Hope y'all are having a good week! Me and Gold've been really crowded with things lately, but we'll get through it.

Anyways, here's Ignitor! It's an older drawing, but I think it still works. I love it at least! What do you guys think?

Lot's of love!

-Cherri

[innerchorus]

Arslan Senki Chapter 133

ArSen is a horror series now.

I know I've already posted a smattering of screencaps and thoughts on this one so this post is bullet point mop-up duty and will cover anything that didn't make it into those, or extra thoughts related to those parts.

Pleased that I called the chapter title (more or less) when the last chapter was released.

I've gotta say the atmosphere in this chapter is top notch. Arakawa ramping up the tension and the sense of wrongness, both in the ominous spreading of those dark clouds and the presence of and interactions with the undead warriors, and then the horror peaks when the winged apes descend.

Gieve's "Why are there dead people here?!" made me let out a nervous laugh. The confusion is rife, because those standing before them are indeed who they appear to be... yet not.

Kharlan is clearly still intending to attack again. Just catching a glimpse of him facing Hilmes and Zandeh, followed by Kubard and Isfan being confronted by Shapur was enough for my heartrate to kick up a notch, my personal dread is building for what might be coming. Given the words chosen by the other undead warriors who speak in this chapter, I am expecting EMOTIONAL DAMAGE (both for myself and the characters involved).

I was discussing this with @tired-reader-writer but may as well pop it in here as well; if the undead warriors can speak, while their speech right now is very Team Zahhak, maybe they will have some genuine words for their loved ones before the end, once the sorcery has been overcome?

Whatever words undead Shapur uses to hurt Isfan, I need him to know that they're not true. It would make my day for Kubard to be able to say "Your brother would never say that about you." But it's so hard to know what we're going to get. Maybe this Shapur will have some barbed words for Kubard, too. I do think on some level Kubard likely feels regret over what happened to Shapur, not regret for his own choice to flee necessarily, but regret that he didn't manage to persuade Shapur to leave too, that he left him to what turned out to be such a horrible fate after they argued.

Petition for this awfulness to be balanced out by Arakawa showing us some happier memories once all this is over and done with. I need those flashbacks, I want these characters to remember the good, the real relationships they had, not these harsh words and these twisted resurrected forms.

Copy-pasting again but the idea that those hints of bloody tears I talked about in the previous chapter mean that deep inside their consciousness (soul?) is still there is seeming more likely. I'm writhing because this is all so painful but it's so good. I can't wait to see what Arakawa does with it next.

Daryun's mind racing as he faces Vahriz, and Narsus on the sidelines running through the same possibilities in his head as he and Arslan look on is some good shit. The knowledge that he has been 'brought back from the other world' by Zahhak's powers (presumably the powers given/taught to the sorcerers) is chilling. Like, that's supposed to be a one-way journey. If the 'real' Vahriz's consciousness is still there, that's got to be horrific. If they're aware of what their bodies are being made to do... Things they would never have done in life... I hope they are laid to rest again properly.

Anyway, Vahriz at least lays it out in the open. And why should Team Zahhak hide their intentions now? So, they want to eliminate Arslan. But do they want anything different from Hilmes, or are they simply aiming to kill him, too? That remains to be seen.

Fighting on horseback is not going to work (as we've seen before, horses are spooked by sorcery and given what's about to descend on the city they're going to totally lose their heads now). Kishward facing Manuchurh and resolving to deal with him was pretty badass, I hope that works out. Realising that it's both Manuchurh and not Manuchurh... I hope all the other characters come to the same conclusion about those they're facing.

Tus asking if he has permission to eliminate Khayr. I liked that. He doesn't question the job, just checking he understands what Kishward is asking of him. Because it's quite a thing to ask. And it won't be easy.

Gieve's blow should have decapitated Manuchurh, but no. Nothing. So that got me thinking, how can they be defeated if not by sword or other weapon? Well, if there's a sorcerer controlling each of them... Kill the sorcerer who is responsible. Maybe they're lurking close by, and with their death the sorcery binding the undead warriors to this world will break. It's telling that we haven't seen the sorcerers themselves in all of this chaos. It makes me think they are hidden nearby, controlling these things.

Very worried about how Estelle and those others outside the city are going to defend themselves from the winges apes. Hide under overturned carts? Flee inside and trust that the Parsians have a bigger problem to worry about than the fact some of them are Lusitanian?

How best to defend the city against winged apes? Get inside and shut all the doors and windows? Use arrows when you can? Fight on foot in the streets because your horses have lost their minds to fear? These things likely have corrosive blood too, just to make matters worse. This is all sounding so horrific and I'm here for it. Let's hope Farangis has some idea of how to fight them.

Also I hope Don Ricardo gets a break soon. The man's been through so much. I want him to survive this.

[themisinformer]

Help! Our Family Got Vaccinated And it Turned All of Us Irish!

When we as a family decided to get vaccinated, we thought we were doing our civic duty by protecting our health and preventing the spread of COVID-19. Never in a million years did we expect to wake up one morning with thick Irish accents, bright orange beards, and to instinctively start river dancing whenever music is playing, and it’s all because of the vaccine.

Yep, you heard that right. It was the vaccine that turned our family Irish. I mean, we were perfectly fine before. And before you ask, no, we don’t even have a drop of Irish ancestry. We did a 23andMe test years ago. My husband is 100% Norwegian, I’m part Italian, and our kids are pure chaos. But ever since we got vaccinated, all of a sudden we’ve become Irish.

It all started so subtly. My husband came home from work the day after his booster shot, holding a 6 pack of Guinness, talking about needing “a proper print.” This was odd because my husband has always been more of a Bud Light man. Then our son Liam (formerly Kyle), started insisting that we call him by his “true Gaelic name” (even though he’s never went by such a name).

Then our daughter Maeve (formerly Jessica), began knitting Aran sweaters and started demanding that we purchase a sheep for the family. I thought I was immune from all this Irishness until I caught myself belting out “Danny Boy” in the shower. It was at that moment that I realized that this was the work of the vaccine. As we all has gotten vaccinated just the day before, and then all of a sudden we all become Irish? Something was definitely horribly, undeniably wrong.

Within days, we started noticing other changes. Our hair started turning red, freckles appeared on our faces, and my husband gained a disturbing amount of knowledge on Irish folklore. Our condition only escalated when my youngest started speaking fluent Gaelic, despite having never studied it or been around anyone who knew the language. Then, last week, I accidentally blessed someone with “a hundred thousand welcomes” instead of a traditional goodbye. I fear that people are starting to notice.

I began to turn to the internet for answers, and I found some pretty damning evidence. Did you know that most pharmaceutical companies are based in Ireland? Coincidence? I think not. My theory is that Big Pharma laced the vaccine with shamrock to boost Ireland’s population. Or maybe it’s a plot to corner the whiskey market. Either way, the truth is out there.

God save us all — and Erin go Bragh.

[castielmd]

Castiel and nature.

Instead of watching season 10 like I should, I find myself wondering how Castiel perceives and feels about nature. Feel free to drop canon evidence or something. This is all what I imagine without having done research in canon.

This post likely has little structure, I just went wherever my mind led me.

[Disclaimer: self-indulgent headcanons.]

———

Inspiration for this post

What I remember as remarkable for my "Castiel loves nature" propaganda is Castiel returning to heaven in S6EP20 — and choosing the one heaven of an autistic man, which features a lot of greenery and soft rain. Adding to that is the starting point of the episode: Castiel on a bench with a beautiful scenery surrounding him. There's trees, snowy landscape with flowers breaching through and a river.

And of course, the love for bees, that is mentioned later.

——

To start this post off, I say Castiel retreats to nature whenever he wants to remember, reflect or think. His time on earth is a lonely one. It didn't necessarily start out as that: he had his garrison, Uriel and all the others. But then they got killed — and he got dragged into all kinds of storylines, most prominently stopping the apocalypse. Shunned from his home, he's mostly isolated and between the Winchesters and whatever duty is bestowed upon him [or he feels is put on him]. He has nothing but himself and the memories he carries.

— Sea.

Nature provides comfort, it does not actively seek out to harm him. Nature also persists, and it is soothing. The seas may have changed their size, may have differently shaped shores now — but they are still the same wild, untamed waters where Castiel watched the tiny, grey fish drag itself out of. Still, endless, ever-lasting blue.

He's standing at a salt-crested cliffside and watches the tides crash against it. The sound has remained the same, and it's a song of serenity. It is honest and it is true. For a moment, his mind is at ease and there is nothing but a steady rhythm. He can close his eyes and there's still a flood pushing against his grace - washing over it, never drowning. He can almost feel the presence of his sibling next to him again.

He doesn't need to breathe, so he takes a dive sometimes — and he sinks until he can't anymore. He can still hear just fine, and there is chatter around him. The sea's inhabitants are in a frenzy but soon Castiel mixes into nature. He becomes a part of the seabed. His eyes are still closed but his grace spreads miles through the sea [It does trouble the navigation systems of ships]. He still sees. Not searching anything, just observing — existing in true freedom if only for a tiny moment. He's guided back to the surface by a bunch of curious fish.

— Forest.

Castiel enjoys forests — he walks the forged paths of desire quietly. There's much more to hear than what meets the eye. Leaves rustling, the fluttering of many wings — he makes it a pastime to tell the different species apart. Bees, birds, dragon-flies, bugs – they all have a unique sound to them. It takes him down the memory lane; the comforting rustle of his siblings arriving, his own wings cutting through time and space, through different dimensions. After the incident of the fall, the silent walks in the forest get a melancholic touch.

His shoulders ache and the burn spreads through his body whenever he sees, hears, feels wings spreading. He isn't oblivious to the shifts in the air. He, too, wishes to partake in flight - now rendered bound.

He can hear hooves thrumming on solid ground, notices the shifty animals moving through the underwood. He can spot a woodpecker in an instant. Castiel aches whenever he sees a pack move through. It leaves a bittersweet touch. Sometimes, he isn't sure if he's moving in the right direction — but he keeps moving regardless.

In rare company, he likes to exchange knowledge about the animals they encounter. He knows something on everything, tiny tid bits here and there. He sat by as the first forest creatures were lifted out of the earth's core, observed them taking their frail first steps and watched them stumble through the ages. He's in awe at what they have become, into what they have evolved. Adaptation is something he marvels at. Perseverance despite all the odds; he's had his favourites that he would've loved to see thrive. Some made it, some didn't. He mourns the loss of what he once cherished but at the same time embraces the novelty bestowed upon the world.

Sometimes, he meets a hiker. Other times, he meets someone like him: wandering peacefully for the sake of admiration and distraction. They turn after passing him, surprised at the replenished feel in their aching joints. Their mind is lighter now.

Castiel enjoys the rough bark of an oak tree against the palm of his hand. The beating heart inside the massive plant isn't lost on him. He knows the age of it as he takes it in and quietly acknowledges its will to grow roots in a spot for 400+ years. He respects the silent strength it requires to remain. His imprint nutures the giant — it will continue to thrive for quite some time.

He likes the smell of rain-soaked soil. More than once has an animal led him to a pond, a river, a lake. They drink in peace as Castiel stands by. Soon, the clearing is swarmed by animals. He leaves then, but some will follow anyway.

He always takes a moment to gaze wistfully at the small body of water, feel the onslaught of humid air on his skin. The weeping willow near the shore creaks as its branches shift, shadowing his figure, shielding. He remains untouched by the rain as everything gets washed away.

He enjoys the chatter of the animals, tunes in if so desired. They tell stories of hunters, of family, of survival. They chime about the blazing sun, the noisy neighbour occupying the branch above them. They whistle about love and mating, they weep about the loss in their tribe. Castiel remains an observer; there is nothing he can do to bring them solace but carry the stories with him to whoever may want to listen.

The animals are aware of his presence as it fills the forest with warmth. His grace caresses the vegetation gently: roots deepen and new sprouts breach the earth where he steps. It nudges fledglings to attempt flight and they whisper about him. It's comforting to be seen in a way that matters.

Sometimes, he will talk to them too. He'll tell stories of the past and introduces them to their ancestors and their lives. They are intrigued, naturally, and are intent listeners. On days of particular distress, he will rest against a tree. A squirrel scrambles down to brush against his hand. It listens as Castiel ponders on freedom and choice — on mistakes and regret. They part ways in silence: Castiel now with a pine nut in his pocket and a colourful leaf in his hair.

One day, he picks up an injured bird, a broken wing sealing its fate. Castiel will always decide to work a miracle — no matter the cost. He always chooses life for others over death. As it flies away, recovered, his being longs to follow. Later, they will meet again. As he sits on the broad branch of a tree, it'll settle on his shoulder and it'll drop a twig in his lap. More will follow.

He has a collection of shiny things that various birds have left for him.

The forest remembers what he's done for it, knows the shine of his grace. It's fluctuating, simmering down and then it sparks up again, emerging brighter than before — its impact will never escape its memories. There will always be a path for Castiel to walk. His being resonates with the heartbeat of nature — both swelling, heaving and softly engulfing every organism within a mile-wide radius. He embraces the life around him. His head is filled with tunes only he seems to hear. They are breathing as one.

— Mountains.

Sometimes, he climbs a mountain by foot. He doesn't tire and the journey is worth it. He'd almost say it is better than reaching the peak.

The air up high is clear and the view across the landscape is astonishing. The forests spread wide and above him, heaven is opened up. Nothing but the endless sky. But he knows what lies beyond, he knows what the cameras of the people around him can't capture, no matter how advanced technology gets. If he strains hard enough, he can almost see it, too.

Up on the mountain hills, the call to heaven is the loudest it has ever been. To Castiel, it's the tune of a piece he knows inside out. He comes here when he feels especially lost.

— As "human".

As human, he cannot understand nature as deeply as he did then. He misses the stories he'd hear and yearns to brim with nature's energy again. His hand against the tree now only feels the roughness of it, not the pulsing life. Yet, the wonder remains and admiration defeats deprivation and overload all the same.

Nature cradles him softly and the whistles still soothe the ache in his heart, despite the lack of understanding. The splatters of rain meet his skin with the same patterns they always have, the waves split on the rocks like they've always done. The oak tree still towers in the same spot. The wind jostles the trees and he will think of home.

— Fin.

Nature is a space of comfort despite the hardships he's facing. And if it isn't a forest or the sea, it is a park, a measly row of withering bushes sporting their last ditch attempt at leaves and flowers. Castiel admires it — even in the most unfortunate circumstances, they will seek out life. With desperation and with fear but nonetheless it is a reach of hope. He takes this knowledge with him.

———

The world at first seems overwhelming to a dying star, but much like Earth's heart, he perseveres.

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER ELEVEN - WHEN THE SPARKS FLY.

The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow as you arrived at the British Museum. The vast marble halls were shrouded in shadows, and the soft hum of your footsteps echoed through the quiet corridors. The museum was still asleep, its grand halls devoid of the usual bustling crowds. It was a serenity that you cherished, a rare moment of solitude amidst the treasures of the past.

You went about your usual duties as the curator for Egyptian art, culture and history. The most recent exhibit you’ve curated was just a week away from its grand unveiling, and you were determined to ensure that every detail was perfect. It had been months of meticulous research, curation, and preparation, and now the finishing touches remained.

With a clipboard in hand, you stood before the massive wooden doors that led to the exhibit. You glanced down at your notes, a few final checkmarks and questions to answer before the exhibit could be considered complete.

You moved gracefully among the ancient artifacts and relics, your fingers gently brushing against the aged stones and intricate hieroglyphics that told stories of a civilization lost in the sands of time. As you began your rounds, you started examining each artifact, scrutinizing the placards, and ensuring the lighting was just right. You continued adjusting the display cases and noting any minor issues. However, something about the exhibit still nagged at the corners of your mind, a lingering doubt that you couldn't quite shake.

While contemplating what on Earth you could’ve missed, you’ve started making your way towards the heart of the exhibit where the grandeur of the Ennead was on full display. The lifelike statues and intricate artifacts seemed to come alive in the soft illumination. It was here that you found a familiar looking British chap standing in quiet contemplation before a colossal statue of Ra, the sun god. 

Each passing day at the British Museum was a dream come true for Steven Grant. As the morning sun filtered through the museum's massive windows, he wandered through the gallery room that housed the Ennead exhibit that you’ve curated, absorbing the knowledge that surrounded him. Being a tour guide at this prestigious institution was a privilege he cherished.

And there was one person who had made it all possible— you. 

Steven couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude towards you. Your passion for ancient Egypt had not only enriched his life but had also given him a purpose. He had spent countless hours studying your exhibits, absorbing your wisdom, and striving to emulate your dedication to preserving the past.

That particular morning, Steven had decided to arrive at the museum earlier than usual. He wanted to practice his tour guiding skills at the Ennead exhibit, where your curated treasures awaited their grand reveal. The prospect of guiding museum visitors through the exhibit both excited and terrified him, and he needed to rehearse his words and gestures until they flowed naturally.

"Steven," a familiar voice called out to him softly, prompting Steven to turn in your direction. 

“Oh, morning, love”, he greeted you with his familiar warm wave, his expression a mixture of surprise and delight. "I didn't expect to see you here so early."

"I wanted to make sure everything was perfect before the big day next week”, you smiled warmly as a strange, fluttering sensation enveloped your heart at his term of endearment. “But it seems you beat me to it."

“I wanted that day to be perfect as well”, Steven nodded, his eyes now shifting back on Ra’s statue before him. "I mean, it would technically be my first day as an official tour guide, innit?"

“Yes, indeed”, you spoke softly, joining him before the statue of Ra as you contemplated his words, a warm smile spreading across your face. "But your shift isn’t due to start until nine o’clock today, why come here two hours early?"

"I wanted to get some practice in before the exhibit opens next week”, Steven nodded again before clearing his throat, feeling a bit self-conscious as his gaze never left the statue. “I hope I'm not intruding or anything."

"Not at all! In fact, I could use your input”, you shook your head, your enthusiasm infectious. “Would you mind taking a good look at the exhibit and telling me what you think?"

"I'm not sure I have much to offer compared to your vast knowledge." Steven’s voice was a bit hesitant, feeling uncertain about his expertise compared to yours. He was taken aback by your request, as he was just a tour guide and you were already a curator.

“I’m sure we both know that’s not true”, you countered playfully, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You already passed the guided tour evaluation with flying colors, Steven, so I never doubted your knowledge for a second. Besides, I've always believed that the best creations are born from collaboration and diverse perspectives."

“Are you absolutely sure, Mira?” Steven slightly tilted his head, his initial hesitation beginning to melt away at your genuine interest in his opinion. “I wouldn’t want to impose–”

“I’m absolutely sure, Steven”, you said, guiding him with both your arms as you both approached the nearest artifact. “Let’s start here”

He leaned closer as the two of you began to examine the artifacts and read the descriptions together. As he started to share his professional opinion, his words flowed with a depth of understanding and an enthusiasm that matched your own. You listened intently, realizing that you had indeed made the right choice in hiring him as a tour guide.

Hours passed in this way as the two of you engrossed in discussion, discussing the finer details as you occasionally consulted your notes. Steven’s knowledge of ancient Egypt was extensive, and he pointed out subtle nuances that could enhance the exhibit further. You jotted down a few of his exhibit suggestions, impressed by his insights and grateful for his input.

As the morning sun rose higher in the sky, bathing the gallery in a warm, golden light, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. The Ennead exhibit was already a masterpiece, but with Steven's contributions, it was set to become a transformative experience for anyone who walked its hallowed halls. 

It was finally the day of the exhibit unveiling at the British Museum, a momentous occasion that had been months in the making. The gallery room was abuzz with activity as staff and volunteers scurried about, putting the final touches on the exhibit that would soon be unveiled to the public. 

You stood at the threshold of the bustling staff room, your heart brimming with a mix of excitement and anticipation as you watched the tour guides gathered inside with you for a final briefing before they would introduce your exhibit to the eager museum guests at the entrance. Adjusting their clothing and reviewing their notes one final time, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and camaraderie. They were a diverse group, each with their unique strengths and quirks, but all united by their passion for sharing knowledge. You knew that they would do a fantastic job, just as you had done when you first started out in the museum industry.

Standing in the staff room, you addressed the group with warmth and encouragement.

"Ladies and gentlemen," you began, your voice projecting with confidence, "I want to thank all of you for your dedication in making this momentous day a success for all of us. You've worked tirelessly to prepare for this exhibit unveiling, and I have no doubt that each one of you will do an outstanding job."

"Make this day a memorable moment for our guests”, you gave each tour guide a reassuring smile and continued. “I have complete faith in you all. Good luck!"

As the tour guides began to file out of the staff room, you couldn't help but notice Steven Grant in the corner, nervously fiddling with his necktie. His brows were furrowed in concentration as his fingers clumsily attempted to straighten it, but the silk fabric seemed to have a mind of its own. It twisted and turned, refusing to cooperate as he only succeeded in messing it up and making it worse. 

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, your empathy for his dilemma washing over you. It was a small but telling sign of his anxiety, and it reminded you of your own moments of nervousness in the past. It was a familiar gesture, one that you had performed countless times in your early days at the British Museum working with your late husband, Darius Carter. 

You made your way towards Steven, approaching closer as you picked up a nearby water bottle from your own canteen.

"Are you okay, Steven?”, you asked, concern lacing your voice. “You seem a bit flustered.”

"I-I'm fine, love, really”, Steven looked up with a start as you approached, his brown eyes wide with apprehension. “Just a bit nervous, that's all."

You extended the drink in your hand towards him, offering a small but meaningful gesture of support. “Would you like a bottle of water?"

He accepted the water with gratitude, his hands trembling slightly. "Thank you," he mumbled, his voice wavering as he opened the cap and drank a few gulps. You couldn't help but notice how jittery he was, and you decided to further offer a helping hand. 

"Let me fix your necktie for you”, you gently spoke with a warm smile, seeing through his distress.

“Mira, it’s okay”, Steven stammered out a polite refusal. “I couldn’t possibly trouble you with this, you’ve got better things to do”

“Steven, it's okay to be nervous. It happens even to the best of us”, you raised both eyebrows and gave him a knowing look. "Here, let me help you with that." You reached out and began to rearrange and straighten his necktie, your fingers deftly working to fix the mess he had made.

Steven blushed slightly, finally relenting to your kind gesture and allowing you to step closer. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice filled with gratitude as his eyes met yours once more.

“Don’t worry about it”, you reassured him before continuing your work of straightening the fabric, and he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort wash over him.

“I’m really sorry about this”, Steven apologized profusely. “I’m obviously on edge about today, and I need to bloody relax”

"Believe it or not, I’ve been in your shoes before”, you smiled warmly at him, your eyes filled with understanding as you couldn't help but share a piece of your own history. “It's nerve-wracking, I know. But trust me, you're going to do great out there”

His nerves seemed to dissipate with each word you spoke, replaced by a growing sense of confidence while you continued adjusting his tie.

"I remember what my late husband used to say," your voice was soft with nostalgia as Steven listened intently, his gaze locked onto yours. "He told me that the nerves I’m having back then are just a sign that I care, that I’m passionate about what I’m doing. And that same passion is what I see in you, Steven"

Steven's eyes softened as he absorbed your words, glistening with gratitude. He could feel the sincerity in your voice, and it gave him a sense of comfort and courage. With the necktie finally in place, you took a step back, smiling at him. "There, much better."

"Thank you, Mira," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. “I think I’m ready to go”

“That’s the spirit. Also, there’s one more thing if you don’t mind”, you said happily, your voice gentle as you slowly open your arms wide before Steven as an invitation. “May I?”

Steven hesitated for a moment, his nerves still present but gradually dissipating. He nodded, and you stepped into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. His warmth and the scent of his cologne enveloped you, and for a moment, you both stood there in silent support.

He pulled you closer as his arms wrapped around you, and you could feel the tension slowly leaving his body. You whispered words of encouragement in his ear, showering him with compliments. 

"You're an incredible person, Steven”, you told him. “I've never doubted your skills and expertise for a second. Be proud of how far you've come."

Steven's heart soared at your kind words, and his nerves dissipated like mist under the sun, replaced with an insurmountable amount of courage and determination flooding his veins. He knew then and there that he could face the crowd with his newfound confidence.

Finally, you leaned back slightly, softly disentangling your arms from around his torso. But to your mild surprise, Steven wasn't quite ready to let go. He tightened his embrace, keeping you in his arms as his hands were placed firmly on the small of your back, closing the distance between you both. His latest actions prompted your palms to land on his upper chest, your fingers slightly curled at his shoulders to steady yourself.

Your soft laughter filled the room, thinking his nerves were acting up again. "Need another hug to lift your spirits?" you asked, ever the supportive mentor as Steven allowed himself a breathless chuckle at your words.

He looked into your eyes with an intensity that made your heart race. "Actually," he said softly, his voice low and husky, "I'd like to do something else, if you’ll allow me."

You nodded, intrigued by his request. "Of course, Steven. What is it?"

Allowing him to do as he pleased, he slowly leaned in closer before softly resting his forehead against yours. His eyes then closed, and you could feel his warm breath against your skin at the close proximity. It was an unexpected gesture, and a charged silence hung between you as the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you suspended in that intimate space. 

In that moment, you were acutely aware of the electricity in the air, the undeniable connection between you and Steven. Time seemed to stand still as you both lingered in that tantalizing space between desire and restraint.

And then, as the tension reached its peak, you asked him softly, "Does this help?"

His eyes slowly opened, not uttering a single word as his heated gaze held yours. You found yourself getting lost in the depths of his brown eyes as you felt your noses softly bumping together. You could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours, almost hearing your own heart beating in sync with his own.

“Yes”, Steven whispered, your faces barely an inch apart as his gaze dropped to your lips, the tension between you both now palpable. The urge to kiss you is becoming a strong thought engulfing Steven’s mind at that moment, your palms moving towards the back of his neck to ground yourself.

The anticipation crackled between you as the sparks flew, and the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your next move.

END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN.

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