#the dressmaker from hell

[sanityshorror]

TDMFH getting kinda thiccc...

[scarfaxia]

what you see before you die

[sanityshorror]

I'M SCREAMING😭😂

I am here to present a crack ship

Juiluis the dressmaker x Tommy Taffy

Juiluis owner: @sanityshorror

[madschiavelique]

﹒ ✦ 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐊 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 — 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬

✦﹒ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : you are invited to a masquerade, and between battling to find a decent dress and the expectations of conducting oneself in high society, you manage to pull it off

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : masquerade shit idk, reader putting men back in their places because duh, for reference here are the link to reader (the pic on the right) and viktor's outfit for the masquerade (art made by me)

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 8,5k

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : omygoodness, i’m so dubious about this chapter. i could NOT not give viktor some khôl sexy eyes okay. i just did and i don't regret it. also!!! i moved the taglist down the doc now hehe

✦﹒ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : the lovely @yaffles-world

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ．．𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

"Really now?"

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your head barely visible above a fluorescent orange collar with multiple layers piling up on top of each other like lasagna.

Who would have thought that finding a dress was such a long and difficult job?

You'd already been in a few shops in Piltover for a good hour each. You'd been going from boutique to boutique for nearly three hours already, and you were beginning to lose hope about the possibilities open to you regarding your outfit.

Tonight was the gala, and you still hadn't found a dress. You'd probably imagined that the matter would be sorted out quickly. That, by some miracle or other, you would find a dress that was chic and presentable enough to wear to a masquerade.

But the clock was ticking, while your search continued unabated. Sélène and Sky had both come to accompany you, and the two of them had enough in common that the teacher-student barrier was forgotten and she just saw her as a friendly aunt.

Sélène had this extraordinary ability to always be open, to see everyone as an equal, no matter what their age or background was. It was an immense and admirable quality, coupled with her extraordinary patience to hold out and persevere in finding you a superb evening outfit.

You had tried on so many dresses that you thought you could now recognise every possible material a dress could be made of. You'd tried silk and velvet, pleats of tulle or organza, all sorts of cuts that made you look either too invested in this evening or far too casual.

You knew that, once you entered the gala hall, it would be an arena. A constant battle of eyes tearing at the others, comments on their appearances, their words - passive-aggressive phrases disguised as condescending benevolence. 

You could understand why Jayce didn't want to face such a world, always so hungry for crumbs that left stomachs screaming to invent new words and cover the world with a layer of sneaky ridicule.

Speaking of ridiculous, the outfit you were now wearing completed the criteria. 

You turned to Sky and Selene who, with a knowing glance, sighed in turn. You returned to the cabin, removing the dress and putting on your clothes again with annoyance.

"Maybe I should just tell Jayce I can't make it," you concluded as you left the cabin.

"No way in hell," chuckled Selene.

"Maybe we should try the other side of the river?" Sky suggested, after seeing that there was no one around to overhear.

Zaun owned huge dressmaking houses, however they clashed with Piltover’s aesthetic. If word got out that one of the guests at this prestigious gala was wearing couture from the enemy city... you didn't know what that would do to your reputation and the strings that would be pulled to constrain you in your aims.

"No," replied Selene, her eyes fixed on you as a flash of lucidity seemed to cross her mind. She gave you both a wise smile. "There's still a wardrobe in Piltover where you'll probably be able to find something."

She then turned to Sky, offering her a charming smile and taking both her hands, squeezing them gratefully.

"Sky sweetheart, I'll be taking over from now on. I thank you immensely for your time and your very pleasant company." She turned to you for a moment. "Dear, give me one of those tickets Jayce gave you."

You complied, handing her one of the tickets still looking crisply printed, which she handed to Sky.

"Go on a little shopping trip and get yourself some treats. You've earned it."

Sky looked deeply surprised, exchanging a glance with you for a moment as you shrugged, equally confused.

Selene turned to you. "As for us, we've got some real archaeological work to do."

The two of you returned to Selene's flat as Sky had left, exchanging one last minute and promising to tell each other absolutely everything once you got back from the Gala.

"What card did you draw today?" she asked as she opened the door to her dressing room.

You watched as she grabbed a small stepladder. "Three of Cups."

"Aha," she smiled as she climbed onto it, scanning the shelves above, "the cards know about this little soirée."

The little booklet was starting to feel a lot more familiar now: Joy shared with others. Friendship and celebration. The expression of love and warm feelings.

It all seemed very positive, you thought, as you continued to read the page. The Cups reflect the sacred triad of creativity and growth. This card reminds you to share with others. Empowering others increases your happiness, health and wealth. Surround yourself with people who uplift you.

Talk about elevation, you'd find yourself surrounded on all sides by aristocrats and other big heads, where the only level that could rise would be that of clever condescension camouflaged under dishonest smiles.

Selene's graceful hands, full of rings, clutched a large black leather suitcase. She blew on it, a cloud of dust rising into the air as she passed it to you.

“What's this?” you questioned as you picked it up, its weight comfortable in your arms as you observed the trunk.

She bent down to grab the handle of a second briefcase, brown and with the varnish starting to peel off the corners. 

"I was around your age when I started getting invited to Galas and other balls of the sort." She descended the small steps of the stepladder, facing you. "I kept all the dresses that some men had offered me."

You smiled, amazed and surprised. "Offered?"

Selene giggled, kneeling on the ground as you did the same.

"They offered me drinks, and the drinks went to the bed, and from the bed came enough adoration that I have to my credit two or three divorces in which I am the centre of the affair." She sighed as she undid the two golden buckles guarding the sealed chest. "They covered me with jewels," your eyes passed over her hands again, "flowers, and on special occasions, dresses."

She opened it, and your lips parted at the beauty of its contents. She pinched an emerald-green piece of fabric, lifting its heavy velvet into the air before you and revealing a winter dress all embroidered with carmine and obsidian stones, dripping like blood.

Another slipped through her fingers, a summer dress in a fine, peachy pink, its sleeves made of organza embroidered with gold embellishments.

Another made you open your mouth until your jaw hit the floor. A long golden dress, with a loose neckline reaching down to just above her navel, while the bare back almost reached her sacrum.

"You wore that?" you almost choked out.

She smiled, raising her eyebrows. "Some of them wanted to uncover me more than cover me."

You laughed softly, opening the black trunk in your lap. The glitter of a black sequined dress was immediately reflected on your skin.

"These are all so beautiful..." you said almost absently, your hand running through the fabric.

The thought then occurred to you that you were going to wear something so expensive and beautiful tonight, but you felt almost unworthy to have any of these dresses on your skin. You were first in the Academy, of course. And you had worked hard to get there. But a masquerade that would surely be attended by all the most important people in Piltover was no mean feat.

"Now," Selene broke through your incessant internal doubts, clutching the first dress that came her way, "let's see how beautiful you look in them."

You smiled softly at her, shyly accepting the piece of art as she stepped out of the dressing room and gave you time to change. 

You held the fabric close to you, the sequins reflecting off your hands as your eyes tried to visualise you wearing that same dress tonight. I must be perfect, you thought.

As you began undressing to put on the dress, a reflection caught your eye. Your attention was drawn to a dark patch peeking out from under an old pink dress.

Drawn in, intrigued, you gently pinched the shoulder of the dress to discover the one hidden beneath. A soft, violet fabric, approaching a dark blue, gleamed in the light from the ceiling, lines of small blue and black stones streaking it from top to bottom.

Purple, you thought, the conversation from the day you visited the museum coming back to mind.

You took the dress in your hands, rising up and letting it unfurl like a waterfall at night. The fabric seemed magical, shimmering like stars on water, glistening like the moon on snow. The neckline ran from around the neck in a V-shape to the centre of the valley of your breasts, a dark, almost black bodice hugging the waist while the skirt came down to the feet. The shoulders were covered, the sleeves parting loosely halfway down the arm until they met at gold bracelets around the wrist.

It was sublimely elegant, dark and mysterious, perfect for a masquerade. You carefully replaced the dress Selene had originally given you in the suitcase, and slipped it on. The fabric was soft against your skin, a slight reassuring weight on your shoulders as the bracelets closed around your wrists with ease. You felt neither too tight nor too loose – a perfect balance. 

Maybe purple wasn't such a bad colour after all.

"So?" called Selene from outside. 

You inhaled, hesitantly opening the dressing room door. Selene was at her vanity, looking in her drawers for the few palettes that might embellish your eyes. She looked away from her search, resting her eyes on you, and her gaze softened.

"Where did you get this one?" you asked, your finger pinching the skirt gently as you gazed at the stones glinting softly in the light.

She moved towards you, tender, as a thin smile stretched her lips, gazing wistfully at the dress on you.

"It was given to me..." her hand came to rest on one of your shoulders, sliding down your arm, "by a man I loved."

"You loved?" you repeated in wonder.

"Mhm," she hummed, her hand reaching for the gold bracelet, index and middle fingers together as if to trace its pulse. She seemed to come back to reality, regaining your eyes. "I'm glad you're wearing it."

She then turned her head to the mirror on her dressing table, taking your wrist gently and pulling it so that you came to sit in front of it. In your reflection, the dress looked stunning, highlighting your figure to perfection and lighting you up.

Selene then picked up a black circular mask, hanging over the mirror.

"Now," she brought the mask up to your face, placing it to make sure it would fit, "it's time for the world to figure out how to resist you."

Your heart was pounding as the music came closer to your ears and your heels echoed in the huge hallway you were walking through.

Selene had done your make-up after you'd showered, spending a good while on your eyes, since they and your lips would be the main attractions. She fixed your hair, gave you a few accessories and found a pair of heels in your size.

You made your way to the masquerade building without much trouble, the cool night air calming the heat in your cheeks. And now that you'd reached the big ballroom, your heart was starting to race in your chest.

What if you stumbled and made a fool of yourself? What if you said something wrong that didn't fit in with high society etiquette? What if you made a mistake?

You tried to breathe, to calm yourself down, to not assume that you were going to fail no matter what. You were the top of the Academy, after all, and defeat feared you. You thought about all the possibilities, and resigned yourself first of all to finding Jayce, who was probably just as lost and scared as you were.

You took one last breath, and turned into the chamber with your head held high.

The room had a high ceiling from which modern crystal chandeliers shone, illuminating the space where all sorts of silhouettes mingled. Some were standing by banqueting tables piled high with petits fours and amuse-bouches, while others were forming clusters of discussion groups, each carrying a champagne flute.

Do as they do, you thought, on the lookout for a waiter who might pass not far from you. With great luck, a charming butler came towards you as if a radar for people without champagne flutes had been grafted onto his eyes. 

You took one, offering him a polite smile. As he prepared to leave, already looking for new people to please, you thought hesitantly to ask him if he'd seen Jayce Talis. But you stopped yourself, instead bringing the drink to your lips to prevent making a fool of yourself. You were in a masquerade, the very principle of which was the doubt and mystery of those with whom you were sharing a discussion.

Fortunately for you, however, you knew Jayce well enough to recognise him in a crowd. Had Viktor even arrived? You had no idea. Perhaps you were alone here, a shrimp trying to pretend to be a shark when an ocean of danger could bring a deadly current at any moment.

You looked around the room a little more closely. On either side, pillars of white marble rose up to a vaulted ceiling covered with superb frescoes. The floor was almost a mirror of it because of its intensive polishing, the black and white tiles creating intricate rosettes which you could no doubt start counting if the evening ever got too boring for your liking. At the far end of the room, three huge windows, almost embedded in the domed ceiling, let you discover the night and its mysteries. There was even a small band playing a steady stream of classical music, much to the delight of everyone it appeared.

The setting was magnificent, the scents of expensive foods and fragrances mingling almost to the point of suffocation. Everyone was wearing quite different colours, but the majority were still in Piltover's gold and white.

Finally your eyes found Jayce, dressed in the colours of his house. It's all about subtlety, you thought as you walked towards him. You hoped that by some miracle he would turn his head towards you and recognise you, so that you wouldn't have to worry about interrupting a conversation.

Alas, he did not. You walked towards them, a sentence ending as you arrived.

"I thought I'd never find you," you said, Jayce and his chatting companion both turning to face you. 

Jayce looked confused for a moment, frowning and hoping he wasn't a complete idiot.

"Do I know y..." You feared the worst when a flash of genius crossed his eyes. "Oh it's you!"

Your shoulders relaxed as the stress subsided.

"I almost didn't recognise you," he admitted, apparently taken aback by your outfit. He turned for a moment to his conversation companion. "If you'll excuse us."

The latter nodded politely as you and Jayce walked away, along one of the buffet tables.

"This place is terrifying," you started, your eyes going around the room as you noticed a few glances being on you relentlessly.

Jayce shrugged, grabbing an appetiser that looked far too sophisticated for you and Sky to be lucky enough to find in the corner shop. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be," he said with his mouth full.

"That's because you're a social butterfly, Jayce," you remarked, your stare stretching across the room as a few eyes rested on you and smiled in what looked like an attempt at flirting from a distance for some. "You're the sunlight of this room."

He stopped chewing for a moment, looking at you with big eyes. "That's probably the nicest thing you ever said to me."

"It's not that complicated - all of them look like they were dipped in wax and can barely crack an actual smile."

"I take that back," he sighed, swallowing his bite.

You turned your attention back to the buffet, plates probably costing more than your salary, containing all sorts of arrangements mixing puff pastas and all sorts of garnishes.

You ventured to take one, exhaling a hum of relief as the taste was absolutely divine. Perhaps you'll be staying near the food this evening? The advantage with them at least was that you didn't risk having to talk yourself to sleep.

"So," you licked your fingers, "will you introduce us to your girlfriend?"

He sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Chances are she'll find you before I find her,” he mumbled, his eyes roaming the room in search of the aforementioned lady. "She's in her element here, but I think you'll recognise her once she comes to you."

You'd seen Mel Medarda before. Selene, who had a metaphorical place on the council, used to take you along from time to time when public meetings such as trials took place. You knew each of the councillors, like most of the people in Piltover, and would no doubt recognise them if the occasion arose.

Mel Medarda, sumptuous woman that she was, had left her mark on you in her beauty, her eloquence and her generosity. You hoped to honour your memory and her greatness by recognising her this evening.

"Is Viktor here with you?" you asked, curiosity winning out over silence.

"Yes," he smiled, raising his eyebrows, "I think he managed to temporarily escape to the toilets."

You brought your champagne flute to your lips. "Smart man."

From across the room, a guest raised her flute to Jayce. 

"Duty calls," Jayce confirmed as he rubbed his hand off of any crust before placing his hand on your shoulder, "don't sweat it in here, just... mingle."

And with that, he left, leaving you at the mercy of a world you despised.

You looked at the dishes, taking a second one in your hand so as not to stand there like another statue in the background. You took a few steps out of sight, trying to savour what little quiet and time you had on your own before anyone requested your attention.

"That is quite an unfamiliar silhouette that I meet."

You turned, your eyes landing on a young woman covered in a dress combining saturnine white, black and gold. 

Mel Medarda.

In her long dress with a skirt slit up her thighs, she looked like an elegant bottle of poison, an addictive elixir that gave you the serenity and comfort of knowing you were in control and that you had someone to talk to if any worries arose.

She had a mouth shaped like a chameleon, ready to take any shape or colour that might interest or uninterest her auditor. Her dark lips quirked into a smile as her eyes crinkled, all covered in gold and dark glitter. There was power in her grin as she moved forward, murmuring I've got lies so handsome you'll never want to believe the Truth, and that would make her jealous. I've got excuses so beautiful you'll want me to betray you to listen to them, so powerful you'll forgive me anything. 

She was the fiercest shark in the pond, and she was coming towards you.

"Councillor," you raised your flute in introduction, trying to gain the same calm and consistency of diplomatic discussions, "I don't think we ever officially met before."

She sighed as she came up to you, shaking her head. "Let us drop the formalities – you're not going in for a discussion joust with me."

You looked startled, Mel dropping her shoulders.

“I know you're a friend of Jayce and Viktor, you're not a part of any of..." she described a graceful circle in the air with her flute, "them."

You relaxed a little. ‘Thank the Hells, I thought I'd have to behave myself and have conversations about a multi-polarised conflict of international importance, or anything of the sort."

She smiled at you, all charming. She was young, if not the same age as you. So how did she go about her day-to-day life, pushing herself to act like an adult whose shoulders bore the weight of big, heavy decisions?

"To simplicity," she toasted.

You raised your flute to hers before taking a sip. Its contents were beginning to dwindle already.

"How did you and Jayce meet?" she asked after her own swig.

"Two years ago, when I first started at the Academy, I was transferred to his class after three months."

"Really? For what reason?" she inquired.

You shrugged. "I'd made enough progress on my year's programme that they were considering moving me to another class. Skipped two classes in my life," you smiled. 

"I'm beginning to understand why you're in first place in the rankings," she nodded, arching an eyebrow.

"Determination can take you a long way," you confirmed. "Jayce passed me the notes of the classes he'd taken since the beginning of the year, and wire by wire the title of classmate blurred into friend."

You thought back for a moment to the afternoons you'd spent poring over Jayce's notes, the question marks he'd drawn over and over again on his papers that you'd ended up completing for him. And when the weekends came and he came to see you at the café, he'd always wait until you had your break to talk about anything and everything with you.

“How about you?” you asked in return. “Haven't had many times this year to sit down and talk with him about his life, but I do want to know about you.”

“What don't you know?” she smiled. “The advantage of advisors is that a lot of their lives are biographed and catalogued.”

“Lucky then that I get to talk to a human being and not a pile of dead leaves,” you remarked.

She nodded gently before tilting her head to one side in consideration.

“I met Jayce after his trial. We had a long discussion and reconsidered his sentence after sharing it with the council. Since then, I've helped finance some of his projects, and the line between the professional and the romantic has blurred.”

“You're sure he's a good boyfriend, aren't you?” you inquired, ”if I find out he's not buying you a bouquet of flowers every week I may well have to perform an urgent intervention to educate him on the subject.”

She laughed softly, amused by your enthusiasm for making sure he was beyond reproach.

“No lesson needed, I assure you,” she confirmed, turning to the rest of the room and making a very subtle gesture with her hand for a butler to come and serve you both again. “How are you enjoying the night so far?”

“Well,” you sighed, ”I haven't made myself any new enemies so that's a good sign. You?”

“I think that if I hear another conversation about a love affair with a 62-year-old priest or a thesis on predictive models of pluripotent stem cell susceptibility, one of these drinks will end up poisoned by the end of the evening,” the butler reached you and poured you a refill, Mel smiling at him. “Thank you.”

She turned back to you.

“You are my breath of fresh air of the evening.” Her eyes drifted over your form for a moment, intrigued. “That's quite a lovely dress, by the way - I haven't seen such garments around here. Where did you find it?” she inquired as she pinched the fabric of one of your sleeves between her long fingers.

“Oh, my mother gave it to me,” you replied, pleasantly surprised that you could talk so calmly and simply without any pressure. “You probably know of Selene?”

Her eyes returned to yours. “Selene? Selene Phathe?”

You nodded, her lip stretching to the side. 

“I wasn't aware she had a daughter.” she remarked. 

“She has many children,” you smiled. “I'm her legal daughter.”

Selene had always had something very maternal, but had inherited the bitterness of infertility. Any child or young person she came across and helped became a bit like her spiritual children, and you knew your siblings were in good hands.

“I see,” Mel said, offering an understanding smile. “I ask her from time to time for readings and such. Everything she's shared with me has turned out to be true. I was quite skeptical about being carried away by such a science, but she managed to convince me of her certainty.”

“Started reading Tarot myself after a few years of getting readings, it's... startling how accurate they are.”

“Truly?” She pressed her shoulder against yours, “you'll have to come visit me to give me a reading someday.” She smiled. “And inform me of any of Jayce's mischief if he ever does any, I'll be sure to correct him on that matter.”

You raised your then-full flute, all smiles. “I'll drink to that.”

She returned the smile, taking a sip before her eyes found those of another guest in the room and she sighed.

“If you'll excuse me, I think I have another boring conversation to attend to.”

“Good luck - you have my support from afar,” you encouraged her as she gracefully made her way to the designated person.

Your eyes then roamed the room again, observing the few outfits the guests were wearing and all the high heels worn by the women who must have been killing their feet... But your eyes found the end of a cane, a cane you knew all too well and which almost appeared in your horizon like a real lifeline in this troubled sea.

You moved forward, your eyes still lowered on the end of the cane as someone blocked your field of vision and you bumped them. 

“I'm sorry,” you uttered immediately, checking to make sure your champagne hadn't spilled as your eyes darted back to the masked ones of-

Tyler?

The fool's blond curls had been partially combed back with gel, his scarlet mask matched by a suit in Councilman Hoskel's colors: Black, Red and Gold.

He frowned, his eyes watching you completely before he realized where he knew that voice from.

“You?” he pronounced with as much disgust, shock and surprise mingling in his voice.

“Equally pleased, Tyler,” you grumbled, moving to extricate yourself from the situation when he grabbed your arm.

Your eyes immediately landed on where his hand was, moving slowly until they found his. How dare he even touch that fabric?

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, still not letting go of your arm.

“Got the invite for the biggest bastard competition, but it's just my luck that you got here. Now I can't win it, so if you'll excuse me-” you tugged again but Tyler kept his grip firm.

“How the hell did you get in there, huh?”

“Through the door, like everyone else. Can you let me go?”

“Where did you get such an empyreal dress?”

“Oh, you learned a new word.”

“It's Talis, isn't it?” He chuckled, finding the situation pitiful. “Thought he could just let you in like this?”

“Did your mother throw the baby away to raise the placenta? I was invited by merit, unlike you,” you almost spat at him. “Now let go of me.”

“Say please, and I'll consider it.”

“Tyler, I'm going to make you soluble so I can dilute you in my piss and dispense you into every flute in this room,” you threatened. “Let go of me.”

He nodded. “That's not how please is pronounced.”

“Her? Saying please, to you?”

You both turned toward the voice that had just spoken to you, the accent now inscribed in your ears.

Viktor.

Your breath seemed to almost supernaturally halt as your eyes fell on him. A purple, almost black velvet coat sat on his shoulders, the collar of his pierced shirt from which golden chain ornaments dangled, reached down to his vest, which elegantly outlined his waist. His black pants, flowing harmoniously down to his ankles, led to perfectly polished black shoes.

As your gaze returned to his face, your eyes locked on his, whose eyelids, beneath his mask of purple velvet and gold, were covered with a layer of kohl. His amber eyes possessed something mystical, mysterious and powerful.

“You too?" huffed Tyler. "It's an epidemic.” 

“Tyler, I believe the Miss asked you politely to leave her alone. I suppose you wouldn't want any rumors to get out about the Hoskel heir and some of his violent behaviours,” Viktor remarked.

Tyler's eyes darted around the room, most of the masked faces turned towards him while many murmured unintelligible things as they watched the scene. His gaze reached yours again, one corner of his lips rising in annoyance as he finally let go of your arm.

“What's vermin like you doing here?” he asked, teeth clenched.

“We've been officially invited,” Viktor marked. “The efforts of the two top-ranking Academy students that we are have therefore been given the opportunity of such an evening to solidify diplomatic ties, with the hope later of obtaining alliances useful to our projects for the common good.”

You had no idea how quickly Viktor had combined all these justifications to give him an air of credibility. The possibility then occurred to you that Jayce and Viktor, before they came here, had probably rehearsed many times what they had to say in case fools like Tyler found themselves playing the curious.

“The standards have obviously gone down,” Tyler chuckled.

“Tell me about it,” you replied, looking at him almost apologetically, as if just seeing him made you feel sorry for him, so worn out was the little that served as his brain.

“Dearest Nephew!” Bombarded a voice.

Councillor Hoskel himself, then accompanied by what you recognized as Councillor Salo, strode towards your merry little group.

“It seems you have never mentioned such a beauty to be part of your acquaintances.” 

The latter's eyes roamed over your figure as his tongue ran over his teeth. The figure was repulsive, one of his ridiculously thin arms against the enormity of his round beer belly nudging Tyler to make the introductions.

“Um,” he suddenly seemed to have lost his good-for-nothing tongue.

“Revealing our identity at a masquerade would defy the very principle of it,” Viktor sighed, exchanging a glance with you.

You had to play along, take on the etiquette of the discussion for an evening. “Exactly,” you declared with a tense smile that you offered to the trio of troublemakers.

“Is this your date?” Hoskel pointed, his slender finger unwinding from his flute to point at Viktor.

“Pardon?” you questioned, close to choking on your own spit.

“For tonight, is this young man your date?” he corrected. “Unless fate has miraculously brought you together with stylists,” he remarked with a greasy laugh.

Exchanging glances with Viktor and your two outfits, it was almost impossible not to notice the fact that, subconsciously, you'd been matching. Anyone seeing you side by side like that might have wondered about it, and the thought brought what you presumed was shame to your cheeks.

“Oh, no,” you laughed nervously. “Sorry, I did not understand.”

He shrugged and nodded arrogantly. “It's normal, pretty and intelligent is rare.”

You suppressed the urge to throw the contents of your flute in his face, given that he himself seemed not to be on his first one for a while now, and decided instead to play in his own court. “Yes, when ugly and stupid is quite common.” 

Tyler's gaze narrowed as much as his uncle's and Councillor Salo's as Viktor lowered his head, a small smile spreading across his lips as he glanced at you from the side.

“Funny,” Hoskel struck a slight pose as he watched you, ”how being behind a mask gives you wings.”

You raised your chin, squinting your eyes as if looking down on him. “Funny how multiplying champagne flutes does so as well, only...” your eyes drifted to his red nose then his belly full of booze, ”one remains hidden better than the other.”

Hoskel seemed to chew air, grinding his teeth together as he grunted dully.

“My my,” Salo tilted his head down as his eyes remained on you, straightening, ”that's a sharp little one we have here with us tonight.” He cleared his throat, raising his gloved hand to point at the sky as if preparing to lecture. “Take care not to make a woman cry because gods count her tears. Whereas when a woman's up to something, the devil sits at his desk and takes notes.”

“A citation?” remarked Viktor, destitute as he was of a champagne flute while his free hand let only his thumb protrude from his pants pocket.

“From one of my books,” said Salo, proudly, resting his hand on his chest.

Viktor didn't seem any more enchanted than that to be taking part in the discussion, but no doubt had to try to find some fictional interest in all that was being told. “Do you write?”

Salo took a sip of his champagne, swallowing it quickly enough to respond with airy hand movements. “The Gods kindly offer me the first verse. What is difficult is to write the next ones which will be worthy of their supernatural brothers."

You brought your flute close to your lips. “Yes, otherwise who'd write the scripts for beggars,” you mumbled, before taking only one more sip.

Viktor huffed. Salo frowned, not seeming to have distinctly heard your words. “I beg your pardon?”

You swallowed, pressing your lips together to collect the rest of the contents of your sip. “Yes?”

“I don't think I quite heard what you said a moment ago.”

You thought you wouldn't be heard, your eyes shifting from Salo to Viktor for a moment before returning to the counselor and closing your eyes, a nervous smile spreading across your lips as you tried again to be diplomatic.

So you tried a graceful exit, shaking your head. “I think the champagne bubbles must have started their little rise, I'm thinking of getting some air to release them.” Just before leaving, you repeated the formula you'd heard so many times this evening. “If you'll excuse me.”

You looked at them one last time, lingering a moment longer on Viktor's gaze as you left for one of the balconies.

The night air bit into your cheeks like apples, the winter coolness slapping you in sharp contrast to the warmth inside. The cool air filled your lungs and you thought for a moment you'd end up frozen from the inside out. There was no wind, just the muted calm of the cold and the murmur of the city below.

You stepped forward, placing your glass on the edge of the balcony. You didn't care if it fell, if it flew away, if a pigeon shat in it. The mere fact that the crystal of this flute had touched the lips of so many people who had destroyed so much hope for your own made you want to grab it by its stem yourself and send it waltzing off to the stars.

You brought your hands to your arms, as much to prevent yourself from needlessly accessing this hatred as to gain warmth. Your eyes watched the horizon, the lights of Piltover in every window. How many knew what their consumption was bringing from the other end of the river? Your gaze drifted towards the latter, the lights much dimmer as they gleamed from the very bowels of the city. You thought back to Eris's letter for a moment, but what did she want to talk to you about? 

Your hips touched the guardrail, your fingers running over Tyler's previous grip as if to dust off any DNA that had settled there. It was a good thing Viktor had arrived, or Tyler's nose would surely have had a few stitches.

A warmth rose in the back of your neck, familiar from Viktor's breath when he'd saved you from a nasty fall in the library. He'd gone ahead and helped you. There seemed to be this mutual recognition, this acceptance that, whatever happened, you were there to take the lead from each other. 

Your hand instinctively went to the back of your neck, trying to banish this feeling, or to recover it on your fingers in the hope of getting a little warm comfort. Was this a reaction to the trauma of his presence? Surely it could be, unless shame had crept under your skin and lingered there. 

You drew your fingers up slightly until you found the string of your mask, undoing it and letting the fresh air spread over your face.

The distinct tinkle of a cane snapped you out of your thoughts, and you didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

“You've left me in the lurch of a thorny conversation.” he said, his voice warm in the night air as he approached you, staying a reasonable distance to your left.

You sketched a smile, not yet turning towards him as you watched a fictitious dot in the distance. “What were they discussing?”

You felt him remove his mask, dropping the loop of black ribbon holding it to dangle from the handle of his cane. “I left as soon as they'd mentioned the matter of therapeutic obstinacy.” 

“A discussion like that should have had you hanging on to their every word,” you joked, finally turning your head towards him.

The prince of the night offered you his profile, his darkened eyes watching the horizon in the distance. He had a presence that froze you, a power so strong that it held you in place. You felt worthy of being the rival of a man like him. But were you still assuming this title?

“I think I'll let Tyler take it from here,” he smiled softly, turning to you.

His amber eyes planted themselves in yours, and you only managed to support it for a few seconds before your eyes drifted to his shoulders.

“You...” you breathed in, observing his elegant, sophisticated outfit, ”you look nice.”

He parted his lips, tilting his head slightly to one side as he squinted with a slight smile.

“Was that a compliment, miss?” he questioned.

“Don't get used to it,” you sighed, rolling your eyes, then reaching for your champagne flute, ”this is a special occasion after all.”

You brought your drink to your lips, the sensation of champagne making you feel a little freer, a little lighter and able to loosen your tongue to say or accept things you'd normally refuse.

You could feel his gaze on you in your peripheral vision, skirting the length of your body, your back illuminated by the interior of the room while the rest of your dress looked like a piece cut straight from the night that embraced you.

“That colour,” he began, his gaze drifting back to the horizon, ”it suits you.”

You thought back to what he'd said what seemed like an eternity ago. ‘It's beautiful, it's calm, in lavender as well as plum, in cassis as well as grape, in wisteria as well as... whatever, it's the one I prefer.’

It's the one I prefer.

You tried not to dwell on that thought, to move on.

“Who'd have thought Tyler would come all this way to bother us?” you huffed.

Viktor chuckled lightly. “He can't get enough of us.”

“I've rarely seen anyone scrape so deep into the depths of incompetence.”

“I believe you've met his uncle, though,” Viktor remarked. “And he, so far, holds a place on the Piltover council.”

“I guess it runs in the family to fall victim to one's own mediocrity.”

“And you had the gift of reminding them of it.”

You smiled, regaining his gaze for a moment. “Don't tell me you didn't want to either.”

He shrugged, pretending to think about it. “Yes, although I must applaud the success of your execution.”

“Would that be a compliment, Moravec?” you stressed.

He earned your gaze, eyes crinkled with a slight sneer. “Like you said - this is a special occasion after all.”

You nodded, shaking your head as if it were a song you'd heard too many times already.

A moment of silence passed, a slight quiver taking hold of you as the hour advanced and the air grew fresher and fresher.

“I've been thinking about the clauses for our truce.”

You turned towards him, arms again crossed as if to hold any ounce of warmth close to your body.

You smirked, grabbing your flute as if to help you listen to him and make those decisions.

“I'm listening.”

“Firstly,” he began, ”we shan't have any rivalry that doesn't engender some obsession pushing us into critical health situations.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was a one-time thing-”

“That is my first clause,” he cut in, his kohl-rimmed eyes insisting on the fact. “Second, mutual aid. If one of us experiences a difficulty somewhere, they must share it with the other, no matter how big their ego and pride.”

“Well that's going to be easy,” you sighed, pressing the crown of your flute close to your lower lip.

“Thirdly,” Viktor straightened up, tilting his head slightly forward as if in a short bow, ”let's be friends.”

You pressed your lips together, considering the offer truly.

Was there even a downside to becoming friends with Viktor? Besides the fact that you had to question your animosity towards him since the beginning of the year, what were the pros and cons?

Sure, he could get on your nerves in discussions, but it had been ages since you'd tried your hand at verbal jousting so constantly, and you were beginning to get used to it. 

But apart from that, he wasn't a threat, he was inclined towards progress and advancement rather than stagnation and stubbornness, and he'd already considered you friends for a while, if you went back to Agrane's attribution of detention where he'd wished to come to your defense.

Besides, he was from Zaun - few students here could say as much and understand you on certain points.

“Agreed,” you replied, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “But be careful, don't expect me to hop like a flower around you.” You huffed. “Jayce has already had to chase me around for quite a while before I'd officially consider him a friend.”

He shrugged, pressing his lips together slightly as if indifferent.

“That's fine by me. Fourthly,” he continued, ”clauses can be added in the future. Of course, they won't be imposed and can be discussed.”

You arch an eyebrow, huffing. “Do you have many more clauses?

“Do you agree to this one?” he asked, frowning.

You looked at him for a moment. This seemed to be very close to his heart. “Yes.”

“Good.” he smiled.

“Is that all?”

His eyes trailed over your shoulders for a moment. “Just one last one.”

He set his cane down against the marble railing, unclipping one of the pins that held the chain holding his coat to his back. He pinched the shoulders of it, taking a single step towards you to place it on yours, pressing his hands lightly on them as you felt the warmth his back had spread over the fabric against your own. He took care, with his long, slender, cool fingers, to reattach the chain neatly.

“My last clause for tonight is for you not to get cold,” he said, his voice more tender as he took a step back as if to observe the vision you were. “Luckily, we wore the same color.”

You took one of the sides in your hands, bringing it close to you to cover yourself with it.

“Won't you get cold?” you asked. 

He shrugged, regaining the grip of his cane as his eyes remained on your coat-covered figure. “If you think Jayce won't get rid of his coat at some point this evening, you're wrong.”

You crack a smile, wondering what would happen if Jayce overindulged in champagne and Viktor had to go home with him tonight. Unless, of course, Jayce and Mel ended the evening together. He slipped on his mask again, replacing it gracefully over his features.

Viktor was getting ready to go back inside, and you didn't know if the magic of champagne bubbles was making you say things, or if out of sheer urge you were calling him.

“Viktor?”

He turned to you for a moment, one part of his face bathed in the warm light of the interior while the other remained in the night like a crescent moon.

You parted your lips, the simple two words coming pouring out without doubt or regret. 

“Thank you.”

He seemed amazed, even with his mask over his face. But the astonishment quickly gave way to a softening, until his lips stretched into a smile and he stepped back inside.

Some people won't get any magic words out of you, but Viktor was worthy of them. You brought the collar of his coat close to you. His scent was sweeter than you'd expected, that of sun-warmed stone mingling with a lingering coffee fragrance.

Your eyes returned to the city, the vision of his kingdom, of streets he would split with his cane to hit the color purple on their cream walls.

It's the one I prefer.

The evening had come to an end. You had tried to fit into some of the conversation circles that came and went as time went by, remaining mostly silent and listening without interjecting, laughing when they laughed, nodding when they nodded, and trying not to simply stuff yourself with petits fours.

You'd thought of finding a way to take a handful with you so you'd have a little variety to bring back to give Sky a taste of how the evening was going. But you expected that, of course, you'd be looked at strangely for this behavior if you went through with it.

Some of the guests began to leave one by one, and you took the opportunity to do the same. Jayce, Mel and Viktor seemed nowhere to be found, so you dropped the idea of venturing into such a building in search of them. Who knows what you might stumble upon in the surrounding rooms? You didn't want to accidentally walk in on the feverish one-night stands of the guests, so you just took off.

The city had been asleep for some time, and the quiet yet illuminated streets were deserted. Had it been Zaun, venturing out at such an hour of the night in such an outfit would have been worth a lot of trouble. But Piltover had real rules of respect and a very different general upbringing, so you didn't feel in any danger of advancing like that.

Your heels were starting to hurt seriously and you would have given anything to be carried home. But there was no vigilante Jayce in sight to catch you if you fainted, nor any gentleman gallant enough to carry you like a princess.

How nice it was to be looked after, to have someone take care of you simply because they could.

The memory of Viktor dozing beside you as you recovered came to mind a moment before you chased him away as you turned a corner. Viktor's scent had permeated your nostrils all evening, and it was the only familiar, reassuring thing that kept you going.

The vision of the dormitories appearing in your line of sight was the greatest relief of all.

You passed silently through the doors of the building, taking the opportunity to remove your heels and sighing at ease as the soles of your feet finally settled on a surface that didn't need to be arched.

You slowly climbed the stairs, the soft feel of the red carpet almost tickling your feet as you inserted your key into the lock. It was late, perhaps Sky had not stayed awake and had gone to bed, and you had no wish to disturb her peace.

You turned the knob, entering the still-lit apartment, Sky lying on her bed with a book. Her eyes turned to you, her mouth opening wide as she looked at your outfit, which she hadn't had a chance to see. You smiled, closing the door behind you and dropping your heels to the floor.

“Girl,” she'd chuckled, watching you as you took off the coat and folded it neatly to let it hang over your arm like a waiter's towel, ”give me a twirl.”

You performed, spinning around before finishing with an exaggerated supermodel pause that made Sky laugh.

She snapped her book shut and sat cross-legged on her bed. “I need every detail you can give me.”

You picked up a hanger in the dressing room, hanging Viktor's coat which you hoped to return in the next few days before returning to Sky and sitting down with her to tell her all about it.

She had you turning your back to her, helping you remove the few decorations in your hair as you described everything to her. The hall, the dresses, the atmosphere, all the endless discussions, your meeting with the famous Mel Medarda, your altercation with Tyler and his idiot uncle.

“In any case, you didn't miss a thing. Apart from a few exceptions, the room was filled with the heads of bankers who hadn't gotten laid for twenty years.”

She laughed softly, pausing in the unraveling of your hair, her eyes watching a point in the void.

“Doesn't it make you dream a bit?”

You turned to her, confused. “To be a banker who looks like she hasn't gotten laid in twenty years?”

“No,” she chirped, giving you a little nudge on the shoulder, ”the mystery of the masquerade, the richness of being able to organize such an event without having to worry about much?”

You rested your head on her shoulder, pondering her question for a moment. Finally, you raised your head, staring into space.

“I think I would rather spend my life close to the birds than waste my time thinking I can carve myself wings.”

Sky sighed, probably dreaming of the golden life of the princes and princesses the world inhabited and longing for more. You didn't envy them - you felt scorn for their privileges and their inability to act for change. But you had no intention of crushing your friend's hopes.

“Who knows, maybe one day you'll be one of them and laugh as you drink champagne with infinite bubbles.”

She smiled softly, wrapping an arm around you.

You didn't tell her about your discussion on the balcony with Viktor, preferring to keep your exchange a secret for the time being. perhaps you'd bring up the subject when she asked you where the dress and coat came from. 

But for now, you kept the secret of the purple close to you.

It's the one I prefer.

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

✦﹒ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @noxturnalmoth @dlbitch @cloufire @csolya @kathyholdsagrudge @furblrwurblr @potatointhedirt @atrocioushaircut @ren-ni @schrodingersraven @urmommt @enoojnij @stilinskisensation @emlovesya @soupsaurus @luvreadingfics @the-valars-sapphire @solbringer @adorabluesposts

[edenesth]

TWTHH Bonus: The Little Lotus Blooms

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

A/N: This takes place after all of the members' spinoffs. It's probably best for you to finish everything before reading this, but it can also be read if you do not mind spoilers and have no intention of reading the spinoffs.

Fic Masterlist | Spinoff Masterlist

"Still stuck on the baby's name, I see," came the familiar voice that never failed to both irritate and amuse your husband. Seonghwa smirked, his hand still gently rubbing your tummy. "And what does that have anything to do with you?"

The dressmaker scoffed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense as he approached. "It has everything to do with me, especially since I'm clearly going to be the godfather of this little one."

You smiled, but before you could respond, the general spoke first. "In your dreams, Kim Hongjoong. You won't be this one's godfather, so it's time to let go of that fantasy. If you're so eager to be a father, I suggest you focus on having one of your own. After all, you're about to have a Mrs. of your own soon enough."

Before Hongjoong could form a coherent response, he sputtered and flailed, completely caught off guard by the mention of his upcoming wedding. His face flushed a deep crimson, and for a moment, he looked utterly lost. After what felt like an eternity, he finally managed to find his voice.

"T-that's… none of your business!" he stammered, clearly flustered. After all, it had taken him forever to gather the courage to propose to poor Miss Baek. The lengthy courtship had almost convinced the girl's family that the dressmaker had no real intention of marriage, leading to whispered doubts that he was just stringing their daughter along. He hadn't heard the end of it until the day he finally asked for her hand.

Just as he opened his mouth to shoot back a retort at Seonghwa, another voice broke into the conversation.

"About damn time, Kim!" Yunho called out, his deep laughter filling the room as he approached. The physician looked far too smug, and the gleam of amusement in his eyes only made Hongjoong's face burn brighter. The dressmaker shot him a glare.

"Don't get all cocky just because you got married slightly earlier than I did!" the older male of the two snapped, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "What are you even doing here?! The dinner isn't for hours."

The general and his wife shared a knowing look, unable to stifle their chuckles as the doctor raised a brow at the accusation.

"I could ask you the same," Yunho replied, unfazed. He gestured to the bags of medical supplies at his feet. "I'm here to ensure the mistress is in optimal condition before meeting everyone, of course."

Hongjoong sniffed, waving a dismissive hand before gesturing to the garments draped over his arm—a collection of beautifully embroidered hanboks. "And I'm here to ensure she looks as stunning as always. Just as important as you, Jung. Don't flatter yourself. I understand good health is essential," he added, glancing the taller man up and down pointedly. "But clearly, a complete lack of fashion sense can be just as problematic."

Yunho's eyes widened in sheer offence. "Excuse me? What do you mean, a lack of fashion sense?! My wife said I looked—"

The dressmaker lifted a hand, silencing him immediately. "Of course she did, my friend. She's your wife; she has to say that. But I'm not, so I can be brutally honest."

Yunho's mouth opened, then closed again, clearly affronted. "You—"

"Don't take it too personally," Seonghwa interjected, his smirk deepening as he rested a protective hand over your belly. "You know how he is. The moment there's even a whiff of competition, he'll immediately declare himself the best at whatever it is."

"Which is everything," Hongjoong sniffed, lifting his chin proudly.

"That's debatable," the general drawled with a pointed look.

Hongjoong's mouth opened, ready with a comeback, but the doctor raised a hand to cut him off, the irritation from earlier melting into weary acceptance. "Alright, alright, let's get back to why I'm actually here—to make sure our dear Lady Park and the baby are doing well."

The dressmaker rolled his eyes dramatically, waving Yunho off with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Fine, do your little check-up. But once you're done, it's my turn. I have real work to attend to—unlike some people who just poke needles into others all day."

Yunho sighed, dragging a hand down his face in feigned exasperation, while Seonghwa and you exchanged amused looks. They were always like this—bickering, teasing, and turning even the simplest interactions into a spectacle of humour and banter.

You smiled softly. Thinking back to when you first met them all, you never could have imagined that your husband's closest friends would become yours too, filling your life with such unexpected warmth.

Jongho sighed heavily as he stepped into the room, his gaze zeroing in on the dressmaker with a look of pure exasperation. "I swear, there can never be peace with you around. I told you to come an hour later, but you never listen—"

Hongjoong immediately raised a fist, eyes narrowing in mock indignation. "Watch your tone! I'm still older than you," he warned, but the assistant only rolled his eyes, unfazed as he reached out and unceremoniously grabbed the dressmaker by the sleeve.

"And if you don't cooperate, I'll tell Miss Baek you were being difficult again."

That instantly shut him up. The effect was almost comical—the once-feisty designer went rigid, then muttered something unintelligible under his breath before letting the younger man drag him out of the room. The rest of you couldn't hold back your laughter, chuckling at how quickly Hongjoong folded at the mere mention of his fiancée. It was a sight that never got old.

"Well," the physician grinned, shaking his head in amusement, "looks like we've finally found his weakness."

The general chuckled, his gaze lingering on the doorway where the two had vanished. "It's not just him. Look at the rest of us," he said, raising a brow knowingly.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle a smile as Yunho continued his check-up, his touch gentle and practised as he listened for the baby's heartbeat. He looked so different now compared to when you'd first met—less guarded, more at ease. The once-serious physician now wore a relaxed smile as he worked. Miss Ryu truly had softened him, just like Miss Kwon had done for Jongho.

Your heart swelled at the thought. Absentmindedly, you rubbed your belly, glancing up at your husband with a soft expression. "They've all changed, haven't they?" you murmured quietly.

His eyes warmed as they met yours, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. "Yes, they have. Just like I have," he murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. "All thanks to you."

Warmth spread through your chest, and you shifted your gaze back to Yunho, then to the door where Hongjoong and Jongho had disappeared moments before. A sense of anticipation bubbled within you as you thought of the others you'd be seeing later—San, Mingi, and Wooyoung, who had become like brothers to you, and, of course... Prince Yeosang, your dearest friend.

As you imagined future gatherings, you could already see a bustling and heartwarming scene filled with little ones running around, laughter and shouts echoing through the halls, and these men transforming into doting fathers and playful uncles.

Gosh, you could hardly wait to see it all unfold. The future seemed so bright and full of promise, and you knew, deep in your heart, that it would only get better from here.

"What's got you so deep in thought, my lady?" the dressmaker asked with a gentle smile as he carefully painted the signature flower on your forehead—the perfect final touch, as always.

You hesitated, biting your lip. "Do you think His Highness will come?"

Hongjoong scoffed lightly. "I genuinely have no idea, my lady. He seems awfully busy with his new princess," he remarked, and you nodded, a wide smile blooming on your lips.

"He is, and I'm so happy he's finally found someone."

"Then why does it matter if the prince is here?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. "Everyone already knows I'm going to be this little one's godfather anyway."

You clicked your tongue playfully, rolling your eyes. "Here we go again. I wouldn't be so confident if I were you."

He placed his hands on his hips, feigning offence. "I'm your idiot husband's oldest friend; it only makes sense that I get the title. The rest should just accept it and fall in line."

You burst into laughter, shaking your head at his stubbornness. When he finally finished, he stepped back, giving you a once-over before softening, then moved to sit across from you. "You look stunning, my lady."

"Thank you, Joong, for always reminding me of that," you said warmly. "But flattery won't get you anywhere—I've already made up my mind, and it won't be you."

He shot up from his seat, gasping dramatically. "What do you mean it won't be me?! You can't do this to me!"

Before you could respond, the doors to the House of Lotus swung open, and your husband entered. This time, however, he wasn't alone. In his arms, nestled close and bundled in delicate silks, was a little something—or rather, someone—very dear to your heart.

"That's enough, Kim Hongjoong," Seonghwa drawled, his voice tinged with mock annoyance as he stepped forward. "How greedy can you be, huh? You're already Yeonjoo's godfather. I'm not giving you the title again for our next child."

Your heart swelled at the sight—the way it always did whenever you saw your little princess cradled in her father's loving embrace. Her soft giggles filled the room as her tiny fingers curled around his sleeve, and a smile spread across your face. That's right—Hongjoong had been named godfather to your firstborn two years ago. Much to your disappointment, the prince hadn't been able to attend her birth celebration despite his promise, but you understood. He had new priorities and commitments. Still, a small part of you hoped he'd be here this time—for the sake of old memories, and perhaps to provide a sense of closure.

The dressmaker's eyes lit up, and his earlier sulkiness vanished as he nearly skipped forward, excitement radiating off him. "Oh, my little Yeonjoo!" he cooed, his face softening as he reached out to take her carefully from your husband's arms.

"Ugh, fine," he muttered, holding her close and gently stroking her hair as if she were the most delicate thing in the world. "I bet you're just trying to spare my precious Yeonjoo from getting jealous. I suppose one of those other losers can have the honour for the next one," he grumbled, pouting slightly as he gazed down at the little girl.

You chuckled softly at his dramatic tone. Titles aside, it was clear Hongjoong adored your daughter deeply. She looked up at him with wide, shining eyes and a bright smile that could melt even the sternest of hearts, and it was obvious she shared that affection. You watched, warmth flooding your chest, as she patted his cheek clumsily, babbling a string of sweet nonsense that made the man's expression melt into a delighted grin.

"See? Even she agrees," he sniffed proudly, shooting a triumphant look at Seonghwa.

The general rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, but the fondness in his gaze was unmistakable. "Just because my daughter doesn't know better yet doesn't mean I'll indulge you."

"Your appa's just being mean," Hongjoong murmured softly to Yeonjoo, his voice filled with exaggerated sympathy. The little girl giggled, her laughter bright and clear. "But don't worry, sweetheart. You'll always be godfather's number one."

You shook your head, laughter bubbling in your chest as you watched them. "Honestly, Joong, you're going to spoil her rotten."

"Going to?" Seonghwa quirked a brow, looking amused. "He already has." Then he turned his gaze to you, his eyes softening. "But I think our princess deserves to be spoiled a little, don't you?"

You smiled up at him. "Of course. Only the best for our little girl."

"Well, since I won't be the next one's godfather," Hongjoong said, feigning indifference, "who are you going to pick? Don't tell me you're actually considering one of those blockheads."

You exchanged a knowing look with your husband before turning back to the dressmaker, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Maybe. Or maybe I have someone else in mind entirely."

As if on cue, Eunsook, your head maid, appeared at the entrance and offered a respectful bow, her smile warm. Right beside her was Miss Kwon, the ever-diligent maternity expert, who immediately stepped forward, carefully guiding you to your feet.

"The guests have arrived, master and mistress," Eunsook announced softly.

Hongjoong sighed dramatically but complied, reluctantly handing Yeonjoo back to her father. "I suppose I should join the rest of those ruffians then," he murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the child's cheek before straightening up with a smirk. "See you out there, General and Lady Park."

With one last playful wink, the dressmaker slipped out, leaving the room with a swirl of elegant robes. Your heart fluttered in anticipation, excitement bubbling up within you. You were going to see all your friends again—the people who had become your family over the years.

As Seonghwa cradled your daughter close, his free hand reached for yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You glanced up at him, smiling softly, and he returned the look, his gaze brimming with unspoken emotions. Together, you made your way toward the hall.

"You look well, my lady. Did the medication I recommended help with your sleep disturbances?" Royal Physician Ahn asked as she approached, her voice gentle yet laced with the attentiveness of a true healer. It was the first chance she'd had to speak with you after the initial rounds of greetings exchanged. You had grown fond of her since meeting her at the royal banquet, and especially so after Mingi had begun openly courting her. Since then, she'd been a constant presence in your life, whether by her own will or by His Majesty's orders, assisting in your care both during the last birth and your current pregnancy.

You nodded warmly, squeezing her hand in return. "It did, Physician Ahn. It worked like magic. I've been sleeping like a baby lately, all thanks to you."

Her shoulders relaxed visibly, and she let out a soft sigh of relief. You couldn't help the grin that tugged at your lips as you leaned closer, your tone turning mischievous. "Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. Who would have thought Officer Song had it in him to win you over, hm?"

A delicate blush painted her cheeks as she stammered, utterly flustered. But before you could tease her further, a tall shadow loomed beside her, and Mingi stepped in, a broad grin spreading across his face as he slid an arm around his fiancée's shoulders. "Now, now, Lady Park, let's not overwhelm her," he chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with affection. "You know she's still not used to all the attention."

"I'm simply complimenting your success, Officer Song," you shot back playfully. "It's not every day someone catches the interest of the Royal Physician."

Mingi's grin widened, but before he could respond, another voice interjected, stealing your attention.

"Look at you, Lady Park. It feels like just yesterday we were celebrating little Yeonjoo's birth, and now, here we are again, awaiting another mini Park. You and the general certainly don't waste time, do you?" Scholar Moon's teasing tone cut through the room as she approached, linked arm-in-arm with her husband, Royal Secretary Choi.

You felt your cheeks flame at the comment, especially when San shot his wife a chiding look and squeezed her arm as if to gently rein her in. "Darling, don't embarrass the lady," he murmured softly, though the amusement in his eyes belied his words.

You tried to sputter a reply, mortified, but before you could get a word out, a familiar warmth appeared at your side. Your husband was suddenly there, his presence solid and reassuring, a small, amused smirk playing at his lips. He looked so effortlessly charming, and it made your heart flutter just looking at him.

"Indeed, we don't waste time," he agreed smoothly, his gaze shifting playfully to Scholar Moon. "But perhaps it's time you and San hurry up and have one of your own as well, Scholar Moon."

Her mouth fell open in shock, eyes widening as she spluttered, "I—! We're not—!"

"I don't think we're quite there yet," Secretary Choi intervened gently, though his strained smile hinted at his own embarrassment. His eyes flicked between you and the general before landing back on his wife, whose face was now a bright shade of red.

Stifling a laugh, you nudged Seonghwa lightly. "Behave, Hwa," you murmured, though your grin betrayed your halfhearted scolding.

"But it's true, isn't it?" he persisted with mock innocence, raising an eyebrow. "Everyone knows San's eager to start a family. Why not make it official?" He cast the secretary's wife a pointed look, making her blush deepen to an alarming shade.

"You—!" she started, but before she could finish, a joyful peal of laughter rang out from across the room. You turned your head just in time to see Investigator Jung cradling Yeonjoo in his arms with his partner hovering close beside him with an adoring look on her face as she watched the two of them.

"Yeonjoo certainly knows how to charm everyone, doesn't she?" Miss Han remarked warmly, her gaze softening as she looked up at the little girl. "Just look at her. She's going to be quite the heartbreaker one day."

Wooyoung chuckled, gently bouncing the child and eliciting a delighted squeal from her. "With parents like these two? There's no doubt about it." He glanced over at you and Seonghwa, his playful expression turning sincere. "Congratulations again, General, Lady Park. Your family is truly blessed."

"Thank you, Wooyoung," you replied softly, watching as your daughter gurgled happily in his arms. Your gaze shifted to Miss Han, her presence calm and grounding beside him. "And I hope it's not long before we're congratulating the two of you as well."

She blushed, her eyes darting to Wooyoung, who just laughed, the sound rich and unburdened. "Perhaps soon," he murmured, a hint of promise in his voice. "But for now, let's focus on celebrating you."

It was then that you caught Miss Ryu's gaze from across the room—her smile brightening the moment your eyes met. Now officially Yunho's wife, she looked radiant as ever as she hurried over, her husband trailing behind her with a knowing grin.

"Oh, you're glowing, my lady. I'm convinced this one's a son," she said, her voice lilting with excitement.

The physician chuckled softly beside her. "She's been saying that for months now," he teased, gently squeezing her shoulder.

You shared a hopeful glance with Seonghwa before turning back to her. "Thank you. We've been hoping for a boy too," you admitted, warmth filling your chest at the thought.

Before anyone could say more, Hongjoong sauntered over, his arm loosely wrapped around his fiancée's back. "I'm sure having a son is nice and all," he scoffed lightly, "but are you positive that's why she's glowing?" His gaze turned mischievous as he leaned forward, clearly fishing for compliments.

Miss Baek's eyes widened, and she gave him a small nudge, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Joong, please…"

But the dressmaker, being himself, merely shot her a wink. He cast a playful look at the physician's wife, who raised a brow in challenge. The teasing rivalry between them was no secret, and it extended to their spouses as well.

"If you think it's your makeup skills making her glow, I'm going to have to scientifically explain to you why it's a lot more than just your artificial tools enhancing her appearance," the herbalist shot back with a laugh, her words soft yet precise. Her analytical nature was showing, and it made Yunho's smile grow wider.

Hongjoong's jaw dropped, feigning outrage. "Excuse me? Are you doubting my artistic abilities, Mrs. Jung?"

Just then, Jongho appeared, his hand linked with Miss Kwon's as they joined the growing circle. He rolled his eyes, already looking exasperated. "Please, don't start. I swear, every time you two are in the same room, it turns into a debate."

You stifled a laugh, shaking your head as you glanced around at the gathered group. Yet, despite the lively chatter and warm company, there was still a lingering sense of something—someone—missing. You found yourself scanning the room again, your heart dipping slightly as you realised that perhaps he truly wasn't coming after all. Maybe the promises of friendship had been nothing more than a polite white lie to comfort you back then. Perhaps…

"Apologies for our tardiness! It felt like the entire city decided to celebrate with us today—the crowds made it nearly impossible for our carriage to get through smoothly."

The deep, familiar voice cut through the air, and everyone's heads whipped around in unison. After a moment of stunned silence, they quickly bowed deeply, voices mingling in a respectful murmur.

"These subjects greet Your Highnesses."

Yeosang and his wife exchanged quick, flustered glances before raising their hands to stop the gesture. "Oh no, please! There's no need for such formality," the newly minted fourth princess said warmly. "We're here as friends today."

It was your first time meeting her, but her grace and kindness were immediately apparent, and you found yourself thinking how perfectly she complemented the prince. Your heart, which had felt heavy just moments ago, lightened at the sight of the couple as they stepped forward to join the circle.

The fourth prince's gaze found yours, and he flashed you a familiar, boyish grin. "I hope we haven't missed too much. Please, let the princess and me know how we can make up for our tardiness."

Your smile softened warmly. "Better late than never, Your Highnesses." You glanced at your husband, a sense of peace washing over you as he gave you a gentle, encouraging nod.

"No need to worry," you continued with a welcoming tone. "You haven't missed anything major. After all, the main event can't truly begin without the new baby's godparents present." The royal couple's eyes widened in surprise at your words, while the rest of your friends cheered.

"And you can make up for being late by accepting the role," General Park added with a teasing smile.

And that is all, folks. This is the final chapter and it officially concludes the TWTHH series. It's a bittersweet feeling to end it; it's undoubtedly one of my proudest creations, but I'm also super excited to finally be able to work on newer things!

Once again, I just want to thank each and every one of you for being with me on this journey. I hope this epilogue was decent! Perhaps some of you might not agree with who I've chosen to be little Park's godfather (but my heart wants what it wants lmfao). Y'all, let me know your thoughts! It'd be awesome if you could share a bit about how you stumbled upon this story and what you liked about it! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[neil-gaiman]

Dear Neil,

I hope you're fine!

In 2023 one of the nicest and reveberating thing, that happened to me, was, that I got know Terry's work and after some time, your works too, and, of course Good Omens (yeah...I don't know either, what took me so long...😉).

So, thank you so much for your written universe, I feel totally comfortable in it!

Some time ago, I also got your rewriting of the fairytale "Hänsel and Gretel" by the Brothers Grimm in my hands. I totally like how you made it your own in some way, but also did not disregard its core about wits, endurance, gumption and love. And I have high standards😊, because I grew up with all the Grimm's fairytales and I, even as a small kid, disliked the editions, which tried to paint over fear, sorrow and in some tales, violence and horror, too. Without these plots the solution in the end would just be half the relìef! As you said in your review about Tatars The Annotaited Brothers Grimm the fairtyales are magic mirrors about the world we see or we want to see and which we have to cope and deal with every day.

My three favourite ones are

1.Die Bremer Stadtmusikanten/The Town Musicians of Bremen

Even if your closest people tell you, you are not enough (anymore), you don't fit in and you are worthless, you one day, will find your bunch of soulmates, who are good for you and you can the hell Rock'n Roll with!

2. Die sieben Raben/The seven Ravens

The girl does not wait for some Prince Charming. She herself gets stuff done and does not get herself haunted by some mistakes her parents did years ago.

3. Das tapfere Schneiderlein/The valiant dressmaker

Sometimes weird and spontanous decision can turn your whole life around, in a good way, because they give you the self-consciousness to get it on.

And (finally, sorry) here come my questions:

1. Which are your favourite fairytales of the Brothers Grimm?

2. And why?

I wish you and your family a very merry Christmas, or holidays, and a very good year!

Have fun with Good Omens 3! ❤🌠

Greetings from Germany!

I like your choices, although I'd swap Hansel and Gretel for the Musicians of Bremen.

[angiechia]

"Little Brother"

John joins the gang

No ship intended, just a short random thing i wrote instead of sleeping :P

☆☆☆

Some random day in 1885

The day had been awful for Arthur.

It started with some promise, as Hosea suggested a job robbing a dressmaker in Saint Denis. Arthur agreed without realizing he'd end up running from three huge dogs guarding the lady’s house like loyal bodyguards, ready to bite and tear anyone who got too close. Meanwhile, Hosea was "distracting" the lady—if you could even call it that. It looked more like he was courting her.

After all that, Arthur’s cut was only 10 dollars. Not much, he thought, but he had no choice but to take it. He decided to blow off some steam at a saloon, where some fellow tried to pull a fast one on him and picked a fight. With his ego far too big for a man of just 22, Arthur accepted the challenge, even though the drunk was twice his size.

After getting beaten up, Arthur was in a foul mood. The only thing that might calm him down was a ride out in the open, so that’s what he did.

For some reason, he chose to ride through the Bayou, a place known for its giant gators and treacherous swamps. Lucky for him, Boadicea was a brave mare—brave against gunfire, hunters, and even ferocious wolves. But gators? They scared the hell out of her, which Arthur learned when a sleeping gator spooked her. She threw him off, sending him tumbling into the mud, and he had to scramble away from the reptile, who had just been trying to get some sleep.

After that, Arthur figured he’d distract himself by picking up a newspaper from a kid selling them in Rhodes. Maybe there’d be something interesting going on. But his heart sank when he read the newlyweds section and saw a name he knew too well.

Mary Gillis had gotten married.

Or rather, Mary Linton now.

He let out a deep sigh and threw the paper in the trash, anger boiling inside him. That’s it, he thought, I’m heading back to camp. I need some sleep.

Luckily, nothing much happened on his ride back to camp. If he was fortunate, he’d get to feast on Pearson’s stew tonight, and Miss Grimshaw would probably make him take a good soak in the nearest river.

When he arrived, he left Boadicea with the other horses and tried to sneak over to his tent, hoping to avoid Hosea, Dutch, Grimshaw, or Pearson. They were always asking favors, and being the youngest in the gang, that burden often fell on him.

“There you are, Mister Morgan!” Miss Grimshaw’s voice called out. He sighed. “I was just about to ask if you could fetch me a—My word! What in the world happened to you?” the woman exclaimed, seeing him covered in mud.

“…I fell” Telling her his horse threw him off seemed a bit embarrassing, right?

“Sure looks like it… Let me see—” She moved in quick to grab his hat, probably planning to clean it up and send him off to wash, but Arthur stepped back, gently pushing her hands away. Nobody touched his hat.

“Whoa there! I reckon I’m just fine, Miss Grimshaw. Just need a little sleep.”

“You smell like you’ve been rollin’ in a cesspool, young man! I ain’t havin’ you stinkin’ up the camp. Get yourself cleaned up, you hear?” Her voice took on a sharper edge, and Arthur rolled his eyes, heading toward the river.

“Just what I needed,” he muttered, tossing his jacket on the ground. Miss Grimshaw snatched it up with a huff, planning to wash it later.

His bath was quick but did the trick, and once he was cleaned up, he headed back to camp.

“Much better, Arthur!” she said with a clap of approval as he walked past her, making him feel a bit sheepish. Once again, he made for his tent, but before he could enter, another voice stopped him.

“Mr. Morgan!” It was Pearson, the camp cook.

Arthur let out another weary sigh and made his way over to the “kitchen,” if you could call it that. “Mr. Pearson,” he greeted, his tone dry.

“I’ve had a hankerin’ for some rabbit lately,” Pearson said as he skillfully chopped vegetables. Dinner was close, the sun sinking fast.

“Rabbit?”

“Yep! Them big ones you find out on the prairies. Think you could hunt me some for tomorrow?”

At least he didn’t need it now. “Sure,” Arthur agreed, giving a nod before turning once more toward his tent. Just as he was about to step inside, he was intercepted by...

“There ya are, Arthur!” Dutch Van Der Linde.

"Now what, Dutch?" Years of trust between them allowed for a more relaxed exchange.

"Son, I heard about Mary..."

"No."

"I know, I know, Arthur. You probably don’t wanna talk about her, but… well, I remember how much you cared."

"Dutch," Arthur grumbled, feeling his face flush with embarrassment.

"What I’m tryin’ to say is there’s plenty of women out there, son, plenty! You can find another."

Arthur got angry, pushing open the tent flaps without stepping inside yet. "Mary’s in the past!" he lied. "It doesn’t hurt 'cause I’m over it, and I don’t want another woman, thank you!" His tone betrayed him.

Arthur entered his tent and let the canvas flaps fall behind him, shutting Dutch out. He ran his hands over his face in frustration, cursing silently while quickly untying the bandana from his neck and shrugging off his suspenders. That’s when he heard something coming from his bed—a snore.

Arthur fumbled around his desk until he found the gas lamp and lit it. As the tent filled with light, his eyes landed on a kid with dark hair sprawled out awkwardly on his bed, uncovered, mouth open, drooling on his pillow with crooked teeth.

"And why in the hell is there a damn kid in my bed?!" Arthur bellowed from inside the tent, waking the boy with a start.

"Ah, that’s John," Dutch replied from outside. "Hosea and I rescued him today; they were gonna hang him."

"Wha... what’s goin' on?" the boy, around twelve years old, mumbled, his face barely masking the confusion as he looked up at the man before him.

"And you gave him my bed?!" Arthur got out from his tent, incredulity etched across his face, while Dutch beamed like he’d done the best deed of the day.

"Well, we didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You took your time."

"Well, here I am. But who’da thought we’d turn into a damn orphanage and start adoptin’ brats?"

"What’d you call me, old man?!" the kid hollered from behind him.

Arthur, surprised, turned slowly to face John, repeating what he’d just heard. "Old man? Old man?! I’m twenty-two!"

"Yeah, twenty-two in each foot. You’re older than a barrel of aged whiskey."

Arthur resisted the urge to pounce on the quick-tongued kid. "Who do you think you are, you little...?"

"But ain't this a heart-warmin’ sight?" Dutch chimed in with a smile. "He’s just like you were when we found you."

"At least I respected my elders," Arthur shot back, glaring at the kid sprawled in his bed. "Outta my bed, now!"

"I ain’t movin’ nowhere, old man!" John retorted.

"Oh, come on, Arthur, the boy’s exhausted. You know what it’s like to be nearly hanged? First, they tighten that noose 'round your neck so hard you can barely breathe, and when they hang you, crack, your neck snaps. Poor little John must’ve been scared outta his wits."

Arthur glanced at the kid again, who now put on a pitiful face, nodding along.

"This is a joke, right?" Arthur said, exasperated.

"You wouldn’t mind sleepin’ under the stars tonight, would ya?" Dutch asked.

Arthur looked at the man, then at the kid, sighed, and said, "Just… don’t touch my stuff," with a stern voice.

"Relax, I won’t touch your junk," little John said innocently as he settled back into bed.

"Little shit..." Arthur muttered under his breath as he walked out of the tent. He looked at Dutch. "He ain’t gonna be in my tent long, is he?"

"Well… you wouldn’t mind sharin’ it, would ya?"

"DUTCH!"

"Oh, quit your whinin’, Arthur! The boy can’t sleep alone. We don’t know if he’ll try to rob us or slit our throats in our sleep."

"And you’re makin’ me watch him?"

"You’re the youngest of the gang, ain’t you? Or, well… you were." Arthur gave him a hard look. "Look on the bright side; it’s like you got yourself a little brother."

[bookcub]

Chappell Roan Book Rec

like many other, I am currently obsessed with The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess so here are a few book recs based on the songs!!

(you can message me for questions about content warnings!)

Femininomon

A Guest in the House by E. M. Carroll (horror graphic novel)

What happens when you marry a mediocre liar and there's a ghost you are definitely attracted to in the house (that might be his dead wife)?

Relevant lyric: Stuck in the suburbs, you're folding his laundry/Got what you wanted so stop feeling sorry

Bonus Rec: Romancing the Inventor by Gail Carriger (adult steampunk romance)

Red Wine Supernova

Satisfaction Guaranteed by Karelia Stenz-Waters (adult romance)

Imagine inheriting a sex toy shop with a enchanting stranger who you feel incredibly connected to. . .

Relevant lyric: I heard you like magic/I got a wand and a rabbit

Bonus Rec: Sunstone by Stjepan Šejić (adult romance graphic novel)

After Midnight

Ash by Malinda Lo (YA fantasy)

I had to choose a queer Cinderella for this one, especially one whose mother warns her away from the forest at night.

Relevant lyric: This is what I wanted, this is what I like/I've been a good, good girl for a long time now

Bonus Rec: A Restless Truth by Freya Marske (adult historical fantasy, sequel)

Coffee

The Witch's Heart by Genevieve Gornichec (adult fantasy)

When your ex is the trickster god Loki and you have prophetic futures, you know you can never just have coffee.

Relevant lyric: Here come the excuses that fuel the illusions/But I'd rather feel something than nothing at all,

Bonus Rec: Seven Days in June by Tia Williams (adult contemporary)

Casual

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi (adult gothic)

Remember that toxic homoerotic best friend you had a child? Who believed in magic and was also the most manipulative person you've ever met? It never was a casual relationship, was it?

Relevant lyric: Hate that I let this drag on so long, you can go to hell

Bonus Rec: Ben and Beatriz by Katalina Gamarra (adult romance)

Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl

A Spindle Splintered/A Mirror Mended by Alix E. Harrow (adult fantasy)

Entering the fairy tale multiverse always leads to the strangest (and funnest) relationships (platonic and romantic) of your life.

Relevant lyrics: We're leaving the planet and you can't come

Bonus Rec: Cash Degado is Living the Dream by Tehlor Kay Mejia (adult contemporary)

HOT TO GO!

The Princess and the Grilled Cheese Sandwich by Deya Muniz (graphic novel)

What if I dressed up as a count to inherit my father's fortune and you were a princess and we both liked grilled cheese???

Relevant lyric: I could be the one, or your new addiction/ It's all in my head but I want non-fiction

Bonus Rec: Act Your Age, Eve Brown by Talia Hibbert

My Kink is Karma

Mrs. Martin's Incomparable Adventure by Courtney Milan (adult historical romance)

She said, let's destroy my terrible nephew's life, and how could you say no to such a romantic proposal?

Relevant lyric: Wishing you the best, in the worst way

Bonus Rec: Girl Serpent Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust (YA fantasy)

Picture You

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall (adult historical romance)

Oops, I faked my death and reinvented myself and you were way more distraught than I thought you would be. . .

Relevant lyric: Do you picture me like I picture you?/Am I in the frame from your point of view?

Kaleidoscope

The Scapegracers by H. A. Clarke (YA urban fantasy)

What if we formed a coven and what if we were all a little in love with each other?

Relevant lyric: And love is a kaleidoscope/How it works we'll never know

Bonus Rec: The Girls I've Been by Tess Sharpe (YA thriller)

Pink Pony Club

The Prince and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang (graphic novel)

He was a drag queen, she was a seamstress, can I make it anymore obvious?

Relevant Lyric: And I heard that there's a special place/Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day

Bonus Rec: Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo (YA historical)

Naked in Manhattan

Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail by Ashley Herring Blake (adult romance)

Isn't it romantic, designing a house with someone with your entirely opposite tastes?

Relevant lyric: Boys suck and girls I've never tried

Bonus Rec: Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust (YA fantasy)

California

Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers (adult contemporary)

If a PhD can't save you, maybe a drunken marriage in Vegas can?

Relevant lyric: Cause I was never told that I wasn't gonna get/The things I want the most

Guilty Pleasure

Something to Talk About by Meryl Wilsner (adult romance)

Fake dating your boss? 0/10 recommended. . . right?

Relevant lyric: I want this like a cigarette/Can we drag it out and never quit?

Bonus Rec: That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon by Kimberly Lemming (adult fantasy romance)

Bonus:

Good Luck, Babe

Sorry, Bro by Taleen Voskuni (adult contemporary)

Relevant lyric: You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

Ophelia After All by Racquel Marie (YA contemporary)

[thespianinthebackcorner]

Neo Metal Sonic's design makes no sense and it's making me mad

whynthe fuck does he have a 1950s waistline. Ok it could possibly be an 80s one depending on where it is but I can't see enough to figure that bullshit out. Why is he wearing motherfucking winklepickers but not what the hell are those shoes???? Why is the 50s waistline paired with 1980s shoulder pads. They're not even under something they're exposed??? That's not how it works you absolute cucker what the HELL. Also what's with the 70s bell sleeves???? I see where the transfem metal headcanon comes from now because I ain't NEVER seen bell sleeves like that on a man. I admit it works with the pants but also like my mans what the fuck are you doing. And I'm aware 90% of this is metal and not fabric but sTILL if you're going to give off the impression of clothes at least do it RIGHT 😭😭 speaking of the few actual clothes he wears what. What is that skirt. I can only describe it as a hi-low with a ridiculously high front because I have literally never seen an article of clothing like that how the fuck does it function😭😭😭 I assume it's attached to the belt- which, 1. How is that even attached to him what is keeping it there 2. Thickest belt I've ever seen holy fuck- but that still doesn't answer my question because how is it even attached to said belt???? Neo who the fuck is your dressmaker I need a solid word with them and also maybe bring them wine. unless it was you then I'm punting you to the moon and making you take a decent fucking course on fashion design

I really wanna make a neo cosplay but he makes literally zero sense 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 If this is what you beeline for the second you get to actually express yourself then I'm starting to wish they'd let you live like that just so you could grow out of it and figure out how style works 😭😭😭 Amy get on this bitch he needs you

[honestsycrets]

HELLO, HELLO! Okay, so this drabble prompt/idea is kinda sorta in the vein of Querido (I only think about Old Western Miguel now I cannot help it pls forgive me head empty only man and hörse), so pls skip if you're not inspired or in the mood for more in this genre!

Still, I offer you this: Sheriff Miguel.

He's someone all the women have their eyes on, and he'd have his eyes on them, too, if he were younger. But he has a baby girl to worry about, a runaway wife to forget, and a town to keep an eye on, especially when a woman from the big city pays the little down a visit.

He meets her when he loses Gabriella in the market's crowd, only to find her tugging on a fine dress belonging to a fine woman.

(P.S. reading your writing has inspired me to get back into writing my own reader insert stuff 💖 really love your work, keep it up!!)

bumblebee | sheriff!miguel x dressmaker!reader

❛ pairing | sheriff-singleparent!miguel o'hara x dressmaker!reader

❛ type | extended drabble, not-explicit, wc: 2600ish

❛ summary | miguel loses his daughter-- and finds a part of himself he thought was long past dead.

❛ tags | self-edited, querido au, f!reader, sheriff!miguel, dressmaker!reader, implied parental abandonment, some mention of thievery, widowed!reader, mostly fluff, some mention of death, spanish not translated.

❛ sy's notes | i intended this to be a drabble but... it's quite a bit longer. anon, i hope you end up writing to your heart's content.

Miguel ain’t the kinda man women really need. He’s the kinda man they think they want. A big man with a big name, sure, but he’s saddled with what their fathers colloquially call baggage. A little three-year-old girl with ambitions of rolling on out of this little town by rolling on out of his fingertips. 

“Oye, Gwen,” he catches the arm of his deputy. She’s out on the town just as he was, making rounds about the grassy plain where the market was booming. With too few stalls, the marketgoers visit full wooden wagons chock-full of goods. This year, there were new boxes of small circular chocolates. Once every year, his quiet little town became a bustling fuck fest with foreigners running a muck of it all. As sheriff, he just had to deal with it. 

“What’s it, sheriff?” she asks. “Something wrong?” 

“You seen my littlin anywhere? Swore she was right here.”

This is his penance for fooling around with the hearts of pretty women: chasing him his own little girl and minding the crowd. His long, slicked-back hair was all kinds of out of place, whirling over his wrinkled forehead. He shoves a strand of grey hair back in place out of his dark eyes and scans his little town. She could’ve slipped into any creaky old building that wasn't locked up or hitched a ride on a wagon she didn’t belong on. Or, alternatively…

“Miguel! Rio saw her by the sweets.” Former Sherriff Morales tells him, standing by his son’s stall of sweet roasted corn. Ordinarily, he’d give it a begrudging visit. Miguel whirls around on his muddy leather boots, throwing him a nod of thanks with Gwen short on his tail. 

“Sounds promisin’,” she says. “Could be searchin’ for Lyla or Peter.” 

“Thank you for the help, Sheriff,” he grumbled, shoving his way past a sea of cream, brown, and black dresses. Gwen could spider her way through the groups of people with her comparatively slender frame. As a consequence of Miguel’s hulking frame, he’s markedly slower in his search.

“Ain’t here either,” Gwen hops back to his side. “You sure she wandered off?” 

"She had to."

The alternative was… well, he didn't want to think about it. Out of his periphery, he caught the glimmer of polished metal. He spots his daughter’s peachy dress, bundled up with a fat white bow complete with a bell. He put the thing on thinking that, ideally, his little girl would jingle up some hell of noise if she got lost. Some good that bell did. 

“You lost mi amor?” 

Lost. The word stands out to him first, all dressed up in a sugar cube of a voice. His Gabriella tugs on a stranger’s long gown, eyes pricked with tears streaming down her cheeks. Of all the people-- she couldn’t just pick on someone she knew? Head to Rio’s hostel, find Deputy Gwen stalking around, or even Hobie’s bum ass strumming a tune on the old stage. No, she’s with a strange woman. 

“Now don’t you cry,” you dab away the stray tears with an embroidered handkerchief. “I’ll find you home.” 

You’re not from here because you’re all done up like a buttercup in spring when the women here only broke out color for church. Corset sucking in the finest assets, a buttercream bustle underneath that buttercup yellow skirt. Hair up in a waterfall of curls and covered by a small slouched hat of flowers. You held a parasol for the evening sun, keeping it off your tanned skin. 

“There,” Miguel set his hands on his hips, catching his head in a shake. Gwen leans over on the ball of her feet and stares straight down the barrel of a path. 

“My my,” she says. “Ain’t she a looker. Why are you-- You look good, Miguel.” 

She’s caught on his frantic fiddling. The way Miguel straightens his tie into his waistcoat and checks the chain that drapes along his side. He checks the time on his cracked pocketwatch and spins it between his fingers. Gwen leans up to flick a stray strand of hair away from his face.

“Think so?” 

“Entirely presentable.” 

"¿De veras?" Miguel clears his throat, “Best be on my way to get her.” Miguel loops his fingers on his fine leather belt and waltzes right on up to your stall of hand-sewn dresses. 

For once in his life, he feels underdressed. A man sets some coins in your hand, plucking up a small communion dress for his daughter. With ruffles, lace, and the occasional ribbon. He’s not sure how much luck you’d have selling more than scraps of ribbon in this little town. You set the coins aside, turning your attention back to his daughter who-- somehow, got a brand new ribbon bundled in her ponytail between his fiddling and the walk over.

“Buenas tardes,” he clears his throat, whipping out his metal badge. “I’m Sherriff O’Hara.” 

“Encantada, Sheriff O’Hara. You’re looking as pretty as a penny this fine afternoon. Can’t be wanting any of my dresses. My name is… well, how can I help you?” 

“Papa,” Gabriella coos as if this whole mess wasn’t on her tiny little shoulders. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, not yet.

“Yes, mami, Sheriff O’Hara. Do you know old Sheriff O’Hara?” Miguel suppresses his delight as you lift her up onto your hip. Most days, he didn’t notice his own melancholy. Coming home to his little girl soothed all that like a good helping of booze after a bad wound. “She likes you.” 

You sure talk pretty. He clears his throat, pulling on the sloppy tie that feels a whole lot hotter all of a sudden. He shouldn't be acting like this. Has it really been that long since he’s been with a girl? He couldn't go to the saloon and pick any one of those lovesick girls. The town wouldn’t continually elect a loose man. Miguel’s eyes catch the flickering gold of a bumblebee locket on your chest. He traces the curve of its wings, wrapping around a crusted gem.

“‘Course she does, she’s my girl. I lost Gabi up in the crowd flow.” 

“You lost her? You can’t tell me you’re the kinda man that does it all. Where is your wife?”

Where is your wife? The question tormented him. He could do it all. Managing the sloppy, slow thieves and putting down the occasional drunken brawl. At the end of the night, he came home to his empty home and saw his little girl. Miguel’s gaze danced along the puffy clouds in the sky. The fluffy clouds drift the same as usual, the same old slow draw, unknowledgeable about the change in his life. He suppresses the distant melancholy in his voice in surfacing old memories. 

“Ain’t got a wife. She ran off on me with some wolf. Usually, I got a sitter for my girl but, she came down with a fever.”

“A wolf?” you repeat after him, “Why, you mean a gentleman?” 

A gentleman, he scoffs under his breath.

“If you wanna call him that. He was an outlaw.” 

“I’m mighty sorry, Sheriff.”  You looked at the little girl in your arms. Gabriella’s small fingers fiddle with the glimmering gold pendant on your chest. He throws her a look-- behave. She’s not paying attention one bit. You set your parasol down, freeing the necklace and setting it in her tiny fist. “I’m a whole widow myself. Lost my man in the war and never got the chance to have one’a my own.” 

“You don’t say. You on the market?”

“On the market like cattle?” you teased. If he’s not mistaken, that shy smile of yours was all his. Maybe you like him. It's a signal that he could keep going. 

“Coño, no. You’re too fine for that,” the words are buttery smooth, but upon discovering how the words may come off, he realizes he might be sliding into a trap on the back of those words. Your lips are slightly agape, half in shock. “Pretty. You’re too pretty.” 

“Oh, Sheriff, don’t worry your head,” you adjust Gabriella on your hip, swaying in place like it was natural. “I ain’t one to take offense to pretty words. Suppose you want your niña back?” 

There went his chance.

"That'd be best," he slides his hands underneath Gabriella’s tiny arms to pick her up. The pendant she held clattered free from her grip, nestled in the deep grass. You were about to pick it up when a scrawny thing of a man swiped it from the grass. For an instant, Miguel thought it might be Pavi, who loved to be helpful in the most annoying ways. Catching doors even when it's men, dropping his scarf on mud for girls, a charming and shy kid. It isn’t, though, it’s that weasel he seems to be throwing in the pin every damn week, bolting off in a full-on run. 

“Ay, not my locket!” you gasped, plucking your skirts over your boots. 

“Maldito niño--” Miguel stops you, sliding Gabriella back into your arms. Not that she was complaining, tiny hands slapping together in a rendition of applause as Miguel darted after him, his booming steps beating the ground. “Get back here, kid!”  

“Dios, you sure have a busy papa. I'm sure he’ll back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.” You looked between the little girl nestled comfortably in your arms and the parting sea of the crowd. Gwen zooms past, eliciting another round of jovial laughter from Gabriella O’Hara. She does love a good game.

It ain’t that Miguel wants to leave his girl with any old fool that waltzed on into his town. But he knows his community, knows they’d not leave him out to dry, and knows that taking his daughter on a town-wide chase with a skinny little weasel around town is not the move. Especially not if he has a gun, which he did, because of course he did. Now, the man has a jail cell and Miguel has a crook in his neck from where the buffoon fell through the crooked second floor of the post office.

He works the sore muscle the whole way back to your wagon. It’s high time for eating. His stomach was raging after the scent of someone’s pulled pork, the roasted sweetness of corn. If we wanted to be presentable then, he sure wasn’t now. Dust was a second skin on his pants and aged boots. He walks past the platform where Hobie plays a tune with his banda. Most vendors were wrapping right on up for some proper debauchery.

He finds you there, swaying to the beat of the music with Gabriella hanging in your arms. Her tiny hands were around an ear of elote already. Guess she extorted a snack out of you. 

“One gold locket,” Miguel heaves out the words as he digs in his pocket, whirling the golden chain into your small hand. You flip it over once, then twice, examining it for any defects. “Better to keep that tucked away out here. Puts a target on your back right quick.”

“Muchísimas gracias, sheriff. You're a sweetheart,” you reach out, grazing his scratchy cheek with your supple lips. Gabriella is flatly squished between his sweaty chest and yours. She’s fallen asleep flat against your chest. “You don’t know how much this necklace means to me.” 

There are whispers from the women he’s turned down. The viejitas who have been trying to set him up for a full-on year now, those who told him he needed to find a girl as soon as possible to marry. He didn’t want to. Not unless it made sense. 

“Yes, well, you could tell me,” Miguel finally picks his daughter from your arms. She’s out like a light. “If you want.” 

“It was my mami's, once upon a time. She gave it to me on my wedding day," you explain. "It's all I got left of her. I wonder what she'd think of me these days, travelin' town to town like I got secrets."

"You ever think of settlin' down again?" He turns his gaze past Hobie’s banda, to the yellowing sky. The sun is setting out over the horizon, casting warm orange and soft pink into the air. The road is full of wagons. The clip-clop of horses running their way to the next town, some checked in to the hostel.

"A veces," you explain. "If it feels right, I think I will."

"Yeah?" He settles on the bed of your wagon. The dresses were packaged and kept in locked chests, kept away from the bed of the wagon where your blanket was. Most of the foreigners have left, but you. He doesn’t have to guess to know that it was his fault. “You off to Rio’s hostel?” 

“‘fraid I’m out of town,” you smiled at him. “She ain’t got any rooms. Next city over might.” 

“Stay with me,” he says. “The night. Bit too late to get robbed on the road with all them pretty dresses you make. Wouldn’t be right to be sheriff and let a young thing out there without company. Some'a them outlaws take wives that way, y'know.” 

“Oh, Sheriff O’Hara, ain’t no one care about widows on the road,” your hand finds your chest. It’s said with a laugh, as though someone, somewhere, made you feel less than. It wasn’t going to be Miguel.

"Ain't a widow if you're carried off." He reclines, watching the figures of couples dancing to whatever the hell Hobie was playing on his guitar. His eyes track over Hobie’s gloved fingers that prance across the strings, waiting for you to walk back on that stupid comment. You do, snapping out a fan in the waist of your heavy dress to fan yourself.

“You really sure? I don’t mean to be a burden. I’m sure you got better to do than take care of company.” 

“You took care of my girl. Least I could do. Long as you go to church in the morning.” 

“Oh, now he’s askin’ me to church. When’s the wedding, Sherriff?” 

“Miguel. Soon as you want it,” he returns, half a smile pulling at a normally closed-off face. Miguel turns to set his Gabi down on your blanket, throwing you a look for permission. You nod, watching her roll on the wool thing, setting her hands under her cheek until she gets into a position that isn’t as bad as laying on her back. He tucks her hair back over the shell of her ear, exhaling a breath. Somewhere between his ex-wife’s flight from the town and today, she began to look more and more like him. He’s thankful for that. He doesn’t need more memories of her. Only needed to get through each day, and make the next better than the one before.

“She’s tuckered out,” you lean down, just by his face. “All that escapin’ papa work.” 

“Si,” Miguel hums as he massages his sore shoulder. “Tell me about it. I’m getting too old for this.” 

He lifts his head from his daughter’s tiny body, reminded of all the times someone told him to get married. If not the women chasing him around his jail at all hours of the day, then the women at church who, at the moment, were gossiping away. He could hear the prattle already: sheriff likes rich girls. The type to have a golden locket and French silk. The luxury of hopping from town to town like some no-good woman. He’d wager, your husband ain’t had the money to take care of you but for these light luxuries. Traveling town to town wasn't no small feat.

Tch. He’d deal with it tomorrow when he took you to church. Scandalous as that was.

“Fancy a dance?” he offered up his hand. 

You remove your gloves, skin is soft and supple against his, only marred by the pricks of a needle. Your gloved fingers grazed his scarred palm, tracing the long strike that marred his open palm. There’s a thought there, just behind the reach of your playful eyes. He couldn’t quite reach it. 

“I’d love to, Miguel.” 

Something tells him he has time to.

[sanityshorror]

Me re-reading what I wrote in Act 16: A Little Piece of Heaven from The Dressmaker from Hell:

Coming 2025:

[scarfaxia]

which animal is Dev ?

I see him AS koalabear xD

This brown Chihuahua specifically

[deconstructthesoup]

Well... the Princess & the Pauper AU took over my mind... so, here, have some first thoughts as to how this story might work:

-Obviously, Damsel is Annalise and Prisoner is Erika, though they both have slightly different interests and motivations. Damsel, rather than being a science geek, is a lover of stories---tales of high adventure, daring rescues and escapes, and sweeping romance, and has a secret dream of becoming a writer herself. Prisoner, meanwhile, finds her love of dancing and her dreams of someday becoming a professional singer embarrassing and unrealistic, pushing herself to someday run her own dressmaking shop instead as a more attainable goal. She still does occasionally sneak out and sing on the street, but it's a guilty pleasure for her.

-Opportunist is Preminger---because, genuinely, there was no other character who could've fit, and you know that they'd absolutely kill a jazzy remix of "How Could I Refuse"---but even though I love a good-old-fashioned campy villain, I decided to make their motives a bit more complex. They want to be the ruler of the kingdom because they're hell-bent on being the one in charge, but it stems from growing up dirt-poor, with one mother who's chronically ill (Wild) and another mother who's been badly mistreated as a servant (Thorn). Opportunist started out telling themselves that everything they did was to give their family a better life, but that's become a secondary motivation as bitterness and greed have warped them over the years... and, well, in the end, Oppy always looks out for themselves.

-To that end, Opportunist is only four years older than Damsel---26 to her 22---and if you're wondering how they managed to snag a royal advisor position that young, it's exactly how you'd expect. They lied their way into an assistant advisor position in their teens, and when they found out that the old advisor was intending on collapsing one of the gold mines in order to embezzle from the kingdom... well, they saw an opportunity, and made sure that one other person got trapped underneath the rubble.

-Witch is in a role similar to Julian's---she's just the palace gardener instead of Damsel's tutor, and everyone talks about how they're "such good friends" and ignore the fact that they're obviously in love with each other---but I decided to keep my long-standing dynamic of her and Opportunist being cousins, because the drama is something that could not be ignored. In fact, I went one step further, making it so Opportunist is the one who got her the job at the palace... and while they kept her in the dark about all of their plans, Witch knows both Damsel and her cousin too well to not see through the kidnapping scheme.

-Hero is Damsel's personal guard, her best friend aside from Witch, and the person who makes sure that Damsel isn't constantly ditching her lessons and running off to explore the kingdom... at least, not without an escort. He's very sweet and very considerate, and though he's always gently trying to steer Damsel more towards palace life and her duties as the future queen, he still listens whenever she tells him about this new idea for a story---and sometimes, he'll even jot some of it down and hide it in the library for her to find. Hero's a good friend.

-Stubborn and Contrarian are Opportunist's henchman (though, Oppy prefers the term "troublemakers for hire," since that gives the boys a bit of an ego boost), and they masquerade themselves as two of several workers who still work in the mines... all of whom are on Opportunist's payroll, but Stubborn and Contrarian are the only two they trust to do some of the dirtier work. Stubborn's always happy to get his hands dirty, but Contrarian... well, he's a bit of a goof, for one, and he gets more and more uncomfortable with the boss's plans as they go from just stealing gold from the mine to kidnapping the princess to attempting to murder the princess. This is partly out of a sense of conscience... and partly because Contrarian is head-over-heels in love with the princess's personal guard. And yes, those feelings are absolutely requited.

-Prisoner's horrible boss is Wraith (I debated Tower, but the role needs a crone), and the other employees of the dress shop are Nightmare---who also has dreams of being a stage diva, though is much more open about them---and Stranger, who's also trying to pay off an inherited debt. Stranger also has an older sister in Razor, who's taking a... less than legal avenue to paying off all that money, working alongside her longtime girlfriend-turned-wife (who's Adversary, obviously). While Prisoner considers Nightmare and Stranger to be friends, her closest allies are...

-Spectre and Cold are Wraith's grandchildren, and while they technically have a leg up on the employees due to, well, not having to slave away for years on end, they're still very much at the mercy of their grandmother, and both of them do little things for the dressmakers---sneaking them good food and personal affects, throwing little parties when their grandmother's on a trip, shaving off as much of the debt as they can without Wraith noticing---in short, everyone's eager for the day when the two finally take over the shop. Spectre and Cold are also very loyal friends to Prisoner, to the point where when Prisoner suddenly has to impersonate Damsel, Cold goes with her to pose as a guard... for her safety, of course, but also because he just wants to see what a palace is like.

-Smitten is the neighboring monarch who Damsel's in an arranged engagement with, and they're incredibly eager to meet and fall in love with their future bride---but their twin brother, Skeptic, is more than a little rankled by the whole situation, considering the sudden loss of the kingdom's wealth highly suspicious. It definitely doesn't help that when they arrive at the palace, Smitten somehow winds up spending way more time with a tall, dark, and smarmy palace guard who seemingly has zero decorum... and Skeptic, meanwhile, finds himself drawn to the princess's surprisingly blunt, frank, and cynical demeanor, and she seems to like him a lot more than his sibling. (I'm incapable of writing a Slay the Princess fic without Priskep. Sue me.)

-And last little thing (before I figure out how to cameo some of the others)---Happily Ever After is the queen, a once bright and optimistic ruler turned melancholic after the death of her husband and the hardship her kingdom has fallen under. She's poured her heart and soul into helping her kingdom and making sure her daughter is happy, but she's also exhausted... and that's caused her to overlook a lot of things that have been going on in the kingdom since before the mine collapsed. Not to mention, the very clear signs that her advisor might not be as trustworthy as they appear.

[probably-not-exar-kun]

God I wish we could normalize telling people their stuff sucks balls again. Yes. Yes there is a place and time to lie to people and encourage them to pursue a craft/art/hobby/whatever so they don't lose motivation and improve on their own accord.

However.

There are also times and places where I think anyone can very much profit from being lovingly told that what they just produced looks like absolute bullshit liable to give people eye cancer, and that there is no way in hell they are making a career out of it. This applies mostly for people who are offering art commissions when they very clearly don't even grasp the basics of what they're trying to sell, but can also be the case for hobbyists who DO produce dogshit stuff, but post it online with a self deprecating caption like "haha I know it's bad sorry", clearly as a tactic to fish for compliments.

Yes! It does suck! Good on you for recognising that! Now go and learn how to do it better instead of groveling on social media so the "don't criticise anyone ever" crowd gives you a participation medal.

I have seen people offering sewing commissions that made me want to pluck me eyes out. And I probably would have been one of them if I hadn't spent the three years after my fashion design major by pursuing an actual apprenticeship as a dressmaker (women's tailor) with a teacher who was very kind, but also very honest!

She'd show you mistakes in a way that told you she had absolute total confidence in you to be able to do it better. Whenever you'd say "oh I can't do it better" she'd go "well maybe not now but with some more practice and help, you absolutely can! Don't underestimate yourself. You can't give this to a paying client, but you'll be at a point where you can soon". When she complimented something, you'd know you really did well and felt actually accomplished instead of patted on the head like a child with a crayon drawing.

You need people to point out your mistakes, and sometimes you need the cold hard reality check of "if you want to do this as a paid full-time job, you have to improve your quality". Otherwise you're doomed to an eternal cycle of failure because your friend circle are yes men who are more scared of hurting your feelings than they are to see you fail in life.

[edenesth]

TWTHH Bonus: Star of the Show

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

A/N: In case you haven't already read Honeymoon Avenue (the first bonus chapter), it's probably better to check that out before reading this. Also, please be warned that this contains a slight spoiler to Wooyoung and Hongjoong's spinoffs.

Honeymoon Avenue | Fic Masterlist

"Your wife is with child."

The words echoed in the general's mind long after Yunho had uttered them. You remained unconscious in his room, undergoing a more thorough examination. Seonghwa had been asked to leave while you were attended to. He felt a wave of relief knowing that, according to the physician, your fainting spell was simply your body's way of compensating for the exhaustion caused by the demands of the little one growing inside you.

"Don't worry, everything will be okay."

"I'm counting on you, Yunho," he recalled telling the doctor before exiting his private quarters, his gaze lingering on your still, pale figure nestled under the covers.

"When have I ever let you down, my lord? She'll be fine, the baby will be fine; your family, they'll be just fine."

Realising there was no use lingering outside while the physician and his team of servants were busy examining you—his presence wouldn't change anything—he decided to occupy himself elsewhere while he waited. However, returning to his study seemed impossible; he knew he wouldn't be able to focus on anything else.

As if with a mind of its own, his feet carried him toward the House of Lotus. His heart warmed at the familiar sight of the pavilion facing the lotus pond, your favourite spot, once empty but now furnished with a small table, cosy cushioned seats, and decorative lanterns. It was a testament to the time you two spent together there. He could never tire of being there with you, and the mere thought of spending eternity like that was more than enough to fill his heart with joy.

Soon, it wouldn't just be us two.

Deciding not to sit alone without you, he opted to enter your quarters instead, where every corner held a piece of you. He softened as he opened the door and spotted your embroidery kit at the centre of the room. You had been deeply invested in the craft ever since Hongjoong had taught you a few techniques, dedicating nearly all your time to it when you weren't occupied with anything else. He remembered finding you diligently working on it late into the night and had to gently coax you to bed with him.

Approaching the items, he settled into your usual spot before going through the designs you had created. A chuckle escaped him as he took in some of your earlier, more clumsy works—clearly, these were from when you first began learning from the dressmaker. As he continued, a smile graced his lips at the gradual improvement in quality. It hinted at the possibility that you had discovered a hidden talent; his friend would surely be proud to see your progress.

However, his movements faltered as he reached the bottom of the pile and discovered what appeared to be a... baby shirt. Realisation dawned on him: had this been your secret project all along? Were you aware of your pregnancy all this time?

Questions flooded his mind, each one more pressing than the last. Why hadn't you told him? Why had you lied and pretended everything was fine when you must have been feeling so sick? Did you not trust him enough to confide in him?

His heart ached with the thought that you might have felt the need to hide something so important from him. It left him feeling a mix of confusion, hurt, and a tinge of betrayal. Had he not made it clear that he was there for you, no matter what?

As he sat there, staring at the tiny garment in his hands, he couldn't help but wonder what reasons you could have had for keeping this from him. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more heartbreaking than the last. He thought back to all the times you had been showing symptoms of pregnancy, and it hurt him to know you didn't feel safe enough to tell him the truth. Was it because you didn't think he would be a good father? What if, deep down, there was a part of you that was still afraid of him? What if—

Before his thoughts could further linger, a knock on the door snapped him out of his train of thought. Turning to see who it was, he allowed entry and found Eunsook standing there with a smile on her face, "The mistress is awake, master," she announced. With that, all his previous worries were momentarily swept from his mind. Only you mattered as he quickly rose from his seat and dashed towards his room to see you.

Rushing into the room, Seonghwa's heart raced as he laid eyes on you, sitting up on his bed with Yunho standing beside you. Relief flooded him as he saw you speaking softly with the physician, a gentle hand pressed against your stomach.

Oh thank god, she's alright... they're alright.

Moving closer, he couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for you. Despite the recent scare, you looked calm and serene, your presence soothing his worried mind. He approached quietly, not wanting to interrupt your conversation with Yunho but eager to be by your side.

As soon as your eyes met, he noticed the hint of moisture gathering in your gaze as you uttered his name, "Hwa..." His heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice, and he quickly moved forward, settling beside you on the bed. Gently, he grasped your hand, brushing strands of hair away from your face and stroking your cheek, "What's wrong, my love? Are you feeling alright?"

You nodded, leaning into his touch and motioning for Yunho to speak on your behalf. Taking a deep breath, the physician began, "Her condition is currently stable, my lord."

Seonghwa furrowed his brow in dread, "I'm sensing a 'but' there."

"But..." the doctor continued, "Due to years of severe malnutrition throughout the lady's childhood, her body lacks many essential nutrients necessary for both her and the baby. This explains her weakness. But fear not, I will do everything in my power to ensure her full recovery. Once we pass the three-month mark safely, the remainder of the pregnancy should proceed smoothly."

"I... I understand. Thank you again, Yunho, for your hard work. It seems we'll need your frequent visits for the next few months," the general acknowledged, offering a grateful nod to his friend.

"No problem, my lord and lady. I'll ensure Eunsook receives all the necessary information for the mistress' care. Please excuse me, I should get started on the preparations immediately."

Once Yunho had left and you were alone together, your husband turned his attention back to you. Squeezing your hand gently, he couldn't shake the image of the baby shirt from his mind. He knew he had to address it. Leaning closer, he pressed a kiss on your forehead before delicately broaching the subject, "I... I have a question."

You responded in a soft voice, returning the squeeze of his hand, "What is it, Hwa?"

"My love, have you been aware that you were pregnant all along?"

As your gaze met his, he rested his forehead against yours, seeking to reassure you, "It's just... I was going through your embroideries earlier and I saw it—the baby shirt."

You let out a soft sigh, nodding, "Yes, I... I had a feeling, and I've been preparing myself to tell you about it, Hwa. But I just didn't know how to say it. I was scared of your reaction." When he attempted to pull away, you reached out, cupping his face to keep him close, "Listen to me, I'm not afraid of you. I... I know you've never had a proper family growing up—both of us, actually—and... I can't help but wonder if you might hate the idea of starting one."

His heart swelled with understanding, realising he had momentarily let his earlier insecurities get the best of him. Of course, you were simply concerned about him. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss against your lips before murmuring tenderly, "With another person, I would hate the idea. But with you, my love, I want it all."

Feeling touched by his words, you realised you had never needed to overthink the situation. You should have known that his love and acceptance were unwavering.

Perhaps you had just been overwhelmed by the idea of a tiny life growing inside you—a product of your love with Seonghwa. The thought of having a baby, your baby, filled you with joy and apprehension. Neither of you had experienced a conventional family upbringing, and you feared whether you could provide the love and care this child deserved. Since the first moment you felt sick and figured you might be pregnant, endless questions floated around your mind.

Were you ready?

Was he ready?

What if he didn't want children?

But now, those fears seemed unfounded. As tears welled in your eyes, you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and buried your face against his shoulder, finding comfort in his embrace. He held you close, peppering kisses all over your head, his love and warmth enveloping you. Through your tears, you whispered, "I love you, Hwa."

You could feel his smile against your skin as he leaned his head against yours, his voice soft and reassuring, "I love you more, my wife, and that'll never change."

In the days that followed, you found yourself hardly ever alone. Your husband seemed determined to stay by your side every moment, as if he hadn't already been doing so since he dismissed all his friends. Now, he was even more attentive and vigilant, always ensuring he was nearby to keep watch over you. And whenever he needed to retreat to his study for brief meetings with Jongho, Eunsook remained faithfully by your side.

Today was another one of those days when he had no choice but to attend to some work. He hadn't been attending the daily assemblies for a while, so the least he could do was go through some reports to stay updated on the latest happenings in court.

Meanwhile, the head maid remained by your side in your room. You sat with a cookbook in your hand, diligently trying to learn new recipes. As the saying goes, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and although you already had a hold on Seonghwa's heart, you were determined to work even harder to keep it safe with you.

"You've been quite busy lately, mistress, with cooking and embroidering. I think the master might be getting a bit jealous that you're not as focused on him as you are on these tasks," she joked, gently brushing your hair as she observed your focused expression.

With a playful giggle, you shot her a glance, "Is he really? Well, everything I do, I do it to be a better wife for him and a better mother to this little one," you said, smiling down at your growing bump.

Eunsook's expression softened, "I'm just kidding. I'm sure the master knows that," she reassured before pausing, "Mistress, have you both thought about baby names yet?"

At that, your eyes widened, and you set down the book in your hands, "Oh dear, we haven't. I've been so invested in everything else, it seems I might have overlooked the most important thing."

She chuckled, rubbing your back soothingly, "Don't worry, you still have plenty of time until the little one is born. Perhaps you and the master could start thinking about it now."

Later that night, as you lay in bed next to your husband, the words of the head maid lingered in your mind like a persistent whisper. Despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on your eyelids, you found yourself unable to sleep as your thoughts drifted towards potential names for the future baby Park. Each name you considered brought with it a flood of emotions and images of what your child might look like, how they would grow, and the kind of person they would become.

Sensing your slight movements, Seonghwa kissed your head softly, his voice gentle, "Are you still awake, my love?"

You grinned sheepishly, patting his chest, "I'm fine, Hwa. You go ahead and sleep. You must be tired."

But he sighed, gently sitting up with you still in his arms, ensuring the comforter covered you, "Not as tired as you. You're carrying a little person. Now, do you want to tell me why you're still not sleeping?"

Smiling shyly, you met his gaze, "I was talking to Eunsook earlier and realised... we haven't thought of any baby names."

His mouth formed an 'O' in realisation, mirroring your surprise. It seemed he, too, had not given it much thought. Nodding slowly, he whispered, "That's right, we haven't," pulling you closer to him, he relished the way your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, "So, what do you have in mind then? Have you managed to come up with anything with all that thinking, hm?"

You replied, nervously nibbling on your lip, "Actually, I have thought of a name. If it's a girl, Yeonjoo feels right."

He hummed, considering deeply, "Yeonjoo... like a lotus princess?"

You beamed, "Exactly. She'd be our little princess, growing up in the House of Lotus."

His heart swelled; your choice held significance. It wasn't just a random pretty name; it carried depth. Planting a kiss on your cheek, he smiled, "It's perfect. So, if it's a girl, Yeonjoo it is."

You cheered, "Okay, any ideas for a boy?"

He hesitated, then brightened, "You know what? I do have one in mind, though it might not be as thoughtful as yours. How about Jiyeong? It means a wise and brave hero, and it could also symbolise a flower petal, like the lotus. It'd be wonderful if he grew up to be intelligent and brave enough to protect his eomma," he murmured, gently placing his hand on your bump and stroking it.

"I think Jiyeong is a wonderful choice, Hwa, if it's a boy," you whispered, a sense of relief washing over you now that you finally had names for your child.

Covering his hand on your stomach with yours, you looked up at him with slightly wet eyes, "Gosh, can you believe we're going to be parents in a few months?"

"It's surreal sometimes, my love. And I'll admit, I am a little scared. But I know we'll manage. It won't be easy, but as long as we face it together, we'll be fine."

Yes, I know we will.

The first three months seemed to pass in a whirlwind, with Yunho's weekly visits becoming a familiar routine. Each time, he checked on your condition and brought herbs to boost your health and stabilise the pregnancy, ensuring everything progressed smoothly. Amidst this, life outside your little family continued to unfold.

You recall a particular evening when Wooyoung rushed in, desperate for your husband's aid to rescue a certain Miss Han. In a matter of weeks, she became a temporary resident in your household while still courting the private investigator. Her presence was delightful as she eagerly assisted you in cooking and embroidering, all while awaiting Wooyoung's eventual proposal that would take her away.

And through him, you learned of Hongjoong's latest job, assisting the youngest miss of the Baek family. It appeared to affect the dressmaker unexpectedly, stirring emotions no one had anticipated, especially him, even requiring a little nudge from both Seonghwa and Wooyoung to realise his feelings.

Before you knew it, you found yourself seated in the dining hall, surrounded by your husband's friends. Giving your hand a squeeze, Seonghwa cleared his throat to grab their attention, "Guys," he began, "we've gathered you all here today because we have an announcement to make."

Hongjoong, arms crossed, chimed in, "Pssh, I had a feeling. I knew you wouldn't be treating us to a meal for no reason."

Yunho's knowing grin widened, excited to see the dressmaker's reaction while Wooyoung leaned forward excitedly in his seat, nudging San beside him, who smiled back but inwardly wished the investigator would leave him alone. Mingi promptly set down his wine glass, eager to hear what was to come.

"I hope you're all excited because you're going to be uncles soon," the general announced, prompting cheers from everyone at the table.

The lovely Miss Han, seated beside you, wasted no time in giving you a side hug, though she had already been privy to your little secret. She had even been considerate enough to keep her man in the dark about it.

Wooyoung joined in the celebration, clapping enthusiastically, oblivious that his other half had been aware the whole time, "I knew it! I could tell she was pregnant from my first visit all those months ago. You've been so oddly careful with her ever since!"

At that, Hongjoong's expression darkened, "What do you mean, all those months ago? How far along are you, my lady?"

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, "Three months."

The dressmaker's jaw dropped in disbelief, "You didn't think to tell us until now? Park Seonghwa, what kind of friend are you?"

Yunho scoffed and rolled his eyes, "See, that's why you're an idiot. What does Miss Baek even see in you, I'll never know. Obviously, they wanted to wait until her condition was stable before telling everyone. Why do you think I've been so busy for the past few months?"

Hongjoong shot him a glare, "Oh, I don't know? Maybe because you've been trying to spend all your time with a certain Miss Ryu?"

The physician sputtered in shock, but before the argument could escalate, Jongho appeared behind them, smacking both on the back, "That's enough, you two. Please continue this another time."

Your husband interjected, shooting the assistant a grateful smile, "That's right. As Yunho mentioned, we just wanted to wait until it was safe before telling you guys."

San and Mingi softened, offering heartfelt congratulations to you and Seonghwa, prompting the rest of the guys to do the same. However, the peace was short-lived. Wooyoung eagerly raised his hand, "Ooh, can I please be the godfather?"

The dressmaker was quick to object, "Excuse me? If anyone here is to be the godfather, it's obviously me! Know your place, you fool."

"Oh, dear god, here we go again," your husband muttered beside you.

You couldn't help but grin at their endless shenanigans, glancing down at your stomach and rubbing it affectionately. You already knew this baby would be spoiled rotten even before entering the world. It seemed this little one was already the star of the show.

I contemplated how much of the pregnancy I should cover, but I think I'll only do this much for now! Because any further than this, and that might spoil some of the other members' spinoffs. I shall focus on finishing up all the rest of the stories after this, and who knows? There could be more bonus chapters in the future, we'll see~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia - Chapter 2: A Mere Lady (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 2: A Mere Lady

Daemon has returned to King’s Landing. Yet it is not in his nature to sit idle.

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: That extreme slow burn once more lmao, Daemon being an idiot, Westerosi sexism, mention of violence, Daemon and Y/N bickering like children again

Word Count: 2.9k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: Thank you for all the support for the first chapter of Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia! It really warms my heart to see all your reblogs and likes 💗 this chapter is a bit of a filler one, but something big will happen next chapter (can you guess what it is? 👀) I hope you enjoy reading!

wonderful dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics​  !  

The shadows darkened and the bustle of noise in the Red Keep slowly faded into a faint hum as night enveloped the castle. I had just finished drawing up and helping Aemma into a bath when a maid announced the presence of King Viserys. I hurriedly rose from where I was preparing the Queen’s nightclothes and curtsied. “Your Grace.” Viserys merely waved away my greeting, putting a hand on my shoulder. “At ease, Y/N. We are not in the presence of other courtiers, you need not refer to me by my title.” I smiled fondly at Viserys. “Well, if my king commands it. Are you here to see Aemma? She is in the midst of her nightly soak” Viserys’ brows furrowed, “Of course. How has she been? Are the baths of any help?”

“Aemma says it is effective to a degree, but the moment she steps out of the bath, the aches return.” Viserys hummed in acknowledgement; “Looks like our son is taking quite the toll on my beloved. He must be an active lad.” My smile widened at that: Viserys’ pride in his unborn son was clearly strong. But my smile dropped when I heard Viserys’ next words, “Have you had a chance to run into Daemon by any chance, Y/N?” I chewed hard on my lip at his question, making Viserys raise his eyebrows and laugh at my obvious distaste for his younger brother. “I will take that as a yes. Are the both of you still having trouble getting along?”

“We get along about as well as fire and oil, I’m afraid.” Viserys let out a huge belly laugh at that, “And who is the oil in this situation, you or Daemon?” “Daemon,” I answered without hesitation. “Seven hells, I have no doubt his love for provoking me is fueled by the gods themselves.” Viserys looked amused, “Well, as your king, I am pleased to inform you that I have listened to your petitions and assigned him back to his old post at the City’s Watch. Mayhaps he will cease annoying you with this new responsibility.”

“I thank you for your graciousness, Your Grace,” I curtsied slightly. “Your justice is indeed swift and efficient.” “Well, a king must care for his subjects above all else. And you are like a sister to me.” Viserys patted me on the shoulder, “I must go and check on my beloved now. A King must not keep his Queen waiting after all.” I nodded and turned back to my duties as he ambled away.

The morning sun lazily clambered up the sky, causing the Red Keep to begin to bustle about with noise once more. A servant helped me lace up my new Tyrell green gown, with small gold rocaille prints dotting the bodice and gold roses stitched throughout. Autumn had fallen upon King’s Landing, and the air was beginning to fill with a biting chill, hence my father had ordered the dressmakers to design the dress with fitted long sleeves. I was a little uncomfortable, since I was unused to dresses with fitted sleeves, but it did make it easier for me to tend to Aemma.

I cast a glance at the fireplace. The flames had long died out, but in the midst of the charred black wood, I could see the remnants of parchment. The new dress from Father had not arrived without condition. I had not bothered to read the letter - knowing it would be full of eligible lord names and pleading from my father to just pick one and put him out of his misery - instead chucking it into the fire without a second thought.

“My lady?” Blinking, I looked up at the servant girl. “I am finished with your hair. Are you in need of anything else?” I studied my reflection in the vanity, patting a stray strand of hair down gently. “No, everything is fine. You’ve done a wonderful job. Thank you, Rebecca.” She smiled and curtsied before scurrying off. I put on my favourite pair of gold earrings, checking my reflection one last time before striding out of my chambers.

Aemma was never an early riser, and pregnancy fatigue had only served to prolong her hours spent in bed, hence I always took this opportunity to wander around the Red Keep while undertaking any errands assigned to me at the same time. After making an errand run to the washerwomen to pick up Aemma’s clothes, I bustled over to the Grand Maester’s quarters to request for the Queen’s medicinal teas. I also paid a visit to the seamstress to get a few garments of Aemma’s altered, as she had complained about them being too tight around her bump.

With my list of tasks fulfilled, I breathed out a sigh of relief. Aemma had yet to rise, hence I was wandering aimlessly around the hallways. It was then that I heard a few lads whispering as they passed me. “Did you hear about Prince Daemon’s latest exploits?” “Aye, I heard the smallfolk’s cries all the way from Flea Bottom in my quarters last night. The king has summoned him to the Small Council meeting this morning to demand answers, I’ve heard.” “The prince truly cannot go a day without causing trouble…”

Curiosity piqued, I listened thoughtfully to their conversation until their voices faded away. Daemon? Causing trouble? There was nothing novel of the matter. Yet, the lads had whispered about hearing the cries of the smallfolk. And from what I heard, it did not seem like the cries that Daemon was fond of eliciting.

My nosiness getting the better of me, I turned on my heel, my green skirts swishing behind me. Arriving at the base of the White Knights Tower, I slipped inside a room before anyone could notice and question my presence. The room in question was a secondary armoury, but it was rarely used as the weapons stored here were either blunted after years of use or outright broken. I pushed aside a false pillar made of highly porous stone, revealing a narrow gap which I squeezed through with ease.

Pulling back the pillar to cover the gap once more, my eyes trailed around the expanse of the space as I found myself in a familiar winding hallway. Sunlight poured in through numerous crumbling holes in the ceiling, and the air was filled with a dank smell. Sneezing slightly, I gathered my skirts and quickly made my way through the familiar maze of passageways. I nearly forgot to take a left, almost ending up in the secret halls in the Tower of the Hand, but I retraced my paths and breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the Hand’s disdainful voice. Here, the passageways were much more spacious and bright, being situated on the upper floors of Maegor’s Holdfast.

Peeking through one of the spaces in the walls, I caught sight of the Small Council seated around the table. Daemon was sitting near the head of the table still clad in his armour, his face streaked with dirt. Unfortunately, his back was turned to me, so I couldn’t glimpse his expression. However, I noticed most of the lords were looking noticeably on edge, especially the Hand. Otto’s face was even more unpleasant than usual, and that was saying something.

By the Gods, what had Daemon done now?

“You might not know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep, but much of the city is seen by the smallfolk as lawless, and terrifying.” Daemon’s smooth voice echoed throughout the room. Otto’s face turned as sour as spoiled milk. I had to restrain a snort, he was not incorrect, the residents of the Red Keep, particularly those of noble blood, were very far removed from the lives of the smallfolk. I had once ridden with Rhaenyra and Alicent to the Dragonpit, passing by the streets of Flea Bottom, and safe to say, I was very glad for my life of luxury in the Red Keep, although I did feel sorry for them.

“...I just hope you don’t have to maim half of my city to achieve this.” “Time will tell,” came Daemon’s response. Even with my view of his facial expressions obstructed, I could nearly picture the smirk on his face, clear as day. I rolled my eyes. It seems that Daemon’s first night returning to his duties as commander of the City Watch had been bloody, to say the least.

“If only the prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does to his work, your Grace.” I snapped to attention once more, eyes keenly observing the proceedings through the space. Gods be good, the Hand cannot give it a rest, can he? I suppose he could not: his distaste for Daemon clouded him from better judgement. But he should know better, I bit my lip to restrain the laugh I know would follow. Daemon always knew how to find someone’s sore spots, and Otto Hightower was as prickly as those strange Dornish desert dwelling plants.

“I’d gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you are in want of a woman to warm your bed,” Otto’s face lost its previous smugness as his eyes grew wide in anger and he stiffened at Daemon’s remarks. “Your own lady wife passed recently-” There was a scraping of a chair on the floor as the Hand towered over the table. I recognised the expression on his face, it was one I had worn many times in my life.

The visceral urge to punch Daemon Targaryen in the face.

I clapped my hand over my mouth, trying to fight the battle to keep my laughter at bay

“Did she not?” I lost the battle as a small wheeze erupted from my covered mouth. My eyes widening, I watched as the men at the Small Council table stiffen, particularly Daemon - his stance suddenly became more pronounced and alert. I know it would be hard to discover me unless the men had knowledge of the secret passages, yet I felt my heart thundering in my chest.

But the gods were good, and the men soon dismissed the sound as Viserys attempted to soothe Otto’s anger. Finally, after Viserys admonished Daemon for his actions- albeit not as fiercely as the Hand would have hoped for, judging by how his sharp glare had not subsided in the least after the king’s judgement - Daemon got up to leave, the doors shutting behind him with a definitive thunk. I dusted off my skirts and readied myself to leave as well. The excitement was over, and I had gotten the information I wanted to know anyway. Walking through the hallways again, I debated on which path I should take to ensure my exit would not be noticed by anyone. The nearest exit I knew was immediately out of the question, and I could not sneak out through the exits in any of the royal apartments, because there was an ever-present risk of being discovered by a nosy servant. Sighing, I continued walking, lost in thought, until a figure pushed me against a wall.

I opened my mouth to scream but a hand that smelt of sweat and something coppery covered my mouth, putting a finger to his lips. My eyes narrowed as he released his hand from my mouth. “What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” I spouted out angrily as those godsforsaken pair of lilac eyes stared down at me with amusement. “I think I should be asking you that, byka zaldrīzes,” Daemon raised an eyebrow.

“I asked first. How did you even know I was here?” I grumbled, dusting off my dress. The pounding in my chest was so loud I was certain the whole of the Red Keep could hear how much of a terrified wreck I was.

Instead of answering, Daemon reached his hand out to brush at my hair, as I observed him with wary eyes. Then, he flicked my forehead. “Ow! What was that for?” He smirked, “I see you took the armoury entrance, judging from the grime on your face and in your hair.” “And? It was one of the only ways I could get into the passageways without being seen.”

The prince hummed infuriatingly under his breath. “Has anyone ever told you how fond you are of making your life more difficult, byka zaldrīzes?” “Well forgive me, your Grace, but I do not wish to be caught in your apartments trying to sneak into a secret passage. The Red Keep is akin to a vicious beast when it comes to gossip.” The prince let out a triumphant “ha!” as I looked quizzically at him. Had he finally lost his mind?

“Formalities again,” he said, delighted, “I was hoping that yesterday’s episode in the throne room was not the last I would hear of you addressing me formally.” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “My question remains unanswered. How did you know I was in here?” The prince snorted. “I think every one of those lickspittles in the small council heard your laugh. I was the only one to recognise it however.”

I huffed. “Well thank the gods it was just you. Had it been the Hand-”

“That cunt is too busy licking my brother’s boots to seek you out, byka zaldrīzes,” Daemon teased, beginning to walk away. Rolling my eyes once again, I followed closely after. “I’m surprised you still remember the entrances. I was of the impression you would get lost if you ever came here again..” “From how many times you dragged me through these hallways to go catch a peak of King Jaehaerys and Prince Baelon in council sessions, it would take me a century to forget these halls.” I japed, as we rounded a corner that took us straight into an old closet in Daemon’s chambers. As we stumbled out, he settled down on his bed with a sigh of relief, and began to remove his armour. I crossed my arms as I leaned against the window, “There is still a lady here, your Grace.” “I don’t see any ladies, only a nosy bird.” “Hilarious.”

I averted my eyes as Daemon began to remove the gold cloak slung behind his shoulders. “I heard you crippled half the smallfolk.” “An exaggeration,” Daemon waved his hand dismissively. “And if so, they were criminals. Looters. Rapers. Petty thieves.” “And yet, you killed numerous innocents in your path to slaughter those criminals.” I said quietly.

Daemon was silent for a while, and I thought he had left to take a bath. But I was startled yet again when I felt a finger softly tilting my chin upward. Lilac eyes swirling with mild annoyance and mirth met my pensive (Y/E/C) ones. “Spare me the reprimand, Y/N. My brother and Lord Cunttower have already said more than enough.” He handed me a wet cloth, and I sighed before brushing it across his face, getting rid of the grime. Our dynamic has not changed since childhood, I mused internally. I walked away to dump the grime covered cloth in a basket for the servants to collect later.

“Do you not agree with my actions?” He motioned me to sit next to him on his bed. Wordlessly, I sat. Our eyes met, his searching mine for my reaction. “The violence was unwarranted,” I began delicately, watching Daemon’s eyes narrow. “However, I’d like to think the ends justify the means. I share Lord Corlys’ view on this matter.”

Daemon leaned back on his bedpost with a smile. “As I thought, you were more sensible than you looked.” His voice rose in volume as he ran a hand through his white blonde locks in frustration. “Pray tell, I just do not understand why my brother only sees the bad, and not the good. Even a mere lady like you could understand. Has that cunt of a Hand pulled the wool over my brother’s eyes so far that he is blind to the welfare of his city?”

Not receiving a response, he looked over at the Lady Tyrell. She sat there, eyes fixed to the ground, her mouth set in a thin line, her hands clasped in her lap. “Y/N?” “And begging your pardon, what exactly does ‘being a mere lady’ supposed to entail?”

Daemon had a slight hunch he might have made a mistake. “I was not implying anyth-” “Really?” Y/N interrupted sharply. “Or did you just consider my wits inferior to yours simply because I am a woman?”    

She stood abruptly, curtsying as she did. “Forgive me, my prince, I have other matters to attend to. If you have had enough of this mere lady’s presence, I shall be off lest a servant discovers us and sets tongues wagging.” She walked briskly out of the room, before Daemon could even formulate a response. Daemon stared at her retreating figure, and he groaned in frustration as he removed the last of his armour. His words had come out unintentionally, and he had not intended to insult her. Why was she so offended by them?

He huffed as soon as he had the thought. Why was it of any concern? He cared not for what that annoying brat thought of him. Sighing, he got up to ready himself for another visit to Flea’s Bottom. He had not seen Mysaria for a time.

translation: byka zaldrīzes: little dragon 

And that’s chapter 2! Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :)) Since chapter 2 was a little bit of a filler chap, chapter 3 should hopefully be released in about three days (as soon as I get that presentation that has been the source of my torment over the past few days on Tuesday done lol)  Let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form! 💗

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