· · ─ ·ʚ dabura karaba ɞ· ─ · · female pov
nothing matters
the last dinner party

please note i will NOT allow,
SA, R4PE, ABUSE, OR ANY OF THAT WEIRD SH1T.

fluff · sfw, contains no explicit, violent, graphic, or adult themes.
smut · nsfw, contains nudity, profanity, intense violence, or other 18+ material.
angst, a strong feeling of anxiety, dread, or deep unhappiness.

PROMPT: FEMPOV 001, rotten

You have developed a habit of bringing me things I never asked for. I return from meetings to find my chambers altered in small ways—fresh flowers on my desk, unfamiliar scents lingering in the air, a new cloak folded with irritating precision across my chair. It is not maintenance. It is affection disguised as domestic interference.

“You changed my space,” I say one evening.

You look up from your work, entirely unbothered. “Improved it.”
“It was already functional.”

“That’s not the same as comfortable.”

I study you for a long moment. You continue sorting papers like you are not aware of the way my silence sharpens. Like you are not aware that no one has ever dared to treat my environment as something in need of correction. And yet you do it with the confidence of someone who believes I will not stop you.

“You are reckless,” I say quietly.

PROMPT: FEMPOV 002, wedding

They tell me to bow. To speak carefully. To follow the sequence of human customs as if they can bind something like me into order. I do not object. Not because I respect it—but because you are standing there, watching, and I have noticed I am less inclined toward destruction when your eyes are on me.

The priest speaks. Words about union, balance, and fate. Concepts humans cling to because they fear emptiness. I do not fear emptiness. I have lived inside it. But when you shift slightly beside me, fingers brushing mine for a fraction of a second, I become aware of something I do not have a name for.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur without looking at me.

“I am listening.”
“To them?”

“...To you.”

PROMPT: FEMPOV 003, create your story.