#{ he's gone through so much since arriving on the Citadel and now he's found a friend and an ally and he's }

[mcltiples]

IT'S RICK V-79'S BIRTHDAY || accepting

@countlessrealities sent; As promised, once the night had fallen and his official duties for the day were completed, Rick headed back to the other timeline to meet his counterpart. He didn't bother changing out of his uniform. He wasn't expecting to stay long anyway. He had no doubts that his other self had plans for his night.

They met in front of the main door of the other Morty's penthouse, as they had agreed. Mimicking what his counterpart had done earlier, Rick stalked forwards, stopping only when he had invaded his personal space.

"I-I have a gift for you," was all he said, before presenting a small device.

It looked vaguely like a pager, but it was obviously high tech, with an additional component, a holo-projector.

"I-It's a communicator and a tracker. I-I have another for myself. W-With this, you can contact me an-and find me anywhere, no matter where I am in the multiverse. An-And I can do the same."

He deposited the device in his other self's palm.

"W-We must stick together. A-Allies and friends."

[[ Bday ask from my Evil Rick to your Evil Rick! ]]

It was perfect timing on Rick's part, he figured since he would meet his counterpart outside the door, he would also get ready to go out as well. It wasn't as if his Morty wanted to spend his birthday with him anyway. Besides, it's been a while since he could be free to do as he pleased.

As he stood there, in the outfit he chose for the night, he watched as the other approached him in that familiar uniform. It made him a little envious. He wanted a uniform like that. Though, his Morty didn't believe in such things.

Tuning back in to his counterpart, his attention was drawn to the device. He held it in his hand, examining it carefully. Blinking a few times, he glanced up at the other to hear the explanation.

Stick together, allies and friends. That put a warmth within his chest. Something he's never experienced before. It came on too sudden, too fast. He almost thought it was indigestion.

Shaking that thought out of his head, he met with identical eyes before him. Only then to let his body act on it's own. Both of his arms enveloping his counterpart's frame, pulling in close to a hug.

He's never hugged anyone before. Not like this. Usually he was the one being forced into a hug. It was unlike him, but he couldn't help the overwhelming emotion that took over him.

"I-I will stick by your side, other me, y-you're my one and only real friend."

The words were whispered in the other's ear, pulling back, he took a glance in those identical eyes once more. Nodding in approval before stepping back.

"Th-Thank you, I-I must get going now. I-I will talk with you tomorrow. Goodbye."

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Six

The next few weeks at Dragonstone passed swiftly as there was much to do. After seemingly coming to a stall once the dragonseeds had left to take Tumbleton, reinforcements finally arrived. The castle bustled with activity, the sound of preparations and strategy discussions echoing through the halls.

A new Small Council had formed at Dragonstone since the previous council was overthrown in the Capital. With the arrival of Lord Commander Criston Cole and Unwin Peake from Harrenhal, along with the unexpected presence of Lord Larys Strong, deliberations began on how the Greens would retake King's Landing. The war room was frequently occupied, maps and parchments scattered across the table as heated discussions ensued. Yet, despite the fervent brainstorming, the ideas suggested so far proved unsuccessful, each plan encountering insurmountable obstacles.

Aemond, anticipating the need for sound medical and scholarly advice, had written to the Citadel, requesting a Maester to join them at Dragonstone. The Citadel responded affirmatively, agreeing to send a number of candidates from which the royal couple could choose who would serve as the Grand Maester on the newly formed Small Council.

However, it became evident that the selected Maester would not arrive in time for Maera’s birth, which was now predicted to be a mere fortnight away. When she first found out she was pregnant, Maester Orwyle had examined her carefully, his face lined with concern and concentration. “The very end of the eighth moon,” he predicted with a note of finality.

In the meantime, Maera remained resolute, continuing her duties despite the increasing burden of her pregnancy. Her steps were slower, her movements more deliberate, but her spirit remained unyielding. She attended council meetings alongside Aemond, her presence a silent reminder of the stakes involved and the future they fought for.

With the arrival of the boats from both Harrenhal and King's Landing, Maera found her belongings slowly filtering their way through Dragonstone and ending up back in her possession. Each day brought new parcels and crates, some familiar and comforting, others a stark reminder of the upheaval they had endured.

She was sure that Lord Unwin Peake had grabbed what he could from her rooms in the Riverlands after he received the summons. The items were neatly packed, a testament to Unwin's efficiency. But it was Lord Larys who had brought her belongings from the Red Keep, and Maera still did not trust him. The thought of him personally going through her property made her shudder. He was a creep, and his unsettling presence always seemed to lurk just at the edge of her awareness.

As she unpacked her things, Maera experienced some sadness that not all of her possessions had found their way back to her. She knew this was a time of war, and the Lords had probably only grabbed what they deemed as essentials. Still, it pained her to think of the personal items lost in the chaos, relics of her past now scattered or gone forever.

Among the returned belongings, her black and gold dresses emerged, rich fabrics glinting in the torchlight. Her jewels, too, were there, glittering with the promise of better days. Books she had collected over the years, their pages worn from frequent reading, were stacked carefully in a corner. Some of her weapons had also arrived, including her old hunting bow and a spear sent from Dermot years ago.

Despite the arrival of her possessions, Maera found she couldn't use most of them so late in her pregnancy. The journey on Ēbrion to Dragonstone had weakened her previous injuries, forcing her to take a break from riding on dragonback. The thought of mounting a dragon now was unbearable; her body ached in ways she had never imagined, and the weight of her unborn child made every movement a laborious effort.

There was no way she could use her bow, her swords, or her spear. She was too exhausted just from walking up the stairs, let alone sparring outside. The very idea of engaging in combat or even practicing her skills felt like a distant memory, a part of her life that seemed almost unattainable in her current state. Her once agile body was now cumbersome, each step a reminder of her physical limitations.

The only thing she could do was write letters to her allies. She spent hours at her desk, scribbling replies diligently, aware of the importance of maintaining these connections. Many letters needed to be written, but the task quickly grew tiresome. The monotony of correspondence weighed heavily on her, draining her spirit. There seemed to be no time for fun or joy.

Is this what being a Princess was supposed to be? she wondered, frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior. Even her giving birth, something she had once envisioned as a deeply personal and private experience, was now a matter of national importance. Her womb was no longer just hers; it was a vessel for the future of the realm, scrutinized and monitored by those who saw her child as a pawn in their political game.

Maera sighed, setting her quill down for a moment, her hand aching from the relentless writing. She looked around at the familiar trappings of her past life—dresses, jewels, books, weapons—all now out of reach, relics of a time when she felt in control of her destiny. The once comforting presence of these items now only served to highlight her current helplessness.

She rubbed her swollen belly, feeling the baby kick beneath her hand. There was a glimmer of hope in that tiny movement, a reminder that despite everything, life continued to grow within her. It was a small solace, but enough to keep her going through the long, tedious days.

The tender moment was interrupted when Maera’s chamber doors opened. Aemond entered, his straight silver hair swaying as he walked, cutting a striking figure in his own clothes. The green tunic he wore reminded Maera of her father’s eyes, her own eyes. She wondered if their child would have her eyes too.

There was still tension between the couple, both walking on a knife’s edge when interacting with each other. They remained separate most days, apart from the few short hours they would spend eating a meal together. Depending on the atmosphere, sometimes the meals were filled with idle chatter, and other times, deathly harsh silence.

Maera rose from her seat, one hand on her stomach and the other on the back of her chair, pushing herself to stand. The pressure on her back and stomach, as well as her injured leg and arm, was intense, but she managed. Once stood up straight, she sighed in relief and bid her husband a respectful nod.

“Is there anything you need, my Prince?” she asked, confusion in her voice.

Before Aemond could answer, a flurry of stewards entered, carrying wooden chests, which only heightened Maera’s confusion. She glanced at Aemond, searching for an explanation in his stern features. His violet eye, usually sharp and calculating, softened slightly as he looked at her.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be here. At the very least, we won’t leave till you’re recovered from birth,” Aemond said before gesturing to the chests now being placed around the room. “I thought I would bring you some things to pass the time.”

The Princess blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She watched as the stewards opened the chests, revealing a plethora of art supplies. The vibrant colors in the paint pots and variety of materials were overwhelming.

There were thick, rich reds and blues, delicate pastels, earthy tones, and metallic hues that shimmered in the light. Brushes of all sizes and shapes were meticulously organized, from fine-tipped for detailed work to broad, flat ones for sweeping strokes. Sponges of varying textures and shapes promised endless possibilities for creative expression. The parchments and canvases were of the highest quality, their pristine surfaces waiting to be transformed by Maera’s touch.

Aemond stood back, observing her reaction. His usual sternness was softened by a hint of anticipation, as if hoping this gesture might bridge the widening gap between them.

“This… this is thoughtful,” she said, her voice catching slightly as she ran her fingers over the tops of the paint pots. “Thank you.”

The one-eyed Prince nodded, his expression still serious but with a hint of relief in his eye. “I thought you might find some solace in it. You painted frequently at home.”

Maera smiled faintly, the tension between them easing just a fraction. She could see a glimmer of hope in his eye, a momentary easing of the tension that had plagued their relationship.

Aemond looked down, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders as he avoided her gaze. After a moment, he suggested, “Perhaps you would join me for dinner this evening as well?”

Maera paused, uncertain. His gesture was thoughtful, yes, and it did clear the air slightly. But there was still a long way to go. “I require my rest this evening,” she replied politely, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Her husband nodded, his stern face masking the disappointment that flickered in his eye. He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening briefly. With a sigh, Maera then suggested, “But maybe we could break our fast together in the morning.”

Aemond’s expression softened slightly, and he agreed with a small smile. He reached for her hand, his touch gentle yet firm, and placed a small kiss upon it. The warmth of his lips sent a rush of unexpected emotion through Maera, causing her face to blush.

The Prince lingered for a moment more, his thumb caressing the sapphire and gold ring he had given her. The gesture was intimate, filled with unspoken words and unexpressed feelings. He then turned on his heel and left, his presence lingering in the room even after he had gone. Maera couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt at the thought of breaking their fast together, a fleeting smile forming on her lips.

The days grew longer, and for Maera, time seemed to stretch interminably. For the majority of her marriage, she had been pregnant, a state of being that was all too familiar for noble ladies of her status. It was common for them to be with child almost every year, a cruel arrangement that seemed to trap them in a cycle of childbirth until they could no longer bear it.

Preparations for Maera’s impending labor continued in earnest. The midwives were put on high alert, their presence a constant reminder of the imminent arrival. The chambers were meticulously readied with the necessary supplies, an array of linens, herbs, and tools placed strategically for the moment of need. Aemond, though often occupied with his duties, enquired about her well-being daily, either directly or indirectly through the castle staff. His concern was a small comfort in the midst of her growing discomfort.

The months had completely transformed Maera, both emotionally and physically. The trauma of war had left indelible marks on her spirit, and the rapid changes in her body were no less overwhelming. Her curvaceous figure had morphed into something unrecognizable, her body adapting to the demands of the growing life within her. Maera’s hips had widened, her breasts were harder than rocks, her muscles ached tremendously, and after all of her suffering, she had still not given birth.

The babe, now nine days late, seemed determined to take its time. Maera, exhausted and increasingly agitated, found herself in a constant state of anticipation.

The midwives assured her repeatedly that all was well. The babe within her kicked and wriggled energetically, a sign of its robust health. It was in the right position for birth, they said, and everything was progressing as it should. And yet, the birth did not come. Maera’s frustration grew with each passing day, her patience wearing thin as she awaited the moment that would finally bring an end to this prolonged ordeal.

Her concern grew as each day passed without the presence of a Maester. She remembered that Maesters were typically present at births when complications arose, so their absence must have been a positive sign from the Gods, indicating that her labor would be swift and uncomplicated, with no need for medical intervention. But if all was to be well, why was the baby still not here?!

The midwives had suggested confinement to minimize stress and give Maera a chance to take in the sight of her newly furnished chamber. The room was now adorned with a cradle, baby clothes, and soft rugs, intended to create a comforting environment and potentially jumpstart her labor. However, to Maera, the room seemed to taunt her, rubbing it in her face that the child had not yet come. The thought of staring at the same four walls endlessly filled her with dread, knowing she would go insane if she remained confined.

Desperate for a distraction and some semblance of control, Maera sought refuge in Dragonstone's library. She pulled out a number of books and scrolls, searching through ancient texts and medical treatises in a futile attempt to find something, anything, that might relieve her suffering and allow the babe to come.

After poring over several books, Maera finally stumbled upon sections related to pregnancy and childbirth. Over the course of a few days, she attempted numerous strategies to initiate her labor. She found recipes for spicy teas and drank them, but nothing happened. Determined, she took vigorous walks around the castle, pushing through the pain in her leg and the exhaustion that accompanied her efforts. Yet, there was still no sign of the baby’s arrival.

One morning, Maera awoke to a sudden pain, her abdomen squeezing and releasing for a few seconds. Her heart leapt with hope. Finally, some movement. However, as she turned in her bed, the pain subsided. Perplexed and cautiously optimistic, Maera summoned the midwives.

Upon examining her, the midwives declared the pains to be ‘false contractions.’ While they reassured her that this was a good sign, indicating that her body was preparing for labor, it did not mean the labor was beginning. Maera huffed in frustration, feeling the weight of disappointment. It was back to the drawing board.

Determined not to give up, she resumed her search for solutions, combing through more texts and experimenting with different methods, all while the anticipation and tension grew within her. Each moment felt like an eternity as she yearned for the arrival of her child, hoping that soon, her efforts would finally bear fruit.

After another evening of tireless reading in hopes of finding a miracle cure for her ailments, Maera finally stumbled upon something promising. The practice was outdated and certainly frowned upon by the Faith, but she had already done things the Gods would not approve of. She resolved to ask for forgiveness later.

The text she found described a method first documented in Old Valyria during the time of Aenar Targaryen, her ancestor who relocated his House to Dragonstone. If it had worked for her ancestors, surely it must work for her, she concluded. The excitement and desperation mingled within her, pushing her to try this ancient practice.

Maera made her way back to her chambers and summoned the midwives once again. They strongly advised against it, citing that she should allow nature to take its course as the Gods intended. Maera rolled her eyes at their caution. Surely the Mother and Maiden would understand her plight?

Ignoring their protests, she ordered the maids to dress her in a black sheer nightdress that accentuated every single curve of her body. Her hair fell loose into curls, a beautiful mix of brown and silver. She dabbed some perfume onto her neck and wrists, the scent of jasmine and vanilla filling the air, before leaving her room.

“I was not expecting you here this evening.”

The stone walls of the room were adorned with tapestries depicting the fiery history of House Targaryen, their dragons soaring majestically over battlefields and burning cities. Heavy wooden furniture, intricately carved with dragon motifs, filled the room, and the hearth was always alight, casting a warm glow over the dark stone and keeping the chill at bay.

Now that Aemond had unpacked his belongings, the room began to reflect his character. His polished armor and weapons were meticulously arranged on stands and racks, each piece gleaming and well-cared for. Books on history, warfare, and Valyrian lore were stacked neatly on shelves, alongside maps and scrolls detailing strategies that could be used in the ongoing war. A dark green tapestry bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen hung prominently on one wall, a symbol of his allegiance and ambition.

When Aemond entered his chambers, he furrowed his brow, seeing the shadow of a stranger perched upon his bed. His hand instinctively went to his sword, but as he drew closer, he was met with the sight of his wife in her sheer black nightgown. His violet eye quickly widened, taking in the sight of her fully, his gaze raking up her body.

Maera attempted to appear desirable, though she felt nothing of the sort. Her heart pounded with nerves, and her body ached from the weight of her pregnancy and the exhaustion of her efforts. She resolved that this was merely a transaction to get what she needed and would attempt to play her part convincingly.

The Princess took a deep breath and met his gaze, her voice soft but steady. “Me neither,” she replied, her tone attempting to be sultry despite her inner turmoil.

Aemond's eye swept over Maera's form one last time, lingering on the curves accentuated by her sheer nightgown. Then, without a word, he moved to sit on the chair next to the dresser, beginning to unbuckle his boots. Maera sighed, realizing she needed to be more direct.

"I require your assistance," she stated, trying to keep her voice steady.

Aemond's eye flicked up as he removed his boots, repeating her words as if trying to make sense of them. "My assistance?"

Maera nodded and gestured to her swollen stomach. "I'm exhausted," she explained, her frustration evident. "And if I hear one more midwife telling me to relax for the sake of the baby, I will burn this castle down."

Aemond breathed out a laugh, the sound unexpected but welcome. He then began to unbuckle his dark green doublet, agonizingly slowly, and Maera could not tear her gaze away. When he removed it, leaving him in just his cotton shirt and trousers, he looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “So what do you need from me?”

She gulped, attempting not to be overcome by desire for her husband. Despite her anger and the gulf between them, the sight of him stirred emotions she could not easily suppress. "For you to perform your duty," she said, trying to maintain her composure.

Aemond tilted his head, confusion evident in his eye. Maera clenched her jaw, frustration and longing mixing in her voice as she clarified, "The marital act, Aemond.”

The Prince smirked, a glint of amusement in his eye. "It's already evident that I have performed my duty," he replied, gesturing to her rounded abdomen.

Maera dug her nails into her palm, the sharpness of her frustration growing as she tried to explain herself. "I read in a Valyrian tome that the act can bring forth labor towards the end of pregnancy," she reiterated, her voice carrying a mixture of urgency and irritation.

Aemond nodded slowly, his violet eye studying her with a hint of amusement dancing beneath the surface. He raised his brow for a moment, as if pondering her words, before decisively removing his cotton shirt. The action revealed his lean, muscular form, marked with scars that told tales of battles fought and dangers faced. Despite her current state of mind, Maera couldn't deny that he was undeniably handsome, and the sight of him after their prolonged separation only served to intensify her desire.

Pulling his silver hair free from its confines, Aemond's locks cascaded over his broad shoulders, framing his sharp features with a striking contrast. He spoke in a low, measured voice, his words laden with a subtle challenge, "Well then, wife, all you need do is simply ask me.”

“…ask you?” She parroted, her mind racing to comprehend his meaning.

“Yes.” Aemond stepped closer, looming over her on the bed, his presence commanding and magnetic. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to hers, and repeated in that same low tone, "Ask me."

Her breath quickened in response to the intensity of his gaze and the proximity of his body. A mixture of anger and longing churned within her as she felt his deliberate attempt to tease and provoke her. She clenched her jaw, fighting the inner turmoil of pride battling against desperate need.

Their eyes locked, and in that charged moment, Maera felt the room shrink around them, the air thick with unresolved tension. She struggled to maintain her composure, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Despite her determination to resist, a part of her yearned to surrender to the allure of his presence, to bridge the emotional chasm that had grown between them.

The Princess rose abruptly from the bed, her hands pressing firmly on Aemond's shoulders as she shoved him backwards. Her breath was quick, eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and defiance.

"Coming here was a mistake," she declared sharply, her voice tinged with anger. She turned away from him, walking briskly towards his dresser. Running her fingers through her curls, she decided to play Aemond's game of cat and mouse. "It's a pity Hugh Hammer has already left," she remarked coolly, her tone laced with provocation. "He would have jumped at the chance to bed me."

Maera heard him storming towards her, and she glanced into the mirror to see his looming figure behind her. Before she could react, his arm darted forward, grabbing her neck and yanking her backwards. She gasped as her back pressed against his bare torso, feeling the tension radiating off him.

“You would dare let someone touch you?”Aemond growled into her ear, his grip tightening slightly. His voice was edged with possessiveness and anger.

Meeting his intensity, Maera asked in return, her own voice steady despite the pressure on her neck, "And what would you do if I did?"

There was a charged silence between them, the air thick with tension and unspoken desires. Aemond's grip on her neck loosened slightly, his breath brushing against her skin as he leaned closer. “Slit their throat and let the blood spray and drip down your beautiful face,” he murmured, the brutality of his words causing her stomach to do flips.

Maera's expression hardened as she spun out of his grasp, facing him chest to chest. Her eyes locked onto his with defiance and frustration, yet beneath the surface, a flicker of something more complex lingered.

"You're insufferable," Maera declared sharply, her voice a blend of exasperation and an underlying current of something deeper, something primal that stirred within her.

Before Aemond could respond, she made her move. Leaning forward, Maera closed the distance between them in one swift motion. She crushed her lips against his with a fierce hunger, the kiss a tumultuous blend of passion and frustration. Her hands moved to grip his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare muscles.

Her lips moved against his with a fervor born of months of tension and misunderstanding. She tasted the familiar essence of him, a mix of warmth and something distinctly Aemond. His response was immediate, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her closer into him, melding their bodies together in a desperate embrace.

Maera felt herself being pushed back to the bed, her husband’s hands venturing to her shoulders as he pushed sleeves of the nightgown down, the sheer material falling off of her body and pooling at her feet. Aemond’s hands immediately flew to her breasts, squeezing and massaging the rounded flesh, which brought her great relief. A soft moan escaped her lips as she surrendered herself to him, his touch fueling the yearning within her that she had desperately tried to deny.

Aemond pulled away for a moment, grabbing one of the pillows at the top of the bed before placing it behind her. He then dropped to his knees, his hand crawling along the length of her leg, the calloused fingertips dancing along her calf before meeting the soft rounded meat of her thigh. She instinctively widened her legs, inviting, if not begging him, to touch her, revealing her glistening cunt to him.

“Fuck, you have missed me,” he purred before swiping his tongue through her folds.

“Oh Gods,” Maera sighed as her husband lapped at her core like a man starved, his tongue delivering deliberate strokes to her clit, causing her to squirm. Each flick of his tongue and the firm pressure at her aching core intensified the desire pooling inside of her.

The Princess’s hands gripped the sheets tightly as she felt herself getting closer and closer to her peak. Aemond’s eye flicked up, grabbing onto one of her hands and placing it firmly onto the back of his head. All semblance of control left her body as she finally fully surrendered to him, whimpering as she gripped his silver tresses.

Maera allowed her hips to roll against her husband’s face, that oh-so familiar knot tightening in her stomach as he savoured the nectar of her arousal. Aemond’s hand squeezed her thigh harshly as his other moved down to let his fingers join his tongue. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head in pleasure as two fingers entered her, whilst he peppered kisses against her puffy clit.

His digits curled inside of her, brushing against that rough patch within. The Prince groaned as he heard her muffled voice moaning his name, the sound of her arousal echoing throughout the chambers. Mere seconds later she saw stars as she gasped for air, the tight coil snapping as pleasure completely washed over her. She held Aemond in place, her nails digging into his scalp as he continued licking and sucking her clit through her peak.

The one-eyed Prince did not give her time to catch her breath before flipping her onto her front, her swollen belly resting on the pillow he had previously put behind her. As Maera turned her head to see what he was doing, she felt is tongue run through her folds, lapping up her arousal before licking all the way to her puckered hole, causing her to gasp. Then without warning and the sound of rustling fabric, he entered her in one swift movement, filling her to the hilt before setting an erratic pace.

Her orgasm had left her sensitive and she swore she could feel every inch, every ridge, every vein even more intensely than she had ever done before. She bit her lip, determined to not let any more moans escape her. She had already given too much of herself away. This was supposed to be a transaction, a means to an end. And yet it felt so fucking good.

Maera gripped onto the sheets for dear life as her legs began to shake, his cock hitting that rough patch within her over and over again with each forceful thrust. She felt his hand slide up her neck and tangle into her brown and silver locks before pulling her upwards, her back now against his chest, his breath fanning against her face. When his other hand snaked down to stroke her bundle of nerves, Maera’s back arched instinctively, hand hand flying backwards to tangle once again in his hair.

The pressure began to build once again in her stomach, blinding hot pleasure wracking through her body like electricity. She turned her head to look at him and took in the beauty before her. Aemond, his face flushed, his jaw slack as he looked down, watching as his cock disappeared into her.

Without thinking, she pulled his face towards her, colliding her lips with his. Aemond’s tongue slipped past her parted lips, lapping the inside of her mouth as he tasted her. After a moment, he pried himself away, simply resting his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for air as they chased their peaks, their breaths mingling. The hand in her hair began to snake down her body, pausing momentarily on her breast, grabbing and kneading the flesh harshly, before descending further and resting on her swollen stomach.

It was intimate. Too intimate for what this was supposed to be. But Maera did not have time to dwell, her mind and body out of sync as her cunt fluttered around him, pulsating with a rhythm that was overwhelming, gripping and squeezing his cock like a vice. His release followed soon after, his hot white seed painting her walls, a feeling that she had missed, no matter how much she tried deny it.

After a moment, once their breathing had slowed, Aemond collapsed onto the bed beside her, and Maera turned to lay on her back, her hair fanning around her like a dark and silver halo. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, her face flushed from her two peaks, her body feeling practically boneless.

She felt amazing. Desired. Wanted. Loved? No, that was too much. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She felt his hand brush against hers hesitantly, as if he did not wish to scare her away. But she could not stand it, and abruptly sat up, her heart still pounding from the intensity of their coupling.

She reached down to the floor, her fingers brushing against the sheer fabric of her nightgown. With a swift, almost frantic motion, she pulled it over her head, the delicate material clinging to her still-flushed skin.

There was no time for tenderness or comfort. It was not possible. He had betrayed her, slain her kin, and almost gotten her killed through his sheer lack of action. Yet why did she only feel whole when she was with him? When she surrendered to his whim? When she accepted that her hate for him was also intertwined with her love for him?

As she stood, she let out a deep sigh, frustration gnawing at her. She was mad at herself for giving in to her desires, and even more so at Aemond for his infuriating ability to provoke her. She turned to leave, but her injured leg gave way slightly, causing her to stumble. She caught herself on the edge of the bed, her breath hitching in pain.

Aemond’s voice cut through the tension. “Are you-?”

Maera whipped around to glare at him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. She didn’t want his pity, not now, not ever. “I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice cold and sharp.

Without waiting for a response, she stormed out of his room, her movements brisk despite the pain in her leg. The corridors of Dragonstone seemed to stretch endlessly as she made her way back to her chambers, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Reaching her room, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she tried to steady her racing heart.

Maera woke alone in her chambers the next morning. The bed was cold and empty, a stark contrast to the heated passion of the previous night. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, a mix of frustration and regret gnawing at her. She had allowed herself to become so close to Aemond, and it had awakened feelings she thought she had long since repressed.

She swore she could still smell his scent on her—leather and dragon smoke, a heady mix that made her heart clench painfully. The memories of their encounter played vividly in her mind, his touch, his whispered words, the intensity of their shared desire.

She knew last night had been a mistake, a desperate plea for aid to an adversary. Aemond had done what she asked, but he didn’t have to be so smug about it. Or make her feel so good. It was supposed to be a transaction, nothing more. Yet, in his typical manner, he had twisted it into something deeper, something that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. Such a devious son of a-

“Oooooofff.”

A sudden and intense pain seized her. It radiated from her lower back and surged through her lower stomach, shooting down the back of her thighs. She gasped, her hands instinctively gripping the sheets as her muscles tensed in response to the unexpected agony. Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes, willing the pain to pass.

When it finally subsided, Maera knew this was different from the false contractions she had experienced before. She immediately rang the bell to summon the midwives, her heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination.

The midwives arrived quickly, their faces a blend of concern and professionalism. One of them, a young woman with kind eyes, asked, "Are you sure it isn't another false contraction, Princess?"

Before Maera could respond, the pain struck again, more intense than before. She clutched the bedpost for support, her body doubling over as she tried to breathe through the agony. The midwives moved swiftly, two of them holding Maera’s hands, whispering words of comfort, while the oldest midwife, a seasoned woman with a calm demeanor, began her examination.

After a few moments, the older midwife looked up, her expression resolute. "Her labours have indeed begun," she confirmed. The other midwives nodded, their grips on Maera’s hands tightening in solidarity and support. The room buzzed with quiet urgency as they prepared for the task ahead.

A million thoughts raced through Maera's mind. Relief washed over her at the prospect of her pregnancy finally coming to an end, but it was swiftly followed by a wave of anxiety. Surviving the pregnancy had been one battle, but childbirth was an entirely different and more dangerous ordeal. The absence of a Maester to oversee the process only heightened her fears, amplifying the possibility of complications spiraling out of control.

Trying to steady her nerves, Maera addressed the midwives. "I know this stage of labor can last for days, especially with a first child," she said, her voice edged with determination. "I need you to assist me in dressing. I have a meeting to attend in the main hall."

One of the younger midwives, her face pale with concern, strongly advised against this plan. "Princess, you should begin confinement immediately to prepare for a safe delivery and ensure you get enough rest," she pleaded.

Maera, ever resolute, pushed back. "We are at war," she stated firmly, though willing to find common ground. "I will attend the meeting, and once it is over, I will begin my confinement. You can wait outside the chambers in case you are needed."

The midwives exchanged uneasy glances but complied. They helped Maera into a dark black dress, sparing her the restrictions of a corset. The dress flowed around her, accommodating her swollen belly. As they laced up the back of the dress, Maera tried to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside the fear and pain. Every movement was a reminder of the life inside her, the child that would soon be born into a world of chaos and conflict. As the midwives finished, Maera took a deep breath, steadying herself for the journey ahead.

Maera walked down the corridor, flanked by guards, her midwives trailing a few paces behind. The grand hallways of Dragonstone seemed longer and more daunting than usual. As she moved, a sharp pain struck, radiating from her back and lower stomach, searing down to the backs of her thighs. She halted abruptly, her hand flying to the wall for support, her other clutching her swollen belly. The intensity of the pain forced her to grit her teeth, her breathing shallow and rapid as she fought to stay in control.

The corridor’s dim torchlight cast long shadows, flickering over her strained features. She tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the rhythm to regain control. The contractions were coming every ten minutes or so, a relentless reminder that time was running out. But she needed to attend the meeting.

One of the guards turned and approached her with concern etched on his face. "Princess, are you alright?" he asked gently.

As the pain subsided, Maera straightened, smoothing out her dress with trembling hands. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, pushing her hair back from her face. "Move on," she commanded, her voice firm despite the lingering ache. The guards nodded and resumed their pace, Maera following behind, albeit slower and with a noticeable limp.

The midwives whispered amongst themselves, their hushed tones barely audible but clearly filled with concern. She imagined they were analyzing her labor, tracking her progress with each step. Maera pushed their voices to the back of her mind. She needed to focus on the meeting ahead. The world outside the chamber was still at war, and she needed to be informed, prepared for the future that awaited her child.

She paused at the doors, taking a deep breath, hoping to keep her composure. The pain was a constant companion now, but she could not let it overwhelm her. Not here. Not now. She squared her shoulders, resolved to stay in control, and signaled for the guards to open the doors. The heavy wood creaked open, and she stepped inside, every step a testament to her strength and determination.

The grand hall was an imposing room, its high, vaulted ceilings echoing with the whispers of history. Tall, narrow windows lined the walls, casting thin beams of light that danced with the flickering of numerous torches and candles. The cold, dark stone of the walls was adorned with ancient Targaryen banners, their red and black hues deepening the hall’s sense of foreboding and power.

In the center of the room stood the stone table, carved with meticulous detail into a map of Westeros. Candles were lit beneath it, their flames illuminating the hidden contours of mountains, rivers, and cities etched into the table’s surface. The soft, warm light created an almost ethereal glow, making the map appear alive.

The council members were gathered around the table, their faces a mix of determination and unease. Aemond’s gaze flicked up as Maera limped towards them, his violet eye never leaving her. With a subtle gesture, he signaled a steward to bring a chair forward, ensuring Maera could sit beside him.

Lord Unwin Peake was the first to stand, his seasoned face breaking into a smile. Maera returned his greeting with a polite, though strained, smile, her teeth grinding as her womb contracted once more. The pain was a constant undercurrent, but she refused to let it show more than necessary. Lord Commander Criston Cole looked striking in his Kingsguard armor, the pristine white and gold of his cloak contrasting sharply with the dark stone of the hall. A golden chain around his neck signified his status as Hand of the King, the heavy emblem resting on his broad chest.

Lord Larys Strong, the Master of Whispers, leaned casually on his firefly-embellished cane, his smile polite yet inherently sinister. He offered her a respectful nod, his voice soft as he commented, “Princess, I am surprised to see you in attendance.” Maera merely rolled her eyes, unwilling to engage with him, and continued her determined walk to the seat beside Aemond.

As the lords began to sit, Larys continued, “If memory serves correctly, you do not have a seat at this council.” His words hung in the air, a thinly veiled challenge. “And with your baby overdue-”

Aemond was quick to interrupt, his tone cold and firm. “Were it not for my wife, none of us would be standing here in the first place.” Maera reached her seat and Aemond rose, pushing the chair in behind her. He turned to the room, his voice commanding attention. “The Princess is a valuable asset and a dragon rider. If anyone has a problem with her attendance, they are dismissed.”

The room fell silent, the authority in Aemond’s voice leaving no room for dispute. Maera sat, her breathing steadying as she focused on the council’s proceedings. The illuminated map of Westeros beneath them seemed to pulse with the weight of their decisions. Despite the pain and the tension, she was determined to play her part.

News from King's Landing was shared with a solemn gravity, each piece of information adding weight to the room's already tense atmosphere. It was assumed that Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, had succumbed to the tortures in the dungeons. Maester Orwyle had attempted to escape but failed miserably, resulting in his return to the dark depths of his prison.

Reports indicated that the smallfolk had seemed to accept Rhaenyra's rule, but Maera silently concluded that their acceptance was likely born out of fear. It was hard to argue against the people and their dragons who now held the city with an iron grip. The gold cloaks, who maintained their loyalty to Prince Daemon, held the gates of the city firmly closed, preventing anyone from getting in or out. The troubling news of Helaena and Alicent being taken as hostages brought no new developments, leaving an ominous cloud over the council's proceedings.

As the updates were fed back to the room, Maera found it increasingly difficult to listen. The pains came in rapid succession, each one more intense than the last. She clutched the arms of her chair, her knuckles white from the effort. Her back felt as if it were on fire, and she ground her teeth to distract herself, sweat forming on her brow. Every word spoken around the table seemed distant, overshadowed by the agony coursing through her body. Her focus wavered, the room blurring at the edges as she struggled to maintain her composure.

Aemond's watchful eye had never left Maera, and his concern began to grow as he observed her increasingly pained expressions. Leaning slightly towards her, he asked quietly, "What is wrong?" Maera, still conflicted about their previous night together and determined not to show any weakness, shook her head, gritting out a terse "Nothing." Aemond, sensing the tension and knowing better than to press further, returned his attention to the meeting, though his gaze frequently flicked back to her.

Suddenly, the doors of the grand hall burst open, and Ser Alfred Broome, a guard who had previously served Rhaenyra, entered in a panic, his eyes wide and a scroll clutched tightly in his hand. The council members looked on furiously at the interruption, but the distress on Ser Alfred's face quickly turned their fury to concern.

The knight began to apologize for the intrusion, but Aemond cut him off, asking sharply, "What has happened?" Ser Alfred's eyes darted around the room, taking in the tense faces of each council member. Maera studied his gaze, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Ser Alfred stuttered, struggling to get the words out. "My Lords, a raven has arrived from Harrenhal." He paused, visibly shaken. "It is Prince Maelor."

Maera's heart sank, a cold dread washing over her. No. Surely not. Thena had gotten him out. He was on his way to Tarbeck Hall. The scroll in Ser Alfred's hand shook with his nerves as he continued, "He has been...he is..."

Aemond stormed out of his seat, his face a mask of fury and fear. He approached the knight in a few swift strides and snatched the parchment from his trembling hand. His eye went wide as he read it, the color draining from his face. The room fell silent, the tension thick as Aemond's reaction confirmed their worst fears. “Gods be good.”

The news of what was on the scroll quickly became apparent without the need for further words. The council members exchanged horrified glances, their faces paling. Prince Maelor, who would have become King, the last son of Aegon, was gone. Just like Aemond’s other nephew, Jaehaerys. The Blacks had succeeded; they had vanquished Aegon’s line.

Maera’s heart pounded in her chest as another, far more terrifying thought dawned on her. This did not mean the Greens were without a leader. Aegon and his sons were gone, but the late King Viserys had more than one son.

Did that make Aemond the…?

Did that make Maera the…?

“Arrrgggghhhh!” Maera lurched over, one hand gripping the edge of the stone table and the other clutching her swollen stomach. The pain that tore through her was unlike any she had felt before, a searing agony that radiated from her back to her lower abdomen and down the backs of her thighs. It was harsh, brutal, and all-consuming. She groaned, her face contorting with the effort to remain standing.

The suddenness of her movement drew the attention of everyone in the room. Conversations halted, and concerned murmurs filled the air. Maera’s vision blurred as she fought to steady her breathing, but the contractions were coming too quickly now, leaving her little time to recover between them.

She felt something warm and wet running down her leg. Panic surged through her veins. Gathering her skirts in a trembling hand, she glanced down to see blood flowing between her legs. A sharp cry of alarm escaped her lips. She looked up at Aemond, her eyes wide with terror, and saw his face mirrored her own fear.

“The babe is coming,” Maera declared, her voice quivering with fright and desperation.

Notes: *insert panicked Michael Scott meme here*

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[wyldewillow]

starter: @armaans setting: early evening in willow's apartments in the westerlands.

willow would never admit to it, but ever since arriving in the westerlands and seeing the dornish banners, she had gone to lengths to avoid armaan. she always tried to be at the other end of the hall during the celebrations, not that she thought he would be stupid enough to approach her in such a public setting. she just wanted him to forget she existed. she never stayed in one place for long whenever she was outside her chambers. she had grown up surrounded by men like armaan. powerful men. she knew they did not enjoy not getting their way or being told no. the trouble with lys in the riverlands was done, and she had stopped spying for him. she had sent the last batch of gold back to him with the message that their little partnership was done. willow wanted to cut the connection entirely. willow had already crossed too many lines with him. there was no worse sin for a stormlander than spreading her legs for a dornishman.

a couple of days before, she had spotted him in the gardens, but she had managed to make her escape before armaan could corner her. willow could tell that would have been his intention by the look in his eyes when he spotted her. she had decided then to stay in her chambers for the remainder of the visit in the west. she gave her family the excuse that she felt unwell. it was cowardly, sure, but willow still felt strangely triumphant. she had escaped the clutches of the dornishman… or so she thought.

that evening, she had decided to dismiss her handmaiden early and settle in to read for the rest of the night. as she was brushing her dark hair at the vanity in the small room attached to her apartments, she heard a sound coming from the main room. it sounded like floorboards creaking. it was probably just her handmaiden who had forgotten something, and she initially ignored it. but then willow's hand froze with the brush still in her hair. the letter. she had started to write a reply to one of the maesters of the citadel about their records. was it still on the desk? she flew up from the chair in front of the mirror. “kamilla, i told you that you are dismissed for the night, and that i-” she burst through the half-open door, only to discover it was not her handmaiden who stood in the middle of the room.

it was armaan yronwood.

willow was completely taken aback by the sight of him. she did not finish her sentence, and instead a gasp escaped her. not once had she considered he'd go that far. her stunned expression quickly transformed into one of anger. before she even registered it, she had flung her hairbrush at him. it missed its target and hit the wall behind him instead. “how dare you break into my chambers?!” with her heart racing, she picked up a book to throw next. “i could scream and have you hauled off to the dungeons!” willow threatened loudly, still furious. however, she was mostly just furious that armaan had found a way to best her, that he had intruded on her space. the childish side of her wanted to accuse him of cheating, as if they had been playing a game all this time. but of course she wouldn't do something as stupid as scream and alert the guards, not unless he was an actual threat to her. she suspected armaan had realised that too, which is why he now stood in her chambers. she did not even know if there were any guards left in the hall. the gods knew the yronwood lord had enough gold to bribe most people to do his bidding. the last thing willow wanted was for anyone to know she had a connection to armaan. she knew there was at least one person present at the celebrations who had seen them talk, and that person was a known loud mouth.

mixed with the anger, there was genuine fear to be found. was he here to tie up loose ends? willow took a step back and was about to fling the book at him too, but then she noticed it was one of hugo's cherished books about insects. one of those he had read so much that it was nearly falling apart, and that made her briefly stop her assault.

[prydonacademia]

From a scrap of paper found in the ruins of the conservatory, on Theta Sigma:

It was all a tremendous secret.

Lungbarrow, a House that hadn't been granted a looming for centuries, was to have a new child.

No member had died. None were missing, even, and if someone had passed they hadn't been left long enough to be sure. Of course some were terribly close, in the last decades of their last bodies, but it's impolite to wait for someone to die no matter how much you want a baby.

Lungbarrow couldn't afford a looming, let alone all the costs that followed it—so when the permit was issued, along with a generous grant directly from the Citadel, the shock went through every member of the House down to its very foundation.

One morning, the Kitriarch was fretting about where to buy appropriate biodata—genetics of high quality were so hard to find these days and she wouldn't let the neighbouring Houses outdo her again. That evening, she had gone perfectly still.

The House Mother resumed fretting in her place: Everything had to be presentable, the TARDIS kept behind the barn, if you would, until the chameleon circuit was fixed and it looked clean again. The children were washed and stuffed in their best robes, then rushed to bed before anyone could witness the robes or check if they had really washed behind their ears.

The blinds were shut, keeping the night-cold out, but they couldn't block all the light of a landing ship. They couldn't hide the whirrs of stabilisers or the urgent hushed voices in the entrance hall. Some of the children—the ones that didn't fear punishment or wished to satisfy their curiosity more—later whispered excitedly about Time Lords with high golden collars and about a shroud on the dining table. One, the youngest at the time and eager to hand off that status, claimed to see the face of a woman, eyes shut and dark skin gone grey. Nothing quite sure, nothing less exciting because of the vaporous rumours surrounding the matter.

The loom has been active since. No matter how busy, no-one in the House of Lungbarrow can resist watching it for hours at a time—the liquid inside sets and shifts and rises; in the centre particles gather like a salt crystal, slowly forming a foetus.

It's too early to say anything about them yet. One day they will have a future, a kaleidoscope of futures, almost certainly a number of bizarre ones considering their peculiar origin.

The Ministry of Loomography insists that reloomed biodata contains nothing but the base genetic code needed for the loom to function and any personality traits are set by the childe's primary education. But you can't quite believe that, can you? There has to be something strange about this one, considering how mysteriously they arrived.

There's a hush over the House. No one speaks of the loom. No two people go to see it at once, but everyone has visited and given their blessings. The entire house of Lungbarrow is holding its breath.

After two months, the childe will be taken from the weft, a boy with sharp eyes and a weak heart. Three days later, on Otherstide, he will be named, and five days after that he will reject his given name and take his own.

You always felt it. Something odd about him, this secret in Lungbarrow—one too many within these walls. He's bringing something upon the House. Something in the world has changed; a Division only just beginning to heal, or beginning to deepen.

For now, they're no more than a cluster of cells. Watch them grow. Watch the kaleidoscope shift. Witness their second beginning. Give them a future.

See what they make of it.

[clone-wars-imagine-2]

Bad Batch Preference: How they react when you make a doll for them that looks like them

A/N: This idea comes from a friend on discord, I hope you enjoy this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sergeant Hunter: To begin with, you were hella bored and flying through hyperspace for 10 hours straight was making you insane. Meditation could only pass that much time, so you decided to start a little project for the remaining time until you would reach Coruscant again. Soon enough you gathered all materials and started to make a little doll. You didn’t have any particular thing in mind you wanted the doll to look like but having Hunter sit right across from you with his datapad in hand was a convenient thing. It only took you 2 ½ hours until the doll was finished, now you only had to show Hunter. “Hunter! I need to show you something really important!” You said dragging out the really, a grin plastered on your face. His response was a simple ‘aha’ but he glanced up from his reports to look at you for a moment. He seemed tired which made your heart ache, he is always overworking himself. You took the doll from behind your back and held it out to him. Hunter looked surprised at the sight of the doll and laid his datapad down, reaching forward to grab the little fabric version of him. He could see all the details you did, you even put a little bandana on the doll. The Sergeant was speechless to say the least. “Do you like it? I made it for you.” You made it for him… “Of course I do. I love it! Thank you, kar’ta.” “You're welcome, Love.”

Crosshair: Building something was one of your hobbies you had since you were a kid, it was always something you could do on your own, inside or even outside. You build things out of wood, metal, fabrics, flowers and basically everything you could find. So whenever the boys were out of the ship, getting supplies or doing assignments the thought would be too dangerous for you to tag along on they left you to look after the havoc marauder. This was one of those occasions. You’ve been sitting in the pilot seat for the past few hours making something for Crosshair. You weren’t quite sure if he would like it or not but if the latter would happen you’d just keep the little doll of him for yourself. Holding the doll up you looked it once over before deciding you were finished. It looked exactly like Crosshair, you even went as far as to carefully draw on his tattoo. You smiled and decided to put it away until he came back. It didn’t take long for your boys to come back and leave the planet as fast as possible. When everything calmed down you went to Crosshair, telling him you made something for him. He gave you a sceptical look but followed you to your quarters you had on the ship. Turning around you presented him with the doll.  “You made a doll of myself? For me?” You nod your head and beamed up at him with one of your smiles. “It looks hideous.” You saw that coming. “But it’s you!” “I know.” “You want me to take it back?”  “No it’s mine.”

Tech: Getting to spend time with Tech was hard after the Bad Batch stopped protecting you and your father after they catched the people who were after you. Now it wasn’t certain when and for how long you would see him again and it killed the both of you. The last time he came to visit he gifted you a necklace with a small piece of his armor hanging off it. He said it was so something from him was always with you and protected you. It was by far your most prized possession and you never put it off since you got it. So you decided to make something for him. You were amazing when it came to the knowledge of advanced technologies and new inventions but building something on your own wasn’t something you could say you were good at. So the only plausible thing to do was ask your mother for help which she gladly lended. Together you two made a little doll, it was only a few inches in size but it looked so much like Tech it made your heart ache for him even more. It even had a small replica of his goggles on. Now you only had to wait for him to arrive home. It was another two months before you got the message from Tech that they would be heading back to get some downtime. You were filled with exaltation and couldn’t wait until he was back, but you were also nervous about what he would think of the doll. You would find out soon enough. It wasn’t until a few hours of him being back and the two of you cuddling in bed that you showed him his little present. Tech was more than just surprised and you could swear you saw him stop breathing for a few seconds. A smile spread across his face and he gave you a kiss on the forehead, pulling you closer and nuzzling his face into your hair. “I love it, mesh’la. I will always keep it with me.” You blushed at the little word of endearment and hid your face in his chest. “Glad you like it, handsome.” Guess who is blushing now. 

Wrecker: You were set at home on one of the few days you could take off, waiting for Wrecker to arrive after one of their missions. He had commed you earlier in the day, letting you know he would be there today and that he got some more stuff for you. The clones didn’t earn a lot of money so Wrecker never really bought much but he brought some stuff back for you that he found on his journeys. Be it intriguing  looking stones, beautiful flowers he pressed under some weights to preserve them or shells he found on shores. Seeing all the little things lying on their own little shelf in the living room you took the opportunity of being alone for a little while longer and started making something you knew Wrecker would like. Wrecker owned a tooka doll he so fondly called Lula that you decided it could use a little friend and what better friend would there be than a smaller version of your boyfriend himself!  It took you longer than you would like to admit until you got the hang of stitching the doll together. You were a mechanic, an inventor, not a sewer! But thankfully Wrecker wouldn’t arrive until late in the night as he told you in a message. Great, more time to figure out how to not poke you in the fingers 50 times in a row. You finished the doll around 11pm, mere ten minutes before he arrived. When Wrecker arrived he crushed you in one of his tight hugs which you endured with a smile, by now you were used to his strength. He immediately started rambling about the mission and taking the stuff out he collected for you during his time away when you stopped him. “Before you continue darling, I want to show you something I made for you. I-” “You made something for me?! When?!” You let out a laugh and smiled up at him. “Today, I had some time and thought you might appreciate it.”  Wrecker immediately begged to see it and how could you keep him waiting? You showed him the doll of himself, it was by all means the first thing you ever made in that regard but it didn’t look too bad, and it resembled him which you wanted! His eyes lit up the second they met the doll and he took it out of your hands. “This is amazing! And it looks like me! I will put myself right next to Lula so she isn’t alone!” A laugh bubbled out of your chest and you looked fondly at him. “That was my intention. Glad we are both on the same page.” You got pulled in another bone crushing hug and you savoured every second of it.

Echo: It has been over a year in which you thought that Echo was dead. After the Citadel mission Fives and Rex came to you, bearing bad news. The moment you saw them you knew and cried your eyes out for weeks. You couldn’t believe he was just gone like that, taken from you from moment to the other. Both Rex and Fives tried to help you and they succeeded in some ways until Fives passed away.  You had thrown yourself in your work for the senate, doing everything not to think about how your heart ached for the love of your life and your best friend who were gone. When your body finally broke down, telling you to rest and to process you did. In memory of the both of them you made two little dolls, the one of Fives you put right next to his gravestone. You did everything to make sure he got buried and his body wasn’t used for scientific research by the Kaminoans.  The doll of Echo you always kept close to you. There was no body you could bury or mourn so this was the only alternativ you got, and it helped, it really did. And then Rex commed you, telling you Echo was alive right before one of your most important senate meetings. It was another few days from when they brought Echo back to when you were allowed to see him and your heart stopped when you saw him. What have they done to him? Tears filled your eyes and you threw yourself at him, not letting him go as you thought he might disappear again. Echo was very hesitant at first, fearing he could hurt you with his prosthetics, yet he still forced those thoughts from his mind and enveloped you in his arms.  You talked for the maker knows how long, trying to comprehend what the other went through while giving as much comfort as possible. Every time Echo would flinch at your contact, even if it was tiny, your heart felt like it got stabbed a thousand times. When he carefully reached for your hand and told you he was leaving with the Bad Batch you tried to protest but he shut it down, telling you he had to do it and you only nod. “I promise you that I will come back, I always do, don’t I?” Echo had a smaller version of his usual sly smile on his face and for the first time in a long while you felt your heart melt again. You smiled softly at him, leaning closer to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I know you do, but before you go I want to give you something.” , you mumbled against the skin of his cheek, taking out the small doll you made months ago. Carefully you handed it to him and watched his face for his reaction. You could see tears gather in the corner of his eyes and you pulled him closer. “I made it a while after you… Well…” Echo shushed you and looked up into your face, smiling. “I will keep this close to me so whenever I see it I will think about you, cyar’ika.” 

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

heeey! so back when @eirianerisdar posted chapter 12 of their fic the ransom of the house of fëanor - that’s the one where they finally let the brothers hellspawn and their idiot dad out of the void, but they have to throw elrond in, all very sad - i thought up my own somewhat fluffier vastly dumber au for the end of that chapter. in honour of the fic being finished, i’ve decided to write up the various scattershot ideas i’ve had for it, with the caveat that i’ll be working off my own slightly different background headcanons

the divergence point is roughly when elrond announces that he’s totally going into the void now, for realsies, the local ainur are nodding solemnly, and the fëanorians are running preliminary can-we-take-them calculations. except for maedhros, who’s very sad to hear that they must sacrifice his nephew to the eternal dark for their freedom, ‘tis truly a shame, they will honour his memory and GET THE BOAT, BOYS

or, the original elf mad scientist, his murderous blood-hungry spawn, a guy who’s extremely grouchy about not getting to do his dramatic self-sacrifice, and their somewhat-less-reluctant-than-he-should-be getaway driver go on the lam

how they got away from the valar:

námo: already knew this was going to happen, but it’s not like anyone ever listens to him, is it? in the moment, was a little more concerned with how morgoth had started belly-crawling towards the doors of night

manwë: never wanted to throw elrond into the void in the first place, and has been silently hoping elrond would call his bluff for the past week. the children are all safe and inside like they should be, and isn’t that what really matters?

eönwë: no it isn’t boss the fëanorians are a completely unpredictable wildcard we cannot afford to let them run around unsupervised!!! would probably have at least delayed the family hellspawn until backup could arrive, except

olórin: realised what maedhros was planning almost immediately and had to consciously force down a shit-eating grin. as soon as the brothers started moving, divetackled eönwë

-

[from a note attached to a harpoon lodged outside the highest window on the white tower of the isle of seabirds]

elwing - it went better than i expected, honestly. the sons of fëanor took about as much offense to elrond’s plan as everyone else has, except when words didn’t work they resorted to action. they dragged him onto vingilot and i followed them, and then we cast off together. we’ve set sail for as far away from the doors of night as we can get. i’m coming with them, of course, i’m not letting these lunatics crash my baby

i’m not entirely certain when we’ll be back? the fëanorians seem worried the valar might come after us, which wouldn’t surprise me, really. i’m taking us out towards middle-earth, we’ll see where we go after that. they’re all screaming at each other and running across the deck, i’m not convinced they have much of a plan. elrond is yelling too, he’s arguing with either caranthir or curufin, can’t tell which. the one i suspect is maglor has wrapped himself around his neck and refuses to let go. our son is alive and healthy and not in the eternal darkness, and for that, at least, i am grateful

the redhead who’s co-opted the harpoons says we’re coming up on your tower. no one’s done anything to threaten me or elrond, or even looked at the silmaril. there’s something nice about sailing with a crew again, no matter who it is. i love you, and i’ll be back as soon as i can - eärendil

[from a note attached to a harpoon found among the ruins of a house in the tirion stonecarvers’ district]

you were right, nerdanel. you were right about everything, and i was wrong. i’m sorry. the boys and i are going on another adventure right now, but we’ll come back to you someday, i promise

[from the same note, in much neater handwriting]

tell tyelpë i love him, and also that the coordinates are [rest torn off]

-

the first sign of this mess that reaches arda is the morning and evening star disappearing from the sky. gondorian astronomers, haradren scholars, avarin priests all stare flummoxed as the star of high hope simply fails to appear before the sun. no matter how unsuperstitous they are everyone agrees this is a really bad omen, and all across the globe the high halls of power tremble in fear over the new horror this must portend

the first sign of this mess that reaches the shire (except for that one took who’s really into astrology) is when eight-year-old elanor gardner rushes into bag end the next day, all ‘dad! dad! there are elves in the woods!’

sam is pretty chuffed to hear this. the fair folk don’t pass through the shire half as often as they used to, and it’s been some years since he heard their song. if they’re in the neighbourhood, why, it’d only be polite to say hello, wish them luck on their journey, hand them a letter. he packs up a nice tuck-box full of goodies to share, and then sam and elanor (and frodo, who’s going through a following-his-big-sister-around-and-copying-everything-she-does phase) set out to meet the elves

first they hear the shouting. then they see the smoke

at the end of the path his daughter leads him down, sam finds the wreckage of what looks like a crashed boat strewn across the forest, still faintly smouldering. at least a dozen elves are rushing between and up the trees, yelling at each other in the angriest quenya he’s ever heard. in the middle of the impact crater stands a blonde elf carrying a stone that shines like the phial of galadriel, wailing something sam knows just enough sindarin to recognise as ‘MY SHIIIIIIIIIP’

as sam’s gaze pans over the unfolding catastrophe, his eyes land on one of the last elves he’d expected to see, master elrond. elrond is rubbing his temple, groaning like someone who knows he’s the most responsible person around and really wishes he wasn’t. a vaguely familiar sketchy-as-fuck elf is clinging onto his shoulders, in a not-dissimilar way to how frodo-lad is currently riding on sam. elrond catches sam’s gaze

‘greetings, master samwise,’ says the wisest elf-lord of the west, ignoring the scuffle that’s breaking out behind him. ‘i must apologise for my relations’

(fëanor and elanor become fast friends, teaching each other their languages and exploring the shire together. absolutely no one else is okay with this)

-

fëanor, dragging an incredibly-put-upon elrond around the citadel of minas tirith: grandbabies!

fëanor, marvelling over the embroidery arwen is showing him: great-grandbabies!

fëanor, carrying a tiny giggling eldarion all the way up the tower of gondor: great-great-grandbabies!

fëanor, staring fixedly at an increasingly apprehensive aragorn: great-great-great...

celegorm, on dad-watching duty: actually if you lay the maths out it’s very likely every human in middle-earth is descended... from... elros... fuck

fëanor: has gone completely still

fëanor: massive grin spreading across his face, eyes sparkling like the two trees brought back to life

fëanor: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[venmotif]

Couri tilts his head backwards, rests it against the rough stone wall. His crown glints in the dim light, dented and scratched. "One year, my parents sent me abroad to study at a citadel in the North."

Feinberg blinks awake, glances at him tiredly. "Must've been nice. Good for you."

Couri turns his head towards Fein. His once-finely combed hair falls loose around his face. "It was a good school. They had renowned professors and powerful mages, even a few respected diviners. I learned a lot in the ways they do magic up there, as well as some of the frivolous aspects of the culture."

Fein nods noncommittally, blinking blearily at the dust swirling around the room. One of Couri's feathers drifts to the ground. He wonders how much it'd sell for, rachis and vane of soft, gleaming gold.

Couri continues. "The thing is, though, the North was barren. Barely any farmable land, scarce in the ways of any other natural resources. Even the nobility were poor."

Fein snorts. "Poor for you is still a lot for anyone else."

Couri lets out a wry chuckle at that. "Maybe. But except for a select few, who held land over the crystal and gemstone deposits, it was clear to see the difference between the locals and the students from abroad, like me."

Couri reaches a hand up to absentmindedly tug at the straps around his wings. They don't give, which doesn't surprise him. He lowers the hand. "And that was just the highest ring of the school, for the rich, the noble, and the exceptional. There were two lower rings, separated by heavy gates and winding stairs that went down lower and lower."

"Do you want me to pretend I care?" Fein rolls his shoulders back, wincing at the ache in them. "You grew up rich. I'm sure it was great."

"Just wanted to say." Couri stares at the narrow, crooked window that crawls along the underside of the ceiling. "I didn't think you would understand how citadels were organized."

"I wouldn't. It's of minimal importance to me."

Couri stretches his legs out and sighs. "It's so cramped in here. Well, now you know. I snuck down to the lowest ring once--the crystal lord's son showed me the right gates, and we went.

"They were so much poorer. We arrived in midday to see rough wooden benches and stiff, plain robes. The fare was a congealed, lumpy white. The students would scrape their bowls off and put them in tall bins. They stared at us when we walked in, and the mages might've gotten us into trouble, but I gave them gold pieces and they were quiet after that.

"I took a single gold piece--threw it into the trash. Just to see if anyone would go after it."

Feinberg arches an eyebrow at him. "And?"

Couri laughs. "It was so funny. Towards the end of the meal, you could see them all thinking about how they could get to the coin before their teachers would. One girl lingered by the trash bins and when she finally put her bowl in, she bent over to see if she could reach it with her spoon.

"Her face lit up so brightly when she'd reached it. But it was such a tall bin. It toppled and all the bowls and refuse landed squarely on her. The hall went silent except for the clattering of bowls and dripping food waste. Her hair and clothes were stained and trash littered the ground around her.

"The mages yelled at her to clean up the mess, and everyone stared. I could see her face crumple in shame as she picked herself back up, gold piece in hand."

His mouth twists. "We left after that, since the staff might've wanted more gold. But the gold would've gone a long way for that girl. I know how much even a single piece can buy."

Feinberg eyes him with distaste. "Enjoyed your power trip, didn't you? Do the rich really have nothing better to do than lord their wealth over the poor?"

Couri's face is blank. He stares at Fein with serene, half-lidded eyes, golden irises catching the weak rays of sunlight that filter through the thin window. "The crystal heir thought it was hilarious. I just found it interesting. But I wouldn't do that now, I promise."

Feinberg glares at him. "If you would, we can both stay here until we rot."

Couri closes his eyes. "Who says we won't, either way?"

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XXXV

A couple years later, rebuilding Insomnia was still in full swing. People were beginning to return to the city after hearing their king was alive and well after the darkness was vanquished. Noctis was still trying to get used to his duties as king, but he had the help of his friends. Even Cor returned to help him. Many of the Kingsglaive returned to help with the restoration project.

Today, (Y/n) was watching Prompto puzzling as he ran around frantically in his new office located in the Citadel. Some of his papers fell off his desk, which she picked up for him. After laying them back down on the desk, she called out to him. "Prom, what is going on that requires you to be running around like a chocobo with its head cut off?"

The man, who was now sorting quickly through his paperwork while standing up, looked over at her. "Oh, right! I haven't told you yet." He looked back down at the papers and grabbed his pen, promptly signing the documents. "We're going on a vacation!"

"Huh?" She blinked in shock.

"Noct told me to take a vacation with you or he was gonna kick my ass," Prompto chuckled. "He wants us to have some alone time after spending these last two years so focused on the restoration project. We...really haven't had much time for our private life."

"Now that you mention it, we really haven't. Whenever we're done here, we always wind up crashing at home. And then when we wake up, we're back on the job."

Prompto grabbed the paperwork and turned to leave the office. Before he left, he hooked an arm around her waist, pulled her into his side, and kissed her on the cheek. "Meet me outside in ten minutes. We'll go home and pack as quick as we can and then we are outta here!" He stormed out of the room and began running down the hallway.

(Y/n) rearranged Prompto's desk before leaving the office. As she closed the door behind her, she spotted Noctis walking down the hallway. She smiled and greeted him. "Hey, Noct. Never expected you to threaten your best friend with a vacation."

"You two need some time off," Noctis said. "So do I..."

A smirk made its way on her face. "So you can spend more time with your special someone?"

The king rubbed the back of his neck with a groan. "Who told you about that?"

"Gladio did."

"Of course he did..." He combed a few stray raven locks aside. "Actually, I was hoping to find you before you and Prompto left. I was hoping you could tell me a little more about guardians."

Her eyes widen. "Wait, is this woman you like a spirit?"

"Guess Gladio didn't mention that part," he chuckled.

She smiled. "Then I'll tell you all that I can."

As Noctis and (Y/n) chatted, they had lost track of time. They didn't realize how long they'd been talking until Prompto came running down the hallway. "Hey! How could you keep me waiting?" He pouted childishly, poking her in the side playfully. "We're supposed to go on vacation together!"

"Sorry, Prom," she said. "Noct and I were talking."

"Is this about his new girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend," Noctis groaned.

"Then ask her out already!" Prompto shouted.

"You're worried about her master, aren't you?" (Y/n) asked.

"Something like that," the king sighed.

"Listen, I know you're probably worried she and her master will say no because you're the king, but there's only one way to learn the truth. Ask her and see how it goes. Don't worry about her master. And if you need my help when we get back, I will gladly lend my services."

Noctis smiled in relief. "Thanks, (Y/n)." He walked up to Prompto, patting him on the shoulder. "You two have fun."

"Oh, we totally are gonna have a ball!" Prompto grabbed the guardian's hand and dragged her out of the Citadel. They returned to their apartment, where they packed their things before leaving Insomnia.

Prompto was behind the wheel as they drove through Leide and crossed into the Duscae region. (Y/n) was wondering where he was taking her until she saw a familiar yellow sign. Her eyes widened as they pulled up to Wiz Chocobo Post. As she went to exit the car, Prompto beat her to it. He opened the door for her and took her hand in his. Closing the door, he smiled like a child in a candy shop. "There's someone that's been wanting to see you again for a long time."

The spirit allowed her beloved to drag her towards the pens. She wondered who wanted to see her since she couldn't think of anyone outside the city she knew. However, a bell of recognition went off inside her when spotting a chocobo with (f/c) feathers. "No way," she gasped. Prompto let go of her hand and she walked up to the pen occupied by her favorite chocobo. When the bird recognized her, he chirped loudly and flapped his wings in excitement. She petted the top of his head with a smile. "Hey, buddy. It's been a long time. Did you miss me?"

The chocobo nudged his beak against her cheek, making her giggle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and combed her fingers through his (f/c) feathers. "I missed you, too."

Prompto vanished to find Wiz. He rented two chocobos, one being the (f/c)-feathered bird who was fond of (Y/n). He returned to her and they took the two chocobos out of their pens. The couple left the outpost, riding atop the birds as they traveled across the Duscae region. They enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the beauty the wetlands had to offer. Prompto, of course, was still fond of photography and snapping picture after picture.

The couple stopped at the Alstor Slough and admired the catoblepases roaming through the wetlands in search of their next meal. Hopping off the chocobos, they stood at the water's edge. Prompto continues to take pictures until he was satisfied. All of a sudden, he remembered something. "Oh! I totally forgot!"

"Please don't tell me you forgot to pack something," (Y/n) groaned. "I even gave you a check list!"

He chuckled. "No, I packed everything." He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. "I never really told you what happened the last time I came to Wiz's." Unfolding the aged, wrinkly paper, he showed her the portrait that was drawn on it.

(Y/n) took the paper from him, eyes widening slightly. "This is our portrait from Altissia..." Looking up, she stared into Prompto's eyes. "You carry it around with you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's also how I knew who this guy was," he said, pointing to the (f/c)-feathered chocobo. "Two years ago, I was back at Wiz's after finishing a job. It was before I learned Noct was coming back. He managed to grab the paper from my pocket and recognized you in the drawing. That's when I decided to promise to bring you back here to see him."

"I still can't believe I slept for ten years," (Y/n) mumbled sadly. "I wish I was there with you, Prom."

"I wanted you with me too, but I guess we really never get a say in what the Astrals have planned," he said. "But those ten years without you made me realize something."

"And what's that?"

Prompto took her hand in his, entwining their fingers together. "Come with me to Galdin Quay and I'll tell you."

The two mounted their chocobos and headed back to the outpost. They parted with their birds and headed to their next destination. Arriving in Galdin Quay, they took their luggage to the room Prompto paid for. After settling in their room and unpacking, they decided to get a bite to eat. At the counter of the Mother of Pearl, they placed their orders and waited patiently. As they did, (Y/n) shattered the silence lingering between her and Prompto. "Well, we're at Galdin Quay now. You gonna tell me?"

"Hold your chocobos, (Y/n)!" Prompto exclaimed. "Just...give me a couple of days to find the right words. In the meantime, we can enjoy all this delicious food and the beautiful beach!"

"All right, fine. I'll try to be patient," she sighed before poking him in the side and causing him to jump slightly. "Just don't keep me waiting too long."

Their dinner was served. Munching down on the delicious seafood, they savored every bite. When the food was gone, they paid and returned to their room for the night. The couple fell asleep after a few hours of chatting and getting comfortable in the plush bed. Their slumber was peaceful and both woke up early the next morning to relax on the beach.

(Y/n) grabbed her swimsuit and took off her nightwear. As she hooked her fingers under the elastic band of her panties, two toned arms snaked around her waist and pulled her against a bare chest. She tensed up slightly when Prompto nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and his goatee grazed her skin. "H-Hey, that tickles!"

He chortled, kissing the side of her neck. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself."

"Are you going to let me put my bathing suit on or do I need to prepare for something more intimate?"

"Maybe later, but not right now. Even though it's very tempting seeing you like this..." He kisses her cheek before releasing her. "I'll go find us a spot while you change."

"All right. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Prompto left with all they would need to enjoy the beach while (Y/n) changed into her swimsuit. Adjusting the strings one final time, she was ready to go. Leaving the hotel room, she walked through the restaurant and crossed the boardwalk. She found Prompto not too far from the fishing pier. He had everything set out and prepared for them to enjoy their day at the beach. There were a few other people who had the same idea as them.

Crawling onto the towel next to Prompto's, (Y/n) basked in the warmth of the sun. She closed her eyes as a content sigh fell from her lips. Her eyes, however, shot open seconds later when she felt a cold substance come in contact with her abdomen. Lifting her head off the towel, she saw Prompto smiling innocently at her as he put sunscreen on her exposed stomach. "You can try acting innocent, but I know what's going on in that head of yours, Prom."

"I am not thinking dirty thoughts, I swear!" He protested.

"If you say it a little louder, you just might be able to convince yourself," she snickered.

Prompto's hand gravitated towards her sides, where he caresses his fingers against her exposed skin. A smile manifested on his face after hearing her moan slightly. "Who's the dirty one now?"

She rolled her eyes and sat up, taking him by surprise. She snatched up the bottle of sunscreen and placed her free hand against his bare chest. She pushed him down on his back into the sand and straddled his lap. She did just as he did and squirted a decent amount of sunscreen on his exposed belly. "Damn, that's cold!" He shrieked.

Now it was her turn to laugh at him. She laid both of her hands on his abdomen and began rubbing the sunscreen in. Her golden eyes were focused on his face. What caught her attention was him biting his bottom lip. Smirking, she traveled south with her hands and stopped just above the waistband of his swimming trunks. She teased him by slipping a few of her fingers under the waistband. That was just what she needed to hear the moan he's been suppressing. She removed her hands and moved them up to his chest. "Guess we're both feeling a little naughty today." She climbed off of him and got to her feet. "Let's take a dip and clear our heads before we get lost in our hormones."

(Y/n) grabbed Prompto's hand and hauled him up onto his feet. She dragged him towards the clear waters of the ocean, where they both swam for the next couple of hours. After playing a few water games with each other, Prompto swam towards the guardian and encircled one arm around her waist. He pulled her closer when she rested her head against his shoulder. They floated aimlessly, enjoying each other's touch.

After ten minutes of silence, Prompto spoke up. "Hey, (Y/n)? Remember when I said I'll need a couple of days to think about what to say?"

"Do you need more time?" She inquired.

"It's the opposite, actually. I think I know exactly what to say." He pulled them towards the shore. "Think you could wait for me on the beach? There's something I've gotta grab from my suitcase."

"Sure," she responded, wondering what he needed.

They swam back to shore. Prompto ran back to the hotel room while (Y/n) remained on the beach. She stood at the water's edge, allowing the gentle waves to wash over her feet. The sand stuck to her wet feet, but she didn't mind. It was the first time in her life she was able to enjoy the beach. Galdin Quay is the perfect spot to go on a vacation, especially if you wanted to relax on the beach. The water was clear and sparkled as the sun's warm rays casted down on the surface of the ocean.

Hearing the padding of footsteps and the faint crunch of sand, (Y/n) looked away from the ocean and saw Prompto had returned. A nervous smile was plastered on his face as he hid something behind his back. He came to a stop in front of her, swallowing hard. "Okay, I know I said I have the perfect thing to say, but I completely forgot it because of how nervous I am." He wiped at his forehead that was damp with sweat. "I think I'm sweating..."

"Try to calm down. I don't know what has you in a tizzy, but you look like you're about to pass out," she said. "Whatever you wanna say, just say it. You don't have to use any fancy words on me."

"Then I'll just come out and say it." Prompto kneeled down on a single knee and revealed the small black box he was hiding behind his back. Opening the lid, he revealed a beautiful ring with a golden diamond that matched her eyes and gemstone. Along the sides of the yellow diamond were two smaller white ones. Along the silver band were golden accents that matched the yellow diamond. "It's taken me a while to find the perfect moment to ask you, but I figured why not while we're in the most beautiful place in Lucis?"

(Y/n) stared wide-eyed at the beautiful ring. "Prom, are you...?"

"Proposing? Yeah..." He blushed in embarrassment. He looked up at her face with worry. "A-Am I doing this right? Or have I totally screwed this up?"

"N-No! You're doing just fine," she reassured him. "Please, continue."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Those ten years without you made me realize how my life isn't complete without you. I felt so empty and useless without you. I don't ever wanna feel that way again. Will you marry this loser?"

"I don't see a loser. All I see is the man I'm deeply in love with," she smiled at him. "Of course I'll marry you, Prompto."

The man smiled back, his heart racing in his chest as he took the ring and slid it onto her ring finger. Once the ring was secured on her finger, he stood up and engulfed her in a hug. "Thank you, (Y/n)."

<--------------<<<<<

Five years have passed since Prompto proposed to (Y/n). With help from Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio, they both had a wonderful wedding. Now, the thirty-seven-year-old marksman was searching for his wife and their new addition to the family. Searching the Citadel, he found her and their four-year-old son, (S/n), in the training room.

(A/n: (S/n) stands for son's name in case some of you aren't aware. I couldn't think of any names and thought you guys would have one in mind. It's also to make this story more x reader friendly.)

(Y/n) was in her spiritual form, laying on her belly with her front paws stretched out in front of her and her back paws tucked under her. Her tails were splayed out across the marble floor as (S/n) climbed across her back and up her neck to reach her head. When he did, he outstretched a hand and began messing with the white tips of her ears. Her ears flicked over and over again at the feeling of her son's touch. They were always quite sensitive and it would always tickle her whenever someone touched them.

Prompto watched with a gentle smile. He chuckled when (S/n) managed to crawl up just a bit higher and sprawl his small body across the fox's face. "Okay, buddy," he approached them as (Y/n) lowered her head for him to grab their son. He grabbed (S/n) and lifted him off the spirit's face. "Mommy's not a jungle gym."

"But we were having so much fun!" The (h/c)-haired boy whined. The child looked over at his mother with cerulean eyes that were just like his father's. Although he was the child of a human and spirit, he looked like a normal boy with no guardian features. "Tell him, Mommy!"

(Y/n) changed back and stretched her arms up in the air. "We were, but mommy needs a nap. It's been a long day. We can play some more tomorrow, sweetheart. I promise."

An idea popped into Prompto's head. "Hey, how about you go see Gladio in his office? I'm sure he'll play with you."

"Okay!" (S/n) dashed out of the training room when Prompto put him down.

(Y/n) eyed her husband. "Are you trying to drive Gladio crazy? Or just trying to get rid of our son?"

"I would never get rid of (S/n)!" He denied. "It's to drive the big guy crazy. Besides, (S/n) loves him!"

"Looks like Gladio's the favorite uncle," she giggled.

"Speaking of the favorite uncle, Gladio's agreed to watch (S/n) for the rest of the day. You and I have some time for ourselves. What do you wanna do?"

She placed a hand on her hip with an eyebrow quirked up. "Don't you have work to do?"

"I finished early just so we could go out." He took her hand, entwining their fingers. "So, where do you wanna go?"

She smiled. "Surprise me."

"Leave it to me, milady!"

They left the Citadel and spent their time together by traveling to a few places around Insomnia. It had been hours since they left (S/n) in Gladio's care and the sun was setting. After grabbing a bite to eat and stopping by a bakery to buy some sweets, they headed home. Stepping into the apartment, they saw Gladio knocked out on the couch with (S/n) running circles around the coffee table.

"Little guy's so full of energy he wiped out Gladio," Prompto chuckled.

"Maybe we should save the sweets for later," (Y/n) mumbled.

"Mommy! Daddy!" (S/n) shouted when spotting them.

Prompto nudged his wife towards the kitchen and whispered. "Hide the sweets before he sees them. I'll keep him distracted."

The guardian quickly made her way to the kitchen and hid the items from the bakery. She placed them up high so (S/n) couldn't see or reach them. Leaving the kitchen, she found her husband and son sitting on the couch by the sleeping Gladio. She wondered what they were talking about and eavesdropped.

"C'mon, daddy!" (S/n) whined. "Tell me the story of how mommy took down that big monster again."

"You mean the behemoth?" Prompto asked.

"Yeah!"

"Whoa, hold it," (Y/n) intervened, knowing the story was gory. "Don't you think that story's a little too grown up for him, Prom?"

"Nah, don't worry about it, (Y/n). I leave out all the graphic parts," Prompto explained.

"Well, then...tell away."

While Prompto told the story, she tapped Gladio on his shoulder and gently roused him from his slumber. When the shield was fully awake, she offered him a grateful smile. "Thanks for watching him, Gladio."

"Hey, I love the kid. I'll watch him anytime you and Prompto want a night out on the town," he said, standing up.

"But what about your duties as Noct's shield?"

"Our lovely king has been really busy with his own personal affairs lately," he chuckled. "He plans on proposing to his special lady soon."

"Maybe it's about time you found your special someone."

"Trust me, I've got my eyes on a special gal. Now all I gotta do is ask her out," Gladio explained. He patted her on the shoulder. "I'm heading out. You three have fun."

"Bye, Gladio. Thanks again," (Y/n) replied.

"Anytime, (Y/n)." He walked past Prompto and (S/n), ruffling the little boy's (h/c) locks. "See ya, squirt. Make sure you don't stress your parents out too much."

"Bye, Uncle Gladdy!" He giggled, waving farewell to the man.

After hearing the door close, (Y/n) checked the time before sitting down beside her husband and son. She combed her hand through (S/n)'s messy locks. "Have you already ate, sweetie?"

"Mhmm. Uncle Gladdy ordered pizza for us. There's even leftovers in the fridge."

Suddenly, (S/n) yawned and leaned against his father's chest. He was having issues keeping his eyes open and warding off sleep. "Whoa, someone's tired," Prompto said. "It is a little past eight. I think it's time for someone to go to bed." Scooping the little boy up into his arms, he stood up from the couch.

"You wanna put him down tonight?" (Y/n) asked.

"Yeah. Meet me in the bedroom?" He questioned.

"Yeah. I'll be there shortly." She watched Prompto carry their son to his room before locking the front door and heading to the master bedroom. She crawled on to the bed, laying on her back. She stared up at the ceiling, mentally sorting through what she would need to do tomorrow. Her train of thought was derailed when she felt the mattress dip and saw Prompto looming over her. "Is (S/n) asleep?" She inquired.

"Yep," he answered before leaning down and placing a kiss on her forehead. He snuck a hand under her shirt and traced circles on her soft skin. "So..."

"What do you want?" She sighed.

"You, uh... You think we could have another kid? Y'know, so (S/n) can have a little brother or sister?" Prompto muttered, eyes full of wonderment.

"You want another kid after four years?"

"Bad timing?"

She shook her head. "No, it's just...why now all of a sudden?"

"Well, (S/n) told me how much he wanted a brother or sister while I was tucking him in. And I think having another kid would be great! I just hope it's a girl this time. I want a little (Y/n) running around."

A smirk crept onto the guardian's face. She pushed Prompto down on the bed and straddled his lap. "Well then, I guess we better get started."

<-------------<<<<<

After their sexual escapade, it was only a little past nine. Both were sweaty and in need of a shower. (Y/n) wrapped the sheets around her bare chest as she sat up. "Guess I'll have to wash the sheets again."

"I would hold off on that," Prompto chuckled.

She looked over at him, puzzled. "And why's that?"

"We're gonna enjoy ourselves again tomorrow night, and maybe even the next night..."

She smacked him on the arm. "We're lucky (S/n) didn't hear us tonight. It's too risky to do this every night, especially since his room is literally right across from ours."

Prompto smirked as he sat up. "That just means we'll have to be extra quiet." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her naked body against his. He pressed a kiss against her forehead and hair. He tucked her smaller form against his side, resting his head on top of hers. "Honestly, I'm happy with just hugging and kissing you."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled closer. "Me too, Prom. To be honest, I never saw this in our future, but I'm happy it was. I love you so much."

"I love you too, (Y/n)," he whispered. "You've made me the happiest man on Eos."

"Let's continue to make each other happy as long as we can, okay?"

He nodded his head with a gentle smile. "Deal."

••••••••••END••••••••••

A/n: This marks the end of Book One: Gold! Next up is Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader). I've also made a minor change to the lineup of books. Book three has been changed from Diamond to Amethyst. Hope you guys are excited for the next book because I know I am! Love you all!!!

Previous Chapter || Masterlist ||

[theoriginalladya]

Goodnight kisses for the Coats pairing of your choice?

from this list

On AO3 here

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!  Sorry it took so long, but here we go!!!  My first Alenkoats piece published!!!  Thank you so much for asking for this!  It works so well for their setup, I couldn’t resist!  Enjoy!

setting:  Far Rim, Milky Way, 2187

characters:  Major Kaidan Alenko, Major Benjamin Coats

~~~

Next Stop...

Kaidan pauses on his way out of the cryo-processing room on board the Vaul.  The first of the new arks based off the Andromeda Initiative schematics they’d found is ready for its maiden voyage, and he is one of the fortunate passengers, but that doesn’t come without a cost.  The room behind him is nearly empty now; he is one of the last pushed through.  With each of the thousands of passengers leaving, the room fills with an eerie silence, one that leaves Kaidan’s nerves a little on edge.  When he reaches the observation window, he stops long enough to simply stare out at the dying sun of Dholen in the distance.  From the safety of the Vaul, everything looks so safe, so peaceful, and yet he knows it is anything but.  With each passing day, the threat of the reapers inches ever closer.  Soon, there won’t be a safe space left in the entire galaxy.

Unformed words, more thoughts than anything, come to his mind in the shape of prayer as the quiet blankets him.  He recognizes the irony of it; he is not, by nature, a praying man.  Too many life experiences, too many years serving in the military, too many personal losses that only prove that if there is a God out there, he has no care for the world, the galaxy, and those who make it their home.  Forget Vyrnnus and the disaster that was BAaT.  Forget the loss of friends, family, innocents, so very many of them over the years and throughout the war.  How can God exist when creatures like the reapers exist to destroy it all due to the whim of some apex race millions of years before?

He is pulled from the steadily increasing downward spiral as a hand settles on his shoulder, another at his waist.  He knows this touch, the weight of it as familiar to him as breathing.  In all honesty, he thrives on it these days.  Right now, he accepts the quiet reassurance it brings and leans into it. “Thinking awfully hard for someone about to take a long nap, love,” Ben murmurs near his ear.

Kaidan huffs softly and pulls his gaze from Dholen to glance over his shoulder.  Concerned steel grey eyes meet his.  “There’s a lot to think about.”

“Enough to get lost in your head again?”  Coats moves to the side giving Kaidan space to maneuver his crutches as they head out of the room together.  

“You know me.”

They chuckle in companionable silence as they head to the cryo storage bay.  It is a daunting sight to see the vast numbers of pods already stowed away for the long journey.  Kaidan pauses halfway into the room, staring up at them.  He knows good and well some of his best friends, his only remaining friends, have already taken to their six hundred year sleep.  He and Ben are among the last.  But along with that knowledge comes lingering doubt.  He looks over at his husband again.  “Are we doing the right thing, Ben?  Leaving the Milky Way?  If the rest get caught before they can leave…?”

Coats slides an arm around Kaidan’s shoulder in a comforting hug.  “What else can we do?  Earth’s gone, or soon will be.  Palaven. Thessia.  Tuchanka.  The rest won’t take long after that.  We have nowhere else to go.”

A small shudder works through him.  Ben’s arm tightens to keep him upright.  Kaidan accepts the support without question.  We’ve lost so damned much…  “Do you really think we’ll find a better life in Andromeda?”

“Hey, now, what’s this all about?” Ben asks, tilting Kaidan’s chin just enough so their eyes meet again.  Kaidan flushes, battling back embarrassment.  It’s been such a long battle, and he hates giving up before the fight is completely over.  “Why all these doubts now?  You helped lead us to this point.  Don’t you want to go?”

“I do,” he agrees quickly and without looking away.  “Of course, I do.  It’s just… The Milky Way is our home.  It feels too much like we’re… being chased away by the neighborhood bully, you know?  We’re quitting.  Giving up.”

Coats guides him over to the side of the room, out of the way of a small group entering the cryo bay after them.  Kaidan peeks over, notices one of the asari he and Ben spoke to after their arrival in the Far Rim.  We’re all in this together.  Human.  Asari. Turian.  Quarian.  Geth. Salarian.  Hanar.  Elcor. Drell.  Volus.  All of us.  

It’s been eighteen months since the battle in London was lost.  The reapers still harvest.  Shepard and Anderson are both MIA, presumed dead.  The Normandy is gone, no sight or sound, another casualty of that battle.  The Citadel, their only hope in keeping the galaxy united to confront the reaper threat, completely destroyed by the reapers.  What other choice do they have?

“Hey.”

Pulled out of his thoughts again, Kaidan returns his attention to Ben, who slides a hand up the side of Kaidan’s neck until his thumb strokes his scruff covered cheek.  Kaidan tilts his head into the touch.  This… this is why.  Neither of them have any family left; the reapers have seen to that.  They only have each other.  Until death do us part.

“Not doubts,” Kaidan whispers.  “Not really.  Just… regrets.”

Ben tips his forehead until it touches Kaidan’s and gently covers Kaidan’s lips with his own.  The kiss is soft, sweet, a memory from the past as well as a promise for the future. When the kiss breaks, Ben’s smile is, as always, present.  “This nightmare will end,” he promises.  “We’ll sleep for a while –”

Kaidan chuckles softly.  “Six hundred years is ‘a while’ to you?”

Ben silences him with another quick kiss.  “A while,” he repeats.  “Then we’ll wake up, the reapers will be gone, and we’ll find a home.  Together. How’s that sound?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kaidan sees one of the cryo techs approaching.  Their time has run out, it seems.  “Sounds good,” he replies as he takes a step back with the aid of his crutches.  

Ben moves to his side and they follow the technician to find their cryo pods.  Kaidan is first to enter his with his husband’s help.  Getting settled takes a few moments given his injuries.  Before the lid closes, Ben leans over and ghosts one last kiss across his lips.  “Next stop, Andromeda.”  

Kaidan nods, lifting his left hand to trace his fingers over Ben’s face.  “I’ll see you in the morning,” he quips, his fingers lingering as long as they can. By the time Ben backs away and the technician lowers the lid to the pod, Kaidan’s eyes are already closing.  

Next stop, Andromeda…

[allegra-writes]

“Once in twenty lifetimes”

Tom Holland x Reader

General audiences

Warnings: Implied character death.

“In a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you”

The chaos of stars - Kiersten White

Just a little one shot inspired by the song “Cardigan” and this lovely past life reading by Adora’s light.

MY MASTERLIST

You cursed as your high heel got stuck on the cobblestone, making your ankle twist painfully. It would be just like you to be late, and injured, on your first day. But no, you still had about half an hour to spare, and the building was literally across the street. 

You tried to slow down your pace, and the beating of your heart, it would do you no good to arrive early, shaky and exuding nervousness like the inexperienced rookie you were. A smile broke through your face as you saw the coffee shop. Yeah, an herbal tea would do you worlds of good.

Your bare feet hit the stone tiles of the castle floor, running. People were running in all directions, screaming in terror: the enemy was inside already, the fires raging in the citadel nothing but a mere distraction. You heard the cries of your maiden inside your own bedchamber being beaten for information, you knew what the enemy wanted: You. 

“Meri Rani!” That voice. You knew that voice. “Meri Rani, this way!”

A strong, rough hand wrapped around your dainty one, guiding you behind a tapestry, to the hidden pathways and you could have cried in relief. 

Your brave knight. Your faithful guardian.

You were safe.

You were always safe in his arms.

The music hit you with a wave of melancholy as soon as you opened the door of the shop. That old Elvis’ song always made you strangely nostalgic. You smiled at the bittersweet feeling, stepping in line to order.

You didn’t want to fall into the “I was born in the wrong era” cliche, you really didn’t. And you knew a lot of people thought you were boring, too old fashioned, sometimes even snobbish because of it. But truth was, modern music just didn’t hit the same. The fast rhymes, oversaturated and monotone beats didn’t move you. You sounded like your grandmother, but they just didn’t make good music anymore. Not that good at least. 

“Wise meeeen say” You watched your boyfriend stumble under the streetlights, torn between exasperation and fondness. Drunk. He was drunk. Unbelievable. “Only fooools ruuuuusshh in”

As unbelievable as how nicely those Levi’s hugged his hips, as he twirled around the pole… and somehow managed to slip, face planting on it. 

“Ouch!”

“Yeah, you’re a fool alright, Thomas" 

You rushed to his side, prying his hands away from his face to check his nose.

"It’s all your fault, doll. I’m a fool for you” He winked, but the effect was somehow dampered by the blood falling freely over his lips. “We should go to that Elvis concert next month" 

His warm brown eyes lit up with enthusiasm at his own new idea.

"Hmmm I’m not sure we should” You feigned concern, “I could fall in love with him… he is very handsome”

Your boyfriend snorted,

“No way. You dig me way more than you dig Elvis" 

"Not when you’re all bloody and bruised like this…”

“Ow”

“Sorry!” You apologized, trying to be gentler as you finished wiping at his blood with your handkerchief. 

His arm snaked around your waist, cold fingers sneaking under your sweater, making you jump slightly.

“Is ok, love” he whispered against your lips, “I’ll let you kiss it better.”

“Hi, hun!” Chloe, the cashier, greeted. “Your usual?”

“Oh, no, I’m jumpy enough today!” You chuckled, perusing the tea menu, “I think I’ll have… some lavender tea today. Good for first day anxiety.”

“Wouldn’t lime flower be better for that?” The blonde teen frowned in confusion.

“Lavender is just as good, plus it won’t make me drowsy”

Chloe rang your order, taking a mental note of your words.

“I’ll try to remember that for the next customer that asks for lime flower. How do you even know so much about herbs?”

You simply shrugged, accepting your change,

“I don’t know, I guess I just have a memory for this kinda thing”

“Mama!" 

You raised your head from where you were harvesting berries of bittersweet nightshade, and felt your heart skip a beat. The image of your husband walking to you with your little girl in his arms still managed to take your breath away and fill your whole being with warmth and joy even after three years. 

You stood up, wiping your dirty hands on your skirts.

"See, bumblebee? I told you mama was just outside” You heard Tom’s soft words soothing the crying infant. “She doesn’t like it when she wakes up and you’re not there…” He added to you, the corners of his mouth belying his amusement.

“Is that true, sweetie?” You inquired, extending your arms toward the toddler, who practically leaped into them. Your daughter only nodded in response, hiding her face on your chest, fisting her tiny hands on the top of your dress, holding on as if she was afraid you were gonna disappear any minute. 

“Aye… I think she misses you almost as much as I do when you’re gone” Tom declared, wrapping his arms around both his girls, trying to squish down the uneasiness that had taken over him ever since he had heard…

“Is that so?”

Both your husband and your daughter nodded, making you chuckle. 

“What if mama makes some marzipan cakes tonight? Would that cheer you up? We could go to the village in the afternoon to get some flour”

Your husband’s stomach made a flip, the sound of your daughter’s enthusiastic approval drowned by his own worries and fears.

“Or we could just let your daddy make some of his honey candies. No need to go to the village…" 

You finished stirring the honey in your tea, and hurried to put the lid back to the cup, eager to leave. As much as you loved the little cafe, you couldn’t quite stand it in the mornings. You hated the fact that they served american breakfast. The smell of bacon and sausages, actually the smell of any meat being cooked, never failed to make your stomach churn. That was actually the main reason for your vegetarianism, even stronger than your convictions, your compassion and love for animals. Even stronger than your concerns or your wish for a healthier lifestyle, was your dislike. While most people found that smell mouthwatering and delicious, to you, it only ever smelled of burnt flesh.

Your beloved husband’s face was the only one you could make out in the crowd. His pale, tear streaked face, looking almost blue in the twilight. But no, it wasn’t twilight yet, it couldn’t be with the sun still so high in the sky. 

… Then why was everything so blue? 

The executioner tightened the ropes around you, but you couldn’t feel them. You were numb all over. 

"I’m sorry” He murmured, “but I will have to hurry up. Your husband gave me the tea but I think I used too much. If they realize what I did, they will burn me too" 

You understood then: wolfsbane. He couldn’t save your life, there was no way he could have, the archbishop had watched you like a hawk all the time they had kept you in the tower. But he wanted to spare you the pain. And not even the man of the church could find it in himself to deny you your last wish: a single cup of tea… that you hadn’t requested. 

"Why?” You managed to let out, “Why are you helping me?" 

"You helped me once. Or rather, my girlfriend. Well, my wife now”

You tried to remember. Yes, you were sure that was her, the blacksmith’s daughter. She was supposed to be a maiden, back then. If her father found out, he would have beaten her to death, but with a little pennyroyal you had put an end to her predicament. 

You could see the regret in his eyes as he let the torch fall into the pyre. You searched your husband’s face through the smoke. His agonized eyes met yours one last time.

No. Not the last. Only the last in that lifetime. 

“I love you” You didn’t open your mouth but you knew he had heard you, “forever" 

You tried to shake away the morbid thought, as you stepped into the busy street again. It wasn’t all that hard, as you immediately got swept away by it’s fast paced rhythm. There was something about the city, some hidden beauty in it’s chaos, a siren song, a presence. Almost as if somewhere in its darkest alley, there was a heartbeat calling for you. And in a way, you guessed there was, all of them were always crowded, teeming with life. Yet, unlike in any other city, here you weren’t shoved or pushed around. Here, if someone as much as bumped your arm, you would get a quick and embarrassed "sorry”. And you didn’t quite know why you found that so endearing, but you did. 

Just another one in the long list of things you loved about London. 

You collided with someone, hard, but you couldn’t afford to stop and apologize, so you kept on moving, advancing as fast as you could through the sea of bodies crowding the station. It was almost time, he was stepping into the last train and only god knew if you were ever going to see him again. He had asked you not to come, but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t let him leave without saying goodbye.

You heard him before you saw him. You almost didn’t recognize him from behind, the lush dark curls you loved so much all but gone, the strands shaved around the ears and cut close to the scalp on the back and sides.

“Thomas!”

He turned around just in time for you to jump into his arms, wrapping yours around his neck, hiding your face against his uniformed chest.

“I told you not to come” He breathed against your hair, undone from your race, holding onto you just as hard, “I told you I wouldn’t be able to leave this platform if you did…”

“Then don’t” You countered, “Stay with me. Let’s run away to the countryside, just… just stay" 

You felt his choked sob against your cheek.

"If we don’t stop the Germans now, there will be nowhere left to run. And I rather die before letting them anywhere near you”

“Don’t say that” You admonished, breaking your embrace to get a look at his coffee eyes, “Don’t ever say that!" 

He shook his head,

"It’s the truth, my love. Of all the beauty in this world, yours is the most breathtaking. Of all the kindness, yours is the most honest.” He took your hands in his, placing soft, reverent kisses on your knuckles “You are everything that’s good and pure in this world. You are everything that’s worth fighting for" 

"All aboard!" 

The tears were clouding your vision, when Tom’s brave facade fell.

"If anything happens to me at war…”

“Hush! Don’t say-”

“I must, my love” He interrupted you, urgently, “If anything happens to me, my family will take care of you. Listen-”

“No, you listen” You cut him off, “Whatever you were going to say, it won’t be necessary. Because you are going to come back to me, did you hear me?”

His reply died in his throat. He wanted so bad to be able to promise you what you wanted.

“Come back to me, Thomas. Say you’ll come back…" 

"Yes, ma'am” He finally vowed, before stealing one last kiss.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!" 

His apology reached your ears even before you felt the hot liquid dripping down your chest, before your distracted mind could process what was happening. 

"I was walking too fast and I wasn’t looking where I was going and neither were you and when I realized, I couldn’t stop on time- Not, not that I’m blaming you for this, no, of course not! I mean, that looks hot” He gesticulated to your chest, talking with his hands almost as fast as he was rambling with his mind. You watched his eyes go big and his cheeks turn red as he realized exactly where he was pointing at, “The tea! I meant the tea not your… your- not you! I mean, not that you’re not… I should shut up now, right?" 

You tried to stifle your amused smile, but you failed, the brunet man in front of you simply too adorable in his awkward babbling for you to be mad. Even if both your favorite vintage tee and brand new phone were ruined now. 

"Probably, yeah.” You confirmed, “You need to stop and breathe, otherwise you might pass out from lack of oxygen. And I don't  think I can deal with that on top of” You pointed at your soaked self, “this" 

Relief washed over him at the realization you weren’t mad. The truth was, the only reason he had crashed into you was that he had been too busy staring at you to realize you were coming right his way. 

"Yeah, that would be just too rude” He let himself smile a little too, “crashing with you, making you spill your tea and passing out on you? So crossing the line…" 

You snorted inelegantly at that. 

And he thought it was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his life.

"Let me replace your t-shirt” He offered, hoping to buy himself a few more minutes with you, “and your tea, of course" 

You were about to refuse, when your eyes found his, the entire world shifting, tilting on its axis, as your irises met his warm coffee ones. 

You knew those eyes.

"I- ok” You cleared your throat, as if that would be able to conceal your shameless staring. “I have…” You checked your watch, “about 20 minutes before work”

“Right. Better make them count then” His boyish smile turned bigger, brighter, “I’m Tom, by the way. And I promise I’m usually smoother than this”

You took the hand he was offering, and it felt like deja vu.

“Y/n. And I hate smooth." 

He laughed,

"Great, cause that was a lie…" 

You walked back inside the coffee shop together, never noticing it was the hand of fate, the one opening the doors for you, all over again. 

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Four

Chapter Four: But You See, it's Not Me

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Get down! Get down! Get down!" Jane screamed as she charged across the field.

The blast rippled through the air, a torrent of flame following imperceptibly behind it, and with that sudden friction came the force of the explosion. Rubble, stones, dust, and ash flung across the square seconds after the detonation. Terse silence, then relief.

"Recruit!" the Lieutenant called, emerging from behind the barrier, "holy hell, Recruit?"

He scanned the intersection, frowning as the haze of ash obscured his vision. But it wasn't long before coughing guided him forward to his curled-up Recruit. One now covered in ash and with a few extra gashes but seemingly no worse for the wear. Those bright blue eyes looking more out of place against the black and grey backdrop of soot and crimson.

"I think we played that one a little close," he wavered on the humorous tone. Fighting their own wasn't comfortable for most soldiers, even if they had made it abundantly clear they were the enemy.

Jane grinned up at him, "I usually am not the charge setter. I just like the boom."

Fair enough. Perhaps he should have never questioned her mettle, the woman chomped on the bit to destroy this outpost the second she saw the gem-like logo tagged on the side of the building. Roy knew she had killed other humans since the Reapers were defeated, but seeing her ease at doing so in person was another matter. Most of his men, and himself, balked at the idea after weeks of working together against the Reaper threat. Now it was over -it felt sacrilegious to kill another member of his race... it was the first time he had killed another man. But here Jane was, taking it in stride, almost seeming to take it with gayety he couldn't fathom.

"That must be the human with the quad," for a hulking creature, the Krogan leader could be quite mellow at times, for what was expected out of him.

Strangely enough, Jane didn't share that same sentiment. She cowed in her own way, backing from the open hand that Wrex offered to her. Wrex instead lifted her by the arm, pulling the female in for closer inspection. The red eyes roved over her face and features, looking for something that he ultimately decided was not there. The Krogan set her down with a gentle jostle.

"Heh, I must still have my charm."

His recruit fought a wistful smile.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The cold night air prickled her skin, raising the fine hairs across her forearm. Her gaze followed it down and to the ground in the space between her crossed legs. It felt less immense looking at this space rather than up at the terrible presence that loomed over her—waiting to devour her.

"How does it feel to be invisible?" the mechanical voice now a caress gently easing into her thoughts, "those you called friends can't recognize you anymore."

She wasn't invisible, just tired. Scared. Lonely. Lost. Everything the Commander didn't feel.

"What is the legendary Commander without biotics? Fodder."

Each attempt she had made had wound up in her losing time. Each subsequent try meant more time and a migraine that intensified. If the migraine ever truly left the lingering stage, but it was something she knew better than to complain about. Nobody needed a reason to worry about her or find another reason to treat her like an outsider. That she couldn't complain about, she hadn't tried hard to be friendly. Instead preferring to remain on the periphery.

"Or is the legend of Shepard over? The husk that you are can't compare."

Or was it easier to relax? To let the burden fade from her shoulders? The crushing weight of everyone's hopes had been too much. Sleepless nights, nightmares, and anxiety permeated every aspect of the Commander's life. Questioning if she had done enough for the war effort, the sewage of her worries toxifying each moment of peace. Guilt over her time in Cereberus still proving to be a hurdle in any reconciliation of her being a basically good person.

It was a little easier being Jane. Not much was expected of her.

"Or are you the vessel of her guilt? The long-overdue penance for her crimes."

Most saw Shepard as the hero. But only because they didn't see the evils she had caused. Colonies. Planets. Friends. Synthetics. Her unit on Akuze. All gone because of her choices. Nobody had time during the war to examine the consequences of her actions. Would they not see them if Shepard simply died on the Citadel? The blame left to some figure that had at least the good sense to atone by dying for the galaxy?

It didn't make her choices better.

But it was less blame to assign to her.

"Whatever you are now isn't worthy of being deemed 'Savior.' You rejected your friend because you feared the face he would see, the nothing you are now."

"I see we're revisiting Harold," the warm voice a sudden break from the cold metallic," I don't understand it, this thing gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Roy's hand on her shoulder a strange grounding back into reality, back into the frigid night air. Her head turned to glance at him, as usual, he softly smiled, amber eyes viewing her with a hint of concern. A familiarity that thawed some of her walls.

"It's also freezing out here, but leave it up to you to be sitting out here. Alone," the chuckle arriving before his teasing, "brooding."

Jane huffed.

Roy's finger stroked the underside of her newest scar that ran along her chin; it was a curious thing with a slight glow, "you need to get this thing checked."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Finally, some respect."

"Don't let it fool you."

The LT sighed heavily in return, turning his head to the Reaper with a reflexive frown," Now, tell the Recruit to stay put for a moment."

Jane hadn't intended to move, but welcomed the checkered blanket that was placed tenderly around her shoulders all the same. Roy placed himself facing her, blocking out the view of the Old Machine. A green bottle finding its way into her hands.

"I can't take this."

"You're not taking it. You're helping me drink beer," he returned smoothly. Extending out his own drink in a toast.

"Well, what do you suggest?" her favorite person murmured. His eyes darting over her lips, but they only ever rested on her eyes. Inviting; her call to calm.

"I can't think of anything better than this moment right now," Mary lost her fight to keep his gaze, her cheeks dusting in red. The possibility of this vulnerable moment turning reared in her head.

"Shepard," Kaidan purred against her lips, pulling her form flush into him, "Shepard."

He didn't move to push the feathery kisses into serious territory, instead enjoying the closeness the two of them rarely got to enjoy. This openness was the prime offering, the exposed throat to be protected. Even rewarded in a way Mary wouldn't see as patronizing.

"Kaidan," Mary muttered, his name dropping as her vocal cords seized.

Kaidan would wait as many beats as she needed.

"This feels almost normal."

His rumbling laugh came fluidly, "what do I need to do to make this normal, normal? Besides ridding the universe of the Reapers, and singlehandedly wiping out Cerebrus."

The Commander considered it for a long moment, "you know that really uncomfortable position where I lay on your arm? I think that would feel more normal."

"Alright, Shepard," Kaidan returned with a grin, scooching both of them awkwardly until he laid on his side and Mary's head rested on his forearm, "anything else?"

The woman grinned bashfully, "no."

"Because you forgot the crappy vid, but it doesn't matter; we wouldn't have watched it anyway," his finger traced across the ridge of her nose.

"Why? Would we too busy, getting busy?"

He laughed again, "maybe. But you don't like to be still that long. You know, you'd have to learn to sit down and watch a vid with me one day."

"If you could refrain from making comments the entire time," Mary retorted smugly.

"Heh." There was a hesitation.

"If you've got something to say to me, Alenko."

His finger gently drew lines between the paths of her freckles, formulating the right words and deciding on a path between his hopes, "sounds like you are planning on keeping me around."

"I-," the sole thing keeping her head from turning away was the hand that cupped her cheek, "I'd like to learn to be normal with you. To have a regular life... with you. Christmases, birthdays... fucking Easter."

Kaidan knew he grinned like an idiot, his cheeks hurting from the width of his smile.

"Hey, kid, you look a little lost there," Roy called, snapping his fingers.

"Oh," she put the bottle to her lips, the somewhat warm liquid coating her mouth, "sorry."

He shrugged nonchalantly, taking his own generous sip. Overlooking the woman curiously.

"LT, I appreciate this, but," Jane struggled with the words, with the absolute coldness she was displaying, "why are you doing this?"

"It's Christmas," Roy stated simply.

So it was, "I'm sure you have better company. Even others that had invited-"

"I did, but don't make this isn't all about you," Roy had his own troubles. Most of them the people that clamored for his attention. Jane wasn't like that, he found her near hostility refreshing. A good break from the worries of being a caretaker for everyone in the building before him. Jane didn't ask for anything. "I am still not convinced I was the one most suitable to speak with that Krogan, Wrex. You seemed to get on with them."

"You got it done."

"We had an unlikely connection, and he's a reasonable person."

Jane shook her head, twisting and opening up her palms in a dismissive motion. Apparently, that was that and a done deal. Returning them to silence.

"I am curious, how does one know so much about aliens, guns, and farming?" He pressed after a moment. The finding of her knowledge of crops was the most surprising thing to learn about her to date. Not that she had deemed to share this openly; instead, he caught it by chance as the Salarian and the Recruit brainstormed the best irrigation and propagation methods with their limited supplies.

Jane's cheeks flushed, even in the dim light, "ahh, I had mentioned my parents were colonists, just not that they were farmers. I'm not an expert or anything. Being a teenager when they died, I had little real interest in it."

"And the aliens?" He wisely pushed away from the subject, already seeing the hints of her recoil. The bobbing of her throat becoming a recognizable tic.

"My postings saw me in diplomatic positions. I spent a considerable amount of time on the Citadel and visited most of the homeworlds of the major council species," Jane glanced to her right, a soft smile spreading on her face.

All considered this was a fucked time to be smiling. Upon further consideration, visiting wasn't the proper term either, she had been there to try and break a siege or to deal with some Reaper-related threat. The smile arose because of the memories of her crewmates, former and well... they were all former now.

"How did you end up so lucky?"

"Some hard work, but mostly luck," her expression darkened before returning to a neutral state.

He had so many more questions. But she had her reasons for not divulging further, for reasons nefarious or more likely classified, Jane kept mum. Pushing her further could only end in retreat.

"Any other fun talents you want to tell me about?"

"Nothing that entertaining," Jane chuckled, "though I'd like to know how you managed to stash beer."

Roy returned the chuckle with a wink, "my secret, Recruit."

"Fine," she smirked, "but what about you? I know you served, but what did you do before this?"

"I own an orchard. I used to be more involved with it. But as men my age do, we like to retire to a quiet life."

"So much for that," Jane murmured, earning another toast with the LT, "any family?"

"Yeah, an old lady, somewhere back home," Roy grew wistful, "I have a kid, too. Somewhere."

Jane knew that tone, the somberness a feeling she was only too familiar with. Much as he never asked about her troubles, she returned the favor. Most had lost something, if not everything in this short but brutal war.

The man picked himself up as he finished his beer, stashing both bottles into a pile of rubble to retrieve later.

"You should come back inside for dinner, word and smell is that someone made actual bread. Rolls."

Roy offered out his hand.

[the-most-slytherin-hufflepuff]

Open your eyes (Chapter 4)

I managed to finish this chapter finally. I hope you guys enjoy it... cause shit is about to go down. Anyway here you go. Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Masterlist

The return to Slytherin wasn’t loud. 

It wasn’t full of praise for Sirius and his friends, or pity and happiness for Regulus. It was dark, in the cloak of the early night when no one would see them come or go. Sirius wanted time for Reg to adjust before being thrown into the center of attention. Remus could understand that, it was sound logic. They didn’t really know how long it had been since the spell wore off, how long Regulus had been out of Lestrange’s claws. So they rode their horses in silence, trying to keep to the shadows, hoods pulled over their heads to obscure their features.

They arrived at the Dumais home quickly after entering the Citadel. Remus had never met Celeste Dumais, for all the time he spent with Pascal and Logan in the last three years Celeste was still just a name in passing to him. Until now. The woman that received them at the steps of the house had dark gentle eyes. She wore a green dress, not the royal color of Slytherin’s banner, more like the blue-green color of still ponds when night started falling. Calm, steady. 

She hugged Regulus tightly, wrapping around him and holding him close. Not unlike how Hope held Remus after a particularly bad nightmare. She waved them inside with a gentle smile, stopping Remus to whisper something to him. “Your brother arrived last night.” Remus nodded. He had asked Pascal if maybe Julian could stay with them to try and help Regulus cope with everything, the man had agreed immediately and Remus hadn’t wasted any time to send his brother the letter. 

When he crossed into the small living room he found his little brother, wearing a pair of brown pants and a white shirt with no shoes, sprawled on the ground along two of the Dumais children. A girl, who Remus suspected was Katie and Marc. Remus and Marc had met only once around two years ago, but the boy had rarely changed in appearance. Calliope laid curled up between them, giving a content huff when Katie scratched behind her ears. 

“You have a dragon?” Logan stared at the three with a stunned look that made Julian snicker. 

Remus walked forward, picking Calliope from the floor gently and letting her rest around his shoulders. He got closer to Logan, Calliope eyed him for a moment and then leaped down from Remus’s shoulders to Logan’s head, nuzzling her snout in his hair and coiling herself on his shoulder. Leo cooed at her, patting her side gently while Finn just looked on with a fond look. 

“Alright”, Celeste said, pulling everyone’s attention to her, “dinner will be served shortly and after that sleeping arrangements will be figured out. Kids go wash up.” 

Julian, Katie, and Marc got up, running to the washroom in a mess of light shoves and giggles. Celeste stared after them fondly and then turned on her heel, walking to another room and leaving the group alone. Regulus sat down heavily, letting himself flop to the side on the couch in a very unprincely manner. He groaned, smothering his face in one of the pillows and letting his hands drop to the sides. “M’so tired”, he muttered, words muffled by the ornate cushion, “can I just go to bed?” 

Sirius grabbed the cushion from his brother’s face with an amused smile. “You heard Celeste. Sleeping arrangements after dinner.” 

“But I already know whe—” 

Celeste came into the living room, interrupting what Regulus was about to say. “Come on, dinner is ready.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Regulus flopped down on the bed, pressing his forearm over his eyes. Celeste had given him his usual room, the same one he used to share with Sirius when they told their father they would go on a hunt, but were really visiting the Dumais family. He smiled a little at the memory. 

Dinner had gone alright, if not a little awkward for Regulus. Everyone else seemed to know each other well and it made him feel a bit out of place. That was of course until the dragon decided to jump down from Logan and jump onto Regulus’s lap and stay there for the rest of dinner, after that it had been a little easier for him. He had never expected to feel so at home surrounded by so many magic users, with a baby dragon napping on him, especially not after the last few months, but they made it easy. 

He heard a soft, almost timid knock, on his door. “Come in.”

The door opened, the hinges creaking softly, and in stepped Julian Lupin with Calliope perched on his shoulders. “Hey”, he said, waving shyly at Regulus. “I thought you could use some company.” He grabbed the small black dragon from his back and let her fall gracefully to the floor. She walked to the foot of his bed and leapt onto the mattress, snuggling up to Regulus’s leg. “She likes you a lot”, Julian commented, sitting down on the chair besides the bed. 

Regulus looked down at her, running his fingers down her spine gently. “I always thought dragons would be bigger… and mean.” 

Julian laughed under his breath. “They are pretty big. She’s just a baby still.” 

Regulus looked at him, hesitant. “If she’s just a baby then why would you trust me to be near her”, his voice had dropped at the end, Julian still heard it. 

“I don’t really have much say on who she chooses to spend time with”, he shrugged, “she’s her own being, intelligent. She trusts you for a reason and I’m not going to question it.” Julian smiled at him, it reminded Regulus of Sirius a little. “She’s a good judge of character.” 

“You’re a good kid”, Regulus said, voice a little breathless, he wasn’t used to people being nice. Much less being nice to him, not even his father. 

Julian beamed at him. “I would like to think so.” He grabbed Calliope and settled her on Regulus’s shoulders. “Come on, Katie and Marc missed you. Pretty sure Adele and Loui are two seconds away from barging in here and hugging you to death. You can’t hide in here all night.” 

“M’not hiding.” 

Julian just raised an eyebrow at him, just like Remus did when Regulus grumbled about the medicine for his nightmares. He turned around and headed for the door, Regulus following behind him. “Oh, before I forget”, he looked back over his shoulder, “call me Jules.” 

~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning Sirius couldn’t find Regulus anywhere. He would have panicked if he hadn’t known his brother was still inside the house. He walked over to Katie’s room, knocking on the wooden door gently. There was some rustling from inside, a small giggle and then the door was heaved open by Marc and Adele. “Is Regulus here?” 

Adele nodded, looking over her shoulder at something that made her smile, another giggle spilling from her lips. Sirius looked inside the room. Regulus was lying asleep on the big white carpet that Katie kept besides her bed. Julian was sprawled by his side, head resting on Regulus’s chest. Katie had curled up besides him, her arm thrown lazily over him, her hand was resting on Julian’s forehead. Sirius was taken back to when he and Regulus were younger and would wake up in similar positions with a much smaller Katie draped over both of them like a human blanket. 

Sirius didn’t want to wake him up. Quite frankly he didn’t want his brother back in the palace or anywhere near their father. Regulus had magic, there was no question about that, and Sirius didn’t want him to be around their father’s all encompassing hatred for anything magical. Reg had gone through enough during his time in the Lestrange estate. Sirius didn’t miss the far away looks and the flinching every time there was a sudden noise. He entered the room quietly, noticing that Calliope was also a part of the tangle of limbs where she had curled up between Reg and Julian. 

When Sirius reached their side he crouched down near Regulus’s leg, far away from everyone’s arm reach, and tapped his knee gently. His brother stirred and then settled again. “Reg”, Sirius whispered, tapping his knee again, “wake up.” 

Regulus grumbled in annoyance, peeking one eye open and groaning under his breath when he saw Sirius. “Leave me alone.” 

“We have to go.” Sirius poked at his rib with the toe of his boot. “Get up.” 

“Can’t”, he said, motioning lazily to the two teenagers and the dragon that had decided to tangle themselves around Regulus. 

“I’m giving you the time it takes us to get the horses ready to get up. If you’re not ready by then I’m dragging you out of here.” 

“You wouldn’t dare”, Regulus challenged.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. Luckily for me Lily and Remus would dare”, Sirius had to bite down a smirk when Reg’s triumphant look disappeared. “So you better not be sleeping still when I get back.” 

“Threatening me with magic is treason, Sirius.” 

“So is harboring sorcerers, idiot”, Sirius replied in a teasing tone, “and I’m already hiding the magic of three potentially four. We’re past the point of treason.” 

“Fine”, Regulus grumbled, “I’ll get up.” 

“Good. You really don’t want to get dragged out of sleep by magic.” 

Regulus smirked. “Speaking from personal experience there, eh?”

”Perhaps”, was all Sirius said before walking out of the room. 

~*~*~*~*~*

Regulus held his breath for a few seconds, then nodded at Sirius. He looked back at the people behind him with a weary look. He was nervous to be back at the palace after months of being around Bellatrix. 

Now that he knew he had magic the palace didn’t seem welcoming, not that it had been very warm or pleasant anyway. But at least before it didn’t feel like he was walking to his own death sentence. Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He let it fall to the rains of his horse and rode forward, leading the group into palace grounds and to where he could see Orion waiting. 

The king’s expression when he saw them didn’t change, his eyes remained as cold and sharp as ever, but Sirius noticed his shoulder slump ever so slightly in relief. Their friends hung back while Sirius and Regulus went to their father’s side, dismounting the horses and bowing their heads in respect.

 The king hugged Regulus close, not caring about the people around them. He placed a hand on his son’s back and guided him inside the palace, nodding at Sirius with a thankful expression. There was a proud gleam in his eyes. Sirius almost believed it was real. He nodded back, dipping his head in another bow before his father left, taking Regulus with him. 

No one missed the way Regulus tensed under his father’s touch. 

~*~*~*~*~*

Sirius took a deep breath, looking around the room. There was a bad feeling simmering just under his skin. After his father had announced the feast in honor of Reg’s return things had started moving too fast. The servants ran up and down corridors preparing the Hall and decorating the palace. The kitchens had been busy with food preparations and every Lord and Lady in the kingdom had confirmed their attendance to the feast. The feast he was sitting in now. It was a perfect storm for something to go incredibly wrong incredibly fast. People were happy and joyful. 

There’s more to lose when things are going great. 

Sirius saw Lily’s eyes flash dangerously in the direction of the high table, only for a moment but Sirius still caught it. Like always there was fire behind her gaze, and being in Orion’s presence had made the flames grow aggressively. The king didn’t seem to notice, too enraptured in the almost happiness of having his son back after so long. Sirius looked at Regulus from the corner of his eyes, sitting on their father’s left side while Sirius sat at his right. 

His eyes shifted to look down at the hall before him, painted in silver and green from the decorations and orange from the torches and lanterns. The feast had started less than an hour ago and Sirius already wanted to leave, take his friends and brother with him to anywhere else but this hall. Filled with lords and ladies that kept sneaking glances at the high table, at Sirius and Regulus. They looked at Sirius with something akin to awe and at Regulus with almost pity. No one missed the sunken cheeks, dark eyes, and tired posture the boy had. No one knew what he had gone through, not even Sirius, he just had an idea. And the idea was horrifying enough. 

King Orion stood up from his seat, silver goblet in hand and an almost real smile on his lips. “Friends, we are here tonight to celebrate the return of my son.” He turned ever so slightly and looked down at Regulus. Sirius watched his brother’s shoulders straighten a little, and an almost convincing smile pulled at Regulu’s lips. “For months his brother has looked for him and now he is here, back home where he belongs.” Orion lifted his goblet in, voice thundering across the hall. “To Sirius, for doing an excellent job in his quest.” The guest yelled his name, Sirius almost believed his father’s praise. “And to Regulus. Welcome home.” 

Before anyone could respond the doors of the hall slammed open. Silence fell, too loud in Sirius’s ears, and then footsteps. Light, graceful, the slightest thud of leather against stone. A woman’s voice spoke and a shiver ran down Sirius’s spine, dread pooling in his gut. “Dear uncle”, Bellatrix said, voice almost melodic, “why was I not informed of this… wonderful feast. The return of your son. I thought family would have a place at your table.” 

~*~*~*~*~*

Remus heard Leo give a low curse, shoulders tensing. The feast had been relatively peaceful so Leo’s change in demeanor made him feel uneasy. His blue eyes scanned the room frantically looking for something. What that was, Remus had absolutely no idea. He heard the king speak, heard the deafening response of the gathered crowd and then the king spoke again but it was all distant to him. A whisper of nothing, because Leo had trained his eyes on the door and his hands had twitched and before Remus could ask anything he felt it. Strong, poisonous, electric, and dark. Bellatrix was in the palace. 

He leaned to the side to whisper to Lily. He didn’t get to say anything, the doors opened, slamming against the stone wall, the sound shaking the room into a deafening silence. The toxic yellow color of her magic bleeding out of her dark silver irises. The room held its breath while she talked, looking at the king, the joy he had on his face at the beginning of the evening disappearing like it had never existed. His eyes were back to the cold, sharp silver blades that had plagued the nightmares of so many for decades. “Witch”, he hissed at Bellatrix. 

The words made her laugh, though it sounded more like a cackle. Remus had to tune her out, her voice made shivers run down his spine and pins prickle at his skin, leaving his brain useless. He needed to think, come up with something to get the woman out of the Hall. Because Reg had started shaking in his seat and Sirius was staring at Remus with an almost terrified expression. He touched the tip of his fingers to Lily’s arm, let his foot knock against Leo’s, the two turned to stare at him, Lily’s eyes lingering on Bellatrix for a moment. 

Her hands balled into fists, golden flames starting to lick into the green of her eyes, magic bubbling to the surface. Remus pressed his fingers under hers, making her hands relax enough for him to hold them as tightly as he could to try and keep her grounded. The message was clear, no magic, not where they can see. 

Remus tuned back to hear the last of  Bellatrix’s words. “You sit there all high and mighty, wearing a crown that does not belong to you.” Her cheerful tone from earlier had devolved into something like a hiss, as toxic and poisonous as her. 

Remus saw the moment her eyes shifted, not the acid color of her magic, this was something different, evil. She began chanting, a string of unintelligible words spewing from her mouth in what Remus recognized as an ancient spell. Black magic taking over her eyes like bleeding ink on a page. A piercing scream tore through the hall, it came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, leaving Remus disoriented and dazed. What happened next went by too fast for him to process. Orion fell to the ground, head banging against the table and then the stone floor making Remus wince. That was a nasty concussion that would need a lot of time to heal if the king survived. Regulus and Sirius’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and they slumped against their chairs, looking lifeless except for the weak rise and fall of their chests. 

Someone screamed and then all hell broke loose. 

The first to stand were the knights, splitting up into two groups. One half attempting to guide the distressed guest away, who were running around in a panic and the other half facing down the woman that stood at the center of the chaos, yellow eyes gleaming. Logan faced her while the other knights formed a tight circle around her. 

Finn watched as Logan faced down the woman, his green eyes sharp and measuring. A heavy feeling set in Finn’s stomach, Bellatrix’s yellow eyes sending chills down his spine. He grabbed onto Leo’s hand tightly, letting his eyes stray from Logan for a second to look at his fiancé. “Can you do something”, he didn’t bother keeping his voice down, the only people left in the hall apart from them were the knights, the royal family and his friends. 

Leo shook his head, blue eyes swimming with flecks of deep gold. Ready to sacrifice everything for Logan. “No”, he choked out, “not with so many people in the room.” 

The air around the room became agitated, swirling around Bellatrix and kicking up dirt and dust. “Slytherin’s throne will soon be mine, little knight”, she cooed, a mad glint in her gaze. “You’d be a fool to try and stop me.” A cackle spilled from her lips, making Finn shiver. “These halls will soon be painted with your blood, little knight.” She smirked, and then she was gone in nothing but a flash of dust and lightning.  

~*~*~*~*~*

Remus was the first to move, standing and walking up the stone dais and behind the high table. He spared a glance at the princes, eyes lingering on Sirius’s slumped body, before kneeling beside the king and carefully checking his head for any major wounds. Two knights stood behind him, waiting for him to finish his examination, he nodded at them and stood up, stepping away to check on Regulus, letting the knights handle taking the king to Minerva’s chambers.

Regulus seemed to be alright, other than the magic induced sleep he was in, there was nothing that pointed to a bigger problem, but Remus wasn’t a healer and magic tended to go deep below the surface where no eye could see. He looked around the hall until his eyes met Leo’s and motioned for him to come over. The hall had been emptied after the king got carried out, the only people left were his friends and Pascal, who looked at Logan with worried eyes. 

Leo walked up to Remus. “Want me to check them over?” Remus nodded, shooting him a thankful look. Leo smiled back, gold starting to bleed into his blue irises and got to work. 

Finn held Logan close to his chest, the shorter man shaking and gripping onto Finn’s red shirt like a lifeline. Bellatrix’s words seemed to echo around the room, Slytherin’s throne will soon be mine, little knight. She was planning something, an invasion most likely, and she was definitely getting help from the spirit. Logan took a deep breath and untangled himself from Finn’s arms. “Let’s take Reg and Sirius to Sirius’s chambers.” Away from prying ears and eyes went unsaid. What Leo had been doing was fairly innocent, if you didn’t see the gold of his eyes you’d never know he was using magic, but Logan wasn’t taking his chances. 

Leo nodded for them to help him carry Regulus. Remus went to get Sirius with Lily’s help. The group carried the princes to Sirius’s chambers in silence, a heavy feeling settling over them like a bunch of stones. The moment they entered the room the air seemed to lighten, if only a little. They wouldn’t have to hide here, they could talk and plan like they usually did. They laid the brothers down on the bed gently, letting Leo continue with whatever it was he had been doing in the hall. 

“We need to get these protection charms as soon as possible”, Remus said, breaking the silence that had settled over them back in the hall. 

Remus let his eyes stray to Sirius’s face. He looked asleep, but not peaceful. He also noticed how pale Regulus had gotten. “What’s wrong?” Leo didn’t seem to hear him, he watched Regulus’s face calmly, looking for something. Remus looked at the younger boy, pale face, gaunt cheeks, dark under eyes, pinched face, clammy skin. A nightmare. Regulus was having a nightmare, a vision maybe, and Leo was just watching him. “Leo what are you doing?” 

“Waiting.”

“For what?” 

“For the vision to be over”, Leo answered. Remus saw something like worry flickered across his blue eyes, he didn’t want to keep Reg in that nightmare, he just didn’t have a choice. 

Regulus’s eyes flew open, a harsh gasp falling from his lips. He sat up, looking around the room frantically, breathing heavy. Leo put a hand on his arm gently. “You’re safe.” Blue eyes studied Regulus’s carefully, watched his shoulders tense, and then relax the moment the words registered in his head. “Do you want to talk about it?” Regulus shook his head, closing his eyes tightly. “Ok”, Leo let go of his arm, moving to stand besides Sirius who was still asleep, “you don’t have to talk.” 

Leo placed his hand on Sirius’s forehead, eyes glowing gold. Sirius gave a low groan, silver eyes fluttering open. Remus was at his side in an instant, placing a hand on his shoulder. He itched to gather Sirius up in his arms, but he couldn’t, not until his boyfriend was more aware of his surroundings. The man tensed under his palm for the second it took him to realize who it was. Sirius turned to look at Remus, grey eyes tired. “What happened?” 

“Bellatrix knocked you out and then threatened the entire kingdom. So you know, the usual.” 

“Great”, he said with a tired sigh. “What now.” 

“Well I’m going to talk to June about the charms. We need them as soon as possible”, he spared a glance at Logan who was now talking with his partners. “We’re going to need help with this battle, the knights of Slytherin know nothing about fighting magic users.” 

“I can go back to Ravenclaw to look for James”, Lily said, “maybe Thomas is with him.” 

Remus nodded, giving her a small grateful smile. “Finn”, he looked at the redhead, “do you think Alex can come?” 

“Sure”, Finn shrugged, “he’s always looking for an excuse to get into a fight.” 

Leo whispered something to Logan, a question apparently since the shorter man nodded in response. Remus decided he would ask later, when they had a more solid plan of action. Remus felt Sirius’s arm wrap around his waist, his head settling against Remus’s hip. “How long do you think we have, before she comes back I mean.” 

“As far as we know she’s working alone at the moment”, Lily answered, “Spirits can only do so much, fighting a whole army on her own would be stupid on her part.” 

“So we would have some time to form a plan and get backup?” Sirius frowned slightly, this felt a little too easy. He thought back to earlier that week, when they had rescued his brother. Getting into the house hadn’t been exactly simple, but getting out had. Bellatrix hadn’t been lying on the ground when they left the estate, that had left Sirius feeling uneasy. “Does anyone else feel like this is too simple?” 

“Definitely”, Logan answered, “she’s planning something else. Slytherin’s throne will soon be mine”, he said, repeating Lestrange’s words, “she doesn’t just want the throne. She wants the royal family dead.” 

“What about the other thing she said?” 

Leo answered Lily’s question, a somber look on his face. “These halls will soon be painted with your blood.” 

Lily thought about it. It had sounded like a threat to Logan, but maybe—. “What she said, it was a promise.” 

“Of what?” 

Lily looked at Logan. “She’s going to destroy Slytherin, everything that Orion built. This kingdom was built on blood and war, she’s going to take it all down. Starting by erasing Orion and his bloodline.” 

“She wants to build a safe haven for all magic kind”, Remus added, “but she’s doing it wrong.” 

Leo hugged Logan from behind when he noticed the other man tense at Remus’s words. Leo had almost forgotten that just a few weeks prior Logan had been a part of the problem, it seems Logan hadn’t. The thought made Leo’s chest ache. “As much as we want Slytherin to be safe for us, this isn’t the way to do it”. Leo heard Logan exhale shakily at his words. “You can’t fix something by doing the same thing that ruined it in the first place.” 

“Leo’s right”, Remus said, running his finger soothingly through Sirius’s dark hair, “she can’t just take over and expect all of the people in this kingdom to accept it. Being violent is just adding wood to the fire, and killing Orion is a mistake.” 

“I never thought I’d agree with those words”, Lily said with a little humor. “I can assure you, she will kill anyone that opposes her.” 

“We can’t let that happen”, Sirius said, a determined gleam in his eyes, “we need to get everyone out. Especially the people in the lower town, she will go for them first.” 

Logan leaned back into Leo’s chest, a crease of worry in his face. “We can take them to Salazar’s fortress. It’s close to the river Godric, which solves the water problem.” 

“I can stay with them”, Regulus piped up, “I’ll be more useful there anyway.” 

Lily nodded. She walked to the door, pulling it open. “I’m going to go rest. I leave for Ravenclaw in the morning, it’s a long trip but I’ll try to be back as soon as possible.” She shot them a tired smile and left, the door closing with a loud thud behind her. 

“We should all go to sleep”, Regulus said, getting up. He stumbled slightly, regaining his balance quickly and walking to the door. “We have a long week ahead of us.” 

Everyone else followed after Regulus until the room was empty except for Sirius and Remus. Sirius scooted a little to the side to give his boyfriend space to lie down on. Remus did, wrapping his arms around Sirius when he laid his head on Remus’s chest. He gave a tired sigh, snuggling closer to his boyfriend. “I’m worried about Reg. He still won’t talk about his nightmares.” 

Remus tangled his fingers in Sirius’s hair. “Give him time, love . He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

Sirius made a noncommittal sound. Remus could see a small crease of worry between his brows. Remus let his fingers tangle even more in Sirius’s dark curls, scratching against his scalp gently in soothing patterns. Sirius made a small tired humm, nuzzling his face into Remus’s chest. His breath evened out when he fell asleep, his shoulders relaxing, letting all the stress from the last few months bleed out of his body. Remus held him a little closer, trying to not think about Lestrange’s words or the possibility that he could lose Sirius. It didn’t work. An image appeared at the forefront of his mind, just behind his eyelids. Sirius falling to the ground, eyes unseeing, Bellatrix’s cackle resonating in his ears like a sickening melody. 

[valhallanrose]

Show Your Fangs

After years of feeling aimless, Astoria finds an unexpected avenue to reassert control. 

You can find the rest of the Cursetaker arc of Astoria’s story here. 

3.9k words. CW for attempted manipulation. 

Title: Show Your Fangs by The Crane Wives

On the eve of their twentieth birthday, Astoria found themself climbing into the rigging of the Moorish Lady, thighs locked firmly around the rope and hair ripping free of its haphazard bun to dance in the breeze that made the sails grow full. The sky was starry overhead, the moon broad and full, and not a cloud blocked their light as they were guided back to Rosinmoor. 

At this vantage, they could see the peaks of Castle Kintyre, the colors of the stained glass windows melting together into hues of rose and gold from the distance they were at now. Idly, they wondered if their family was waiting in the great hall to meet them before they sat down for dinner. 

Castle Kintyre had seemed so big the first time they left. And rationally, they knew that was simple perception - of course it would have seemed literally bigger when they themself had been smaller in stature, but it was somewhat amusing all the same. The Whitethorn Citadel was perhaps the same size, if they had to hazard a guess, but...this had been their world, once. A life behind stone walls, in rolling fields and on rocky cliffs, on stone beaches and crystal lakes - a life that had once seemed utterly satisfying was as peaceful as it was positively boring.

Funny to think how big the world had gotten when they had the opportunity to see it all. 

“...toria!”

They were pulled from their musing when a voice, somewhat swept away by the wind, managed to reach their ears. Astoria shifted their grip on the rope, looking down at the deck to see their grandmother standing far below with a somewhat amused look on her face. 

“Are you really going to make me climb up there?” Myrna called playfully, tapping her cane on the deck a few times. “I’d love to, but I’ve only got one good knee, and I’d like to keep it that way for at least another ten years.” 

Astoria cracked a smile, carefully unwinding the rope that had been wrapped around their right leg and letting out a small gasp as they dropped down faster than they’d anticipated. 

With a huff and a gloved hand raked through their hair, they began the descent down, sliding slowly as to keep control, until they were perhaps three feet off the ground and could simply let go and let their boots thump firmly on the deck in front of Myrna. 

“Time to go?”

“Soon, dear.” Myrna sighed, offering her arm to Astoria, to which they set their hand in the crook of her arm and frowned as they fell into step beside her. 

“Why do I have a feeling I won’t like where this is going, granny?”

Myrna leaned against the side of the ship, smoothing silver curls behind her ear as she gazed out over the Strait of Seals. Neither of them paid mind to the crew, who began to prep the ship for it to pull into the inlet at the base of the Cliffs of Balgaire, knowing that they both would be more likely to be in the way than helpful on a journey at night and respectfully staying out of their way. 

“You know I’ve been writing Malvina.” She began, and Astoria nodded, folding her arms across their chest and tilting their head back to look up at the sky. 

Despite no longer being clan head, Malvina was well involved in the background of Canonach affairs - Astoria remembered clearly the days that the matriarch had joked that she had her nose so tied to clan affairs she’d be buried with it poking out of the ground to sniff out gossip.

With Astoria’s permission, Myrna had written to her not long after their enrollment at the Citadel, detailing as much as she could to explain what had happened in the weeks prior to keep someone in the family in the loop. And for all Malvina loved gossip, a secret laid with her would be locked up as tight as a vault should you ask to keep it that way. Not even her wife, Lorraine, would be privy to such a request - an agreement that Lorraine knew at least meant something was serious. 

“I do. She’s written to me a few times - sent me new gloves for my birthday.” Astoria wiggled their fingers subconsciously, the leather of the gloves in question already molded to their hands like a second skin. “Is she alright?”

Myrna chuckled, Astoria catching her nod out of her peripheral. “Oh, she’s fine. Lorraine caught a nasty fever a few weeks ago, but they’re both right as rain. But...Malvina’s kept things quiet, as you asked. I wanted to ask you if you plan to tell the family while you’re home, or if we should continue to keep this between us for the time being. Whatever your decision, I respect it, but I would like to walk in and be on the same page as you before we face the rest of them.”

Astoria was quiet for a long, long moment, closing their eyes and letting the calls of the crew fill the gap between them before they managed to muster up the words they wanted. 

“I haven’t been home since I was fifteen, if I remember right. Before Bulan. I’d like at least one last week where I know things will be normal.” Slowly, Astoria reached up, gathering their hair in both hands and refastening their lazy knot at the nape of their neck - letting their hands fall to rest on the sides of their neck as they glanced back to Myrna. 

“Those first days in Galbrada...I had to repeat myself so many times, tell my story so many times, be picked at and interrogated and smothered so many times. I love my family, but I have no doubt it will be a repeat of that all over again.”

Myrna nodded slowly, turning to rest her back against the railing and folding her hands over the silver-wrought handle of her cane. “I thought that might be the case. Still, I just wanted to be sure. You’ve got a knack for surprising me, my little rascal.” 

Astoria laughed as Myrna threw an arm around their waist, dragging them into an embrace and smiling as they pressed their face to the crown of Myrna’s head and buried their nose in her curls. 

They would remain like that until the Moorish Lady finally came to a stop at the shores, and together, they took the first steps onto dry land - the first steps on the soil of their home. 

*     *     *     *     *

Coming back was...eventful. 

By the time Myrna and Astoria had made it up to Castle Kintyre, the hour was late, and though the family had already eaten - Myrna and Astoria had been unsure when during the day they’d arrive exactly - they were happy to linger and chat while the visiting Canonachs raided the kitchens for leftovers. 

Many of the youngest cousins had gone to bed by the time they’d arrived, as well as some of the more daytime inclined relatives (Myrna grumbled about her own twin being a wuss for going to bed before the clock struck twelve) who would likely receive word of their arrival by morning.

Astoria did not miss the gap left by Senga, or their step-father, James, both of whom had apparently been perfectly lively until the Moorish Lady was spotted by a scout, but they couldn’t find it in themself to care. Their mother had a habit of making herself scarce when Myrna came to visit. Their grandmother was the embodiment of ‘hell hath no fury’, and Astoria vividly remembered the thorough reaming her mother was given after the incident in the library all those years ago. 

It’d been kept largely quiet among the family - only Myrna, Senga, Astoria, and Malvina knew the whole story - but gods if it didn’t make the holidays tense. 

Still, Astoria felt light as they left the hall, filled with joy for seeing their family again and looking forward to the following morning - they’d already received many early birthday wishes - when they’d get to see the rest of them over a traditional Moorish breakfast. The day had been long, as had the journey, and they were looking forward to crashing in the comfort of their bed and letting sleep claim them. 

The way to their bedroom was muscle memory no matter how long they’d been gone. Down the hall, to the left, shortcut through the lounge, nestled in the corner with two broad windows looking out over the grounds toward the Frozen Sea and the twinkling lights of Rosafearn in the distance. Absolutely the best room in the castle - it had been Astor’s, once, until he explicitly stated the only person who would take over the space would be Astoria. It’d long since been painted and redecorated, but the old armchair set by the window had been his and would remain there until it crumbled the next time Astoria put their ass in it. 

They closed the bedroom door behind them with a tired sigh, reaching to undo the buttons of their blouse as they strode across the room - 

Only for the light to click on unbidden and a voice greeted Astoria from across the room. 

“Hello, Catriona.”

Astoria yelped, scrambling to clasp their shirt together as Senga leveled them with a cool stare that somehow made them feel more naked than they actually were. 

“Bloody - hell are you sitting there in the dark like that for?” They breathed, trying to calm themself as Senga folded her hands neatly in her lap and held Astoria’s gaze. 

Astoria always knew they had their father’s eyes - somewhere between blue and green, depending on who was looking - but Senga’s had always been like ice. Pale, pale blue, almost white, and absolutely unnerving when she looked at you like you were something to be gained. 

Something in her eyes made Astoria think they were, to her, the greatest prize of all. 

“This is my home, I have every right to be where I please. Is it so wrong that I wished to spend a few moments with my child?” She asked, smoothing the single silver curl she had behind her ear and uncrossing her legs. 

“...no, I suppose not.” Astoria murmured, sitting cautiously on the edge of the bed nearest to her and buttoning their shirt back up as Senga leaned forward in her seat. “How are you, mother?”

“Peachy, darling, absolutely peachy.” She reached for a sheaf of paper on the coffee table, leafing through the pages idly as she spoke, cutting straight to the point when she looked back up and offered them to Astoria. “You know, I’m hurt you never wrote to me once while you were away. You wrote to Malcolm, for birthdays, and you wrote to your cousins a few times...and Malvina. Oh, you wrote so many times to Malvina, you and my mother. I’m counting, what, thirty letters since you went to Galbrada?”

Astoria’s heart dropped like a stone into their stomach as Senga tutted, throwing the papers back on the table when Astoria didn’t reach to take them. She rose from Astor’s armchair, skirts sweeping across the rugs until she had Astoria’s chin grasped tenderly between her fingers and forced them to meet her gaze. 

“Why would you hide something like this from me, darling?” Senga crooned, tucking a bit of hair behind Astoria’s ear. “You know you can tell me anything. We don’t keep secrets from family, remember? Secrets lead to strife among us.”

Astoria tried to turn their head away, but Senga’s grip tightened on their jaw, even if her sickly sweet tone didn’t change. 

“You could have come home to Rosinmoor so much sooner. The Argyllians have always had magic in their bloodline, they were more than capable of teaching you whatever you could have learned in the Republic. They would have taken you in, taught you the ways of the court...no matter. What’s done is done. We have much to catch you up on.”

Senga released their jaw suddenly, reaching to smooth out their collar and straighten their shirt as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

“Do get some rest, darling. You’ll need it. I invited some friends of mine to visit tomorrow. They’ll begin teaching you the ways of the court, catch you up on the who’s who and the what’s what - several courtiers from different clans to bring you up to speed on each. It’ll be a process, surely, but you’re a quick study, otherwise I’ve no idea why you spent all this time with my mother. They’ll be here for about two weeks, so you’ll have to learn as much as you can before they go, and then your lessons will start to keep you on track.”

Astoria paused then, brows furrowing as Senga began to dig in their wardrobe to rifle through the clothing that was too stiff and formal for them to cart around while they were globetrotting. 

“Mother, I’m only here until the end of the week.” They said, voice trembling slightly as Senga paused mid examination of a blouse with broad lace sleeves. “Granny and I have a dig to go to in the Fennekh Desert at the end of the month, I can’t stay much longer than that. I just wanted to see everyone while we had the time.”

The tension between them both was so thick you could have bitten it.

Astoria flinched when Senga took one step closer, then another, until she was right in front of them with that lacy blouse draped neatly over her arm. 

“I know what you did in Galbrada.” She said softly, tilting her head as she looked down at Astoria. “A room of people - three of the best minds and magicians of the Whitethorn Citadel, and your bull of a grandmother - frozen by the blood in their own bodies at your command. Deny it all you wish, Catriona, but we both know it’s true.”

They tried to speak, but Senga’s voice rose, silencing them in a moment and making them flinch back as she stepped closer. Already being interrupted made them flush with irritation, but they bit their tongue, hoping that Senga would tire herself out in the end if they just let her keep ranting.

“Do you understand what that power can mean for you? The Canonach seat was always your birthright and it always will be, that won’t change. But you could become the greatest of all of us if you choose not to suppress it like you’ve been told all this time. That kind of power is strength, darling, a strength that will protect this clan so long as you hold the Barony.”

Astoria took another step back, feeling their hip bump the edge of their nightstand and quickly moving to fix the lamp as Senga advanced on them. They felt heat building in their chest, like a kettle on the stove, but they tried to tamp it down until their back hit the broad pane of glass that looked out into the starry sky.

“It is time for you to grow up. You will be twenty tomorrow morning, and it is time to stop gallivanting about carefree when you have duties to fulfill. I shouldn’t have let it go on for so long, I should have demanded you come home after Myrna supported that first year of your little temper tantrum.” Senga’s hand snapped out, grabbing their chin and forcing them to look her in the eye as her fingers dug into their cheeks. “Do you hear me, Catriona?”

Something...something snapped in Astoria then, and their own hand shot up, grabbing Senga’s wrist and ripping it away from their face with a strength they didn’t know they had. 

“If you’re going to address me, mother, at least give me the respect of calling me by the name I’ve called myself for as long as I can remember.” Astoria spat, shoving her hand away and stepping to the side to try to work themself out of the corner they’d been physically backed into. “You’ve weaponized ‘Catriona’ every time I did something you didn’t like, every time you wanted me to bow to your whims and sit pretty like the perfect child you pretended you had.”

“How dare you -”

“How dare you treat your own child as you have treated me all these years?!” Astoria shrieked, voice breaking slightly as Senga seemed to freeze in place at their outburst. “How dare you make my cooperation a condition I had to fulfill to earn your love, make me feel like I had to prove myself over and over to you to earn scraps of respect?”

Senga’s face flushed, and she turned, tossing the blouse onto Astoria’s bed and moving toward the bedroom door. “I’m not going to speak with you if you want to behave like this. We can talk in the morning when you’ve calmed down.”

Before she’d even reached the door, Astoria had moved in front of it, flipping the lock and positioning themself in front of the mechanism so Senga couldn’t leave.

“No. No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to run away because you don’t like what you’re hearing. For once in my life you’re going to open your ears and listen to me, because I’m only going to say this once.”

Their blood was boiling, so hot through their veins that Astoria thought they were going to burn up, but the words kept spilling over faster than they considered putting a damper on them. And they didn’t want to, if they were honest with themself. It was the first time they spoke unfiltered to Senga, truly voiced how they felt, and it felt...it felt like flying. It felt like they had control for the first time in years, and they weren’t ready to let go of that feeling just yet. 

“You said that the primary reason you even had me was so I could take the barony one day.”

Senga’s eyes rolled, and Astoria’s temper flared as she dismissively waved a hand. “You’re still on about that? Come now, let bygones be bygones. That was years ago.”

“I am not nearly done speaking.” Astoria said firmly, holding a hand up to stop Senga before she could continue. “But yes, I am ‘still on about that’, as you put it. I’ll carry those words in my mind for as long as I breathe, because it was what made me open my eyes to the truth of things. You don’t own me, my life, or my freedom for as long as I am strong enough to bite back. My temper tantrum, as you called it, was the first choice I ever made for myself without fearing what you’d say to me when I told you. And I learned from that choice, and every choice I made after, that you can do nothing to me if I don’t allow it. You are too selfish to consider a reality in which your plans fall through, thinking your way is the best way regardless of what I want.”

“If you cared about something beyond yourself you’d have seen in those letters how I told Malvina about my nightmares, about my fears, about how I felt like I was losing myself until I learned to control my magic rather than force it outward. But you only had eyes for what you thought you could stand to gain, what you thought I could give you, not my own well-being or my opinions on the matter. I’ve made it clear for years that I never wanted the barony, and the power that I have won’t change that. You don’t have to accept it, but understand it’s the way things are. Understand that I’ll take no more of this. You are no family of mine, Baroness, and you never will be if I have anything to say about it.”

Senga reached out, as if to touch their cheek, but Astoria dodged her hand and raised an arm to gesture for her to stay back. “Blood is thicker than water, Astoria. No matter what you say, you cannot possibly abandon your family so easily.”  

“I prefer an alternative interpretation. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb - the bonds in the family I choose are stronger than those that are given by birth. And I choose Myrna, who has been more my mother than you ever have been. I choose to find a family who will love me for me, who won’t attach conditions to their acceptance and approval, who see me as I am and expect nothing more than Astoria Fenharrow, lover of bones and dirt and other things long since dead."

Astoria reached behind them and turned the lock again, opening the door just as the grand hall clock began to toll midnight and gesturing to the empty hall. 

“Now get the hell out. Your house it may be, but it’s my goddamn bedroom.”

Senga opened her mouth to argue, but Astoria was already walking across the room, picking up the letters they’d sent to Malvina and tossing them into the cold hearth with every intention to use them as kindling for the cool summer night. She turned on her heel, and just as she took a few steps out into the hall, Astoria called out to her again with their tone clipped.  

“Oh, and one more thing?”

Senga paused just beyond the doorway, looking back over her shoulder -

Something in Astoria’s face made her freeze then, going so pale it was like she’d seen a ghost. 

“You lay a hand on me again without my consent, and I swear I will make sure you no longer have one.”

The door fell shut as Senga disappeared down the hall, and Astoria let out a trembling sigh, hands shaking as they peeled off their gloves to toss them on the table. They ran a hand through their hair, looked up to gaze in the mirror mounted above the hearth -

And then startled when they looked into their own eyes and met red, red, red irises that stared right back. Astoria took a few steps closer, removing their glasses and letting the chain catch them against their chest when they raised a hand to their eyes.

Sclera, black as night, making scarlet irises seem to glow as they looked back at their reflection and blinked a few times. They moved to wet their lips and froze when their tongue slid over a canine that definitely hadn’t been that sharp before, and with a cautious finger, pushed their lip up to look at the teeth behind it. 

They had...fangs. 

“Look at that.” They muttered, blinking a few more times and watching with intrigue as their eyes faded back to familiar white and turquoise and their teeth seemed to almost...retract, as if they’d never been fangs at all. Logically they knew they should be terrified, but they were high on adrenaline, and they gave their reflection a bit of a smile despite themself. They weren’t afraid - they thought it strange, surely, but at this point, strange was the name of the game. 

“Guess mother knows I can bite back after all.”

[violetsbaudelaire-archive]

Title: The Cloud That Took the Form of a Demon In My View - Chapter One 

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

Relationships: Background Julie Molina/Luke Patterson

Summary: After the death of her mother and the demonic possession of her father, Julie Molina hunts the supernatural with her best friend Flynn. She pursues a nomadic life until a string of suspicious bathtub electrocutions draws her back home to hunt down a ghost. (Supernatural AU)

It had been a 13-month search and nothing had come of it. Nothing pertaining to the being Julie and Flynn were looking for. They had found and removed varying other supernatural beings but not their target, a demon whose name neither girl knew. Julie was sitting at a desk in a cheap hotel, one of many in the months that had passed. She was looking at the odd happenings around the country as she always did hoping to find a lead on their demon. Where one odd occurrence happened, another wasn’t too far behind and demons usually loved to get into trouble. Flynn had gone out to buy fast food breakfast and hadn’t come back yet. It wasn’t long enough to worry most people but it worried Julie. She tried to logic her way out of worry as she scrolled. There’s probably a long line. There’s always a long line to get coffee before work.

Just as she repeated those thoughts to herself again, she found an article. To most, it could be ruled off as an accidental bathtub electrocution. The problem was this was the third this week, all in the same city: her hometown, Los Angeles. She sighed and minimized the page. They were close to Arizona, a little while from LA but they had no intentions of returning. At least, not until the demon inhabiting her father’s body could be found. If the demon even still had it, Julie thought to herself macabrely. She shook it off. Her dad was still alive, full of demon or not. 

The door swung open and caused Julie to jump out of her skin. Her hand instinctively flew to the cross necklace she had started wearing with her other jewelry since her dad’s possession. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Flynn said, balancing a bag of food and a cup holder in her hands, “There was a long line at McDonalds.” 

Julie dropped her hand. 

“Are you okay?” Flynn asked when she saw her friend’s face. She put the food on the table and came closer to Julie. “Was there something in here?” 

Julie shook her head. “You scared me coming in.” 

“Ghosts and demons don’t use doors,” Flynn said matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, well, someone possessed by them might. Or maybe a witch, vampire, werewolf, or something else.” 

“Anything that comes in here has a death wish. We’re the most badass hunters in America.” 

“Yeah,” Julie said, as if trying to convince herself. Then, she added more confidently, “We are.” 

“Anyway, did’ya find anything?” 

“Yeah. Ghost in LA.” 

“Are you ready to go back there, Jules?” Flynn asked softly. 

“I think so. Besides, it’s been awhile since our last ghost.” 

Flynn didn’t look entirely convinced. “It’s okay to not take this one. Someone else will get it.” 

“No, it’s okay. We won’t be there long.” 

“You’re not going to see your aunt and Carlos?” 

“I’m not ready for that conversation.” 

Flynn nodded. “Are we going after breakfast? Or?” 

“Yeah, after breakfast.” 

Los Angeles was a strange place for Julie. It was her home but it was also the place where she had lost everything she ever had. Returning reminded her of this but also of failure. It reminded her of the empty seats at her graduation. Going home meant she had to accept that her and her little brother were orphans now - not without loved ones but faced with a loneliness that could never end. Julie had to find her father, not just for herself but for Carlos. 

Flynn opened the bag and divvied up their breakfast. Julie pushed her food closer and began to eat, trying to find the bright side of this situation. Flynn was the first to come to mind. Even if the world turned against her, Flynn would be by her side. Her mother, though passed on, was still a bright side. Nothing, not even permanence of death could take her memories of joy and music that they had shared. The possibility of her dad being out there was a bright side. With this in mind, Julie finished her breakfast with her mind more at ease. 

Flynn wasn’t the best driver but she liked to drive nonetheless. Julie was the more capable driver but she was a better navigator. She found it easier to navigate when she wasn’t avoiding drivers worse than Flynn on the road. Being the navigator also meant choosing the music and Julie wanted something upbeat for the road. California had gotten so far from her and Flynn that it would be a day or two before they reached it. It was the longest road trip with few stops they had gone on in awhile. Flynn turned the key in the ignition and Julie scrolled through her playlists. She found a song and selected it just as Flynn pulled out of the parking lot. 

At some point Julie had fallen asleep. She blinked as she took in her surroundings. “Where are we? Flynn, I was supposed to be navigating.” 

“It’s okay. I’m handling it,” said Flynn. “You barely slept at all in the last motel. You needed sleep.” 

“Thanks.” 

After a minute, she added, “I should drive. You need sleep too.” 

Flynn shook her head. “I had a Redbull.” 

Julie gave her friend a look. “Flynn.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll pull over,” Flynn said and she did. Seat belts unbuckled and they switched places. Almost as soon as Julie pulled off the shoulder, Flynn was asleep. Julie looked amusedly at her friend. She drove until the sun rose again and they were just outside Arizona. 

Then it was a quick stop at a gas station to buy a less than satisfactory breakfast. It was time like these Julie missed her mom especially. It was Saturday morning and in a time that was starting to feel like an old movie, she would be watching cartoons with a much younger version of her brother and eating a fresh, hot breakfast her mother had made. 

“I said that’ll be 10.50,” the cashier said irritably. He was the usual sort someone would see at a gas station in the middle of practically nowhere: some old man whose love of life was fading faster than his hair. 

“Sorry,” Julie said quickly, pulling the cash out of her pocket. The cashier checked the money in the light then put it in the register. He slid her breakfast across the counter and asked if she wanted a lottery ticket or a pack of smokes. Yes, he had said ‘smokes.’

Julie made a face and grabbed the black bag her food had been put in. “I don’t smoke, or gamble.” She headed toward the door and added, “Have a nice day” as she went out. He didn’t get the chance to return the formality. Gas station cashiers have a way of making people uncomfortable, even if they do nothing at all. This one was no different. 

Flynn was waiting in the driver’s seat. Julie opened the bag and handed some of the food to her. Neither said anything as they made their way back to the freeway. 

California was a refreshing sight after over a year of navigating unfamiliar places. Los Angeles was especially so. Julie watched the buildings of the Citadel Outlets pass by in the window. She was home. 

The occurrences described in the article had been occurring in a residential part of town made up of mainly middle class families. The victims were disproportionately teens. The types of teens who bring their cell phones into their bathrooms. Julie wasn’t an expert on electricity but these incidents struck her as odd. Not many people got electrocuted in their bathtubs. Based on her Google searches over the past day and a half, a cell phone isn’t enough to electrocute a person in a bath. It has to be plugged into the wall. Then it has to fray or fall into the bathwater. It takes a great deal of stupidity or negligence. Put a ghost in the mix, however, and everything becomes more likely. 

Flynn was checking them into a new motel when the news of a new electrocution came in. This article confirmed Julie’s suspicions of a ghost and made this trip less of a waste of time. Nothing at all had been plugged in when this teen girl had gotten into her tub. Her mother had checked on her only minutes before her death. Then when the police arrived, a frayed extension cord had made its way from a drawer into a socket then into a wall. It was far too strange. And when Julie told Flynn, she agreed. 

Flynn pocketed their room key and they headed for the car. 

Usually Julie and Flynn’s adventures involved abandoned buildings so Julie was unsure what to say when they arrived at the Ford residence. She was too young to be a police officer and too old to be a girl scout. She knocked on the door anyway. 

A distressed middle aged white woman answered the door. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying it.” 

The woman moved to close the door. Flynn interrupted her. “We’re not selling anything, Mrs. Ford, we’re here about your daughter.” 

“It’s Ms. Ford. I’m divorced,” the woman corrected. “And the police were just here.” 

“We’re not police,” Julie said. “We hunt the supernatural. We think your daughter’s death wasn’t an accident.” 

The woman frowned. “I’m desperate but I’m not that desperate. Three boys about your age came around her an hour ago saying the same thing. They said they were looking for a ghost in this neighborhood.” 

“Don’t you think it’s weird four different teens have died the same way in the past week?” 

“Yes,” the woman said. “But teenagers are stupid.” 

“Even your daughter?” 

The woman shrugged. “I don’t believe in ghosts.” 

Ms. Ford went to shut the door again but Flynn stopped her. “Do you know where those boys went?” 

“Something about the junkyard down the road. The blonde one said something about it being a good spot to hide something.” 

“Thank you,” Julie said. “I hope you find answers” - she clutched her cross necklace - “I know what it’s like to lose those you love.” 

Ms. Ford nodded sadly and shut the door. 

“Do you think those boys are trying to find the object the ghost is attached to?” Julie asked Flynn. 

“Yeah,” she said. “But why in a junkyard?” 

“Good place to hide something you don’t want found.” 

By that point, they had made it back to their car and proceeded to get in. 

Then, it was off to the junkyard.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XII

(Author’s Notes: Sup guys! I hope you had a fantastic Fourth of July (for the American readers) and celebrated safely. If you are not American, I hope you had a fantastic weekend! Thank you for your patience while I worked through some writer’s block. I think I’m getting back into a swing though. I started reading a book that is set in the Edwardian period and it has helped me find the dialect and voice that I started with. I’ve been reading a lot of contemporary literature as of late and I think it’s influenced my writing a little, which is fine, but I’m fighting to remain consistent. I’m working on a novel of my own and it’s also based in the Edwardian period, but in a fantasy world, and I’ve been struggling to stay in the same dialect with that too. Anyhoo... I’m rambling... here is part 12. I hope that you enjoy it. Please hit the like, reblog, leave me a comment to cry happily over, and follow along for updates. Be safe! Be kind! Stay healthy.)

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Part XII

The following morning, James was settled in a wing chair in the game room, nominally enthralled by a short collection of poetry by Keats. It’d been a comfort to read Keats’ poetry when he would be feeling out of sorts. Perhaps because his father insisted on reading it to him as a child before bed. It seemed even in his adolescent and young adulthood, after weeks of sleepless nights cramming for examinations, going through drills during the day, and shivering through countless patrols in the chilly streets of London, he always enjoyed dozing in the warmth of a well-made fire, with Keats’ heart bleeding through the pages of his collection.

This naturally led to his considering what Keats would do in a situation like his. As his mind wandered into his thoughts, he was aware of the scent of late-blooming climbing rose coming in the window on a puff of air and he noted that the scent might have prompted the thought and he wondered whether Matthew would still be Matthew if he smelled of diesel and boot polish instead of bay rum, and what Cordelia, who smelled of roses and lime blossom to him, would be doing at this time of the day if she weren’t lying in her sick bed.

A swift clatter of boots on the stairs heralded Matthew’s arrival, and he closed the book, without the relief he’d been searching for, for even Keats couldn’t keep his mind from wandering.

“The Silent Brothers have gone,” said Matthew, his tone composed with his usual preferred demeanor of bored indifference.

“Gone where?” asked James.

“Back to the Citadel, I’m assuming,” said Matthew. He tugged at his starched shirt collar, and James could see he was warm with sweat about the neck, as if he had run all the way here. “Brother Zachariah remains and another, but I cannot recall his name, they all look the same to me.”

“Any word on Cordelia or Alastair?”

“Unfortunately not and the adults want a word with us in the dining room post haste. I assume they want a detailed description of our knowledge concerning the events of the night.” Matthew slumped in the other wing chair and covered his face with his arm. “

“Well, that’s certainly a blow to my afternoon plans,” said James, keeping his tone light in the hope that he could convince his parents and friends that he was calm enough to stand outside the bedroom that Cordelia had been moved into. They moved her in the night while he slept and no one would tell him the location due to his sudden outbursts. “If the other Brothers have left, that’s surely a good sign that Cordelia and Alastair are healing and are no longer in need of their attention.”

“It’s possible,” said Matthew from under his sleeve. “My parents are here, as are Kit’s and Thomas’s.” He groaned and added, “Charles insisted on coming as well. My life is over.”

James cursed. “What does he want?”

“‘To get to the bottom of this most unfortunate disaster’,” said Matthew, “his words, not mine. He’ll insist on lecturing us about how insubordinate we’ve all been, and how, seeing as we are underage, we have no business going out after the Carstairs siblings without briefing the adults with the situation first. He’ll make me file his paperwork for a month.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic,” said James.

Even as James spoke he felt the hypocrisy of offering comfort instead of truth. But what truth could he speak to his parabatai? Remembering the whispered conversations between his own parents after James had returned from near death by demon poisoning, James knew with a sinking feeling that his own investigation towards his grandfather would need to be done in absolute secrecy.

“Charles has been wanting to get me behind a desk since we were children,” said Matthew. “My mother will surely not object now that Shadowhunters are being plucked from their carriages in the streets.”

“Well, lucky for Charles, you’ve the best penmanship of all of us,” said James.

“So glad to hear that your humor has returned,”groaned Matthew, hanging his head so that his face was hidden beneath the fall of his hair. “Even if it is at my expense.”

“Pull yourself together, Math,” said James. He stood and tugged the edges of his jacket down as if to reinforce his words. “It will not serve to allow the entire household to hear such agitation. We have faced our parent’s fury before, this will be no different, I’m sure.” There was a pause, and James gazed out the window to allow Matthew a moment to compose himself. While he envied Matthew’s free and easy, passionate nature, his capacity for intense friendships, he always felt squeamish in the face of Matthew’s occasional display of emotion. He was accustomed to his own emotional outburst and Matthew insisting on James to calm down.

“You are right, of course,” said Matthew at last. He pulled a large silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Good to see you back to your more rational nature.”

“Thank you,” said James, fully aware that Matthew did not altogether mean it as a compliment. It was hardly fair that Matthew should provoke him into a purse-lipped rigidity and then insult him for it, but James’s first concern was to protect his friend from his own self-indulgence. “Now why don’t we make a suitable plan?” he added. “I’ve learned long ago that it’s best to just nod in the presence of angered adults.”

Matthew nodded as if to show his ability to follow direction. “Perhaps we should share what we know about Belial.”

“I think not,” said James. “My parent’s have already made it quite clear that they don’t want us involved in the investigation any further. We will have to continue it without their knowing.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” said Matthew. “He nearly possessed you and tried to kill Cordelia twice.”

“Which is why we must continue the investigation on how to properly kill him because it can be sure that he will not stop until he has what he wants,” said James. “There has to be a way to kill him properly.”

“I hope it’s something obvious,” said Matthew, “like spritzing him with water or feeding him chocolate.”

A sound of voices in the hallway outside the game room was followed by a light knocking on the door and Thomas’s voice saying, “Of course I’ve forgotten the secret knock, it was far too complex to begin with.”

“They’re here to fetch us,” said Matthew urgently. James noticed that he did have a strange, pale look about his face, but perhaps, he thought, this was the properly deserved effect of too much rough cider.

“By the angel, it’s only Christopher and Thomas,” he said. “You and Thomas can look pale and interesting together. Of course, he’s only just lost his sister. Perhaps his situation will help your sense of perspective.”

“Your sarcasm lacks the delicacy that would render it amusing,” said Matthew. “But thank you for your reason. Your permanent frown always brings me to my senses.”

“I do not have a permanent frown,” said James. He took a brief look into the mirror over the mantle and consciously adjusted his features to a half smile, which only seemed to make him look as if he were in pain.

“Hello gentleman,” said Matthew,  “do come in. It’s mercifully clear of authority in here.”

Christopher and Thomas came through the door, and James found himself slightly relieved that they were alone. Both of them were neatly dressed in tweed trousers, buttoned up shirts with suspenders. Christophers glasses rested on the end of his nose while Thomas' shirt strained heavily around the illustrious girth of his arms. Neither of them seemed to wear any hint of the previous night’s grievances.

“Welcome,” he said. “Is it time then?”

“Just about,” said Thomas and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve only just arrived with mum and dad and only convinced Christopher’s parents to allow him to leave their side by promising that we were only going as far as to fetch the two of you.”

“It’s already begun,” Matthew blurted out. “Behold men, your last minutes of freedom.”

“What’s he on about?” asked Thomas.

“Pay him no mind,” said James. “He’s consumed with the notion that due to the events of the last few nights our parents are going to handcuff us to desks until we come of age.”

“My mother suggested it,” said Christopher, “but I think my father has made progress against the idea.”

“See,” said James, gesturing to Christopher. “If my aunt Cecily can be brought to sense then so will your parents. Let’s just do what they ask of us and resume our investigation without their knowledge.”

“So not much different from what we’ve been doing for the past seventeen years?” said Matthew, shooting James a look. James could only roll his eyes as Christopher and Thomas drifted to the two wing chairs, where they sat and continued, for some minutes, to turn over the circumstances of the secret Belial investigation in a low and urgent manner.

“Any word on Cordelia and Alastair?” asked James.

Thomas nose flared as he met James’s gaze with an expression of frankness. “No,” he said. “Not that I’ve heard.”

James leaned against the wall and felt an echo of the agony that he had felt the night before and had to quell an urge to run out of the room and demand that someone give him information on the state of his fiance, seeing as far as everyone knew they were still engaged.

“I overheard our mother’s talking,” said Christopher to Matthew. “Alastair woke for a moment last night and was able to communicate with the Silent Brothers, but he is instructed to rest without visitors so that the injuries to his brain can continue to heal.” Matthew grumbled something under his breath. “Cordelia has been placed into an induced coma that she is unable to wake up from on her own. When her injuries have had some time to heal they’ll attempt to wake her up. The good news however is that the cure for her demon poisoning has allowed the runes to take a more immediate effect so she is healing.”

Christopher offered James a reassuring smile, which he appreciated more than he could properly express.

“Forget being tied to a desk,” muttered Matthew. “My mother will probably request having me put into an induced coma instead.”

Tessa Gray sat in the plush velvet couch in the front drawing room with her legs crossed at the ankles and her husband’s hand gently pressed against her shoulder while he sipped brandy from a glass tumbler in his free hand. Aunt Cecily was seated in a wing chair beside the fire with her husband Gabriel a respectful six feet away from Will. Aunt Sophie sat at the other end of the couch with Tessa, her hand held softly in the clutches of Gideon, both of them still carrying the misery of the loss of their eldest daughter Barbara. Charlotte Fairchild stood behind her husband’s wheelchair and beside her eldest son Charles. James knocked on the door and went in followed by Matthew, Christopher, and Thomas.

“Gentlemen,” said Will. “I hope that you all slept well and are prepared for punishment and ridicule.”

“William,” warned Tessa. “We simply want you to recount your details from the night the Carstair’s were attacked.

Matthew shifted beside James.

It had only just occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Lucie since they arrived at the Institute with Cordelia and she wasn’t in the room now. “Where is Lucie? She would have more to tell than any of us would.”

“Lucie has already recounted her experience,” said Tessa, one eyebrow raised. “She’s resting now. It’s the four of you that we wish to speak to now.”

“We are enacting an investigation on this prince of hell Belial,” said Charles, as he moved forward into the center of the room. “If we’re to be successful in locating him and effectively killing him then we need all of the information that you have concerning him.”

“I’ve already told my parents everything that I know about Belial,” said James. Both Will and Tessa turned him a look. James exhaled and began his recount of his experiences with Belial.

“And you believe Belial to be the one to have taken Miss Carstairs?” asked Charles when James was finished.

“I never saw him myself,” said James. “That would be a question for Lucie.”

“She claimed not to have seen him either,” said Charles, removing a pocket watch and checking the time before slipping it back into his trousers. “She said that she found Cordelia in the fog badly injured. She said that she lost you, but once the fog rolled away, you appeared again. Is this not the truth?”

James wasn’t sure what would compel his sister to lie about the events of Cordelia’s rescue, but he had to assume that there was a good reason and one that he would explore later when he could speak to his sister himself.

“It’s the truth,” said James. “As I told you before Lucie disappeared into the fog and I ran after her. We lost each other for some time, and when the fog moved off, she was there again with Cordelia.”

Charles stroked his chin. “It’s been unanimously agreed upon that the four of you, including Lucie and Anna, will be restricted to local patrols during daylight hours and are to report in detail any and all demon activity. If you so choose to break your restrictions then your punishment will be as sever as I see warranted.”

“What exactly would you see warranted?” asked James.

“You’ll be sent to Alicante,” said Charles, his eyes marked on Matthew, “where you’ll remain until you come of age and if you continue to disobey direct orders then the punishment will be as severe as stripping you of your marks.”

“Charles,” Charlotte hissed from beside her husband. “We never mentioned—“

“It is for their own safety, mother,” said Charles, squaring his shoulders. “I do hope it doesn’t come to such extremes, but in this case, the safety of one is the safety of them all. I do hope this will encourage them to keep each other accountable.”

Though it pained James that these new founded restrictions would limit his personal research on finding a way to kill Belial, it did not discourage him in the least. In fact, he was even more excited about the prospect of an opportunity to infuriate Charles. If one of them were to be sent to Alicante, he was sure the rest would follow, and he couldn’t strip them all of their marks. What with Shadowhunters being down in numbers as it were. Charles tactics were classic: infiltrate fear into the army without ever enacting punishment. Not that Charles would ever find out if they were going against him. Charles was too busy building his castle out of sand to see what goes on around him.

“I think Charles has allowed power to go to his head,” said Will, under his breath. He’d been in something of high spirits since Jem had arrived at the Institute and been ordered to stay to help the Carstairs siblings mend. “Don’t fret, Jamie boy, if you are stripped of your marks, Coleridge lived a life of poverty and had to be sustained by charitable friends and he turned out fine.”

“William,” Tessa hissed. “Do be serious for a moment. Jamie, as much as we regret taking away your personal freedoms, it is of the utmost importance that you heed the restrictions put in place for you. Even if he is being a power hungry, conniving, son of a--”

“What your mother is trying to convey,” said Will, moving in front of her, “is that you should be careful and mindful of your action.”

“I could always become a postman like Trollope?” said James. “I’ll begin to work on my beard.”

Will bellowed and clapped James on the shoulder just as the doors to the drawing room were opened by the footman and in walked Brother Zachariah with Sona beside him. Her graying hair has come loose and spilled down her back in an array of perfect waves that mirrored the texture of her daughters. Her expression was somber; deep circles sat under her eyes and her lips were impossibly dry.

Her arm was entwined with Jem’s as they shuffled into the room.

James, followed by Tessa and Will, hurried across the room to meet them.

“Mrs. Carstairs is in need of some rest,” said Brother Zachariah. “She would like to request that James remain with Miss Cordelia while she is away.”

James took her free hand and offered it a reassuring squeeze.

“She is lost in there,” said Sona, her voice rough and weathered. “I can feel it. It helps if you read to her. Let her hear the sound of your voice so she has something to walk towards in all of that darkness.”

“I can show you to a room,” said Tessa, a note of emotion in her voice that she quickly cleared away.

“That would be lovely thank you,” said Sona and removed her arm from Jem’s for Tessa’s.

“Perhaps some light broth,” said Brother Zachariah. “She hasn’t eaten much and I worry for the child.”

Tessa nodded and led Sona from the room.

Brother Zachariah turned his attention to James. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better after some sleep,” said James. “I can go to Cordelia now if you wish.”

“She is having a bath,” said Jem, “but in the next hour. Prepare to make yourself comfortable, perhaps bring some literature. As Sona said before, it is of the utmost importance that you continue to speak to her, give her something to walk towards, or the Cordelia that you know can become lost in her thoughts forever.”

James' voice became bitter. “Why is she in a coma if it means she could become lost inside of her mind? Can’t you wake her up?”

“The injuries that she has sustained would be too terrible to be conscious during,” said Jem. “The body is able to heal much quicker if the mind is asleep to the pain.”

James drew himself into as stiff of a column as he could and clamped his teeth down on a small quiver of his jaw. He resolved himself in that moment to give Cordelia whatever she needed; if he had to read to her for days, weeks, even months then that was what he would do.

(Next update is going to be Sunday 7/12... maybe)

[carewyncromwell]

I guess this is my “happy end” for Carewyn and Orion for that LOTR AU (once again started by @drinkyoursoupbitch​​ and @no-moon-nor-stars​)! Pictured are the newly crowned king of Gondor, Orion II Elessar, and his love, the current Steward and future Queen of Gondor, Carewyn Cromwell-Took! (Previous part here!)

When Orion, Ben, Wendy, Charlie, and their allies from Gondor and Rohan charged to the gates of Mordor, there was almost no hope of success. As the final battle raged on, however, wave after wave of reinforcements arrived -- Treebeard and the Ents Carewyn had befriended in the Forest of Fangorn; an army of men led by Barnaby Lee and an army of elves from Mirkwood, who came to support Fellowship members Selene and Artemis Clair de Lune; a battalion of dwarves led by the new King Duncan Stonehelm of Erebor; a militia of men from Dale led by Carewyn’s friend, Lord Andre; the eagles, ridden by both Gandalf and Carewyn’s long-lost brother, Jacob Cromwell-Took, who brought along some white magic of his own to blind and beat back the Orc advance; and Selene and Artemis themselves, who -- after smuggling Smeagol, Bill, and Cedric inside Mordor -- infiltrated the wall over the dark city and attacked Sauron’s dark army from above. Then the final blow was dealt against Sauron -- the Ring was destroyed, and with the destruction of Sauron also came the annihilation of Mordor. The day was won.

The triumphant army returned to the stronghold of Minas Tirith as heroes. As happy as Carewyn was to see Ben, Wendy, Charlie, and Orion safe, however, she was overwhelmed beyond words by who else greeted her at the gates of the capital.

Carewyn flung her arms out wide, rushing to Charlie and throwing her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“You did it!” she said, her wide ruby red smile echoing in every word. “You all did it!”

Charlie squeezed his old friend tightly. “We did it. We couldn’t have done it without you, Carey -- if you hadn’t sent for reinforcements -- ”

“Carewyn Cromwell-Took.”

Carewyn looked up. Standing before her was Duncan, his lips spread into a mischievous grin through his now much-thicker brown beard. He’d had his thick arms crossed, but when Carewyn swept over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a huge hug, they fell lax at his sides.

“It’s good to see you, Duncan,” murmured Carewyn.

The young King of Erebor’s expression faltered somewhat, betraying genuine affection despite himself, as he brought his arms around her in return and held her like a dear younger sister he hadn’t seen in years.

Andre came up as well, opening his arms wide to ensnare Carewyn in a hug of his own.

“Look at you, Carewyn!” he said, looking over her new Steward attire and grinning. “One would hardly recognize you as the hobbit who escaped a band of orcs and wargs by floating yourself and your friends down the river in barrels...”

Carewyn bit back a laugh. “Not my most glamorous moment.”

“Artemis! Selene!”

Ben’s voice caught Carewyn’s attention. Riding in on fresh horses were their elfin friends, both looking very tired and beaten down, but with smiling, alight faces at the sight of them. Artemis made a beeline for Ben, leaping off his horse so as to throw both of his arms around him. Once Selene had embraced Wendy, she bend down to hug Carewyn as well.

“It’s felt so long, since we saw you last,” said Selene, “longer than I even know how to express. I think I now know why people with mortal lives act like they have no time at all...”

“I know -- it’s felt like years, somehow,” agreed Wendy.

A loud cry overhead signaled the arrival of the eagles. Carewyn beamed when she caught sight of Gandalf’s white robes -- but she was taken aback by the sound of a familiar, hoarse voice.

“CAREY! CHARLIE!”

It was Bill. He rode the eagle behind Gandalf and looked even more exhausted and worn than the Clair de Lune twins, but his freckled face was just as bright and his eyes were flooding with tears.

“BILL!”

“BILL!”

Both Carewyn and Charlie barreled over. Bill didn’t even wait for his eagle to fully land, instead launching him off of its back and hobbling with difficulty over to them, throwing his slightly longer legs backward and forward in precarious, reckless strides until he’d reached them. The three red-haired hobbits all threw themselves forward, seizing onto each other’s shirts and arms and squeezing each other’s shoulders in a vice grip.

“Charlie -- ” Bill choked through his flood of tears, “Carey -- ”

“Oh, Bill,” whispered Carewyn. “You did it -- you and Cedric -- ”

“I knew you could do it,” Charlie murmured proudly, clutching at his older brother’s back. “I always knew -- ”

Carewyn blinked back the traces of tears in her eyes, turning her gaze to the rest of the eagles landing. Her eyes softened in relief seeing Gandalf carrying a sleeping Cedric under his arm. Then she caught sight of the rider disembarking the eagle just behind Gandalf, and all trace of a smile vanished.

The final rider was a hobbit about a head shorter than Bill, dressed in worn gray robes one would be more likely to associate with a wizard. His black-brown curls had grown as long as a dwarf’s, sweeping down his back, and his eyes had been hollowed out like a skull’s, but they still sparkled the same shade of blue as Carewyn’s. His face was very white and weakly smiling, almost anxious, as he faced her.

“Wyn,” breathed Jacob.

All dignity forgotten, Carewyn flung herself out of both Weasley brothers’ arms. She tripped over the long skirt of her dress several times, but she didn’t care -- she would’ve tripped a thousand times more over, just to --

“JACOB -- JACOB!”

The two Cromwell-Tooks clung onto each other so tightly that it was like they never wanted to let each other go again. Jacob anchored a trembling hand on the back of his little sister’s head as he struggled not to completely break down.

“Oh Wyn -- my little Wyn -- ”

He pulled away at last, running his thumbs over her cheeks as his tear-filled blue eyes scanned her face.

“Look at you -- you’re a real lady! Shining like the Lady of Lothlorian herself...”

“You’re alive,” choked Carewyn. “I can’t believe you’re alive -- ”

“Jacob?!”

The two Cromwell-Tooks looked up as Duncan rushed forward, his eyes very wide and his face very pale under his dark beard.

Jacob’s blue eyes sparkled. “...Hello, Ashy.”

Carewyn had expected Duncan to perhaps run forward and hug Jacob too -- instead, when he reached Jacob, he immediately grabbed hold of his pointed ear and yanked hard.

“Owowowow -- !”

“You blasted IDIOT!” swore Duncan. “Disappearing like that -- let me guess, you got in over your head again, as per usual? How can you be so smart and yet so bloody daft!?”

“Owwww! Let go, will you?!”

Carewyn brought a hand up to wipe away the tear forming in her right eye as she looked up at Gandalf, who was smiling warmly.

“It seems your brother, like me, had battles to fight in fire and shadows,” he said. “Fortunately, like me...he also found his way back. He’s become quite a talented magician, for a hobbit -- I suspect he’ll be able to conjure up quite enough fireworks, for the next party in the Shire...”

“Thank you for bringing him back to me, Gandalf,” said Carewyn softly.

She then turned to the soldiers and courtiers who had escorted her to the city wall.

“Come -- let’s get Cedric a bed and proper medical attention. And prepare a hearty meal, in the main hall -- our King and his friends need it.”

Soon after was Orion’s coronation at the white Citadel of Minas Tirith. Representatives from many kingdoms -- Man, Dwarf, and Elf alike -- all came for the celebration. Once he was crowned, Orion bestowed honors onto all of his companions in the Fellowship of the Ring and all of the allies who had fought with them when things were at their most desperate. He vowed to the citizens of Gondor that he would do everything in his power to rule with patience, tenacity, loyalty, and fire and bring peace and balance to their world.

The coronation party afterwards was full of singing, dancing, and a great feast, where the Fellowship reconvened merely as friends, rather than soldiers. At one point, when Carewyn got up to speak with Merula, the new Captain of Gondor’s Guard, Cedric noticed something he hadn’t before.

“...Say, you all,” the youngest hobbit said with a frown, “who did Carewyn promise her heart to?”

Everyone in the Fellowship went stock still. Ben and Charlie immediately moved as if to hush Cedric, but it was too late.

“What?!” yelped Bill.

Carewyn’s best friend whirled on both Ben and Charlie, looking both beside himself and absolutely incredulous.

“You knew about this?”

Orion had gone very pale, his eyes darting around at each of the hobbits and Ben as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Artemis and Selene both looked at each other with a frown.

“‘Promise her heart?’“ said Artemis, bewildered.

Selene glanced at Carewyn and then gave an “oh!”

“Her left ring finger,” said the female elf. “If Hobbit tradition is anything like ours...Carewyn is engaged!”

“When did THIS happen?” Bill was still interrogating Ben and Charlie -- despite him only being about two heads taller than Charlie and much shorter than Ben, both men looked equally taken aback by his volume and level of passion. “What happened?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” said Charlie hastily. “That is -- well, yeah, she put it there, but -- I mean -- ”

Orion was barely taking in much of what anyone was saying -- his mind was moving too quickly.

Carewyn...was engaged? If she’d promised her heart, was that...like a betrothal? When had this happened? Had she been proposed to while she was in Gondor alone, while he was away? Had she always been betrothed, since before they’d met? To who?

Orion found himself clutching his own hands as he closed his eyes and tried in vain to stabilize his breathing. His thoughts were always way too loud and way too fast, when he was anxious...

He was startled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. It was Wendy.

“Come on,” said the dark-haired shieldmaiden under her breath with a smile, “let’s go for a walk -- it’s getting too loud in here.”

And so Wendy steered the new King out of the hall and out onto one of the balconies of the White Tower. It didn’t take long for Carewyn to notice Wendy leaving with Orion and, noticing how very ill and upset he suddenly looked, she quickly ended her conversation with Merula and left the hall after them. She found the two talking at the balcony -- Wendy noticed as soon as Carewyn arrived and rather quickly excused herself with a pat to Orion’s shoulder and a smile at Carewyn.

“Carey, would you please tend to His Majesty?” said Wendy, a wry twinkle in her eye. “You seem to have a special touch with him."

Carewyn watched her go with a swish of her long dark hair, frowning in confusion. Rather than dwell on it, however, she immediately turned her focus back to Orion. He looked so pale...

She reached out a hand to him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, her blue eyes very concerned.

When she’d reached out to him, Orion’s gaze had flown immediately down to her hand and to the ring on her finger.

His eyes widened.

It was his ring. The Ring of Barahir he had given her, before she’d first left for Gondor with Gandalf. Naturally, it being made by Elves, it had enough magic to shrink or grow to the proper size, so it fit her finger just as well as it had his.

The ring that Cedric had thought represented some sort of romantic promise...was his ring.

It took a moment for Orion to catch his breath again. Once he’d managed to compose himself enough, he bent down so as to properly look Carewyn in the eye. He took her hand, trailing his thumb over the ring on her finger, as he led her closer to him. Although he managed to keep his voice level somehow, his lightly tanned face was still very white and his hand holding hers was trembling.

"...Carewyn...” he murmured, “the way you wear my ring...is there...a meaning to it?"

Carewyn blinked in surprise. Then her face relaxed, and she offered a small smile even as her cheeks darkened with a flush and her eyes rested on his shoulder and not his face.

 "...Yes. For hobbits, it represents a promise of one's heart -- one stronger than time, life, or death.”

Her eyes drifted down to their joined hands.

“...It was that promise...that was in my heart when I pledged my fealty to Gondor. When Denethor heard me pledge myself to 'my lord', ‘til he release me or death take me..."

She smiled wryly.

"...he was unaware that, in my own mind at least, I already had a lord to be loyal to."

Orion’s eyes widened. Carewyn raised her head at last, her face much more solemn despite the softness in her eyes.

"Even if just as your friend,” she said very seriously, “my heart is yours, my king."

She lifted their hands, adjusted them so that Orion’s was on top, and placed a feather-light kiss to the back of his hand.

For a moment, all Orion could do was stare. His dark eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, lingering on her eyes and her ruby red lips -- then, his pale face flushing with a kind of emotion Carewyn had never seen before, he swept forward. His hands found her cheeks, cupping them gently as he leaned in and placed a tender, lingering kiss to her forehead.

“My lady,” he breathed, his eyes half-lidded and shining upon hers, “you are far...far more than a friend to me. And I hope that you’ll consent to be far more, as well...for among both Men and Elves...”

His eyes flickered down to her lips and then back to her eyes, in a move that almost suggested shyness.

“...the place you wear my ring...could also be seen as the mark of an engagement...were it to host a different band."

Carewyn stared at Orion.

“You...you’d want to marry a hobbit?” she asked, her voice very soft and stunned.

Orion’s eyes softened with some amusement despite himself. “I would like to marry you. If you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll -- ?”

Carewyn looked flabbergasted.

“Orion...I’m just a halfling -- you’re a king. More importantly, you’re...you. You’re gentle, and noble, and wise...”

“And you are warm and resourceful...and braver than anyone I’ve ever known in my life,” Orion cut her off gently.

His gaze flickered down to her lips again self-consciously. For all of his confidence as a Ranger, a warrior, a general, and even a king, Orion found himself oddly fretful and uncertain, in that moment -- as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff and would either fall to his death or soar up into the clouds, were he to jump.

“I realize that hobbits...rarely marry outside their own kind...especially to Men -- but just as I could see no one else as my Steward...I can’t think of anyone else I would ever ask to be my Queen.”

Her face flushed and her eyes sparkling like stars, Carewyn brought a hand up to rest on his cheek. She cradled his face with her hand as she bent her head just enough to rest her forehead against the king’s.

“Orion...I could not think of a single greater gift or treasure in this world than to be yours.”

Orion felt as though a weight he’d been carrying for ages had suddenly been lifted off of his chest. He exhaled, his eyes fluttering closed absently as he leaned lightly back against her hand on his face.

“Carewyn...”

One hand sank into the shoulder of her red and white velvet dress, while the other trailed affectionately along her cheek. Carewyn closed her own eyes, smiling fondly.

“I love you,” she whispered, a mere breath away from his lips.

She kissed the side of his temple, and then his nose and his lips. Without opening his eyes, Orion found himself mirroring her, littering her face with kisses as he trailed his hand along her cheek and through her hair. Several times their lips met, sometimes chastely, sometimes deeply, but always through the gentlest, warmest, happiest smile -- as though their hearts were both fit to burst from happiness.

A week later, Carewyn was crowned queen of Gondor, to the delight of her new people. Regardless of her heritage, the people of Gondor had not forgotten her courage and leadership in the midst of the War Against Sauron, and over the years, their affection for their “little queen” only grew. (This didn’t mean that she ever became very well-regarded in the Shire -- truthfully, someone that worldly and strong-willed would never really have belonged there. Most Shire folk didn’t dislike her, of course, but it was still a little uncomfortable to be associated with someone so thoroughly unlike the traditional image of a hobbit. The clear exception to this rule, however, was any hobbit with the last name “Weasley,” who were all always welcome in the kingdom of Gondor.)

One looking back on the reign of King Orion II Elessar and Queen Carewyn Dilthenrís could almost wonder if their romance -- however peculiar it was -- was written in the stars. After all...one translation for the name “Carewyn” is “white tower” -- like the fabled tower of the Citadel at Minas Tirith where she first inspired her future King’s people.